I'm not trying to make myself feel better. I'm not trying to defend myself. It really was billed to me as, and I QUOTE, "It's just a little walk across a glacier, and then...well, it's going up a bit, but basically if you can climb a ladder, you can do this." Of course I can I climb a ladder! Randall will LOVE to go for a hike on this long overdue honeymoon!
The drive from Vancouver to Whistler is absolutely gorgeous. It reminds me a lot of Washington (which, duh.). The trees stand tall and the rocks, majestic waterfalls and lakes are breathtaking, all standing tall and proud above the two lane highway. We stopped for breakfast at McDonald's (Oh, shut up. It was the only thing we found on the way up.) (Fine, shortly afterwards we found the Starbucks, the organic grocery store and the deli. It was AFTER the McDonald's. TOO LATE.) (Also, did you know the US Dollar is worth less than the Candian Dollar? I did not. A scone and a latte at Starbucks was $7.40. Which, when I was there 10 years ago (fine, 15) was the equivalent of $4. Now it's actually like $7.50. I clearly have no concept of "economy" and "current affairs.") (This is sad and also probably not going to change.). Anyway, what? McDonald's, beautiful scenery, etc.
We arrived at Whistler, found our recommended sandwiches and snacks and the gondola and rode up to the peak. Where they gave us a fucking CLIMBING HARNESS. Because guess what? We were climbing up the face of Whistler. Straight up. Using a harness and a fancy-ass climbing system and our courage. Which, guess what? I had none.
We did a little hike crossways across a glacier (NO CRAMPONS) (was very hard) and came up to a ladder. Actually it was two ladders roped together (jenky) leading up to a re-bar rung, the first in a series, glued into the side of a rock.
I cried. Actually, I cried several times up the side of the mountain. I said, including but not limited to, the following (some of them were said very, very loud):
I don't want to do this.
I can't do this.
I want out.
I'm tired. I'm so fucking tired.
Randall, in his deep, deep wisdom (i.e. didn't know what else to do) did not say a word except mouthing to me, "I'm so sorry."
The guide ended up short roping me to him, which was simultaneously humiliating and so, so comforting. And, also, I still cried. I am not proud of this.
But, also, I made it.
I'm so much happier in this picture than I was on the way up. I will not lie: I hated it all the way up. The summit of the mountain was exhilarating.
Do you see that snow-covered glacier in the background? That's what we WENT DOWN. I went down on my ass. The whole way. In jeans. With an ice ax. It was cold.
After the super-glacier experience we took a cruise back to SF. It was GLORIOUS. Do you know what you have to do on a cruise? Nothing. The seas were a little rough to be reading, but we did go listen to a lecture on the Yukon Gold Rush, worked on a community puzzle, watched some football and went to dinners. That's about it. Aside from the lovely champagne.
It was a lovely, perfect and romantic vacation. Even the hard parts. Which, you know, JUST LIKE MARRIAGE.