Hey there.
Thank you for joining me for this bedtime story.
It can be hard to fall asleep sometimes.
And I'm hoping this story can help with that.
To give you something calming to focus your attention on.
To shift your thoughts off events of the day.
So that you can get the rest you deserve.
My name is Susan Guttridge.
And I've written this story based on a hike I went on this past August.
I'm so pleased you're here listening,
Allowing me to narrate you into a peaceful night of sleep.
Before we begin,
Dim the lights around you.
Pull the blankets around you like a cozy hug and let your head and neck settle a little more heavily into your pillow let your eyes gently drift closed like a curtain slowly drawing on the day Maybe give your neck a little comfortable shift from one side to the other.
Noticing any sensations there in your shoulders.
Allowing the muscles to soften.
To release whatever tension they no longer need to hold.
I hope you can take a moment to acknowledge that you made it through today.
Whatever was completed is complete.
And whatever remains can wait.
Tomorrow will arrive in its own time.
Offering you another beginning.
But right now.
There is nowhere you need to go.
Nothing you need to accomplish.
This is your time off.
This is your time to sleep.
If your mind wanders during our story,
As our minds naturally do.
Could you just notice it?
Without judgment.
Perhaps saying to yourself there I go again and then returning your attention to the sound of my voice.
To the story to the rhythm of your breathing.
To the comfort of your bed.
Nibblecade,
Draw a slow breath in.
.
.
And exhaling out slightly longer than normal for you.
Noticing your body settling just a little more into the matches beneath you.
And as you continue that nice slow natural breath I'm going to say goodnight to you now.
Just in case you drift off somewhere along the trail before our journey comes to an end.
So,
Goodnight friend.
And sweet dreams.
Tonight,
Our journey begins in the interior of British Columbia.
In the small mountain village of Vailmount Set within the North Thompson Valley,
Vailmount is surrounded by three mountain ranges.
The Rockies.
The Monashees,
And the Cariboos.
A landscape of high peaks.
Deep forests crystal clear rivers.
And wide mountain skies.
The mountain tips majestic and sometimes hidden by the clouds.
There is something about arriving in a mountain town that always feels a little different.
I think it's the way the mountains change our sense of scale.
Buildings seem smaller beneath them.
Roads disappear beneath them.
And our eyes are naturally drawn upward.
Following the forested slopes toward ridgelines etched against the sky.
I always find the air feels different too.
Cool and clean.
Carrying the scent of evergreen trees.
Damp earth and the faint freshness of water moving somewhere nearby.
And rising above this quiet valley is the mountain we've come here to climb.
This mountain bears the name of a young Canadian whose journey began so many years ago.
And whose influence continues much farther than he ever could have imagined.
Terry Fox was 18 when he was diagnosed with bone cancer.
And lost part of his right leg.
A few years later.
At the age of 21,
He began an extraordinary undertaking that he called the Marathon of Hope.
On April 12,
1980.
At the Atlantic Ocean near Saint John's,
Newfoundland.
Terry began running westward across Canada.
His hope was simple and enormous at the same time.
To raise money and awareness for cancer research.
Day after day,
He continued,
Through small towns and cities,
Along quiet stretches of highway.
Through the rain and the wind and the summer heat.
For 143 days Terry averaged almost a marathon every day.
Eventually traveling 5,
373 kilometers.
Before his illness forced him to stop his run near Thunder Bay,
Ontario.
But something remarkable had already happened.
His run had become so much larger than he ever could have imagined it.
People had begun running with him.
Cheering from roadsides,
Donating what they could,
And carrying his hope forward.
And they continued to carry it.
Terry knew an annual run would be held in his name,
His parents,
And later his siblings.
And members of the Fox family helped protect and carry forward the vision that had begun on that distant Atlantic shoreline.
And more than four decades later,
People continue to gather in communities around Canada in his name.
Raising money for cancer research.
And continuing a journey that,
In a way,
Never really stops.
And here in British Columbia.
Rising from the rocky mountains above the Robson Valley.
Is a mountain.
Carrying his name.
The last unnamed mountain range in Canada.
Was officially dedicated Mount Terry Fox.
In September of 1981.
A permanent landmark honoring his determination,
Selflessness,
And courage.
