| Spokesman Review, Spokane
WA, Sunday September 19, 1999 KICK START YOUR LIFE by Helena Zukowski This Selkirks trek a healthy sojourn to a new you. There are moments we would like to forget. Struggling up a perpendicular slope, my feet lead-heavy, my heart doing a fast dance in my chest. I was ready to lie, cheat or sob pitifully if it would persuade somebody to carry my backpack – and me as well. This was only day two of a week-long adventure at Mountain Trek, but all that raced through my mind was: "What kind of nightmare boot camp have I got myself into?" Mountain Trek sits in the Selkirk Mountain range overlooking beautiful Kootenay Lake just above Ainsworth Hot Springs in British Columbia. In her brochure, Wendy Pope, the founder and owner, promised a "kick start" into healthier lifestyle by hiking through heart-stopping scenery and a chance to reshape body, mind, and spirit. As an out-of-shape writer whose main form of exercise was going down to the kitchen to get another cup of coffee, her words were a siren song. I signed on for the one-week hiking program. Ten years ago, Wendy was worse than I was. As a financial analyst, her life was a pressure cooker, and deep down she knew there had to be something better than wheeling and dealing in Toronto. On a vacation trip to the Kootenays to see her sister, she fell in love with a 34-acre farm "with poppies in the grass." That was the beginning of Mountain Trek. Shortly after arriving, my group and I met the three guides in whose hands we would place our lumpy bodies – and destiny – for the week. All three are tanned, lean and wiry – you’d have to look long and hard to find a fat cell on these bodies. Greg Paltinger, head guide, cheerfully welcomes the group and introduces his colleagues Debbie and Sharon. Greg suggests a short hike up to a scenic pioneer cemetery above town "just to stretch our legs after a long flight." Piece of cake I say to myself, and load my backpack with camera equipment. The hike begins at the lodge and heads up an old road that quickly becomes a steep grade. An hour into the hike, I’m panting like a sheepdog in the desert. Greg cryptically insists that the pitch of the hike isn’t typical of what we’ll be doing. Does he mean it will be less or more? Over dinner the first night, Greg outlines the next day’s hike to Fry Creek Canyon and some of the things we need to know: how to look after blisters; where to answer calls of nature; what to put in our backpacks; and how to deal with bears, if in the unlikely chance we should see one. "We might actually see a bear because of the snow pack this year," he says as 12 pairs of eyes widen. "After all, we are in their world." Our group of hikers is a motley crew: Vicki and Randy are from Michigan, where they work in a factory; Gary is an executive with the Alberta Auto Association and his wife, Dianne, is a librarian; Derek and Jayne are management consultants; Farrell works with the Childrens Aid Society in Toronto; Catherine is a graphic artist from Boston; Patti works with bone marrow transplant patients in Seattle; Larry is a writer with a spa magazine; and Yvette is a nurse working in Vancouver on drug studies. Dinner is awkward and quiet with only subdued conversations. Day Two: Everyone is up early and keen as Claudette, the yoga instructor, guides us into the basic postures of hatha yoga. The morning sun streams in the windows of the studio, and the wind chimes outside create a sensual backdrop to the low purring of Claudette’s voice. After breakfast, we pile into four-wheel-drive Suburbans for a 75-minute ride through scenery so beautiful it sets up double-decker lumps in my throat. The air is so clear it’s almost unreal, and snow tops the mountains above Kootenay Lake. At the trailhead, we load our lunches into our backpacks, make sure our water bottles are accessible and head into the canyon. The path is well marked, with thick ferns and wildflowers on either side, but the ups and downs soon begin. At the first hill, my heart feels as if it’s about to leap out of my chest. Why did I fill my backpack with everything but the kitchen sink? Why didn’t I leave the extra camera gear at the lodge? We pick our way carefully along a narrow rocky trail above Fry Creek, so swollen and raging from recent rain that it’s hard to carry on a conversation. Every so often, we see bear scat but our guides say we don’t have to worry "if it’s not steaming." About noon, we reach a rocky meadow and flop down onto the lichen, leaning against the rocks and quickly demolishing our lunch of potato salad, tomatoes, peppers, and nut-and-raisin cookies. Greg informs us we’ve marched 12 kilometers with only a small elevation gain, but some of us feel like we’ve conquered Everest. Upon returning to the lodge, Christine, a massage therapist, works over my muscles like a human rolling pin, kneading them into submission. She calls this "rebalancing massage" and my tired body whispers thanks. Soft music plays in the background, and I doze off as her firm fingers turn my muscles into overcooked spaghetti. The days follow a similar pattern: yoga, a maximum of 17 km hiking, home to a massage and dinner and early to bed beneath downy comforters. Alcohol and coffee are banned, and the kitchen is strictly vegetarian (note: we serve poultry and fish now) – but what miracles the kitchen performs. Our first dinner began with focaccia and three-olive pesto, followed by carrot soup, a crisp salad, angel-hair pasta with fresh tomatoes and artichokes, orange slices, and herb tea. Day Three takes us to Lasca Creek Canyon, where Greg’s warning that we would be "gaining more altitude" becomes a test of endurance. At the end of a Spanish moss-draped trail through alpine meadows and wildflowers, we reach an old prospector’s cabin where we gobble lunch and speculate on who might have lived alone in this isolated clearing so far from civilization. By Day Four, the silence of the first night’s dinner has changed to animated conversation with in-jokes about our private yearnings. As a dairy addict, the "milk alternative" at breakfast is my particular nemesis. Larry is desperate for a newspaper, and mumbles about a breakout in search of a Starbuck’s is heard (owner’s note: it’s a long long way to Seattle!) This day’s trek is from Pilot Bay Park to McDonald’s beach. Shortly before lunch Catherine and Farrell claim to have seen a bear in the bushes, and everyone ribs them about hallucinating. On the beach at lunch, we peel off socks and boots and wade gingerly into the water before opening up our Tupperware lunch boxes, which contain tabouleh salads and tuna sandwiches. We’ve barely begun when Catherine turns and there, only feet away, is a black bear sniffing out her lunch. Everyone leaps like gaffed salmon and bound across the stony beach barefoot into the water, where we get the giggles – as if bears that fish for salmon aren’t going to want to come into the water. Greg, meanwhile, has gone into action, grabbing his pepper spray and making himself look big by raising his arms over his head. Finally, the bear, a scrawny 2-year old with matted fur, ambles away. One day we walk the Kuskanax Trail in the Arrow Lake district, ending with a steaming soak in the Nakusp Hot Springs. The trail is an endless carpet of emerald green moss and we walk across creeks dotted with miniature waterfalls. It seems like a magical world. By the time we have to say goodbye, the group has bonded. Cards are exchanged, promises made to visit and keep in touch. To a person, we all feel stronger, healthier and fitter. I’ve lost weight, sworn off meat, and feel more energy surging through me than I’ve felt in years. Mountain trek seems to have found a magical formula: clean air and stunning scenery; healthy food balanced with exercise and spiritual stretching. It is indeed a "kick start" to a healthier way of life, and for all of us, the "first day in the rest of our lives."
Mountain Trek Fitness
Retreat & Health Spa, |
