Well, I’m bad.

And there I was, resolving not to be one of those people who starts a blog and never posts. Oh, well.

After spending a week sick, Steve sensibly dragged me out hiking last Saturday. He thought we’d do a reccy of the Tetrahedron, just to see if we could get in and if there was any snow. The book we have said that the logging road was decommissioned, which would have put paid to the adventure, as I don’t much like hiking up logging roads.

Turns out the road was not decommissioned, which was great, but it was pretty wintery, which was less great. I told Steve that the next best thing to having a girlfriend with a 4×4 is a girlfriend who grew up in the Kootenays. As I was flying up ice-encrusted roads with an igloo-sized high centre of ice — in my tiny little Toyota Echo — I just thought I would channel my parents flying up our driveway in Argenta in little tiny Datsun station wagons… and it worked. The ghost of ‘Swampy’ smiled upon me, and we made it to the lower parking lot, where we were the only non-4×4 in the place. Mind you, I haven’t had the heart to look at the skid plate (but I did check for random car-bleeding on the snow when I pulled out).

The path was stomped hard, so we didn’t think we’d need the snowshoes. We slogged up the path to the upper lot — thanks, Angel, for poo-ing for the SECOND time right in the MIDDLE of the path when I, not expecting poo no. 2, hadn’t brought a spare BAG — and saw (along with suprise poo) spectacular icicles on a north facing cliff.

Once we reached the alpine area, it became nice and flat-ish and we were in the sun even in the trees. Even though the path was still packed hard, it would have been nice to have the snowshoes in order to tromp around on the frozen lakes. Not, mind you, that my track record with frozen water has been spectacular this year, but it still would have been fun.

We hiked into the Bachelor Lakes cabin where there was a small mob of young — ok, younger — people in pyjamas and with empty bottles of run scattered about. They were very nice, and the cabin was HUGE, at least by Kootenay standards, and Very, Very Warm. We eventually dragged ourselves (ok, I dragged myself; Steve was off taking pictures of the lake) away from the woodstove and scouted a few areas we would like to hike with the snowshoes, and, oh, maybe some FOOD? Yes, we, consumate hikers, not only didn’t bring the snowshoes, but didn’t bring the trailmix either. (I didn’t bring a coat, but that should suprise no-one who knows me.) The hike back was much, much faster than the hike in. The sunlight was lovely, and the shadows were infinitely artistic, and Steve wanted to take lots of photos. I wanted to sprint back to the car.

“Why are you walking so fast?”

“Why are you so grumpy?”

I swear I could smell the trailmix from a kilometre away but I stopped, somewhat ungraciously, for photographs and to pack a few snowchunks over the poo. Once back at the car, we snapped a few photos of the intrepid Echo, and were back on our way.

To bed.

Monday was a walk — just a walk, Steve said — up the civilized trail at Chapman Creek. It was a fun walk, mostly level, and with the sound of the river always in earshot. For some reason, I was expecting to see a body the entire trip. Morbid much? Little did I know, the body would be ours! Well, not quite. We reached a big rockfall where the trail went basically straight up the hilly/cliffy bit but, before we could discuss whether to go up or turn around, we heard a big scree slide and cracky branches that sounded for all the world like something big was headed our way. Unanimously, we chose up. Thank goodness there was a rope handhold, or it would have been way suckier. That is, suckier than it was, all hopped up on adreneline and… more adreneline.

Once at the top, we walked all romantic hand-in-hand down an old logging/wagon road which… dissappeared. Rather than trespass or walk a paved road back to the car, we decided — and I do mean ‘we’ as I had a hand in it too — to bushwack straight back down the hilly/cliffy bit to meet up with the trail by the river. This is where you should start laughing, because I haven’t bushwacked in years, and never in a coastal rainforest and Steve… well, I wouldn’t let Steve lead, so any experience he might have had was completely wasted on the enterprise. We reached the bottom a little muddy, a lot twiggy and having a load of fun.

This weekend I get to decide what to do. Fleamarket anyone? Steve?