The journey to this mountain's summit is fittingly substantial.
The full trek covers about 20 kilometers there and back.
With roughly 1415 meters or 4750 feet of elevation gain.
For most hikers.
Reaching the summit and returning again.
Is a 10 to 12 hour hike following the trail from the shelter of the forest.
Into the open alpine.
And eventually.
High onto the rocky ridgeline above each summer.
Hikers gather here for the Mt.
Terry Fox trek.
Following trails upward through forest and alpine country.
N.
That's what first brought me here.
You see,
I quite enjoy hiking.
I love being outdoors exploring a trail I haven't walked before.
And noticing all the small things that are so easy to miss when life is busy.
Delicate petals of a wildflower growing beside the trail.
The enormous trunk of an old tree.
Or the almost impossibly bright green of a new sapling reaching upward,
Still so short near the forest floor.
I should probably also admit that I don't always love every part of hiking.
There have been moments.
Somewhere in the middle of a long uphill climb when I wondered why I ever thought hiking up a mountain was a good idea.
And,
I've learned to approach any trail described as moderate with a healthy degree of suspicion.
But there is something so deeply satisfying about continuing the trek.
One foot in front of the other finding that your body is capable of carrying you farther than you expected.
And eventually looking back and realizing just how much ground you've covered.
I almost always finish a hike feeling grateful.
For the beauty of nature.
For the strength of my body for the perseverance that kept me moving.
For the friends that may have encouraged me.
And also.
For having spent those hours immersed in nature.
So when I first learned that there was a trail leading up Mount Terry Fox,
My interest was immediately piqued.
And when I researched the trail,
And discovered that the Terry Fox Foundation organized an annual track I knew I was in.
Like so many families Mine has been touched closely by cancer.
And so this particular height.
Came to mean something more to me than simply reaching the top of the mountain.
It offered a way to honor Terry's legacy.
While also carrying with me the people nearest to my own heart.
Perhaps that's one of the beautiful things about this mountain.
Everyone carries with them a different story.
And for a little while.
We all walk together the same trail.
You should know that my first attempt to summit Mt.
Terry Fox was in 2024.
Butts.
The mountain apparently had other plans.
It rained all throughout the day before the trek.
And then it rained all through the night.
And when the morning arrived,
It was still raining.
By the time we gathered with our fellow hikers.
Our event coordinator Kirsten from the Terry Fox Foundation.
Our park rangers and our local guides.
The mountain top had almost completely disappeared behind a thick veil of clouds.
The trees were dripping.
The ground was saturated.
And the rain continued to fall steadily around us The decision could only be made that we wouldn't be climbing that day.
We had traveled all this way.
We had prepared our packs.
We had all gathered at the foot of the mountain.
And yet,
Our hike ended before the first real steps were ever taken.
So we went home.
And we planned.
And we waited another year.
So in 2025 i return and the morning of the hike.
Things seemed much more promising.
In fact as we first set out along the teepee creek trail.
A rainbow had stretched across the sky.
It felt like a rather encouraging beginning.
For a while,
We climbed beneath it.
Following the trail into the forest.
But mountains sometimes make their own weather,
And gradually the blue sky disappears.
Clouds gathered around the mountain peak.
And as the rain poured down on us.
The temperature also dropped.
We were met with cold,
Heavy rain.
Accompanied by strong winds higher on the mountain.
Still,
We had continued.
Step by step.
Up through the forest.
Past the rushing water of teepee creek braving the avalanche path with no tree cover to protect us.
And eventually.
.
.
Toward the great landmark along this route,
Known simply as Big Rock.
Big Rock lies about 5.
5 kilometers up the trail.
Where the forest has given way to more open alpine landscape above.
From Big Rock.
The route continues towards a high ridge and eventually.
.
.
The summit of Mount Terry Fox.
However,
Once again,
The mountain made the decision for us.
The weather had become too severe to safely continue toward the exposed ridge.
And honestly,
We were too cold to even want to continue.
So,
We changed course.
Instead of climbing higher.
We turned toward the tipi lakes nearby.
Pausing to eat and warm up at a little picnic table.
And eventually making our way back down the mountain.
For the second year in a row.
Mount Terry Fox had invited me part way up.
