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Cold play
The Tetrahedron Outdoor Club ensures a warm welcome for visitors
Reached by ferry or floatplane, the Sunshine Coast, north by northwest from Vancouver on Canada’s west coast, is the kind of place people visit to get away from it all. The Tetrahedron is the kind of place Sunshine Coasters go to get away from it all.
As backyards go, the Tetrahedron tends to be on the large side. Six thousand hectares of mountains, lakes, streams, wetlands and forest make this Class A provincial park the perfect place for backcountry enthusiasts to explore.
It also makes the Tet, as it’s fondly known, an immensely challenging place to maintain for visitors. Charged with that formidable task is the Tetrahedron Outdoor Club, a hugely dedicated volunteer organization committed to maintaining the park’s four rustic cabins and the 25-kilometre trail network connecting those cabins.
“B.C. Parks owns the cabins and it’s their provincial park,” explains club president, Gerry Marcotte. “We are the stewards of the park and a have great working relationship with B.C. Parks, which goes a long way to keeping these cabins and trails up to date.”
The latest major project keeping the club’s volunteers busy has been the installation of a three-ton bridge spanning Steele Creek. Lowered by helicopter and installed by club members last month, the bridge cost about $20,000 – $12,000 of which was partially funded by a grant from the Sunshine Coast Community Forest Legacy Fund.
It would have cost more but for the donations of businesses – structural engineering, welders and lumber milling. The mix of grants, donations, partnerships and resourceful volunteers continues from a blueprint established more than 35 years ago.
In the mid-1980s, amid an economic depression, a group of backcountry enthusiasts united to mobilize more than 200 volunteers, 45 businesses, schools, community groups and several levels of government: their goal, to build cabins linked by a trail network.
The Tetrahedron Ski Club, as it was then known, secured more than $150,000 in federal funding and another $20,000 from the province, to build the cabins at Sechelt airport. The cabins would then be disassembled and flown by helicopter to be reassembled on site.
Forestry company, Canfor, and the Sunshine Coast Regional District donated timber, Sechelt Creek Contracting provided logging service, Airspan donated some airtime, Gibsons Building Supplies provided crane trucks and the Outdoor Recreation Council pitched in with chainsaws.
An army of volunteers mobilized to clear trails while 18 people worked on the cabins, gaining valuable carpentry skills and learning about surveying and wilderness first aid. By the time the cabins opened to the public in 1987, the club had raised more than $300,000 for the project. Perhaps more remarkably, a single great idea had united governments, businesses and local volunteers.
So, what motivated such efforts back then and what continues to drive the club’s volunteers now?
“There are a lot of people in the Tet for pure recreation,” says long-time club member, Melissa Rayfield. “I think the difference with volunteering is that it becomes purposeful recreation. I think any volunteer would feel the same way, it’s part of their social life, part of pleasure and the fulfilment of getting something done.”
Melissa’s husband, Danny Fleischhacker, agrees, adding that the solitude and the elements amid the Tet’s wide-open spaces are hard to resist, especially in winter.
“Getting out into the backyard, being out in nature there’s a sense of throttling back, tapping the brakes and going slow, but looking around,” says Danny, who admits that he also likes to go fast. “I really love skinning in a blizzard with the wind blowing at me. (Skinning is the practice of sticking synthetic skins to skis, climbing a trail, then skiing down. Danny and fellow club-member, Sam Preston, are particularly fond of exploring ski terrain deep in the park and immortalizing perfect runs with names like “Heaven is a Halfpipe”.)
Melissa and Danny are stewards of McNair cabin, visiting about once a month for maintenance and monitoring. (Visitors are asked to clean up after themselves but that doesn’t always mean that they do.) Gerry and his wife Ellen steward Bachelor cabin. In between are Edwards and Steele cabins, each with their own stewards and the latter cabin being the highest, situated at the base of 5,114-foot Mount Steele.
It’s not uncommon to have to dig your way into the Tetrahedron’s cabins and outhouses, especially on Mt. Steele.
The cabins accommodate 12 to 16 people, are first come, first serve, and are well equipped with mattresses in the attic, firewood in the basement, a kitchen counter and a sink. The wood stove usually has the place toasty warm within an hour.
Panther, Steele and Tetrahedron peaks loom over the park’s 10 lakes and some of the oldest trees in the country. Amabilis fir, mountain and western hemlock, yellow cedar and white pine can all be found here.
For Melissa and Danny, winter in the Tet means fun; summer means work. “It can take a herculean effort by a small number of people to accomplish some of the projects,” says Melissa. “Trail-clearing is never ending.”
(Veteran club member, George Smith, recently spearheaded a new trail to provide day-trippers with a beautiful new winter-touring option past Mayne Lake.)
Nor are the volunteers getting any younger.
“When you look at the group photos from the Steele Creek bridge project, you realize the average age of the volunteers is low-60s,” says Danny. “We need to bring down that average age, not that our volunteers aren’t uniquely capable – there are some extremely hard-working 70+ people. We all love the Tet and are very supportive of each other. There’s never a shortage of camaraderie.”
Funding is also a perennial concern for the club. Snow removal costs between $6,000 and $12,000 a year. Firewood is airlifted to the cabins at a cost of $18,000. Community members donate the wood, which is cut and split by club volunteers. (Visitors building winter bonfires outside of the cabins are a particular source of frustration for the club.) Then there’s cabin maintenance and major projects like the Steele Creek bridge. A bridge will soon be needed across Chapman Creek.
Cabin revenues of $10 to $15 a night help but the club’s major source of income is from the annual Banff Mountain Film Festival held at Elphinstone Secondary School in Gibsons. Tickets are on sale for the February 3 event, (see below for details) which is also a good opportunity to learn more about the club and consider volunteering. Otherwise, the best way to join is online at tetoutdoor.ca.
“We welcome everyone with open arms,” says Gerry. “We moved here in 2016 and were warmly welcomed and encouraged by the club and it still holds true today. The people we have come to know, the friends we’ve made – it’s absolutely awesome!”
Visiting the Tetrahedron
- Four-wheel drive and chains are essential for visiting the Tetrahedron during winter. For more information about conditions, visit the club’s Facebook page.
- For information about the park, visit bcparks.ca/explore/parkpgs/tetrahedron/
- There can be a significant avalanche risk in the park. Before heading out, visit www.avalanche.ca
Banff Mountain Film Festival tickets
Tickets for the Banff Mountain Film Festival, (February 3, 2023 at Elphinstone Secondary School) are available at:
- Alpha Adventures, Wilson Creek
- Elphi Cycles Gibsons and Sechelt outlets
- High Beam Dreams, Gibsons
- Trail Bay Source for Sports, Sechelt
Related stories: Men of Steele and Cabin Fever
Tony Waiters and Canada’s first World Cup adventure
In 2006, players from Canada’s 1986 World Cup team reflected on their exploits in Mexico for a story I wrote in The Province. They were coached by Tony Waiters, who sadly passed away two years ago. Tony would have been thrilled to see the current men’s team qualify for the World Cup for only the second time in this country’s history. Tony was a talented player and coach, and exceptionally generous with his time, especially when it came to football. He moved to the Sunshine Coast in 2016 and spent many hours helping local coaches, including me. On the eve of the FIFA 2022 World Cup kicking off in Qatar, here’s a look back at Tony’s contributions to the sport and to Canada’s first appearance in the men’s tournament, as recalled by the players who were there.
Tony Waiters in his element, coaching Canada in 1983. Photo courtesy Tony Waiters
For Tony Waiters, the 1986 World Cup marked the culmination of a coaching career that’s unparalleled in Canadian soccer. A professional soccer goalie who played for England’s national team in the 1960s, Waiters coached England’s youth team to a European Championship title in 1973 before leading club side Plymouth Argyle to promotion in 1975.
