I am always sure that winter has unofficially begun the day that I leave work after the sun has already set and the sky is dark. Usually this happens in late November, many weeks before December 21st, which marks the true first day of winter. I must admit that the short gloomy days are depressing for me, and I think that they are for many other people aswell. The leaves have fallen long ago leaving the trees dead and our urban environment dark and colourless. The weather is cold and wet here in Vancouver, and some months in winter can go almost purely without sun light; on such days it can be dark by 3:30 in the afternoon.

The winter is something that Canadians put up with everyear, we stay inside, eat lots, gain a little weight and watch hockey. But many of us (and I feel slightly sorry for those that don't) see some brilliance in the winter. It is afterall a beautiful season, forbidding yet rewarding and it is definetly an opportunity to have some fun. Some of the greatest Canadian pastimes are of course: skating, skiing, hockey, buliding snowmen and having snowball fights. Try walking alone in a still, frozen winter forest dressed accordingly and tell me there is nothing special here. Arrive at a frozen lake and notice how pristine it looks covered in fresh snow when you are the first person that has discovered it.

One of my best memories and favourite things to look forward to, is topping over the hill 10 blocks north of my house, in the Dunbar area of Vancouver, and seeing the North Shore Mountains covered in white frosty trees after a heavy snow storm. On such days in high school if it we had sunny blue skies I couldnt resist heading off to the mountains (usually hitchhiking) for a full day of snowboarding in the winter playground. I have similar but different interests now. I gain an enormous amount of joy from spending time on the mountain peaks skiing and climbing. Especially in remote and visitor free locales. Winter Mountaineering is a demanding undertaking with obvious dangers that not many climbers could deny, but its rewards are simply outstanding.

This year I kicked off the winter climbing season without realizing that I was doing so. In Early October me and two friends, Marco and Jon set off to climb Mt. Garibaldi 2650m, an attention grabbing volcano high above Squamish, that is covered in thick glaciers and crumbly rock cliffs. Despite only being early october, the mountain was covered in a thick layer of fresh snow and the alpine was in winter conditions. We camped at the top of Brohm's ridge in an absolutly spectacular setting. The Squamish Valley stretched out many thosands of feet below and the Glacier massifs of the Tantalus Range daggered the sky across from us. We commenced climbing day at about 5 Am with a couple good hours of walking before the sun would come up. The going was good with hard snow that made for efficient ascending up the warren Glacier. We arrived at the beggining of the North East Face just as a spectacular sunrise lit stacks of sharp purple cloud against a warm gold sky. It was fairly cold already but as the sun came up and we gained elevation the wind was turning into a fierce gale.

We had arrived at the crux (most dificult part) of the climb where we expected to have to cross a large bergschrund (a crevasse at the bottom or top of a glaciated mountain face) but it was filled in and appeared easy to step over. The wind was whipping hard down the mountain and visibly transplanting snow at a rapid rate; rapid wind loading is always a warning of avalanches. I was in lead and I cautiously started a traverse to where I was planning on crossing the bergschrund to gain the steep face. Glacier ice protruded through the snow around me anchoring the snow pack I was walking on.

My ice axe was in my left hand up hill from me. I was holding it by the pick end and stabbing the long shaft deep into the snow to give me a solid anchor into the mountain. Suddenly then as I placed the shaft of my axe, a shooting crack shot forward as if my axe was magic and was splitting the mountain in half. Amidst the howling wind and flying snow, I barely noticed until I looked up and saw it had shot right across the 60m wide face and not far from me the whole freaking slope began to slide. At first cohesively and then cracking and mushing up into a churning river like torrent of snow. The slab was not deep, and it was less than a class 2 avalanche (lilely not large enough to bury a person) but due to the nature of the terrain it was plenty dangerous considering that the whole slide was sucked into a deep crevasse farther down the face. I watched the whole thing in awe as it was my first close hand experience with an avalanche.

This shook me up a bit and for a moment I considered retreat but then realized that the whole wind loaded area had slidden already. It could have been that the slopes above were the same but watching the wind it seemed they were being scoured. This proved true and I began up the 45 degree slope on hard packed snow with the other two roped up below me. In this situation it was questionable whether or not we should have been roped up as a fall would be very dificult to arrest. In no time we were past the steepest section and nearing the summit.

I reached the mountain massifs true summit in an anticlimatic moment and began belaying the others up. A couple of minutes after I reached the peak clouds swamped in and the view disappeared. This was rather disapointing as Ive dreamed for a long time of being over Howe Sound on the summit of Mt. Garibaldi and observing the intricate landscape where glaciers and high mountains meet the ocean fjord. The location of this mountain plots you right in the center of a ring of the great peaks of South West BC. The always impressive Tantalus Range lies straight across the Squamish valley and then looking back inland an unobsrtucted view of hundreds of glacier draped remote coastal peaks would be visible on a clear day.

We were not going to wait around in the howling wind for the view to open up so we began following our steps back down. We down climbed the less exposed section and I set up a rappel for the steepest section which was rather unnecesary but I was worried the snow may have already reloaded and created another avalanche danger. We made it back to camp and hiked out to the car. One week later I enrolled in an avalanche course that I should have taken many years before.

