“If it’s raining down here, it’s snowing up in the mountains.” I was raised on this and other similar sentiments such as, “It’s snowing like a pig up here!” and “Pitter patter, let’s get at ‘er!” Home for me means dwelling in the space between the openness of ocean and the shelter of inlet, nestled in the shadow of mountains climbing up and out of the water, rising mystically from the sea to the sky…
There is perhaps no other one landscape and area that tugs at my heart the way Highway 99 does. It might be because I often travel on Highway 99 at sunrise and golden hour. It might be because while I’ve come across landscapes that rival the rugged beauty of this region (insert here: possible future hearth space post addressing the impossibly stunning vistas in Fiordland National Park, NZ), I’ve yet to find one that surpasses this. The Sea to Sky Highway has consistently summoned me in all seasons for over 20 years.
From the departure point in Horseshoe Bay to the turn off at Whistler Village, the journey becomes synonymous with freedom, expansive space to think and be, the essence of what home looks and feels like to me. Snuggled between the mountain peaks towering above to the right, and the waters of Howe Sound to the left, I become intricately embedded in the scenery. Green trees and blue waters drape the foreground and horizon. Of course, the road truly begins much earlier and ends farther along, but this winding subsection is my hearth space.
My earliest memories on this road took place well before it received its upgrade for the 2010 Olympics. Snow stoke high, we would drive through the dark of the early morning or evening, navigating the rain, sleet, flurries. We’d crank the tunes and try to contain the excitement of an upcoming ski trip. These days, driving the road with my dad in the early morning of a powder day manifests the same eager anticipation. The daylight begins to appear just north of Squamish, and we catch sunset from Lion’s Bay as we head back south.
The close of another perfect day along the Sea to Sky.
As a teenager, I became acquainted with the various backcountry trips available in Garibaldi Provincial Park. Summer days in July and August found me hiking through switchbacks opening to alpine meadows, dipping in glacier-fed lakes, and scaling ridge lines to reach jaw dropping panoramas. Now I have the privilege of sharing these spaces as I lead the next era of summer campers up to the alpine for the first time.
The highway itself is a space of transition; twisting and turning around rocky edges, interspersed with rapid elevations gains and losses, dropping to sea level at Porteau Cove, climbing again past Furry Creek, only to drastically descend once more at Britannia Beach. I’ve moved a lot since I started coming to the Sea to Sky, and this is a space I return to. Sometimes the melding of new perspectives and familiar views feels like a mirroring of my own experience. It’s a hearth space I’ll never finish exploring. A space where I check in with myself and remember who I was, who I am, and who I want to be. It’s a space that holds memories of new love, and more recently, the rawness and shock of new loss. It’s a space that holds moments of breakthrough inspiration. A space of healing. It’s a space that holds space for me.
-Ali
