Saturday so it must be Grouse. Mr ebb, the Wee Guy and I have rather recklessly signed away a number of our weekends in the pursuit of betterment in winter sports, aka bloody early starts for ski lessons. This seemed a Good Idea at the tail end of 2010; in the cold (early) light of day, it seems Truly Dumb.
Today's seemed Incredibly Dumb.
Moguls in flat light are no joke on a snowboard. One moment there is contact with <i>terra firma</i>, and the next either your knees are round your ears or the ground has vanished into the air. It is a good learning moment but it's not exactly relaxing. The cloud sitting firmly atop Grouse Mountain reduced visibility to hand-in-front-of-face only. Navigation was tricky, not helped by a complete absence of signage at crucial steepnesses. In some areas there was absolutely no point of reference for orientation, truly a magical mystery tour. Still, this aging shred betty and her even older (by a couple of months) companion managed the Tour de Grouse in style.
Shame Beavertails wasn't open (can anyone confirm if Rusty Rail ever is?)