As an introductory avalanche course the curriculum was designed to give the individual above all else, an ability to asses the danger level of their outing based on where they were going and what the avalanche forecast was. If avalanche dangers are high, best not to go into the hills at all, if considerable then stick to the mellowest terrain, if low then (and they didnt say this exactly) its time to go rip some slopes up. The other point of the course as is all avalanche teachings is to scare the shit out of people and convince them to be extra consevative in avalanche terrain.

I laid low for the rest of October and then for most of November aswell but as always happens I got a sudden urge for adventure. The snowpack was very minimal on the north Shore Mountain, no more that a meter on the ski hills and it was very well settled so I set myself a goal for the weekend of Nov 25. I wanted to go somewhere new but easy to access, I was going alone so I didnt want it to be crazy but I did want some excitement so I decided Cathedral Mountain 1737m in the North Shore was a good objective. Being the second highest peak in the north shore and in a nice remote location it is considered to be the best mountaineering objective in the north shore mountains by Bruce Fairley in his old style guide book "Climbing and Hiking in South West BC. "

The approach in was fairly long and I figured it would take most of the day. First about 9km up through the heavily forested Lynn Valley and then east up through new growth forests littered with ancient old growth cedar stumps that are mossy green and slowly rotting away. The coastal rainforest thinned out and alpine trees replaced the cedars and then up onto the popular peak of Coliseum Mountain. From here the scenery becomes very enjoyable and especially so on this particularily fine early winters day. The skies were clear for me while thick clouds washed over Vancouver far below, the sun was getting low on the horizon and warm evening light was descending on the mountain scape.

From Coliseum it was a short and scenic ridge walk to the top of Mt. Burwell, which is a considerably higher peak at about 1500m. I was watching the sunset to the west of me while I hiked and it was all very splendid. I didnt even stop when the sun set, but continued on going. I had planned to reach the summit of Mt. Burwell and then descend down to the Cathedral-Burwell saddle to make camp. I had figured that there it would not be too overly exposed and frigid. The sun dissapeared and at almost that exact moment I watched to the east as a full moon began to rise over a mountain very far away; night was rising up on me, slowly rising up and out from the valley bottoms which were long since in shadow and growing increasingly dark.

This meant that I was certainly not going to make camp where I had planned and likely meant that I would not summit Cathedral Mountain at all. I decided to persevere and push on hiking into the night. I finally arrived on the top of Burwell Mountain long past sunset and the air was getting severly cold on the exposed mountain top. I began hiking down towards the saddle where I had inteded to camp but decided because I was getting very chilly that I had to get my warm clothes on immediatly and get into my sleeping bag. So instead of campin on the intended flat and protected saddle I instead made camp just below the summit of Burwell at 1500m. I set up my tiny bivy shelter and wrapped myself in all my layers; my warmth only returned when I ate my dinner of Macaroni and cheese and drank a big pot of tea. I estimated it was about 15 below outside judging by how fast water was freezing. and it was a long night in which I stayed not warm but barely cold.

I missed my alarm as often happens when I have three touqes and a balaclava on over my ears but I still woke up earlish at around 4:15. I was quickly out into the frozen night which lay all to perfectly still and peaceful; My camp was about 50m above a thick layer of milky clouds that stretched out below me meeting other peaks across the valley. I took off with a light snack, a liter of water, and all my warm clothes. Ahead of me to the North, a good sized chunk of Cathedral Mountain was brightly cast in the moons light as it was protruding through the clouds. I descended into the thick fog hoping the clouds wouldnt rise up on Cathedral before I had acheived the summit. I made efficient time through the night keeping a careful eye on my compass not to get lost in the fog and was well up Cathedral's south ridge by the time the light started to arrive. I was in thick fog as the sun rose but not long after I was surfacing through the fog and breaking out into blue alpine skies. It was a very special morning as everything was swamped out in the fog, infact only one other peak in the north shore moutains was also topping out and that of course was Mount Brunswick, the highest of the north Shore. To the north Mount Garibaldi glistened white like a monumental snowball at the head off the obscured squamish valley and then the other usual peaks were very visible such as The Tantalus Peaks, Mamquam Mountain, Mt. Sedgwick and Sky Pilot.

The remoteness of my location and the beauty of what I saw was exactly what I crave; I felt wholesome and complete being alone in this wild scenery. I was a long way from other people and the mountains seemed all to myself as I scrambled up towards the peak with my trusty ice axe. The route was intersting and at a few points exposed but very easy and I arrived at the top of the high peak feeling truly great. At such times everything is wonderful, everything makes you smile and feel good. When you are in love with the world you are then in love with yourself and this is a great feeling.

An unmanned weather staion marks the top of Cathedral Mountain with two bizarre silo shaped green structures and a heli pad. I laughed but was slightly pissed off when I saw that there were footprints going from the helipad to the weather station. Clearly a helicopter had landed here in the days before. Odd for me to see after arriving on foot all the way from North Vancouver and I wondered if they would return to see my tracks rising up the south ridge and what they would think of that, I bet they would be impressed and possibly a little dumbstruck. I was on the summit for over an hour enjoying the million dollar views that I had all to myself and began down around 10PM hoping to be back at the car around dusk. I returned to my tent atop Mt. Burwell taking a moment to appreciate how spectaular and insane of a place to camp it was and then headed home bound. A total success, I was at the car at 7PM back in Kits for a beer and then got some sleep before going to work with tired legs the next morning for another long week of work.