And no further.
Which brings us to today a third attempt.
Once again,
My backpack is packed.
This time with a few more warm layers tucked inside.
Along with rain gear.
Prepared.
Water.
And everything we might need for the long hours ahead.
Because if the previous two years have taught me anything.
.
.
It's not to make assumptions about what sort of weather this mountain might have planned.
But this morning.
.
.
We awaken to a sun shining and not a cloud in the sky.
The air is already pleasantly warm.
After two years of arriving beneath grey skies and rain.
It feels almost strange.
To stand here in the sunshine and look up toward a mountain that we can actually see.
And with an unobstructed view of the surrounding mountain ranges.
I can tell you that these mountains are even more majestic than any picture portrays.
Once again we meet our fellow hikers.
Our event coordinator Kirsten Fox of the Terry Fox Foundation.
The park rangers and the local guides who will accompany us today.
There are greetings and introductions.
Packs being shifted and checked.
All of that bustle that happens before a long day on a trail.
And then together.
We all get back into our vehicles.
And form a small convoy.
Following one another farther up the mountain.
Toward the new teepee creek trailhead.
The original trail to Mount Terry Fox began much farther down the mountainside.
But in recent years,
A new route was established higher up the mountain.
Beginning at an elevation of about 1,
200 meters.
And following Teepee Creek toward the Alpine.
And knowing just how much climbing lies ahead of us today.
I am immediately grateful for every meter of elevation.
The drive has already gifted us.
Eventually,
Our convoy comes to a stop.
We all part.
Car doors open.
Boots meet the ground.
Backpacks are lifted once again onto shoulders.
And straps are tightened into place.
And there it is.
The trailhead.
A large wooden sign stands at the edge of the forest.
Telling part of Terry's story,
And the mountain that now carries his name.
And a trail map with the route winding upward through the trees toward teepee creek big rock and the lakes and,
Much farther above us,
The summit.
After a few words of encouragement,
We make our final preparations.
Water bottles are tucked away.
Packs adjusted.
Hiking boot laces checked And I take one last look upwards.
The mountain rises majestically overhead.
Its forested slopes climbing towards the blue sky.
And some more.
High above the trees that lie before us.
Is the summit that I've been trying to reach for three years.
There is a very long way between here and that summit.
But we don't have to walk all of it yet.
For now.
There is only the beginning of the trail.
One step.
And then the next step.
So we turn toward the forest And,
Step by step,
We begin again.
The trail begins climbing upwards almost immediately.
And unlike so many of the mountain trails of my practice hikes,
There are surprisingly few switchbacks.
Those long,
Zigzagging turns that can make a steep ascent feel just a little more forgiving.
Instead,
This trail seems to know exactly where it wants to go.
And,
That's a wrap.
And so.
Up we go with it.
We pass through an area of replanted forest.
Where the vegetation has grown remarkably tall and dense.
Leafy shrubs and young trees crowd close to either side of the narrow path.
In places rising well above our heads.
There's not much to see beyond them.
Only the trail ahead.
And the hikers walking one after another along it.
And I have to say.
.
.
Perhaps that makes the beginning easier somehow.
Because there's no need to think about the kilometers still ahead of us.
And with no one walking directly beside me.
There's no need for conversation either.
I can save my breath for the climbs.
No need to look toward the summit.
For now,
Our world has become so very small.
The person walking ahead.
The soft,
Squishy earth beneath our boots.
The walls of greenery rising on either side.
And the simple rhythm.
Of one foot following the other.
One step.
Two-step one step.
Two steps.
Gradually,
The dense greenery begins to change.
The trail carries us into the cool shelter of the mountain forests.
Beneath tall spruce and fir trees.
The temperature feels different here.
The sunlight that had been so bright the trailhead.
Now has to find its way through the layers of branches overhead.
Reaching the forest floor in shifting patches of light and shadow.
And beneath the trees.
The forest floor is a vibrant shade of green dotted with tiny white flowers.
Moss spreads across the forest floor and over fallen wood.
Softening hard edges.
And covering the ground in thick patches of color.
Huckleberry bushes grow beneath the trees.
Along the ferns,
Low forest plants,
And small mountain wildflowers.
Appear here and there.
Beside the trail.