In Canada, he coached the Vancouver Whitecaps to the Soccer Bowl NASL championship in 1979; led Canada’s men to the Olympic quarterfinals in 1984; and oversaw Canada’s qualification to and participation in Mexico ‘86. Waiters wrote numerous books on soccer coaching and developed World of Soccer, a company producing soccer equipment and other resources for coaches and soccer associations.
Tony Waiters pictured at Roberts Creek Beach in 2016, helping to coach the U18 girls’ rep team.
“Of all the teams at the 1986 World Cup, we were as fit, if not fitter than any of them,” recalled Waiters. “The commitment of the Canadians was incredible. My hope was that we wouldn’t get blown out of the water, that we wouldn’t embarrass ourselves,” said Waiters. “And we didn’t.”
Canada held France 0-0 until European Player of the Year, Jean-Pierre Papin, scored the winner with 10 minutes remaining. (France went on to beat Brazil in the quarterfinals but fell in the semis to West Germany.) Canada went on to lose to Russia and Hungary, both 2-0 defeats.
Tony Waiters in quotes
On coaching his son’s U13s team after coaching Canada at the FIFA World Cup.
“The parents were more impressed than the kids were.”
On the perils of World Cup qualifying … in Honduras.
“I actually put a ban on the team using the elevator in the hotel. Because during the previous qualification, they’d gone to the same hotel and five of the players got stuck in the elevator. On every floor was an armed guard, which is a bit intimidating.”
… and in Guatemala.
“The fans were marching around the hotel and chanting all night. We went for a morning run to the stadium, which was about a mile from the hotel. The stadium was full three hours before kickoff. We asked someone, what’s going on? And they said, they’re waiting for you.”
… and dealing with “Montezuma’s Revenge” in Mexico.
“When we got eliminated the bottom fell out of our world. When we got back to Vancouver the world fell out of our bottom.”
On coaching.
“I think you’ve got to believe in the players. And make them believe in themselves. You’ve got to encourage players and genuinely encourage them. Believe in them and believe in their potential. You’ve got to make every practice session interesting and fun. People love the game so you‘ve got to take advantage of that. Some coaches get so intense in what they’re doing, they take the fun out of the game.”
- Adapted from Coast Life magazine, Fall 2016
The greatest 79 minutes in Canadian men’s soccer
The following story first appeared in The Province in June 2006.
The narrow players’ tunnel at the Estadio Nou Camp, in Leon, Mexico, is not known for its ambience. In the summer it’s like an oven and soccer players have little choice but to rub shoulders with one another before they take to the pitch.
Yet members of Canada’s 1986 World Cup team have a hard time forgetting that tunnel: It was June 1, Canada’s opponents were France, the reigning European champions and pre-tournament favourites.
“I remember lining up in this dark tunnel next to the French players, and I remember thinking, ‘I know these guys, I watch them on TV every weekend,”‘ says Ian Bridge, who at the time was playing club soccer with Swiss side La Chaux de Fonds.
“Standing there and seeing that feared team… that was, for me, a little overwhelming,” recalls fellow defender David Norman.
Teammate Bob Lenarduzzi recalls looking down a line of French players led by midfield maestro Michel Platini and thinking, “Oh Jesus… “
For Norman at least, that tunnel was the scene of his “single greatest moment” in professional soccer. It might have been the single greatest moment for Canadian soccer itself. The 1986 tournament remains the only World Cup Canada has ever qualified for.
Tony Waiters with national team administrator, Les Wilson, relaxing at the 1986 World Cup. Photo courtesy Tony Waiters
Qualification had been clinched eight months earlier on Sept. 14, 1985, a cold, drizzly day in St. John’s, Nfld. Needing only a point, Canada got goals from Victoria’s George Pakos and Igor Vrablic of Waterloo, Ont. to clinch a dramatic 2-1 win over Honduras. Honduran players braved the cold, wearing tuques and gloves, while most of their travelling fans had mistakenly gone to Saint John, N.B., where they ended up watching the game in bars.
Bridge had to leave the game injured and couldn’t even bear to watch. “I listened to the reaction of the crowd while I was in the showers,” he laughs. “We were up till 2 a.m. having drinks with the mayor of St. John’s. “Qualifying for the World Cup, just knowing that we were going to play among the best teams in the world, that was like winning the World Cup for us.”
Coach Tony Waiters developed the core of a Canadian team that had taken Brazil to a quarter-final penalty shootout in the 1984 Olympics and thrust them into intensive training camps and tours to prepare for the World Cup.
Pitted against France, Hungary (which had beaten Brazil in a World Cup warmup months earlier) and the Soviet Union, Canada had drawn their own Group of Death. But on paper at least, it wasn’t expected to get any tougher than Game 1 versus France.
Paul Dolan, then 20, was given the nod in goal. He recalls enjoying the team’s role of underdog. “We weren’t expected to do anything and France was loaded with talent,” says Dolan. “I just felt that this was a great opportunity and I’m glad I looked at it that way because I felt how much fun it was.”
After his moment of truth in the tunnel, Norman relaxed, too. “When we ran out and got going it became just another game. It was just 11 vs. 11.” Watched by a television audience estimated at over one billion and buoyed by a sellout crowd of 36,000, Canada took the game to France.
“I don’t think they believed that we would play such a high-pressure game at altitude in the heat of the day,” says Bridge, who was marking future European Player of the Year Jean-Pierre Papin. “But we were naive enough to do that. We were an unknown quantity.”
As Canada began creating its own chances, French fans turned on their team with boos and whistles. “To hold the French would have been momentous in soccer, not just Canadian soccer,” says Norman, who still has the game on videotape but has yet to show it to his seven-year-old son. “We could have stunned the soccer world.”
It wasn’t to be. In the 79th minute substitute Yannick Stopyra connected on a long cross into the penalty box, heading the ball across Dolan’s goal to Papin, who finally escaped his marker for a simple tap-in.
“Paul Dolan, who had been brilliant, came out and was going for the cross,” recalls Lenarduzzi. “I assumed he was going to get it and stepped away. He missed it. I should have just headed it out for a corner but it was headed back across for Papin.”
Canada lost its other two games. The Soviet Union, which had thumped Hungary 6-0, took 59 minutes to break down Canada, eventually winning 2-0, the same scoreline Hungary recorded over Canada.
“I don’t have any regrets,” says Dolan. “I played in the World Cup and that was the pinnacle of my career.” Twenty years later, the ’86 team is barely mentioned on the Canadian Soccer Association’s website and players have never had a reunion.
Perhaps it’s about time.
Zoom, zoom!
On trails and roads, electric bikes are putting the “coast” in Sunshine Coast
Like everyone else on the Sunshine Coast, I live near a hill. For 20 years, I knew any ride in or out of Roberts Creek would require exertion, some sweat and a little resolve. That resolve would often disappear at the mere sight of my car keys.
Then I bought an electric bike. Turns out, I’m not the only one!
“The e-bike flattens the hills quite nicely,” says my friend and fellow Creeker, Randy Shore. “I had been riding a Devinci hybrid for about 20 years, but I had fallen out of love with steep hills.”
To clear his mind and to enjoy the sunshine, Randy mostly rides backroads on his Specialized Como to avoid the noise, dust and highway bike lanes.
“The bike lanes on the Sunshine Coast are at best incomplete,” he says. “But even the lanes that exist are badly cracked or covered in so much debris that they are too dangerous to ride on. Even when a lane is available I feel safer on the road.”
Teacher, Sheena Careless commutes a few days a week from Gibsons to Roberts Creek Elementary School, sometimes dropping off her eight-year-old son, Toby, at Gibsons elementary. She’s clocked 1,800 kilometres on her RadWagon electric cargo bike since purchasing it in February 2021, a choice her family made in preference to buying a second car.
“I can do a week’s grocery shop, ferry two kids … I could do the recycling if I were more organized!
