It’s summer time again and it’s time to get outside. Nothing fills me up and inspires me more than getting out into nature on a regular basis but when you live in a city that is so aptly nicknamed “Raincouver” it can be tough to push yourself out in all that grey and “liquid sunshine”. But when the weather turns here it is always glorious!
I feel blessed to have been born and raised here, so close to the wilderness that getting away from the city buzz and finding that silence and solitude is often just a short drive away. In no time at all I can be on a rugged trail, feeling my quads and calves stretch out, as I climb up, and up, sweat rolling down my back and my breath deepening with the exertion. Watching the trail ahead, so green from all the spring rain, songbirds and the odd squirrel my only companions that break the silence. The earth smells damp and fresh, a slight breeze keeps this early summer day from becoming too warm as I push on ahead, climbing past new growth forest and heading into old growth, where the forest floor is so varied and lush. It’s like a jungle, the trees are thick with moss and everywhere are fern that spent the spring unfolding their spiraled shoots into feathery fans. The ground cover is in bloom and everywhere I look there are little sparkles of colour and light, petite fushia and white blossoms and tiny ochre buds opening their faces to the sunlight that shimmers through the trees. I am high enough now that I can spy patches of blue sky and grey blue water below through breaks in the trees, but I’m not there yet. This climb, I know, has two false summits that can fool a novice into believing that they have arrived and can finally rest, take off the pack and take in the view for a while. There is still a full third of the trail left to conquer before I can rest and savour the payoff at the peak. But it isn’t solely about the goal, it’s also about the journey. No matter how many times I hike this trail there is always something new to see, especially after such a wet and stormy spring. New streams have sprung to life and recent tree fall has created obstacles to climb and duck under that were not there last year. A fellow hiker has been kind enough to set up a cairn under a nearby fir tree to signal a diversion in the trail, a little stone castle that is such an obvious signal to anyone who heads into the woods on the regular. Not much longer. The ground gets marshy here because the terrain is high enough to have snow cover until almost July some years. This section of the trail is my favourite. Gnarled tree roots, jagged boulders and the soft ground make it a challenge and there are places that require scrambling and using handholds to continue ascending, besides, I know this is the last push and in minutes I’ll be there. Through the break in the trees ahead I can see blue sky. I walk out, into full sunlight on the rocky edge of Lynn Peak, a tired but happy witness to the city far below. I’ll sit for a while, share my lunch with the chipmunks and the mated pair of ravens that often nest in the trees nearby, and just take it all in, fill myself up and remember just how fortunate I really am.