And all around us is the melodic music of the forest.
Birds call out from somewhere high up in the branches.
Others answer from farther away.
Our footsteps press rhythmically into the earth.
Somewhere among the trees.
We begin to hear the sound of moving water.
Teepee Creek is making its own journey down the mountain.
As we make ours upwards.
And every so often.
Our trail changes direction.
And our paths cross.
Clear mountain water tumbles across the trail.
Gurgling over stones and continuing.
On its way downhill through the forest.
Wooden planks have been carefully placed at the crossings.
Giving us an easy passage from one side to the other We step onto the words.
Cross over the flowing water.
And return to the soft earth of the trail.
Grateful to the builders for our boots and feet are dry.
And we continue our steady climb.
Before long,
We come to a larger crossing.
The teepee bridge We make our way across the wooden bridge.
And notice beneath us teepee creek moves steadily through the forest its clear water flowing around stones and tumbling over rocks.
Every moment we slow our pace.
There is something about the sound of moving water that seems to invite us to linger.
Bubbling and gargling.
Water finding its way around each stone.
Continuing steadily downhill.
Without any need to hurry.
It's difficult to simply walk past.
So we stop.
For a moment after crossing the bridge listening to the creek below us and enjoying the coolness of the air rising from the water.
And then,
As we lift our gaze from the creek,
And look beyond the trees.
The landscape suddenly feels so much larger.
Above the forest.
The surrounding mountain peaks rise clearly into the blue morning sky.
And then we continue upward.
We pass a beautiful hand-carved wooden sign announcing Huckleberry Hill at an elevation of about 1445 meters.
And we continue deeper into the forest one of our local guides walking with us.
Tells us that the wooden signs marking points along the trail were crafted by a local artist.
This little detail fills my heart with gratitude.
There is something so lovely about knowing that someone cared enough about their community and about this mountain.
To create these small touches along the trail.
Blue gems.
Left behind.
For others to appreciate as they pass through Above us,
The tree canopy stretches high.
Filtering the morning sunlight into a soft glow Every now and then,
A ray of sunlight finds an opening between the branches and reaches all the way to touch the forest floor.
I find myself struck by the beauty of it.
Bright columns of sunlight appearing between dark tree trunks.
Illuminating a patch of moss Thank you for watching.
The edge of a leaf or flower petal.
And then shifting again as the branches overhead move and shift.
I find myself reminded of a word for those moments when we find ourselves Unexpectedly captivated by the beauty,
Or vastness of something before us.
Ah.
Perhaps we think awe has to come from something extraordinary.
And certainly,
Extraordinary experiences can leave us with that wonderful sense of being part of something so much larger than ourselves.
But.
.
.
Awe can also be found in much smaller moments.
Like here.
Sunlight finding its way through the branches.
The intricate shape of a tiny flower.
Thriving on the shaded forest floor.
The height of a tree and the width of its trunk.
Reminding us that it's been growing here long before we ever arrived.
The sound of water zigzagging its way down a mountainside.
Part of experiencing more awe in our lives.
I wonder.
Is perhaps simply by learning to notice when it's right here in front of us.
Pause for just a few seconds longer than we ordinarily might do.
And to really love.
And to allow ourselves to be impressed by something beautiful,
Remarkable,
Or wonderfully perfectly beyond us.
Perhaps that's one of the gifts of walking slowly through a place like this.
There is so much here to notice.
So,
For a moment.
.
.
I simply stand beneath the trees and watch the sunlight move.
The spruce and fir trees rise tall around us.
And step by step.
Our hiking boots meet the dirt trail.
With that wonderfully satisfying sound of softer roots and stones beneath our soles.
Whenever the path begins to feel daunting.
I bring my attention back to that sound.
To the feeling of my boots meeting the earth.
I quietly repeat to myself.
.
.
One step.
Two steps one step.
Two steps and somewhere along this particularly steep stretch of trail.
I begin thinking once again about switchbacks.
Memory can play subtle tricks on us,
Because I was certain that when I climbed this part of the trail last year,
There had been switchbacks.
Those lovely stretches where the trail briefly turns sideways across the mountain.
Giving tired calf muscles a little reprieve from climbing directly up.
But apparently my memory was rather generous.