“The highways are not awesome, so we take back-routes when we can,” she adds. “I don’t e-cycle for the exercise; I e-cycle because I want to get somewhere. I don’t want to show up sweaty. I can e-cycle to school and be ready to teach.”
Commuting in the opposite direction for the last 20-plus years is Alun Woolliams, president of TraC (Transportation Choices Sunshine Coast – transportationchoices.ca). A volunteer member-based group, TraC encourages people to get out of their single-occupancy vehicles by changing local culture towards active transportation. It’s also about encouraging local and non-local governments (The provincial Ministry of Transportation and Infrastructure-MOTI) to improve infrastructure.
“An e-bike is a brilliant replacement for the car,” says Alun, who bought a Giant e-bike three years ago. “It takes the hills away and makes it so much easier to get out of bed and get on my bike.”
TraC organizes Active Transportation Weeks (formerly Bike to Work Week) and events such as bike polo, e-bike scavenger hunts and guerrilla bike-lane cleaning. (When I call Alun, he is literally at the bottom of my driveway, cleaning the Lower Road bike lane with fellow TraC members.)
The group has worked closely with the Sunshine Coast Regional District, Town of Gibsons, Town of Sechelt and MOTI to establish a designated bike route. It has also hired a consultant to assess the feasibility of a “Connect the Coast Trail” – a multi-use path between Langdale and Sechelt. However, four government jurisdictions plus private land ownership mean a plan is rarely simple.
“It’s not acrimonious, they’re trying to work together,” says Alun. “It’s complicated but there’s room for improvement.”
For respite from the Coast’s somewhat unique multi-jurisdictional bureaucracy, Alun can still escape to the forests where he continues to mountainbike the old-fashioned way – unassisted.
“If I’m going into the forest, that’s just recreation and I don’t feel like I need assistance, but I think it’s great that people do, if that makes it more accessible.”
Avid mountainbiker and trail-builder, Dale Sapach, counts himself as an e-bike convert. “They have a whole different fun factor to them and they make going uphill trails really quite enjoyable,” he says.
“One of my trails on Mount Elphinstone was super steep; 50 minutes full on pedal to get up there. When I started building that trail, it became obvious that I’d never finish it.”
His Specialized e-bike changed that.
“It still took me over a year to finish the trail, but regardless, that’s kind of how I got into it. I think it’s great these things exist. You can keep pushing your limits and keep riding with younger people.”
While the assist of an electric bike may make uphill trails easier, it does not necessarily make the sport less skillful, or less risky, says Dale. On the contrary: “The pros, the downhill racers know how to keep their speed through corners. You’re ultimately limited by your skill. And that potentially is an issue for some people who lose control.
“I think the biggest issue with full-power e-bikes is the weight. You require more upper body strength. When things go sideways a bit, they can go sideways a lot worse when your bike weighs 52 pounds.”
Gary Jackson agrees: “Where many people believe the e-bike is cheating, as one of the most experienced mountain bikers on the Sunshine Coast, I believe it’s much harder physically and technically to ride an electric mountainbike.
“You’re riding a bigger vehicle faster over more terrain. Because they’re more capable, I end up riding steeper terrain, higher technical climbs, aggressive technical loops, where on a pedal bike you’d have to go around to come back down. An electric bike allows you to ride fall line all day with much more elevation.”
Gary owns Off The Edge Bike Shop in Sechelt. When I drop by for a quick chat, we’re still talking an hour later. He’s passionate about bike safety and dispelling what he sees as misinformation about e-bikes.
“Everybody asks, ‘how much power does it have?’ and my answer is always ‘way more than you need! You want to be talking about efficiency, weight, reliability, warranty, all that – they’ve all got lots of power.”
While it’s difficult to track the growth in popularity of e-bikes locally with any accurate measure, Off The Edge sales provide some insight. The store, a fixture for 15 years, sold its first electric bike in 2016. In 2017, it sold eight. In 2018, it sold 40 e-bikes. In 2019, it sold more than 100.
“In 2022, I’ll sell as many as I can get,” he says.
The Coast’s baby boomer demographic with its disposable income means e-bikes sell faster here, according to Gary. He recounts the experiences of older customers who thought their best cycling days were behind them. Now they’re riding to Phare Lake before breakfast, followed by the base of Mount Hallowell.
“It’s like Viagra for bikes!” he laughs. “Boomers have figured out how to not age.”
Gary sees e-bikes as not just removing hills, but also overcoming political obstacles.
“Boomers get stuff done,” he says. “Now it’s a voting entity. All the sudden, where the 60-plus crowd was not a voting demographic for the cycling community, now it is, and they’re going to have their voices heard.
“E-bikes are going to bring infrastructure. E-bikes are going to bring bike lanes. E-bikes are going to bring much needed revenue and resources into a very difficult economy. E-bikes are going to bring conscientious, enthusiastic volunteers, to help build and maintain trails. “Cyclists can learn from e-bikers and we’re lucky to have them.
Gone with the wind
A muscular six-foot-three and weighing well over 200 pounds in his wetsuit, Stefan Benko is not easily swept off his feet. That is unless he’s afloat on a carbon-fibre board and attached at the waist by a harness and 100 feet of nylon lines to a polyester kite.
Just add wind and waves for lift-off!
“It’s just me and the elements,” says Stefan. “The beauty of being on the water is a fantastic feeling, especially here on the Sunshine Coast. I have been out in 35-40 knots, incredible winds, swells so big you get in a lower spot, you don’t see land, you’re in a bowl, and then on top you take off because the wave propels you up.”
Tacking up and down the coastline on a stormy day, kiteboarders can generate speeds in excess of 40 kilometres an hour, leaping 30 to 40 feet above the waves. Not surprisingly, there’s a learning curve to be navigated.
A south-southeast wind is gusting 15 knots on the sunny day we meet at Davis Bay. Stefan is part of a close-knit but welcoming community of kiteboarders who can often be spotted on windy days, plying the ocean waves from Langdale to West Sechelt on the Sunshine Coast, northwest of Vancouver, Canada.
Many are self-employed like Stefan, connected to each other by the messaging service, WhatsApp, and highly motivated to hit the beach when conditions are right: Davis Bay in a south-southeasterly; Bonniebrook or Wakefield in a north-northwesterly; Shoal Channel between Langdale and Granthams Landing when summer thermals are blowing; or off the mouth of Roberts Creek when a southerly wind blows over the pier.
“We are all connected to weather apps and weather change usually means wind,” says Stefan. “Sometimes though unexpectedly the wind just pops up in the morning. You have two hours and then it dies. If the wind dies, the kite doesn’t fly and I have to swim back. It can be a long swim!”
A fickle wind is just one of several potential hazards of which kiteboarders must be aware. Stefan’s preparations begin in his van where he sorts through equipment based on conditions. A harness, bar and board, boots, wetsuit, impact vest, lifejacket and a helmet if it’s particularly rough are foremost on his mental checklist.
Then there’s the choice of kite. Like boards, kites vary in material and size based on your weight, level of discipline and wind speed. Strong winds mean smaller kites – about seven square metres. Lighter winds mean bigger kites with more surface area to generate better pull.
Today, Stefan is excited to use his new, 12-square-metre foil kite, which unlike inflatable kites, generates more power and operates well in lighter winds. “It’s the Rolls Royce of kites,” he tells me as we head down to the beach. “It just wants to go up, up, up. I love it!”
At the water’s edge and now in his wetsuit and harness, Stefan unpacks his gear – all of which weighs little more than a few pounds. Connected in a bridle, the nylon lines look like a bird’s nest at first. Stefan painstakingly makes sure that lines are straight and not crossed.
Rocks and barnacles are never too far from the sand of Davis Bay and a sudden gust of wind could potentially drag and damage the kite or cross the lines. That could spell calamity if equipment malfunctions half a mile offshore. Wind can also up-end a kiteboarder before they’ve even made it into the ocean.
