Brandyw(h)ine

It was a long day, by the end of which Polek and I were spectacularly slap-happy and so completely exhausted that I fell asleep at 6:30pm trying to watch "Indiana Jones and the Temple of Doom" (my quest to watch the trilogy in three days, needless to say, failed).

There were plenty of early signs it was going to be a trying adventure. The crusty, grouchy miser in charge of collecting the day fee for the parking lot really cheesed me off--not that irritating me at 7:00am is difficult--but this guy really rubbed me the wrong way. Polek had to deal with him to keep me from getting my car towed.

Then I had to take an emergency dig. Blissfully, there was plenty of snow around (thank you natural alternatives to toilet paper!), but doing a 2 minute wall-sit in a mossy tree well with your pants around your ski boots isn't the most auspicious way to start any adventure.


The chafing started around the same time as the hunger pangs and the realization that I'm not in nearly good enough shape to be undertaking massive 10-hour, 2500 vertical foot treks with a 20lb pack and no hope of a quick and painless ski-out. It was a really unfortunate chafe, the one that makes you pick from the following a) keep your self esteem and cherish the sensation of having a sheet of sandpaper wedged amisdst your buttocks or b) a humiliating-duck waddle that would be cause for any self-respecting human to give a prompt "about face" and head down.

The blister on my right heel started about an hour later, and though it wasn't painful enough to eclipse the burning of The Chafe, came close. Oh, I nearly forgot. Both my hip flexors were incredibly sore as well, something that usually happens when I skin. (Vocab check: Skins are something one puts on the bottom of skis to stop them from sliding backwards. They make skis a much faster and more efficient form of transport than the other thing that lets you walk across the snow: snowshoes. Plus you get to ski out.)

Salt in the wound: snowmobiles. More on these irritating contraptions later, but suffice it to say that it isn't good motivation to have some punk-ass snowboarder with baggy pants whizzing by at 40mph and spraying you with snow while you slowly plod, plod, plod upwards.

Anyway, lunch couldn't come soon enough. I plopped straight on my backside like an indignant 5 year old, and busied myself eating two tortillas with tuna salad, chased by a Snickers and an immense gulp of water. Ah.

After lunch we quickly broke treeline and the woes of the hike in were quickly forgotten. The view was absolutely spectacular. The brilliant sunlight showed the surrounding peaks in all their glory, and I found myself stopping frequently to gaze in wonder at the 360 degrees of beauty in which I found myself. I took pictures until my camera died.

Backseat landing!! Had to give the Pollinator a little grief for this particular splash. If you look closely, you can see Whistler in the background.

Polek broke out the beer at the top--it was a remarkable morale booster. I was a little apprehensive when he told me to close my eyes (thought I'd get pushed over), but then I heard the sweet "chh" of the cap opening. I've drunk beer in worse places.

Tour with a view.

It was the perfect shape!

So the ski/hike out was long and arduous--the spring slush bogged us down making what would have been a 20 minute zip into an hour's slog. But, we made it through ok and got McDonalds ice cream cones to top off a whine-derful day.