Because there are actually few.
The newer Teepee Creek route may have shortened the journey compared with the original trail.
Which had begun much farther down the mountain.
But the mountain seems to have negotiated something in return.
While we may have fewer kilometers to walk.
We also have a great deal of output.
So we settle into it.
There's no reason to hurry.
One step.
Two steps.
One step.
Two steps.
Where you find a pace that can be sustained.
Breathing walking.
Listening to the creek somewhere among the trees.
And,
Step by step,
We continue climbing.
Before long.
We pass another of those beautiful handcrafted wooden signs.
This one announcing that we have arrived at a place appropriately called Splitsville.
Here the trail divides.
One direction leads toward Tipi Falls and the two alpine lakes tucked into the mountainside.
Lower tipi lake and a little farther above the smaller,
Upper tipi lake.
The other continues upward towards Big Rock.
The High Ridge and eventually the summit of Mount Terry Fox.
And today,
That's the one we choose.
Staying to the left of Splitsville.
After two years of being turned back by rain and wind.
Bars?
A determination among us.
As long as the weather remains favorable.
And the mountain allows us safe passage.
We're going to keep climbing.
And so we continue upward.
Then,
For a few beautiful moments,
The landscape changes completely.
The trees draw back.
And we emerge from the enclosed forest into a wide open meadow.
Tall grasses and wildflowers rise all around us.
Living softly in the mountain breeze.
There are splashes of color everywhere.
Tall purple-pink fireweed.
Clusters of small yellow flowers.
Delicate white blossoms rising above broad green leaves all growing together in this summer meadow.
After spending so long beneath the forest canopy.
It feels wonderfully expansive to step out beneath the open sky.
And now.
Beyond the flowers.
And the young evergreens.
We can see all the way across the valley.
In the distance,
Another line of mountains rises against the pale blue sky.
Their highest slopes still streaked with patches of summer snow.
We stop for a moment.
Perhaps this is another one of those moments we were talking about earlier.
Noticing awe when it appears right in front of us.
Wildflowers at our feet.
Snow-covered mountains in the distance.
And an enormous stretch of sky between them.
Really just take it in.
And then.
One step.
Two-step we continue on continuing beyond the park boundary.
The landscape changes once again as our trail begins to cross a broad,
Open avalanche path.
There's something dramatic about standing here.
The shelter of the forest falls away.
Opening us to the enormous scale of the mountains around us.
And somehow.
Surrounded by all this vastness.
The ordinary worries of the day seem so very small.
So very far away.
I know this particular stretch of mountain well.
Last year.
This was where the weather really tested us.
The rain had fallen hard here.
Soaking our clothes as cold wind swept across the open slopes.
It was one of those places where we simply put our heads down and kept moving forward.
And I've not forgotten it.
Which may help explain the contents of my backpack today.
Warm layers,
Mittens.
A raincoat.
A change of socks.
Even a thermos filled with hot soup.
I have come prepared.
And yet,
The contrast couldn't be greater.
The sun shines warmly overhead.
And there isn't even a need for a sweater.
Or long sleeves for that matter.
My backpack may be considerably heavier because of everything tucked inside.
But somehow,
I don't mind.
There is a reassuring feeling in knowing I'm prepared for whatever this mountain might offer.
While also being quietly grateful for what it is offering instead.
Sunshine.
And warm.
And a clear trail ahead.
And a view of all the mountain ranges around us.
We continue climbing through the avalanche path.
Following the trails steadily upwards.
It's a long climb.
But,
Once again,
The mountain gives us plenty to notice along the way.
Wildflowers grow among the grasses and exposed rocks.
While a small stream trickles downhill nearby.
And then I noticed something wonderfully peculiar.
Rising above the low alpine plants are.
Tall slender stems topped with soft silvery tufts that move gently in the breeze.
They look like something straight out of a Dr.
Seuss book.
These curious little plants are called western anemones.
Earlier in the season.
I think soon after the mountain snow begins to melt.
They produce white flowers boats by late summer.
The flowers have transformed into these wonderful feathery seed heads.
Wispy unruly.
Almost comically fluffy.
Swaying on their long stems in the mountain breeze.
I love even that Parks Canada has compared them to the Truffula trees imagined by Dr.