As the winter progressed conditions were not generally in favour of mountaineering. The weather was dismal and nice days never landed on the weekends. Also Avalanche conditions were consistently lousy as heavy snow falls were frequent. With no climbing plans I bought myself some Alpine Touring Skis and went up to Cypress Bowl ski Area to get some practice inbounds before heading to the backcountry. Finally in late February myself and two very good freinds Justin and Stef went for a skiing and snowshoeing trip to Tetrahedron Provincial Park on the Sunshine Coast, which is a short drive and ferry ride from Vancouver. We hit a spell of glorious warm weather and for three days toured around the park sleeping in comfortable winter shelters. The scenery was so satisfying and the trip enjoyable that I decided I had to make more efforts to get out. Also I had really enjoyed my new skis and saw the great potential of AT skis in alpine movement. It has long been known that skiing is the key to freedom of the hills especailly here in BC where a gruelling summer bushwack may instead be a smooth winter ski in.

I decided to get right back out into the mountains the next week. All week had been clear weather and the avalanche conditions dropped to very low so I set myself upon an ambitious solo objective that I had pondered the previous summer while climbing the North east Arete of Wedge Mountain. On that day I had eyed this other route as a possible solo winter objective.

The South Ridge of Mount weart is an easy scramble but being the second highest peak in Garibaldi Park at 2870m it is very cold and a bold ascent during the coldest months of winter. I drove alone in my dad's car north of Whistler to the Wedgemont Lake trail head and skinned up the steep icy trail for hours. I arrived at the hut by the lake after sunset as the access in was much more dificult than I expected due to the steep frozen slopes. At 1900m it was freezing cold inside the cabin, I was surprised that other skiers were not up there but as it turns out not many people visit here in the winter. It was another night where I utilized all clothing as best as I could and remained not warm but not to cold through out the night in the tiny cabin. At 5Am I set out skiing alone across the frozen Wedgemont Lake, and then up the Wedge glacier. I was walled in by abrubtly rising, shaded rock massifs that made me feel like an spec of dust on the sidewalk of Georgia Streets highrises. It was perfect terrain for AT skiis and I quickly made my way up the snowy glacier until the terrain steepened and rose to the South Ridge of weart.

I removed my skiis and strapped them to my pack while lacing on my crampons. From here it was front pointing up a steep and narrow snow path keeping to the left side of it and hoping no rocks or cornices came screaming down on me. The avalanche forecast proved true, the snow (atleast as far as I could tell) was very well settled and the only likely avalanche dangers would be cornice fall and there wernt any cornices above me. Arriving on the ridge I stashed my skis behind some rocks and began up the south ridge which was basically a walk from there. The wind was blasting in from the east and blowing spindrift off to the west, scouring the ridge down to bare rock in the process. The summit was covered in high peak clouds and when I arrived visibility was very minimal. I wasn't sure if I was on the true summit as from there two extremly exposed ridges ran in seperate downward directions into the cloudy abyss. I remembered this was supposed to be an easy scramble (in summer) and both of those ridges were not easy at all so I had it.

As I came down the wind was blasting like crazy. It was a very invigorating expereince to be alone and in the weather up there, I felt again very pleased with the situation and my random location. Below me to my left was the massive ice sheet of Weart glacier pleasingly flat and rolling as it carressed the alpine valley that it sat in. Ahead of me was the great braod ridge that I had climbed up stretching far into the distance over another summit and eventually meeting Wedge Mountain. Clouds came flying in, danced on my ridge for a moment and than were blasted off again giving the sun a moment to reach me and a moment to snap a photo. I had made my mountain and that felt good, but the accomplishment was nothing compared to the sole satisfaction of being in this wild and inspiring environment.

Still I knew I had a long way to go before I was back at my car. I was still up in the high mountains, The whistler valley was far below me and I could see ski runs to the west where no clouds were and it looked like a nice place to be. I walked down strapped on my skis and skied down, down ,down. Making descent time that I could never have made without skis, at the same time though I was being extremely cautious, I knew I had to be. I was perhaps a little out of my element having so little experience on skis. Descending from the cabin proved to be extremely dificult and in review I should have simply hiked out. That was my last great hoo-ra of the winter but all in all it was a pretty accomplishing winter.

I love the winter so much that I dont think that I could permanently live away from it. The summer is great, it's easy, its fun, and its incredibly comfortable. A night lost in the forest in summer is an excuse to build a camp fire and tell a great story. A night lost in winter is likely death, and likely a slow and painful one. The winter leaves little room for error, avalanches do not give warnings, and temperture does not forgive poor planning. It is a pure season, and it is perhaps this feeling of death that makes it so appreciated. Afterall, to truly savour life we must consider what life is and we must realize that there is nothing at all without it.