Grouse Grind

Back in the hostel, many of the inhabitants had gone on about the Grouse Grind, a hiking trail up to the summit of Grouse Mountain. It's free, and something that most travellers do. I had had it on my list, which is ingrained in my head, but keeps becoming usurped by special occasions, festivals, and energy.

Finally, I had this Saturday earmarked as the Day of the Grouse Grind. I could finally go and see what Vancouver's closest mountain had to offer. All prepared with my water, and even a book (it was going to be a breeze), I set off on the less-than-fun journey to the mountain. All by transit, of course, but involves changes from bus, to skytrain, to seabus and back the bus, before I arrive.

First thing I did when I got there, was go to see the wolves. I did this by mistake, just finding a track that looked like the beginning of a trail. It ended rather abruptly, but I was treated to North American Timberwolves. Another native of the continent to tick off that I had viewed, then.

When I eventually did find the start to the Grind, and soon began to wish I hadn't. After two minutes of traipsing up 'Nature's Stairmaster', I was sweating buckets, in desperation to keep up with the pace being set my German Michael, a fellow walker I had struck up conversation with.

He soon disappeared off into the distance (he does it twice a week!), while I pushed on. After forty minutes of ascent, I was ready to give up, and wait for a mountain rescue team to helicopter in and winch me to the summit. Apparently that wasn't an option, so I had another surge, trying to get away from a group of loud, smelly, excitable South American teenagers.

Minus half my weight in fluids, I arrived at the top, breaking out into the sunlight. It was a grand feeling. The views were fantastic too; if I looked hard enough I thought I could see Victoria Drive.

The day was far from over. The summit of Grouse Mountain is a haven for foreigners. For the first time in my whole time in Canada, I felt like a lowly tourist. The fact that it was summer season, and that Vancouver is a popular holiday resort, finally struck me. The phrase 'Bloody Tourists' had cheekily crossed my mind.

But it did mean shows. There was a bird show (which was quite boring, having been well educated in peregrine falcons back in Boughton House), and a lumberjack performance. The latter was very entertaining, with all the skills of a classical lumberjack being showcased. The highlight was the tree-climb, where the two competing 'jacks scurried up 30ft poles, in a race to ring a bell, before casually dropping back to the floor.

There was also more wildlife. The grizzly bears were fantastic, but the tourists (philistines) generally spoiled the moment. A massive crowd gathered around the animals. I hate to be included, but they were nevertheless magnificent. It did remind me of that scene in Free Willy where all the children are banging on the glass, terrifying the poor whale.

After filling up on beaver tail pastry(a Canadian delicacy), I got in the queue (tour-ists!) for the gondola back down. I had a refreshing rugby chat with a Kiwi, before finding out (after 40 minutes) that I was in the queue for the gondola, not the tickets for the gondola! I was fairly outraged, but there was no choice but to go and queue for my ticket then queue again for the gondola.

Now finally I'm home, and exhausted. Another one for the scrapbook!