Seuss.
I stop to take a closer look.
Because not everything remarkable on a mountain is enormous.
Some things ask you to look down.
Every now and then Our path brings us into contact with fellow hikers.
And occasionally one of the local guides walks alongside us for a while.
Joining us for this stretch of the trail is one of the park rangers.
He tells us that most of his time is spent working on the towering monarch of the Canadian Rockies.
Mount Robson and that he's enjoying a change of scenery here on mount tarrybox as we walk.
He shares stories about his work as a park ranger.
Including the role he plays in training new rangers.
There is,
Of course,
A great deal of knowledge and skill involved in this kind of work.
And yet,
Among everything he shares,
It's something much simpler that catches my attention.
He tells us that one of the things he tries to impress upon new rangers is,
On people's worst days,
Do your best to leave them feeling just a bit better.
I find myself carrying those words with me as we continue walking.
There is such a kindness in that idea.
We don't always have the ability to fix what someone is facing.
We might not be able to change the circumstances of their day.
But perhaps we can leave them feeling just a bit better.
Than when we found them.
A little more supported.
A little less alone.
A little more able to take whatever their next step might be.
And somehow here on this mountain.
That feels like something worth remembering.
So I tuck his words away,
And carry them with me up the trail.
For the second time in my life,
We arrive at the landmark known as Big Rock.
A massive stone sitting solidly on the mountainside.
It seems like a good place to stop.
So we slip off our backpacks,
Stretch our tired shoulders and legs,
Drink some well-earned water.
Refuel with his mask and then feeling restored.
We begin again.
From Big Rock.
The trail turns upward toward a high open ridge.
Somewhere across the mountainside,
We hear the unmistakable whistle of a marmot.
And looking all around.
We finally spot them.
Two marmots.
Stretched out on a distant,
Sun-warmed rock.
Apparently having a considerably more restful morning than we are.
And we continue upward.
Gradually,
The landscape changes again.
Soft dirt beneath our boots gives way to loose,
Flat pieces of shale.
And the trees and wildflowers we've been walking among begin to disappear.
We are moving into the high alpine now.
We continue steadily upwards.
By now,
We've been climbing for hours,
And I can feel the effort of the mountain in my legs.
This is where I notice something else beginning to happen.
As my body grows tired.
My thoughts become a little less organized.
And a little less encouraging too.
I catch myself thinking.
This is really hard.
How much farther?
Why did I think I could do this?
Can I actually keep doing this?
I know how easily these thoughts can begin consuming the very energy I need for the climb.
And so,
I return to the little rhythm that has been traveling with me all morning.
One step.
Two step.
One step.
Two step.
Somewhere along the way.
These little words have become more than a way of keeping pace.
They give my mind somewhere simple to rest.
Rather than thinking about the distance ahead.
Or the steepness of the ridge.
I bring my attention back to what is immediately here.
My breath.
The ground beneath my boots.
The next step.
One step.
Two-step one step.
Two-step I don't need to climb the whole mountain in this moment.
I only need to take the step that is in front of me.
And then the next one that is in front of me.
One step.
Two steps one step.
Two steps.
I guess what I've been saying to myself all along has actually been.
.
.
This step.
Next step.
This step.
Next step.
I'm not climbing the whole mountain at once.
I only need to meet the piece of trail directly under my feet.
One footstep at a time.
This step.
Next step.
And step.
Next step.
Eventually,
We reach the ridge,
Where this newer teepee creek route meets the original Mt.
Terry Fox trail.
In the distance,
We can see the radio tower.
That hikers following the old route would have passed on their journey upwards.
From here.
Both routes share the same path toward the summit.
Ahead of us.
By two full summits before we reach the real one.
But even here.
Among all this seemingly barren rock.
Life finds a way to surprise us.
Growing low against the ground are tiny clusters of brilliant pink alpine flowers.
Called Mars Campion.
The plant forms itself into dense little cushions,
Tucked closely against the rocky ground.
With tiny pink flowers scattered across its green surface.
I pause to take a photograph.
And I find myself smiling.
By this point in the height.
I suspect I've accumulated an almost equal number of photographs.
Looking upward.
Toward the enormous mountain peaks.
And downward at tiny alpine flowers.
