Normally when recounting a ski trip, I would enjoy illustrating the rapture of effortlessly skiing down a steep, powdery slope and describe with pride the chain of perfectly formed "S's" left behind in my wake. We skied at Big White this week, it's located in the Okanagan Valley. Yes, thankfully many of the trails are steep and powdery here, too, but what really sets this station apart from the others are its ghosts! You've got to see them to believe them and they are most eerie when viewed while riding the chairs up the mountain. Due to the typical, local weather conditions, the dense fog that often rolls through the valley, the evergreen trees become coated with hoarfrost, which in turn causes all the snow that subsequently falls to stick to the frost. Before long and certainly weeks before our arrival, the trees are each laden with thousands of pounds of thick snow, clumped together in various configurations, often with their weaker treetops curled over with fatigue. As you ride up in the chair 30 feet above the ground, the all-white trees slip by you on the right and on the left, a few at a time, each one looking more human than the next depending on conditions. Some are leaning over seemingly to reach out at you sitting in your chair. Others apparently are chatting amongst themselves, one or two are holding infant ghosts in their arms. As with clouds taking on surreal shapes in the sky, these snow ghosts take shape in our minds as we glide past them on every ride back up to the mountain's summit.
Apparently there is yet another unique experience awaiting the fearless at Big White: a 60-foot tower of ice constructed specifically for climbing, the only such structure in North America. I replace my winter shoes with boots specially outfitted with crampons on the soles, don a helmet and grab a pair of ice picks which I strap on, one to each wrist. All my concentration remains focused on climbing this veritable wall of ice, vertical in its entirety, resembling variegated columns of giant silvery icicles, glittering in the light, yet pocked with crevices and other features which allow me to judiciously plant my boots and picks. I am wearing a harness to protect me in the event that I fall, the 'instructor' below having challenged me to reach the top without once falling or taking a break en route. I accept his challenge and thus all my energy remains focused on where to step up to next and where to reach to plant my ice picks next. It is arduous, I admit, as my forearms become exhausted as I reach the three-quarter point, but my resolve is redoubled and I advance tentatively. There is no resting or stopping and after no more than fifteen minutes in total, I have reached the top, rung the bell, and now enjoy rappelling back down like you've likely seen the Navy SEALS do in the movies.
When visiting Vancouver, if your time is limited, then after cycling the 5km route around Stanley Park, you must take a water taxi to Granville Island, immediately south of downtown. The taxi is tiny holding a dozen people at most, sitting low in the water like a miniature tug boat and piloted by a kid no older than 21. It looks like a toy boat, painted in all the rainbow's colours. Five minutes later we disembark on the Island to find a public market. I am reminded of the Grand Bazaar in Istanbul as here, too, there are dozens of stalls, maybe hundreds, food here and crafts there. The perfume of cut flowers mixes with the sweet smell of powdered sugar and then again with that of freshly baked breads and pies. It is easy to lose oneself amongst the sellers, the shoppers and those that simply meander about, window shopping sans windows. Once tired of the throngs, step outside again and you will likely be entertained by a busker or two, working hard atop a fifteen-foot unicycle or juggling flaming pins to the delight of the crowd.
As 2012 will very soon be extinguished with just a series of delightful memories remaining, I wish you a very rewarding and healthy 2013!
Barry from the West
