Three months without a post is quite a while, but life and the job just got in the way. Plus the rainy season put a pause to the outdoor fun which meant no photos for a while. But having taken care of those life responsibilities, it allowed me an early day out in the pow this past Remembrance Day.

Okay, I should have been at a Nov. 11 ceremony. This was the first in a number of years I’ve skipped. Previously I attended as a cadet, then as a photography student, photojournalist and most recently as a sibling watching his brother march with the reservists.

But the snow was too hard to turn down. Stu, Dan and I toured up to Paul Ridge in Garibaldi Provincial Park and tried our best to link some telemark turns. Only Dan really had much success that day.

But skiing aside, we were treated to some magnificent weather. Winds continued to carry in and breakup the clouds overhead, giving us an amazing light show on the valley below us. Sun, blue skies and the fluffy white snow make for some breathtaking views.

Simply beautiful.

I can’t want for more.

There is just something right about linking telemark turns on the ski hill. The fluid movements and transitions from knee bend to knee bend, the feeling of skis responding and the swish of snow on each curve down the hill. Done right, it’s poetry.

I managed to finally get some decent turns in this weekend on a trip to Vancouver Island’s Mount Washington where we spent an amazing nine hours on Saturday riding the chairlifts up and gliding down. Sometimes on my bum. But I felt like I made some major breakthroughs with help from a friendly ski instructor who free heeled too. He shared some great tips in a quick ten-minute lesson on a run down the mountain.

I’m still sore from the long day on the hill, but man, I can’t wait until to get another day riding the planks again. Hopefully the season’s not over yet.

I welcomed in the new year up at the Mount Steele Cabin in Tetrahedron Provincial Park. January first started with cloud and blowing snow, but it all cleared up by the afternoon in time for a beautiful sunset. We stood on the mountain on the Sunshine Coast, blue skies above us and a layer of clouds below floating by.

It couldn’t have been more perfect to start off a new year.

Two years ago I spent my first significant time alone in the backcountry. I camped at Garibaldi Lake and spent five days hiking and exploring the area. I instantly fell in love with the place, learned plenty about backcountry camping and about myself too.

Although I hear more about Black Tusk when I mention Garibaldi Lake to others, the highlight of my mid-September trip was the view from Panorama Ridge — the other nearby hike.

Standing atop the ridge back in 2006, I snapped one of my favourite self portraits. It shows me grinning into the camera while my jacket hood is billowed by the wind. I am surrounded by mountains and glaciers all around, and below the shadows of clouds cover the beautiful turquoise blue lake. With the photo taken, I beat a hasty retreat down to escape the cold.

But not before vowing to come back one day.

Fast forward to the Thanksgiving long weekend.

After breaking trail in about eight inches of snow from Black Tusk Lake, following the footprints left by a wolf, I returned to Panorama Ridge.

There was a healthy layer of powdery snow, but no wind, allowing for a cool break up top.

Much had changed. I was older, wiser perhaps, and came better prepared. But I still had my camera, and had to take the obligatory mugshot.

Me on Panorama Ridge September 2006.

Me back on Panorama in October 2008.

As Deet the gas bar attendant rang in the handful of items I placed on his counter, I cringed looking at my selection. There were two pepperoni and cheese stick combos (each about a foot long), a prepackaged ham and cheese sandwich, a litre of Gatorade and a tall can of carbonated citrus-flavoured energy drink.

This would not be a dinner to remember, and definitely not one for the New Year’s Eve memory banks. But just a few minutes earlier and a short distance down the street I made the surprising discovery that the drive-thru Tim Hortons was closed. Despite slinging coffee at a Timmy’s a few years back, I still experienced a brief moment of frustration seeing the red neon CLOSED sign as I drove past. Did they suddenly become a branch of the federal government?

So the closest stop then was the gas station, where Deet asked me if I wanted a bag to carry out my vein-clogging swag.

Yeah, you bet I did.

I pulled out of gas station, drove a short distance, then parked in an empty lot next to the ice rink. There I tore through a pepperoni and cheese stick and sucked back the energy drink while listening to rock ‘n roll music on the radio.

December 31 was so far turning out to be a less than stellar night, but the clear sky overhead and crisp air down below only meant greater things higher up. And I couldn’t wait.

Two hours later I was sitting in a pit dug and stomped out of the snow, by a small fire, admiring the view of city lights below and the snow covered wilderness stretching north towards Whistler and Pemberton. As I ate my sandwich, my hiking partners pulled out a bottle of red wine and another of sparkling wine, and a small bottle of whiskey.

Friends who know me well will think less of me, but I didn’t partake, and I actually rang in the New Year with just one beer. It was an import too.

But while I sipped the slushy Heineken and swallowed the last my of sandwich, I really couldn’t complain. While revellers partied below in the city, I was one of a few experiencing something different, but with the luxuries that any house party, restaurant and bar could offer. I just had a view they could never compete with.

I also secretly hoped the night would set the tone for 2008, with plenty of new activities and experiences. So far, six days in, I’m doing pretty good.

We sat leaning forward, gloved hands holding on to jacket hoods to shield our eyes as another blast of wind drove needles of snow into our faces. Moments earlier we had reached Brockton Point on a night snowshoe up fresh powder on Seymour Mountain. But now sitting on our backpacks munching on crackers dipped in spicy pepper cheese that looked a bit like lumpy Cheez Whiz, there was talk of pulling the proverbial parachute cord and bailing.

A night out is one thing, but sitting on a bump of snow without cover against the wind and icy flakes was just damn cold. Crackers eaten and chewing on some trail mix, we called it a night and puffed down the empty ski hill towards home.