Perhaps a mountain deserves to be admired in both directions,
I think.
Upwards and downwards.
As we continue along the ridge There is something else remarkable beneath our feet.
Patches of summer snow still cling to the mountainside.
But this isn't entirely white snow.
In places Its surface is washed with delicate shades of pink and red.
Watermelon snow.
I learned that the color comes from microscopic,
Cold-loving algae.
That thrive in alpine snow.
And once again,
I find myself experiencing that familiar sense of awe.
Here we are,
High on a seemingly barren ridge of rock and snow.
And yet,
Everywhere we looked.
There is life.
Tiny pink flowers growing among broken shale.
Marmots warming themselves on sun-soaked rocks.
Microscopic algae coloring patches of summer snow A mountain can look stark from a distance.
But when we slow down and look closely,
It is anything but empty.
And then,
After climbing one false summit,
And then another,
We look ahead.
And there it is.
Rising from the rock against the enormous blue sky.
Is a simple triangular monument.
And this time,
We're not at another false summit.
This is the true summit of Mount Terry Fox.
After all these hours of walking.
And looking upward.
Of wondering how much farther.
Of placing one foot in front of the other.
There is suddenly nowhere left to climb.
Only a few more steps forward.
One step.
Two steps.
And step.
Next step.
And we are here.
For the first time in three years of trying.
I'm standing on the summit of Mount Terry Fox.
And the world unfolds around us in sweeping grandeur.
Mountain ranges stretch toward the horizon in almost every direction.
One ridge rising behind another.
Behind another.
Beneath an enormous summer sky.
And there in the distance.
Rising above all the surrounding peaks.
Is Mount Robson.
The highest peak in the Canadian Rockies.
Its snow-capped summit catching the light.
For a while,
There is nowhere else we need to go.
Nothing more we need to accomplish.
We can simply be here.
Appreciating the view.
.
.
Appreciating the journey.
And appreciating everyone who helped make it happen.
Taking a full,
Deep breath in.
And exhaling out.
Feeling some of the effort of the climb beginning to leave your body.
Your shoulders soften Your breath slows.
And we allow ourselves to fully take in where we are.
Right here on the summit of Mount Terry Fox.
We can notice their simple wooden monument.
Standing.
High above the summit.
I learned that this monument has made something of a journey of its own.
The original memorial was placed here on Mount Terry Fox.
By members of Terry's family in 1981.
At that time,
It stood on another edge of the mountain.
And decades later.
With the development of the newer teepee creek trail.
The monument was carefully relocated.
To the true summit.
The place we're standing right now.
Attached to its weathered wooden frame as the original commemorative plaque.
More than four decades of mountain weather have passed.
Since Terry's family first placed it here.
Snow or Rain.
Summer sun and winter wind.
And still,
The words remain.
The plaque remembers Terry's marathon of hope.
And the lives his efforts would continue to touch.
And at the very end are three words that catch my attention.
His spirit unconquered.
I let those words settle for a moment.
There is something powerful about the word unconquered.
Because perhaps it doesn't mean that nothing can ever interrupt our plans or change the course we thought we were going to follow.
Speaks instead to something within us that circumstances cannot so easily take away.
Purpose.
The belief that what we do can make a difference.
Terry Fox wasn't able to complete the journey across Canada that he had imagined.
But the hope that carried him forward didn't end when his run did.
Others picked it up.
Others carried it forward.
Year after year.
Kilometer after kilometer.
Generation after generation.
What began with one young man running along Canadian roads became something far larger.
Them the journey he had originally imagined.
And all these years later.
People are still carrying it forward.
Impact.
Looking around this summit I realize that Terry's story is present here,
Not only in the monument,
But in all of us gathered around it.
All of us hikers arriving tired but smiling.
Dropping our backpacks onto the rocks.
Congratulating one another.
Taking pictures.
Sharing in the simple joy of having made it here together.
And eventually.
.
.
We unfold a flag.
And hold it open across the summit.
On it to our four simple words.
Terry Fox lives here.
I think,
Perhaps,
In a way,
That is exactly what's happened.
Not only here.
On the mountain that carries his name but in communities across Canada and around the world.
In people who continue to run.
To rally,
To raise money.
