It was one of those cool, foggy days with a constant drizzle that coated everything with a thin layer of wet.

My family and I went out for a hike this past labour day weekend. Opting to walk from the Roundhouse towards the Peak Chair my little one complained most of the way until we told him that it would take longer to go back down than to trudge forward. That worked!

My other son was busy harvesting quartz and soon had his rain jacket pocket and backpack full. He told me he would leave some so that next year he could continue his harvest.

For me…I hobbled away picking my feet up and planting them careful not to trip and twist my knee. Just the day before (well…both Saturday and Sunday) I was downhill mountain biking with my kids and my husband down Whistlers green runs with a few blue mixed in for fun. But believe it or not…walking proved to be more difficult. Probably not anything my family doctor would have recommended considering the sad state my knee is in from a crash less than 3 weeks ago.

I always enjoy being on top of the world with blue bird skies looking far into the valleys and across snow capped mountains. But today, the mist hung low, the weather was cool enough to warrant fall jackets and gloves and with the pea-soup thick fog I couldn’t help but marvel at the beauty and the silence. It was magical. Mysterious. Surreal. A not so well advertised side of Whistler that tapped deep into emotions that left me in awe. My kids found Inuksuk’s here and there as we occasionally met other hikers walking downhill towards the Roundhouse. Soon enough we made it to the top and had a rather frightening download as we entered a deep sea of fog. It wasn’t until it lifted that we realised how high we were and how absolutely mind blowing the slopes of Whistler actually are.