Stefan recalls the first time he saw kiteboarding. “It was 1997 and I was in Maui, Ho’okipa Beach, and windsurfing was at its height. On the beach is this guy. He has a surfboard in one hand and two handles and a kite in the air. He is being dragged down the beach by the wind, there was so much force.”
Stefan rushed to assist. “I held him, we walked to the edge of the water and he put his feet in the suit-board straps and off he goes. Soon he’s flying, jumping, up and down. And I go, ‘what the heck is that?’”
Stefan had helped Marcus ‘Flash’ Austin, a pioneer of the sport, later to become its world champion for many years. “I used to windsurf, snowboard, wakeboard, anything to do with boards. When I saw kiteboarding, I thought ‘this is the sport, I want to get into.’ I used to paraglide. It’s the same idea of flying and hanging off the strings and controlling the wind and the kite and being able to lift. It was a perfect combination for me to get into it.”
With his lines straight and his final check over, Stefan is almost ready to launch. He’s keen to emphasize to anyone considering the sport, take lessons. Kiteboarders the world over always help each other, he says, but starting off with proper instruction is essential. (Several schools run out of Squamish.)
“There are so many things that can go wrong in a split second,” he says. “A sudden gust can shatter your confidence; it can rip the kite out of your hands or you’re being dragged by the kite, out of control, face first, hurting yourself, or someone else. Learn how to fly a kite and get the sense of balance, counter-balance, the pull and learn what not to do with a kite. If it flies out of control, there’s no way back.”
Mastering the art though can reap rich rewards and not just speed and big air. “A few years ago, here I was kiteboarding feet away from a pod of orcas. Last Fall, I was in the mouth of Wilson Creek and a salmon jumps and hits me in the thigh. Really!”
“Are there any conditions you’d refuse to go out in?” I ask. After a brief pause, Stefan answers: “No wind.” We laugh and with that, he edges into the waves, the slack in the nylon lines soon stiffening as the kite extends overhead.
Seconds later, he’s skimming the whitecaps heading west, before tacking into the wind and returning towards the mouth of Chapman Creek. Reclining at a 45-degree angle, edging into the waves and gaining speed, Stefan finally takes flight, and is suspended in mid-air. Seven seconds later, he descends.
I’m almost certain he’s smiling.
Cold comfort
Cold-water plunges too good to limit to New Year’s Day
It’s a raw, rainy November afternoon when I join Sherryl, Donna, Maggie, Tara and Meaghan at Porpoise Bay. Some dog-walkers are around but it’s safe to say, we’re the only people wearing bathing suits.
At the water’s edge, Donna Shugar confides: “My husband Ken thinks he should be here; just in case I don’t return.”
“How come he’s not doing this?” I ask.
“He’s from California,” Donna replies. “He says he hasn’t been warm since he moved to Canada.”
It’s true, cold-water exposure is not for everyone. There’s nothing inviting about today’s leaden skies and grey ocean. But seconds later, in fading light, we’re in, submerged, swimming, floating and talking. I stifle the urge to pant.
“There’s always a shock but I don’t really think about it anymore, I just do it,” says Sherryl Latimer. “I do a deep-breathing exercise for the first 30 seconds and then I am submerged, and it feels great.”
Like most of the others, Sherryl is a cold-water convert. She organized today’s swim and hopes it will become a regular event for like-minded enthusiasts. Sherryl invited Tara Swann and Meaghan O’Brien Spithoff, who swim with a group that meets multiple times a week at Henderson Beach in Roberts Creek.
For reasons as varied as the growing number of people who practice it, cold-water immersion is no longer just for New Year’s Day.
Meaghan is inspired by the contrasts between “the powerful ocean and the vulnerable human that enters it”.
“It’s breathtaking,” she says. “It feels like an internal strength develops inside you the more you swim and yet the ocean soothes you at the same time.”
Her friend Tara craves the connections made in the ocean – and not just human connections.
“I felt a little like I cheated the social isolation in the last year,” says Tara. “We come alone and meet up together. We’re distanced. Anyone is welcome and it quenches a social need while you compete only with yourself.
“Every day the water’s different, the sky is different, your body feels different. I dip my head like a daily baptism. It’s like how I imagine church to feel for others – replenishing.”
“Rejuvenating” is how Sherryl describes it. “After swimming in the cold, it feels like you’ve had a massage inside and outside your body. I have underlying heart and lung issues, and I live with depression. This just makes me feel so good. It lifts my mood and spirit. During Covid, I found the periods of depression came more often and for longer. When I swim more, the depression spells lessen.”
Sherryl keeps a detailed log of all her swims, recording weather conditions, tides and time spent in the water. Her attempts to form a weekly group are now making headway and she draws inspiration from a group in Powell River.
“I went up last spring and swam with them. It’s mostly women and 10 or 12 who swim every day. Right away you feel a camaraderie because it’s a special kind of person who does this. Now with the few women who have joined at Porpoise Bay, you have this thing in common, it’s out of the ordinary and there’s a sense of adventure.
“The overall benefit is of feeling wonderful afterwards and sharing that feeling with others.”
Storms, wind, rain and snow are no deterrent to the women, who are not about to let the weather come between them and their cold-water fix.
The stormier the better for George Vourtsis, who started a group pre-pandemic as an extension of the Gibsons-based boxing club. The group meets Sunday mornings off Franklin Road.
“Storms! That’s the best time to come out,” says George. “When it’s nasty and the wind’s blowing and the swells are up and you know you’re going in, you get a rush – it’s a good feeling.”
Another regular, Tammie Lumsden, can vouch for George’s enthusiasm. “One Sunday was super stormy, and I was standing at the edge, saying ‘I just can’t do this, there’s just no way’. And George said, ‘yes you can, you can do it’. I just got in and it was totally fine.”
Ironically, it’s a cold, calm, crystal-clear Sunday when I join the group. (Two humpback whales even make an appearance!) More than one person remarks that the weather’s actually too good. Most of the group remain immersed for at least two minutes, although one or two prefer to quickly run in and out.
When I ask why swim, I hear familiar feel-good responses of camaraderie, connection and health benefits, including better circulation, stronger immune systems and improved mental health. That word “rejuvenating” comes up again.
Simplicity also strikes a chord for Tammie.
“It’s free! You live on the Coast! I grew up next to water my whole life. Why wouldn’t you?”
Almost all the people I speak to are familiar with Wim Hof, a Dutch extreme athlete and so-called Ice Man, who has popularized specialized breathing techniques and cold therapy in books and videos. Less known to us now is Vincenz Priessnitz, who extolled the virtues of hydrotherapy more than 150 years ago. Hippocrates, considered the founder of medicine, was prescribing cold water as a curative circa 400 BC.
Science would seem to validate some of those shared but subjective feelings of exhilaration. A 2000 study published in the European Journal of Applied Physiology (“Human physiological responses to immersion in cold water of different temperatures”) found that the increase in dopamine from cold water exposure is comparable to levels recorded after taking cocaine. Dopamine is a neurotransmitter that in sufficiently high levels can lead to feelings of bliss, euphoria, greater motivation and concentration. The dopamine release triggered by cold water, unlike cocaine, is sustained, continuing to rise for up to three hours, long after exiting the water.
I’m beginning to understand why a free, legal, non-addictive, long-lasting high might be so appealing!
For all its potent stimulus though, swimming here at this time of year is not to be undertaken lightly for first-timers. Sherryl heeded her doctor’s advice of “take it slow and listen to your body” before becoming a full cold-water convert. “It’s at your own risk, learn about what you’re getting into and have someone spot for you if you’re swimming by yourself,” she adds.
I’d add that neoprene booties and gloves are pretty skookum, too!
For now, Sherryl is hopeful more people will join the group, which currently meets at Porpoise Bay Provincial Park one to two times a week. (Search “Sechelt Cold Water Swimmers” to find the group on Facebook.)
