Whistle for Whistler

Whistler, British Columbia, Canada

September 22, 2009

Day 6 of Pacific Northwest Journey

Waking up this morning, the thought of what we are doing today sends adrenaline through my body. Of course, perhaps the view has something to do with it. I roll over and the city of Vancouver unrolls before me. It’s waking up like me. Reluctantly but

determinedly with a tinge of excitement. That’s Vancouver for you. It tries to be serious and it is, of course, but there is this electricity around it’s edges that cannot be denied. I feel it as we head toward our morning coffee destination. Travis has chosen Blenz which came highly recommended from an artsy colleague. Because that’s what artsy people do: they recommend coffee shops to other artsy people. Upon entering, I immediately see why an artsy person would recommend this establishment.

Absolutely.

This coffee shop actually scares me which may be a first.

EVER.

High tech, sleek, edgy. That electric undercurrent, I mentioned earlier, is completely born here. This is what gives me that feeling. First of all, their menus are on 40” LCD screens.

Yeah.

There are long tables especially designed for your lap tops complete with all the necessary cords. There are business men all plugged in with their GPS’s on walk mode downloading directions. Blackberries and Ipod touches are out. My eyes scan in the modernity. Is this where our world is headed? To even use the bathroom is technical. To open the door, I must tell the hostess that I would like to use their facilities then she must push a button with her foot while I click the lock at just the right time. I manage after three attempts. Whoever thought opening a door could be so complicated?

Travis and I order for the four of us. Mother and Penny have opted to “guard” the car. Truthfully, I think they wanted to rest and psych themselves up for later today. Mom is now fully aware of the planned zip lining and she is terrified. She’s actually hoping she can cancel although there is a “no cancellation policy” in small letters at the bottom of the brochure. Penny wants an iced caramel macchiato. I listen as Travis explains this to the barista three times. She is confused.

“Why would she want ice in her drink? It’ll be cold and will water it down! ” She explains to him.

We look at each other perplexed; it isn’t as if caramel macchiatos are an exceptionally difficult drink to make. I mean we order them at starbucks all the time. I mean you mix the vanilla, caramel, and espresso together, pour in the milk, throw in some ice, drizzle of caramel and you’re done.

“No, no, no, she want’s it to be cold, and she wants ice. You know like you make a regular caramel macchiato but just with ice.” He tells her smiling.

Clearly iced caramel macchiatos are not the same in Vancouver as they are in the rest of the world.

Flabbergasted, I look at the hot beverage cup we are handed as they call out her drink. Travis stares at her, his mouth in a thin line. He doesn’t want to upset her. The girl is already annoyed with us. “Is there ice in here?” He asks hesitantly.

“Yeah, of course.” She looks at us both like we are idiots.

Tentatively, he carries the styrofoam cup to the “tech bar,” and takes the lid off. Sure enough ice cubes are floating in the rapidly cooling drink. She had made the drink HOT and then just added the ice. My eyes bug out. Oh wow. You would think a “smart” coffee shop could manage an iced caramel macchiato.

“Clearly, they make them differently in Canada,” I remark to Travis as he puts the lid on the tepid drink.

Penny stares disbelievingly at the cup. “That is not an iced caramel macchiato.”

“Well, technically it is.” I laugh.

All of us enjoy our coffee with the exception of Penny, but understandably. Something about icing a hot drink ruins the flavor.

And so we begin our journey to Whistler which is close to a two hour drive north of the city, Crossing the Lion’s Gate Bridge once again, we begin the climb up the mountains. My eyes soak up the dramatic landscape and the lush shades of green like a sponge as we circle around the mountains. The beauty is overwhelmingly powerful. We stare up at cliffs on our right and gaze over at the city of Vancouver disappearing to our left. Thankfully, the view makes up for the coffee lackluster.

