Growing up in the city never led me to believe that one day I would be a tree loving, Jeep riding, mountain dweller. But that’s bullshit. I knew on some level that I belonged in the wild. I can remember sitting in my grandparent’s backyard in the outskirts of Chicago, digging up rocks and dirt with a shovel and a toothbrush, thinking I had hit the archaeological jackpot. If I wasn’t outside, I pretended I was.
There are hundreds of reasons to get outside and spend some time on the trails; the endorphins, the exercise, the time spent with friends (to name just a few of my favorites). But as I’ve continued to grow in my capabilities as an outdoors(wo)man in my home province of British Columbia, I’ve found another motivating factor sneak its way in - accomplishment.
When you think “vacation”, I’m sure you are picturing blue skies, a blazing sun, sandy beaches, a Mai Tai in one hand, and if you’re me, a chicken wing in the other.
So flying to an island south of the Arctic Circle, which starts with the word “ice” if you didn’t catch that, is out of the question, ESPECIALLY during winter. I mean, how are you supposed to wear your bikini on a beach like this?