Day 218 – Cliche

9

August 5, 2016 – Another day of being a tourist in our own city, today we drove out of the driveway and turned up Capilano Road instead of down. A short couple of minutes to the parking lot up the road and we were on the tram up the mountain that looms over our neighbourhood.

We packed a picnic – sandwiches, fruit, gourmet crackers, goat cheese rolled in cranberries, chorizo sausage….and wine, of course we packed wine.

I mean really, who goes hiking on a mountain without wine!

Certainly not us.

I love it up here, you feel like you can see the world.

Grouse Mountain is as much a tourist destination as the Capilano Suspension Bridge – walking distance from our driveway – and equally as crazy in the summer, particularly on weekends. But today was Friday and so we hedged our bets that it wouldn’t be stupid crazy. And we were right.

It was busy, but not unreasonably so. And really, we were just up the tram, then up the chairlift, and then off on to a rock on the face of the hill where we unpacked our lunch and enjoyed it in the cool and sunny mountain air.

And, as we were walking down to our chosen spot and I was looking around at the spots we normally swish down on skis, areas normally covered with “feets” of snow, I was about to say to Kirk, “we could go down there if we wouldn’t be wading through …… WAIT!!!! Real huckleberries!!!! The blue-black ones, not those weird red coastal things that don’t have the same flavour.”

Gads, I haven’t seen those things in years, and some strange old memory floated to the top of my brain when I saw those leaves on those tiny low scrubby bushes. I squatted down and pushed the low branches aside and there they were, the berries of my youth.

Berries I’d loved to eat, and loathed picking. Sweet, fresh, tart, and full flavoured. Unlike any other berry. I’d grown up on them. We’d go out to the cabin and Mom and Dad would haul us out into the bush to pick them. The bushes are so darned low that they were back breaking to pick, and it took forever to get any volume of measure.

And then there were the bears.

The bears like them too.

So did our dog.

Damn dog ate more huckleberries than I ever got, often out of my ice cream pail when I wasn’t looking.

It’s been so many years since I’ve picked a mountain huckleberry off a bush and popped it into my mouth. What a treat.

We enjoyed our wine, our picnic lunch, on the face of that sheet of rock, overlooking the tourism below.

The windmill at the top of the mountain can be seen from the city below. It was odd to see it when it was installed, the local mountains have always only been dominated by the three ski hills, their runs visible at night by the twinkling lights. At first I hated seeing something built up there, but now it’s part of the backdrop. But it is a money generator for the mountain, just not from power – another $15 on top of the $45 cost to ride the tram up, just to climb inside a metal tube to a room a little higher up. We have local’s annual passes, expensive, but a lot more cost effective if you come up frequently, but we pass on the climb inside the metal tube to the lookout near the top.

Rather than ride the lift back down to the chalet, we walked a ski run that we often take, and as we walked Kirk called out to me and said “Do you have your camera handy?” He’d heard an unusual sound and looked to the edge of the path where a grouse was making her way along. She moved slowly and cautiously, keeping an eye on us.

When I was growing up grouse were a regular item on the fall dinner menu. Dad would pick them off int he trees out at the cabin, using a slingshot. I used to joke that one couldn’t help but wonder how an animal whose best defence was to sit absolutely still, could still be plentiful. But when I looked at her in the brush, I had to admit that stillness combined with camouflage works pretty well.

I also couldn’t help but remember how good they taste. That’s an awful thought, I know…..(but they really are tasty)

In all the years we’ve been coming up to this mountain. In all the years we’ve skied here, hiked about, picnicked, come up and just wandered about with no agenda, just to get away from the city below….

In all of those years we’ve never encountered the namesake of the mountain.

We’ve seen eagles, hawks, bear, deer ……. but never a grouse.

Until today.

A grouse on Grouse Mountain, a bit of a cliche 🙂

All of the people who wandered by, some staring into their cellphones, didn’t see her at all. We took photos and left her alone.

She lives in a pretty safe place, the only hunters who threaten her up here are those with wings or four legs.