“Perhaps we’ll be doing this every day,” she says.
Hearing is believing in the kindness of strangers
Growing up in the shadow of war, Dzenana Osmanagic and Dzenita Dzemidzic made the best of childhood in the besieged Bosnian town of Goražde.
In 1995, when the Internet was still a novelty and people posted photos in albums, not on social media, Brian Sadler met Dzenita and Dzenana. He was in his early 50s, a 35-year veteran of the Canadian military and a civil affairs officer with the United Nations. Civil war was tearing apart the former Yugoslavia and Brian had just driven his rented 4×4 into Goražde, a besieged Bosnian town with no running water, no electricity, little food and a lot of bullets.
Dzenita Dzemidzic and Dzenana Osmanagic, then aged nine and 11, were among a crowd of children who gathered around Sadler’s truck, which carried a generator and six months’ worth of supplies.
“I pulled into this empty street and immediately all these kids appeared,” recalls Brian. “Through gestures, I asked them to help unload boxes of stuff. Two girls joined the queue and these Bosnian kids started waving them away, telling me that these girls couldn’t hear and couldn’t speak.
“Then I realized that the girls were being – shall we say – isolated. So, I shooed all the kids away, except for the two girls.”
Brian Sadler in Bosnia, circa 1996.
The story might have ended there. Except Dzenita and Dzenana, best friends unused to being singled out so positively, told their parents of the experience. Through an interpreter, the families thanked Brian and welcomed him into their community. He now found himself accompanied most days by his two new friends, communicating with them in a rudimentary sign/body language. “The girls wouldn’t leave my side!”
After a career spent parachuting into trouble spots from the Sinai to Somalia, the highly decorated peacekeeper was entrusted with overseeing the UN protection of 60,000 Muslim residents. But Dzenita and Dzenana needed more than just protection. Brian believed they deserved the chance to hear and speak, opportunities denied them because of war.
What followed was a story that embodies the kindness of strangers and an unlikely journey to the town of Gibsons on Canada’s west coast.
Coming to Canada
Within a couple of months of that first meeting, Brian was asked by the father of one of the girls whether it might be possible to get the girls examined by doctors. Travelling 100 kilometres to Sarajevo was ruled out because of the Bosnian Serb Army that had besieged the town since 1992.
“I came up with the idea that I would try to take them to Canada and get them examined by Canadian doctors,” recalls Brian, who contacted former air force colleagues about “catching a ride” on a regular scheduled flight. “They said, ‘we’d love to but you’re going to need a sponsor because you’re a civvy [civilian] now.’”
Dzenita Dzemidzic and Dzenana Osmanagic make themselves comfortable en route from Bosnia to Canada.
Brian contacted the Canadian ambassador’s office in Zagreb, Croatia. “Within days he said, ‘absolutely,’ insisting I bring the girls to his office, so he could personally authorize their visas.”
On April 24, 1996, Brian with Dzenita and Dzenana – who had never set foot outside Goražde, let alone Bosnia – stepped off a 437 Squadron Polaris aircraft at CFB Trenton for a layover, before continuing their trip west.
The girls’ journey and their 36-day stay in Canada is captured in a photo album. It’s one of three copies Brian made – one each for the girls and one for himself.
“There’s a wonderful photograph of the girls on the plane,” says Brian. “It amuses me because they’re pretending to read a newspaper. They loved reading the paper and they really enjoyed taking pictures of me with my camera.”
Travelling celebrities!
Dzenita and Dzenana underwent examination by a Vancouver doctor, who confirmed the girls could be treated. Treatment duly followed in Edmonton by an audiologist who provided the girls two computer-driven hearing aids and a year’s supply of batteries each.
“After they were fitted by the audiologist, we were driving along the three of us back to my home in St. Albert in my two-seater ranger – Dzeni would sit in the middle on a lunch box. They were exclaiming with noises or excitement because they had never heard the traffic,” recalls Brian. “It was a whole new life! I had to really concentrate on driving.”
Brian and the girls became local celebrities. They were guests of honour at Edmonton City Council, which made the newspaper! While the girls were visiting a school for the deaf in Spruce Grove, AB, Dzenana developed a serious toothache requiring immediate attention. The diseased tooth was extracted the same day for free by a local dentist contacted by the school.
Dzenita and Dzenana trying pizza for the first time.
When Brian brought the girls to Gibsons to meet his parents, Jack and Pat, Coast Cable featured their visit in a one-hour TV special. (The girls can be seen smiling and signing with Brian while he’s interviewed in the sunshine.)
“The girls charmed their way through,” laughs Brian.
Pat Sadler was part of a prolific knitting circle that created countless balaclavas and scarves, packaged up by Jack Sadler and flown in numerous standard military shipments to help children like Dzenita and Dzenana through cold Bosnian winters.
“I give credit to all the Canadians who helped the three of us,” says Brian. “The cooperation was phenomenal. And willing cooperation. I never went to anyone and said, can you help me by doing this gratis; I asked, can you help me by doing this and this, without mentioning gratis. And everybody reacted gratis.”
Brian’s mum, Pat and her Sunshine Coast knitting circle created countless balaclavas and scarves to help children like Dzenita and Dzenana through cold Bosnian winters.
Reconnecting
After retiring to Gibsons in 1998, Brian lost contact with Dzenita and Dzenana for 20 years. Last year, they reconnected on Facebook. Now in their 30s, both women have careers; Dzenana is married with two children. With the help of Dzenita’s English-speaking brother, Adi, they answered questions and shared their memories.
“Childhood during the war was tough,” they write. “It was scary for everyone; you can’t imagine how hard this was for two little girls.
“It was Brian who first told us we were going to Canada. We couldn’t believe it and we were actually a little bit scared. Brian told us that we were going there by plane. It was amazing for us and until the trip we were looking in the sky every day.”
Dzenita and Dzenana recalled Brian taking them to McDonald’s and also persuading them to eat pizza for the first time. (“He was begging us just to try it and we did, and we loved it!”) Bowling with new friends, trips to the cinema and meeting Brian’s parents also stand out. They still have the photo albums Brian made.
How did the experience change their lives?
“We came from a city that had no food, no water, no electricity. Here was a man who helped us; who found doctors to help us. We are very emotional when we talk about Brian and we really love him and miss him. He is true proof that kindness is a feature of great people. Brian is a great man and we will always be thankful to him.”
“The treatment helped us a lot. When Dzenita came home, we were sitting on the balcony. She said, ‘Dad, I can hear the birds.’”
Now in their 30s, Dzenana Osmanagic-Kovacevic (above) and Dzenita Dzemidzic (right) are still good friends and cherish memories of Brian and their 36 days in Canada.
Slow train to Winnipeg
There is no fast train to Winnipeg. VIA Rail’s meandering service from Vancouver to Winnipeg fits a country that’s meant to be savoured. Yes, you could fly in under three hours, but if you’re looking for a more immersive experience and can spare three days, take the train. It’s not meant to be fast.
Leah and I checked in at Pacific Central Station in Vancouver on a sunny, Friday morning in late July. The forest fires that shrouded most of western Canada were still two weeks away and clear skies beckoned. Friends had been surprised to learn of a rail connection. Almost as surprised as by our destination. True, Winnipeg’s not the first place you think of for a summer holiday, but we live on the Sunshine Coast. A break from tourists would be good for the soul.
Our noon departure left 15 minutes late, but few passengers seemed to notice. Most people were busy exploring their new home for the next two nights; four nights for Toronto-bound passengers.
Private sleeping quarters in Prestige class come with your own concierge.
A large American tour party, each traveller wearing a name badge, patrolled the corridors for the first hour, marvelling at the cleverly concealed shower closets, the premium-class cabins and the viewing cars. With 72 hours ahead of us, we decided to pace ourselves, watching East Vancouver, Burnaby, and New Westminster pass us by before venturing from our seats.