Whistler, British Columbia is the creme de la creme of ski resorts in this region of the world. Whistler and Blackcomb Mountain tower side by side separated only by the Fitzsimmons Creek creating perfect slopes for skiing and snowboarding. At the base of these two mountains lies Whistler village. A rustic yet elegant gathering of every kind of shop and restaurant you can imagine. Women can indulge in fashion, while men take their turn at the driving range on the south side of the village. Hotels and resorts cater to the wearied skiers returning from the slopes with deluxe spa treatments, roaring fires, and five star dining.

But there isn’t a single flake of snow on the ground today, so what’s the point of driving all the way up here? The Zip Line of course! There is also an extreme mountain biking course, mountain to mountain gondola service, white water rafting adventures, and hiking trails. This is not your typical ski resort, this is a resort drinking Monster energy drinks all year long.

Meandering our way down the pedestrian only streets, we check out the shops and decide to have lunch at the Beet Root cafe, an all natural establishment with hot bowls of soups and fresh sandwiches. I can’t help but order the chocolate chip apricot cookie after we finish eating. Energy for later, I convince myself quickly.

Mom is still worried out of her mind about this whole zip line adventure even as we approach the desk to check in for our three hour tour.

“So there is no way I can possibly just cancel?” She smiles broadly at the hostess. “I’m you know, not really up for this. My daughter signed me up!”

The lady smiles knowingly. She probably sees people here everyday that aren’t ready for what they signed up for. “You’ll have fun! Everyone loves doing it. Trust me.”

My mom squirms. I step up next to her and point to the poster overhead of the celebrities that have been here and zipped, “Look, mom, Richard Branson and Hugh Jackman have done it and they are close to your age! You’ll love it.” Of course, perhaps those two being known for their dare devil antics probably aren’t the best examples, but regardless we coerce her to sign and we join our group and head toward departure point. Besides the four of us, there is another family of five, and our two guides, Sam and Rob, nature enthusiasts from Bristol, England, completely full of Blighty’s dry sense of humor.

Just as we are headed to harness up, all of the lights go out overhead.

“That can’t be good.” Sam shrugs in his heavy British accent. “Oh well, luckily we don’t need power where we are going. Come on lads.”

Our group of four look at each other. Mom especially is freaking out. “All of the power just went out!”

No looking back now! And clearly it isn’t going to affect us, Sam is confident in that.

After we are harnessed and strapped with what feels like a million buckles, ropes, and clamps, we climb aboard a mini school bus and start the drive up Blackcomb.

“We will be crossing between the two mountains today folks, every time you cross the creek, you have gone from one mountain to the next. Please watch out for the bears. They will eat you. If one approaches, please form a circle around Rob and I and we will hope for the best for you all.” Sam instructs a smirk on his face.

We pull up next to a structure which he informs us is the newly constructed bob sledding track for the 2010 Winter Olympics which will be held here in January. Apparently no one is allowed up here but the ziptreck team making us a privileged bunch. Our bus drives around the run.

“Hey, now you can tell all of your friends that you actually took the number eleven turn in the olympic bobsled course.” Rob points out from the back of the bus.

Single file, we get off the bus and follow the guides down a path into the woods, and walk up the steps of an overhyped tree house. If someone’s dad built them this tree house, they would never leave. Eagerly, I look over the railing of the other side, and swallow as I take in the drop.

Rob grabs the line overhead, clips himself and suddenly jumps off and down the line. I gasp taking in his speed. That was no turtle pace. I look at Mom who is staring bug eyed. She is regretting this more and more.

“Ok folks, who is the lucky mate that wants to go first?” Sam looks at us.

“I’ll do it.” Travis comes forward. He is hooked and instructed just to step off. “See you on the other side.”

Gleeful yelling soon erupts. We cheer and clap for him.

Penny follows. She yells. Then I quickly volunteer, I’m antsy to step off the edge.

“Just walk forward slowly, don’t jump yet!” He tells me when I ask about the jumping. I am exuberant. They can play around, but our safety is on their hands.

One step.

Two steps.

