Once we were past North Vancouver, the traffic thinned out, and by the time were were on the Cypress Parkway, the majority of vehicles were the two-wheeled type powered by incredibly fit and muscled human beings. As the Subaru wheeled into the cross-country ski parking lot, we were pleasantly surprised to see only three other vehicles. Not entirely certain of the way to head out, we decided to follow the sign to Hollyburn Lodge. After all, we reasoned, we want to go to Hollyburn Peak, so surely the lodge was on the way. We eventually came across the cross-country ski lodge where we met a young couple coming toward us. They appeared as disoriented as we felt. The trail map showed the mountain somewhere to the north, but the sun and our instincts told us we were heading southeast. Consulting the map together, we concluded that we were indeed heading in the wrong direction; however, there was nothing to indicate where it was that we would find the trailhead to the peak.
Even though we believed ourselves to be lost, we continued on, certain that eventually we would figure out where we should be going. As we discovered, six hours later on the way back, the route we took was actually much prettier and interesting than the gravelly path under the power lines we were meant to take. In fact, we saw much more including an old ranger's log cabin hidden in the forest just off the path, and a historical bridge with photos describing how early loggers had created a series of lakes as they built a flue on which to transport timber downhill to West Vancouver.
Our instincts were right, and it wasn't long after turning left that we finally saw the old warming hut described in the hiking guide. The trail was clearly marked and there was no question now that we were going where we wanted to go. There is something soul-stirring about hiking through sub-alpine forest, and Ruth and I paused often to drink in the beauty that surrounded us--and nibble on a bit of trail mix for much-needed energy.
There were moments of tough slogging as the relatively flat trail started heading upwards. Much of it was muddy, and we had to carefully gauge every step. We even came across snow although it was nearing the end of August. There was perilous scrambling as we neared the top, and we laughed at some of the moves we had to invent in order to accomplish our goal--the butt slide, the backwards sashay, the quick-step shuffle. Finally, as we pulled ourselves up over the final ledge, we stood atop 1325-metre Hollyburn Peak and could see why this has been a favourite destination of hikers for over a hundred years.
Here, we met the young couple we had met three hours earlier--they were obviously more spry than we were, as they had already eaten lunch and were preparing for their descent. I mention them particularly because we had a chance to chat with them, and it was a conversation we're likely to remember for years to come. Ruth had quickly picked up that the young lady was German by the way she had pronounced Sitzmark. The conversation started out very normally. Are you tourists? No. How long have you been here? Where did you come from? Berlin. Are you German? No, I'm from Florida originally, but was working in Berlin. That's where we met. Do you plan to stay here in B.C.? Actually, I'm looking at a job in Switzerland. Oh, Ruth is from Switzerland. What kind of work do you do that would let you work anywhere in the world? I'm a cantor. Oh, a cantor...
How often does one meet a cantor? It was a first for Ruth and for me.
I asked if he was a cantor in an Anglican church, and he said, no, a synagogue. From there the conversation turned to trails and the beauty of B.C. With a deep sigh, the fellow gestured toward the snow-capped mountains and exclaimed, "Doesn't it just shout the Glory of God." He said it with such passion that it has stuck with me ever since. Yes, it does shout the Glory of God. That is precisely why Ramblers ramble!
The rest of the story is much the same as our other stories; only the names have been changed. The two of us chose spots to sit on the rocky summit and marvelled at the panoramic view--the Lions, Grouse, Goat, and Cathedral Mountains. We looked beyond the coastal mountains to the snowy peaks of the Garibaldi Range. As we pulled out our lunches, grey jays flew in and chipmunks scurried up the rocks, all hoping to share in our bounty.
It was a solemn moment when our shutters clicked the final pictures at the top of the peak before our downward trek, as we both knew that this would be the last ramble until next year. For a few hours each week during the summer of 2011, we had managed to escape the cacophony of the city to revel in the solitude of the mountains. Paul Tillich, a theologian, once wrote, "Language has created the word loneliness to express the pain of being alone, and the word solitude to express the glory of being alone." We could see why the psalmist would write, "I lift my eyes up to the mountain where doth my help come from."
There is just one more story I must tell. On the way down, we met another young couple who were just on their way up. Since we were in the middle of a blueberry patch, and bears love blueberries, they asked if we had seen any bears in the area. After assurances from us, they went on their way. Ruth turned to me and smiled. "We don't have anything to worry about. A bear would take one look at us, and decide this tough, old meat wouldn't be worth the effort when there is young, juicy meat just up the trail."
That's all folks!
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