VIA Rail trains come in three classes and various carriage designations. The best views are to be had in the Skyline cars with their scenic dome sections, and the Panorama car, which features windows to the ceiling. The Park car in the caboose is an elegant throwback to bygone lounge luxury and is limited to the train’s Prestige passengers at certain times of the day.
Prestige is the priciest of VIA’s three travelling classes, offering private sleeping quarters and a personal concierge. We travelled in Sleeper Plus, which saw our seats being transformed by a carriage attendant at night into comfy bunk beds shrouded behind a thick curtain. (The attendant reverses the process in the morning while you’re at breakfast.) For Economy Class, picture your seat becoming a La-Z-Boy with pillow and blanket. All meals are included in the price for Prestige and Sleeper Plus.
An excellent three-course lunch, including a sautéed prawn and scallop salad, set the tone for our meals ahead. Duck, rack of lamb, and beef wellington were among the hot, fresh dinners somehow served from a tiny kitchen, which also offered vegetarian options for every dining course. Canadian wines and craft beer choices from Toronto, Winnipeg and Vancouver, were a nice surprise too. We soon got to know our Winnipeg-based crew, who were proud of their hometown and quick with recommendations.
Seats by day transform into bunk beds by night in Sleeper Plus.
Meal times presented a chance to meet fellow passengers – mostly American visitors, including one woman from San Francisco who had been suffering Trump-induced anxiety attacks. “Two days with no news has done me the world of good,” she confided.
There were other little surprises along the way. Complimentary mimosas went down well on Saturday morning while stuck for an hour outside of Jasper. Informal wine tasting with one of the crew in the dome car eased us through the Saskatchewan-Manitoba border. Lounge car patrons were entertained by a classical guitarist in an afternoon performance.
The real star of the show though was the view, otherwise known as Canada. First criss-crossing the Fraser River and then the Thompson, the train follows a route largely uncharted by the highway. At dinner on Friday night, heads swivelled to see a series of attractions appearing on or by the Thompson: a solitary eagle, a herd of elk, an abandoned church and a forgotten Chevy truck, circa 1960, all punctuated the dry beige canvas of thirsty cottonwoods and parched underbrush.
Dinner-time distractions as we skirt the Thompson River near Kamloops, BC.
Sun set to be replaced by a full, blood moon. It cast its spell on us as we settled into our bunks and watched it rise, glowing red and irresistible over Kamloops Lake. I fell asleep realizing that after almost 12 hours on the train, I had yet to crack a book or suggest a game of Yahtzee with Leah.
VIA Rail’s not quiet. There were times during the night that I thought a crash was imminent, such was the screeching on the rails. “You’ve got all day to nap,” I told myself as I opened the blind to see daybreak in the Rockies. Our attendant told us we’d made good time overnight, getting up to 80 kilometres an hour, which might have explained the noise.
After a night on the train it was good to stretch our legs in Jasper on the Discovery Trail.
The American tour party alighted at Jasper where the remaining passengers had a couple of hours to explore. In minutes we were walking Jasper’s Discovery Trail, heading towards Old Fort Point. At the first viewpoint overlooking the city, a menacing gang of Bighorn Sheep blocked our path. We hesitated for 10 minutes, taking photos from a distance. The sheep looked less menacing when a jogger breezed right by them.
Bighorn Sheep – not so menacing in hindsight.
It took all day to reach Edmonton. Numerous stops for freight traffic, (which have priority) including a two-hour standstill, put us in at 7 p.m., a few hours behind schedule. We disembarked to skip rope a while on the platform (three solid meals a day and a sedentary lifestyle take their toll) and take photos of the City of Champions in the distance. By 8 a.m. the next morning after a better night’s sleep, we’d caught up an hour or two and were in Saskatoon for another 20-minute stroll on the platform.
Our final day of gazing out of the window introduced us to place names that seemed to herald a story: Punnichy, Ituna, Spy Hill and Atwater – population 30. Potash mines are the only hills on the Prairies, looming on the horizon occasionally like elongated pyramids. The old, wooden grain silos, so iconic to this region, seemed harder to find. Kelliher, Saskatchewan produced a nice one though.
Our last stop before Winnipeg was Melville, Sask., home of the Melville Millionaires junior hockey team and named after Grand Trunk Railway president, Charles Melville Hays, who died on the Titanic. We rolled into Winnipeg at 8.40 p.m., 90 minutes late but still warm and sunny outside.
We never did play Yahtzee!
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- Classy caboose
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- Bunk with a view
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- Athabasca River, Jasper
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- Grain silos
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- Saskatoon baby!
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- Derek missing the rains down in Africa
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- Derek – first gorilla in Melville, Sask.
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- Sunset near Edmonton
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- Derek reflects on his time in Jasper
Men of Steele
Next time we’ll bring snowboards and deckchairs.
My friend Tom and I had been planning a trip to the Tetrahedron for about 10 years. This weekend we finally did it. In hindsight, hiking to Mount Steele cabin would have been easier when I was 36, not 46.
At the base of 5,114-foot Mount Steele, the cabin is one of four two-storey cabins in Tetrahedron Provincial Park, each built to accommodate 16 people – first come, first serve. The others are at Bachelor Lake, above Edwards Lake, and between McNair and Chapman Lakes. The cabins are connected via a 25-kilometre trail network and are maintained by the Tetrahedron Outdoor Club.
Lower Mainlanders enjoying lunch at Edwards Cabin.
We set off on snowshoes from the trailhead up Grey Creek Forest Service Road. In true Sunshine Coast fashion, the Tetrahedron is not signposted from the road, despite being a Class A provincial park. That might explain why there are only three other cars in the parking lot on a sunny January weekend.
Six thousand hectares of mountains, lakes, streams, wetlands and forest, the Tet, as it’s fondly known, has long been cherished by the backcountry enthusiasts who can actually find it. We finally meet some of those enthusiasts about two hours into our hike at Edwards Lake. They’re a group of 12 skiers and snowshoers from the Lower Mainland who are planning to stay at Edwards Cabin. We stop for lunch with them there before pushing on at 1 p.m.
So far we’ve been hiking for about two hours. There’s been no new snow for a week, temperatures are above freezing and the sun’s out. The sign at Edwards Cabin says it’s just three more kilometres to Mount Steele Cabin. It doesn’t mention the elevation gain of 1,300 feet, but that much is obvious from the contour lines on Tom’s map, which look like an intense low pressure system; that and our occasional glimpses of Mount Steele – white, jagged and way up there beneath the bright blue sky.
Downtime at Edwards Lake. We opted not to test the ice.
The climb begins almost immediately, as does the sweat, pouring off me and soaking me from head to toe. The steeper it gets the happier Tom becomes. He shouts encouragement and I try to ignore the chafing of 20-year-old longjohns and the borrowed 40-pound rucksack on my back. Following tree markers, we zig-zag our way through amabilis fir, mountain and western hemlock, yellow cedar and white pine while Tom yells to me about his merino wool base layers. “Not a drop of sweat,” he shouts. “This material wicks all the sweat away!”
I don’t say anything. I’ve stopped talking to Tom.
After an hour of this I’m resting every 10 steps. I’m eating snow to try and and conserve my water. We appear to have cleared the forested section but that brings its own problems. We can’t see any more tree markers. So Tom checks his map and his compass and we decide to climb one of Steele’s lower open slopes, figuring the cabin will surely become visible as we ascend. But with no more markers in sight, we get cold feet – actually, mine are soaking wet. (Tom’s aren’t. He has merino wool socks … or something.)
So we descend, covering the same distance in 10 minutes that took us 30 minutes to climb. It’s 3:30 p.m. and for the first time all day, I have one eye on the time. The sweat is freezing on my back and it will be dark in 90 minutes. After some searching though, Tom spots a marker and we’re off again, climbing in a different direction toward a ridge that he swears will take us to the cabin. From the ridge we’re treated to views of the Tantalus Range and the markers continue to guide our way.