Freedom! Exhilarating freedom. I let out a scream. Flying through the air I feel like a bird, released from her cage. Staring at the ground below, I wonder what it would be like to actually fly. And all too quickly, the brake kicks in and I’m slowed down.

“Did you enjoy that?” Rob asks catching my line.

"You have no idea,” I laugh surprisingly shakily. The adrenaline is overflowing through my veins, making my legs a bit wobbly from the overdose. But then I remember: Mom is going next. This I have to watch. 700ft across the forest, I watch a blue cladded figure hesitantly step once, twice, and then the screaming. I clap gleefully. How cool of a mom does this make her? What other moms do this??

Brake, pull, she steps onto our new tree house.

“Mom! What did you think?”

“That...that was AMAZING!” She laughs breathlessly.

Through the forests, amid the giant hemlocks, douglas firs, and spruce trees we continue zipping from one mountain to the other, crossing over the great Fitzsimmons below which reminds me more of a surging river than a creek. Along the trails, through the forests, we admire the greenery and breath in the fresh air. The air quality is so pure up here, lichen is able to grow engulfing all of the trees overhead. Sam eats some in front of us. “Any one for a tasty snack?”

Unanimously, we decline.

Now, we are 200 feet up in the air as high as a twenty story building.


Tree top bridges connect the tree top houses we are zipping from. I can’t determine if this world reminds me more of the elfs in Lord of the Rings or the ewoks in Star Wars. Because regardless of the fact that it’s real, directly in front of me, I am breathing in the air, looking at the landscape, touching the trees, the leaves, there is a dream like/fantasy to it all. The green is almost too green, the height too high, the air too clean. This is a world unlike any I have entered before. God’s beauty is displayed here magnificently. To think, this is what untouched nature looks like. This is what it’s like without human interference. This is God’s doing: a green too green, air too clean. God sculpted these mountains, shaped these trees, breathed this air. This is elemental God design. Surrounded by the beauty, I am arrested and can’t help but thank God for this exhilarating experience, this overwhelming glimpse of beauty. As the other family goes first on this exceptionally high line. Caught in the middle the world, my group gazes out over the trees and watch as birds swirl above and below us.

Next up is the cake topper. A line 2,200 feet in length. Over TWICE as long as the Eiffel Tower. We are encouraged to stretch our limbs a little bit.

“Spin around a little bit, you guys, flip, do something. Have some fun. If you fall, well, you’ll go quickly.” The guides encourage.

Travis goes and produces a cannonball, turns upside down, flips around, and spins around like he’s having the time of his life. Penny says she is perfectly content with staying right side up.

If at all possibly, the word flip has made me even more excited! I want to flip. I ask Sam how it’s done.

“

Well, go against every reasonable thing in your mind and just throw yourself back. Throw your head back and launch your legs up. If you can, catch on to the top of the wire with your feet and hang upside down for a bat like a bit. You’ll enjoy that.”

Mom stares at me shaking her head, yet I’m smiling broadly. “You are going to want your camera for this, mom!”

I jump off faster than the previous times, and with everything in me, against everything in my mind, I throw my head and flip. My feet find the line and catch on. I let go and let the wind rush over my face. The adrenaline pumps through my body like it’s never done before. Freedom has never felt so good. I look at the ground 200 feet below me and shockingly it doesn’t scare me, instead it exemplifies my freedom, I can’t help but shout for joy. The flipping experiences are tossed about and shared, the adrenaline, the joy, the happiness. None of us can believe what we have just done.

“Hey guys check this out!” Sam calls when we have arrived back

on the ground He is pointing toward a tree. We scurry forward and our eyes widen at the giant bear paw mark on the tree. It’s claws having etched the bark of the tree.

“Right, guys, form a circle!!” He yelps.

Frozen, we stare at him. My heart is racing, my breathing intensified. Surely, he’s kidding. Surely we aren’t about to get attacked by a bear.

The fact that I am writing this now, proves he, in fact, was.

~ Until our next adventure...