To fund research.
And to believe in the possibility of something better.
What Terry began all those years ago.
Has continued far beyond the distance he was able to travel himself.
The journey became larger than the person who began it.
And here all these years later.
On a mountaintop in British Columbia.
And we've become one small part of that continuing journey too.
Eventually,
It's time to begin the long journey down.
We leave the summit behind and make our careful way back across the shale.
Over the two false summits.
And along the high,
Open ridge.
From up here,
We can look down toward the shimmering basin waters of tipi light.
Resting peacefully below us we continue downward toward big rock And from there,
We began retracing the now familiar trail.
Back towards Glitzville.
Past teepee falls and eventually.
.
.
Into the shelter of the forest once again.
The hours pass more quietly on the way down.
There's less need to wonder about what lies ahead.
What weather we might face.
We know this trail now.
We recognize its creek crossings.
It's beautiful wooden signs the tall spruce and fir trees.
And all those places where the sunlight finds its way through the branches.
The morning has gradually become afternoon.
And the sun that climbed with us earlier now hangs lower in the western sky.
Sending long rays of warm light through the trees.
There's something different about walking through a familiar place in the opposite direction.
Things we noticed on the way up appear again.
And things we somehow missed reveal themselves for the first time.
And with every descending step.
It feels as though the mountain is offering us it's sweet farewell step by step.
And down we go.
.
.
Following teepee creek toward the valley until eventually.
.
.
Through the trees.
We begin to recognize the place where this journey began.
The trailhead.
And the parking lot.
And after nearly 10 hours on the mountain.
Our boots finally reach level ground.
I slip the backpack from my shoulders one final time.
And set it on the ground after carrying its weight for so long.
There's some almost immediate sense of lightness within me in putting it down.
And as our journey comes to an end.
I wonder if you can put something down too?
You don't need to carry everything with you into sleep Perhaps there's a worry from today that can wait until morning.
The conversation you've been replaying something you wish you'd done differently.
Or simply the weight of everything you've been thinking about and tending to.
Whatever you've been carrying.
Imagine setting it down for now.
Some things in our lives do deserve our care and attention.
And we can care deeply and give it that attention.
While still allowing ourselves rest.
So… whatever needs your attention… Could it wait until tomorrow?
For tonight.
Can you put your backpack down?
As I think back over this day on Mount Terry Fox.
I remember something the park ranger said to us along the trail.
On people's worst days,
Do your best to leave them feeling just a bit better.
These are beautiful words for how we might care for one another.
I wonder,
Also.
If perhaps tonight.
We can extend some of that kindness towards ourselves.
On the stressful or difficult days.
The days when you felt tired Overwhelmed or carrying more than usual.
Perhaps you don't have to fix everything before you rest.
Perhaps you can simply ask yourself.
What would leave my mind feeling just a little better right now?
What would leave my heart feeling just a little lighter?
What would help my body relax even just a little more?
Maybe it's the warm bed beneath you.
The weight of the blankets nestled around you like a warm hug.
A slower breath.
An unfurrowed brow.
A softened jaw.
Shoulders that no longer need to hold themselves quite so tightly.
What would leave you feeling just a little better?
Kindness towards ourselves can happen in small increments too.
One breath.
Than another.
For one moment.
And then the next.
There is no summit you need to reach tonight.
Nowhere else you need to go nothing more you need to accomplish Tomorrow's journey does not have to be traveled tonight.
Tomorrow,
There will be time for the next step.
Tonight.
You can rest.
The backpack is set down.
Your day's journey is complete.
And now resting comfortably in your warm bed.
You can carry with you only.
What's worth carrying from our journey together tonight.
The vast beauty of the mountains.
The trickling sound of water making its way around the stones.
Sunlight finding an opening between branches the wonder of tiny alpine flowers growing among the rocks.
The kindness and camaraderie of a shared journey.
And the reminder.
That tomorrow's journey doesn't have to be traveled tonight.
For now,
There is only rest.
Let the quiet of the mountains settle around you.
The steadiness of the earth beneath you.
And the peaceful spirit of Mount Terry Fox.
Lingering with you into sleep.
.
.
You have carried enough for one day.
This is your time to sleep goodnight friends and sweet dreams.