Mount Steele cabin, as seen from the top of Mount Steele.
Just before 4, I hear Tom from up ahead. “I can see the cabin!”
Thank God he’s not lying, I think as I catch up a few minutes later.
There it is, its red roof standing out against so much white. We savour the last few steps. I don’t think I’ve ever seen a location quite so beautiful. We have the place to ourselves. According to the guest book, we’re only the second visitors this year. An hour later at the metal kitchen table, we’re eating curry and naam bread cooked on the wood stove, washed down with a couple of beers. The cabin is well equipped, with mattresses in the attic, firewood in the basement, a kitchen counter with utensils and a couple of sinks. We melt snow for water and turn the stove down to a slow burn. Pretty soon the entire cabin is toasty warm.
It would seem impossible to put a price on such an amazing place, but the Tetrahedron Outdoor Club came up with $10 a night, which seems more than reasonable. More than a quarter of a century ago, the club used to be known as the Tetrahedron Ski Club. Back in 1987, the club mobilized more than 200 volunteers, 45 businesses, schools, community groups and several levels of government to build the Tetrahedron’s cabins and trail network.
Beer, curry, mates – just another Saturday night.
The cabins were built at Sechelt airport before being disassembled and flown by helicopter to be reassembled on site. Forestry company, Canfor, and the Sunshine Coast Regional District donated timber, Sechelt Creek Contracting provided logging service, Airspan donated some air time, Gibsons Building Supplies provided crane trucks and the Outdoor Recreation Council pitched in with chainsaws. For one of the few times in Sunshine Coast history, one great idea united governments, businesses, and local volunteers – in the midst of a recession, no less.
For all the day’s exertions, I can’t sleep. After midnight I set up my tripod outside and try and capture Mount Steele by moonlight with varying results. Fog covers Georgia Strait but I can see lights twinkling on Vancouver Island. There’s no bite to the breeze blowing and I feel like the last person on Earth. I may be delusional. I go back to bed.
The moon over Mount Steele. Sometimes not sleeping isn’t so bad.
In the morning under clear skies we hike to the top of Mount Steele. It’s difficult to reconcile this rugged terrain and such epic landscapes with the place I call home. For me, the Sunshine Coast typically conjures images of rainforest and beaches, not jagged peaks and frozen lakes. But then visiting this place would surely alter anyone’s perceptions.
Tom vows to bring his snowboard next time. I’m thinking a deck chair. We pack up, sweep up, and head out for the descent to civilization. Yesterday, it took us six hours to get here. Today we’re back at the car in just over two hours.
I relish every step of our tracks with a smile.
- For more information about the Tetrahedron Outdoor Club, visit www.tetoutdoor.ca
- Four-wheel drive and chains are essential for visiting the Tetrahedron. For more information about the park, visit www.env.gov.bc.ca/bcparks
- There can be a significant avalanche risk on Mount Steele. Before heading out, check with www.avalanche.ca/cac/bulletins/latest
- For more on the history of the Tetrahedron Outdoor Club, visit my earlier blog post here.
- If your fitness is kind of sketchy and you’re inexperienced in the backcountry, consider taking Tom with you. I couldn’t have done it without him.
Quebec City by bike
Resting in Quebec City at Place Royale, site of Samuel de Champlain’s first permanent settlement in New France.
The older my children get, the more discerning they become about holiday activities. My teenagers Ryan and Emma are not big on cycling, history or museums. And like most people they don’t like rain much either.
So there we were with our bikes in the rain, standing outside The Museum of Civilization in old Quebec City.
“Well at least it’s dry in the museum,” I reasoned.
“Can’t we just find somewhere to eat?” asked Ryan.
It wasn’t the first time Quebec had witnessed a clash of wills – what military historians might call an impasse. After a three-month siege in 1759, it took General Wolfe and the British about 15 minutes to beat Montcalm and the French in the Battle of the Plains of Abraham.
Keep your head up riding through crowds of shoppers in the narrow, cobblestoned lanes of Quartier Petit Champlain. Once a fur-trading portside village, it’s now full of boutiques, bistros and frescoes.
It took the Judds about the same time to finish arguing, lock their bikes and enter the museum. Then something remarkable happened. “Game Story, the exhibition you play,” read the sign in the lobby. Yes, besides first-rate exhibitions about Quebec history and a showcase of Paris between 1889 and 1914, The Museum of Civilization was hosting a video game exhibition, featuring 450 artifacts and 88 video games to play. Everything from World of Warcraft to Pong was available.
We were still in the museum long after the rain had stopped and the sun had returned. It was just the first of several surprising events during our two-night stay in Quebec City. That night we cycled our bikes to the Port of Quebec Agora, an amphitheatre hosting Cirque du Soleil’s Les Chemin Invisibles. Quebec City might just be the only place where Cirque du Soleil is free! Had they been charging, our floor tickets would have cost a fortune because most of the show unfolded just a few yards from where we stood.
The Harbour of Lost Souls is the fifth chapter of Les Chemin Invisibles. The employees of an old customs officer decide to put on a show for his birthday in the hopes of helping him to find purpose in his life. The show is spectacular in its conception with performers suspended from cranes just a few feet above the audience and on moving stages that spring up in the crowd.
Just across from the National Assembly is the Fountaine de Tourny, built for the city’s 400th birthday. It’s a popular spot for wedding photos and knackered cyclists.
Cirque du Soleil is a tough act to follow, but the Image Mill is timed to follow it and succeeds if only for its epic setting. A legacy of Quebec City’s 400th birthday in 2008, the Image Mill is a sound and image show projected onto massive grain silos in Quebec’s harbour. We joined the hordes lining the harbour to watch this summer’s show, a tribute to Scottish-born, Canadian filmmaker, Norman McLaren. A pioneer in synchronizing animation with music, McLaren, who died in 1987, would surely have approved of his work being presented on the biggest ‘big screen’ ever conceived.
Back at the Hotel Royal William in Quebec City’s trendy New St. Roch neighbourhood, we locked up our bikes and I ventured out for a nightcap on Boulevard Charest Est. The Mo Resto Bar had one more surprise in store for me; beer pumps at the table! The beer is metered of course (it’s not heaven) at 35 cents an ounce. But for my wife, I might still be there pouring modest amounts of Belle Gueule Blonde or Red ale.
Thanks to the success of Day 1, we sold the kids on a guided bike tour the following day.
At first glance, Quebec City doesn’t appear built for bicycles. Narrow lanes, cobblestones and hills usually look good in postcards, not from a saddle. But first impressions can be deceiving. A few bumps and the occasional grind are a small price to pay for a two-wheeled tour of North America’s only walled city and UNESCO World Heritage site. For visitors with more time, there are several hundred kilometres of bike trails to ride beyond the fortress walls.
Our guide, Marc Lupien of Cyclo Services, has been riding the same Nishiki road bike for 35 years (“I changed the brake cable once or twice – and the seat!”) and has seen the growth of bike culture here.
Chateau Frontenac, the most photographed hotel in the world and surely the inspiration for Hogwarts.
“It’s not uncommon to see people buying $10,000 bikes in Quebec City,” said Marc. “It’s a relatively short season, but cycling is growing faster than golf here.”
While bike lanes line the edge of the St. Lawrence River and part of the escarpment above, cycling through Vieux Quebec itself takes some improvisation. In summer the streets are busy with pedestrians preoccupied with their centuries-old surroundings. Fortunately, it’s legal to ride the sidewalk and we were soon slaloming on either side of the kerb.
Marc’s tour skirted Laval University, formerly the Seminaire de Quebec and the oldest centre of education in Canada; the Citadelle atop Cap Diamant, adjoining the Plains of Abraham; Quebec’s National Assembly and Chateau Frontenac, said to be the most photographed hotel in the world. (I’d swear it was the inspiration for Harry Potter’s Hogwarts.)
