Garibaldi Lake.

On a whim, and with the determination that the rest of the summer should not be spent under roofs, Alyssa, Baki, Vincent and I decided to go swimming in Lost Lake in Whistler. Basing our hopes for the lake to be the marvelous picture that Vincent painted, having been to some lake once when he was younger, we set off in Vincent's musty, dog-fur strewn car into the mountains driving by faith towards what we hoped was the right destination. In my mind i saw blue, blue water stretching as far as i could see, fringed by an idyllic grey-pebbled beach, and mountains sitting majestically in the background. Most significantly of all in my mind, it was deserted. Someone said something earlier about a hike to get to the lake, which, after several brain filters of the HearOnlyWhatYouWant sort, i took to mean a leisurely trot and wore pretty Nike sneakers with no socks. Thus, 4 happy people negotiated the bends on the Sea to Sky Highway and goggled at the general beauty of things, without a care in the world. Well, at least i was without a care in the world. I'm sure Vincent had cares about driving us over the edge of the cliffs.

After a very calorie-filled brunch at a Macdonalds in Squamish, we arrived at Whistler, made several wrong turns and found Lost Lake. Then we realised it was the wrong lake because the "hike" was all of 50 metres from the carpark. We then took a gamble and drove to Mt. Garibaldi which turned out to be the right one after all, the one in Vincent's distant memory. And it was beautiful. Apart from the fact that i was, and still am, terribly, terribly, terribly, unfit, and the fact that we trekked uphill for 3 hours straight, and then downhill for another 2.5 hours. Still, it was marvellous. And i'm glad we went despite the aching butt and sore feet after.

I have given up trying to figure out how to get the pictures the right way up. So we shall just have to use our imaginations a bit. Or tilt your head to the left.