There is a funny thing about mountains. You admire them from a distance. They are so majestic. Then for a while as you travel around a twisting turning road you don’t see them. Suddenly thought, you find yourself climbing up and up. As you gasp for air, fight off the glare of a blazing sun and struggle with loose gravel blistering your toes the mountain no longer seems beautiful.
Mountains must be spiritual places. Going up you pray for the climb to end. Your prayers are always answered. You feel you are flying as you wobbly effortlessly down the other side of a mountain. Victory has been yours once again. You reach the valley below, stop and marvel at your accomplishment, and scream when you notice right in front of you that there is another summit to be conquered.
For the last couple of days I have been crossing through the Cassiar Mountains. It has been tough but exhilarating. In this part of Canada the Continental divide is known as the Arctic â€“ Pacific Divide. This is my fourth crossing of this imaginary geographic delineation of the far North from the rivers flowing to the south