Just across from the National Assembly we stopped at the Fountaine de Tourny, built for the city’s 400th birthday and a popular spot for wedding photos. It was hard not to notice the monolithic Hilton and Delta hotels, whose desperately unimaginative architecture is in dramatic contrast to most buildings in Vieux Quebec.
We lingered in Place Royale, site of Samuel de Champlain’s first permanent settlement in New France. Grey stones mark the footings of where Champlain’s home once stood, right outside Notre Dame des Victories, the oldest stone church in North America, dating back to 1687. There are similar grey stone markers all over Old Quebec, said Marc, signalling other historic sites that would be impossible to excavate now.
Near the Citadelle atop Cap Diamant, adjoining the Plains of Abraham.
We rode the waterfront and part of the old port of Quebec before an adventurous ride through crowds of shoppers in the narrow, cobblestoned lanes of Quartier Petit Champlain. Once a fur-trading portside village, it’s now full of boutiques, bistros and frescoes. A funicular railway connects the area to Dufferin Terrace, a beautifully landscaped boardwalk with the best view of the St. Lawrence River. It seemed like a fitting place to stop for an ice cream and consider the view Champlain enjoyed in 1608.
People had told me that Quebec would remind me of an old European city. Aside from medieval Bruges in Belgium, I don’t know of another place as beautiful as Quebec City. Even Ryan and Emma liked it!
If you go:
In the heart of old Quebec City since 1995, Cyclo Services offers bike rentals and a variety of guided bike tours. Visit http://www.cycloservices.net or call 1 877 692-4050.
The Hotel Royal William is in the heart of New St. Roch, a neighbourhood full of great bars, coffee shops, restaurants and independent stores. It’s a few minutes bike ride from the old city and the train station. Packages start at $99 per person. Visit http://www.hotelroyalwilliam.com/en/
Free shows by Cirque du Soleil and the Image Mill are known collectively as Rendezvous sous les Etoiles and run Tuesday to Saturday, concluding with a Sunday performance Sept. 1.
For more on Quebec’s Museum of Civilization, visit www.mcq.org/en/mcq
For all other travel information about Quebec City, visit www.quebecregion.com/en
Splendor in the snow
Skiing takes on a surreal quality when it’s 28 degrees and you’re wearing a T-shirt. That’s part of the appeal when it comes to skiing Blackcomb Glacier, a time-honoured summer tradition at Whistler.
Most of the shale atop Blackcomb started as mud on the seafloor about 100 million years ago. The place still resembles a beach in July. That’s when summer skiing is in full swing and public displays of nudity are commonplace. OK, not full-on nudity like Whistler in the 60s, but there’s plenty of flesh visible 7,500 feet up on the Horstman Glacier.
I’ve never been summer skiing before and I pack with excited anticipation bordering on paranoia: neck-warmer, gloves, fleece jacket, Under Armour and longjohns compete for space in my backpack with water, emergency chocolate and a camera.
It’s too heavy so I ditch the longjohns and eat my emergency chocolate.
It’s 11 a.m. when I upload on the Wizard Express at the base of Blackcomb. The temperature in the village is about 25 degrees. (Thank goodness I ate the chocolate.)
The first thing I enjoy about glacier skiing is the journey. My skis are stowed on the chair in front; I’m wearing a T-shirt and enjoying the warm mountain breeze. Compared to the winter experience, it’s liberating.
Another tough assignment – but someone has to do it.
Above Merlin’s run I spot two deer and on Upper Main Line a solitary bear appears from the bushes. We switch to another quad chair – Solar Coaster Express. The first snow comes into view moments later above a black diamond run called Sorcerer, and there are more banks of white where the Nintendo Super Pipe used to be.
Solar Coaster takes us to the Rendezvous Lodge and the Peak 2 Peak Gondola where a bus awaits to ferry us the short ride to 7th Heaven Express and the last chairlift to the Horstman Glacier. Two T-bars, terrain parks and endless blue skies await.
At the top I find every kind of tourist: adventurous seniors hiking on the shale, international students up for lunch at the Horstman Hut, couples posing for photos at the inukshuk, and parents watching their kids play in the snow. Then there are the skiers and boarders – mostly half my age and seemingly unencumbered by back packs full of winter gear.
Undeterred, I spend the next hour skiing numerous variations of what are essentially two runs to the Horstman T-Bar. It’s where most of the skiers and boarders are funneling and the lineups are surprisingly long. But it’s warm, the views are spectacular and everyone’s happy. Not surprisingly the snow is soft and slushy in places, but I’ve skied on worse in January.
For a while I perch beside the public terrain park and photograph the jumpers whose attempts to defy gravity mostly end in wipeouts. I tell myself I’d try it, but what with the backpack and all; I don’t want to land on my camera, right?
Half-pipe or jump? Photographer Javier Carranza mulls his next move.
I stop for lunch at the Horstman Hut and lather on yet more sunscreen, putting extra under my chin and nose – the most vulnerable spots for snow-reflected sunburn. I order a beer and a deli platter of bread, meats, cheese and pickles. From the deck, Black Tusk’s ominous spire is hard to miss in the distance – it’s the kind of day photographers set aside for brochure assignments.
With some effort I step into my skis again and prepare for another run to the Horstman T-Bar. That’s when I notice the Showcase T-Bar has largely emptied. It’s normally reserved for private lessons, like the Dave Murray Ski and Snowboard Camps. With an hour of skiing left till downloading at 3 p.m., I ski across and get the green light from a liftie to ascend.
The only way is down to the Horstman T-Bar and the Showcase T-Bar.
It’s only about a 500-foot climb, but the Showcase T-Bar takes me to one of my favourite winter skiing spots, the entrance to Blackcomb Glacier. I seem to have this side of the mountain mostly to myself for the final hour and take full advantage, picking my routes beside the jumps, the half pipe and the inflatable landing spots for aerial gymnasts in training. With a bouncy castle to land on I’d almost consider attempting a jump. Almost.
I leave myself a little time to ski out on Green Line, a narrow strip of snow left among the rocks and the wildflowers beginning to bloom. Twice I almost fall while mesmerized by the epic landscape before me and it’s a relief on my legs to finally board Solar Coaster for the download. A mum and cub are basking on one of Blackcomb’s lower runs. At the bottom, a dozen horse-riders are wending their way uphill.
Within an hour I’ve revived sore muscles in the pools and hot tubs at the nearby Chateau Fairmont Whistler where – as luck would have it – the Mallard Lounge is serving $5 happy hour drinks and free appies. Somehow on reflection, those terrain park jumps don’t seem so daunting.
Maybe next time.
The thin white line. Almost time for apres!
If you go:
Weather-permitting, glacier skiing on Blackcomb is one of a multitude of summer activities on offer in Whistler. The Whistler Mountain Bike Park is in full swing and the Alpine Wonder Routes – a vast network of hiking and running routes – is becoming more accessible with every day the snow melts.
The Peak 2 Peak Viewing Gallery is a new series of videos showcasing construction of the gondola linking Whistler and Blackcomb. It’s on a raised walkway in the Peak 2 Peak Terminal on Whistler Mountain. Also new is the Alpine Theatre at the Roundhouse Lodge on Whistler Mountain. Movies with an alpine theme air every 30 minutes.
During our weekend in Whistler, I got to relive my adolescence dancing to The English Beat, part of the free Whistler Presents Concert series. Whistler Olympic Plaza hosts free weekend concerts throughout the summer.
Details of all these activities are at www.whistlerblackcomb.com/
The Fairmont Chateau Whistler is a few seconds’ walk from the Wizard Express chair and offers numerous summer accommodation packages. For more details, visit www.fairmont.com/whistler/ or call 1 800 606-8244.
Nev Judd: Online and out there 