The opinions expressed in this article are the author’s own and do not necessarily reflect the views of Narcity Media.
Being a Vancouver native, I am apparently supposed to revere the very features that people here dreamily recite like a mantra (“The mountains, the mountains, oh those beautiful mountains!”). I mean, they are really beautiful.
I don’t have an issue with our mountains at all; they certainly make a gorgeous backdrop to the city, and they are a very helpful, fixed reminder of where north is (in case I, uh, get lost downtown, I guess). However, I’m no skier, as many attempts in my adolescence found me far too terrified to break out of the snowplow pose, and as far as climbing them is concerned, I don’t see the point. I respect them from a healthy distance, and that’s as far as I go.
The Grouse Grind? Climbing a steadily inclining 2.5 kilometres straight up the side of Grouse Mountain? No thanks.
Now, don’t get me wrong; I’ve actually done the Grind many times. My first attempt was back in 2000, when I was very young and trying to impress a boy I was dating. It was difficult for sure, but we were fit kids, and it hadn’t yet become the log-jammed, tourist- and family-packed event that it is now.
I did it several more times over the years, the last one being around 2012, and even by that point, it was getting very, very busy no matter the time of day or year. There were lots of students, lots of couples, lots of children, and several groups of friends for whom this appeared to be a social outing rather than the exhausting, endless trek upward that it actually is.
Let’s put it this way: The last time I did the Grind, the gondola going down cost only $5. I’ve heard it’s $20 now. Are they serving Champagne during the five-minute ride?!
I just can’t really bring myself to care about the Grind. Let me paint a picture for you…
You start out enthusiastic, really gaining some momentum at the bottom, thinking to yourself that this bark-mulch path isn’t so awful after all and that 800 metres of elevation gain sounds like a walk in the park. Then, you start getting winded after what seems like real progress, only to see that dreaded sign saying, “YOU’VE HIT THE ¼ MARK.” That’s it? Only a quarter of the way there?
Absolutely dismaying, but you still keep going, mostly out of spite and embarrassment that you’re already tired and not even at the halfway point. I do plenty of cardio at the gym, but this pathway up the mountain, studded with 2,830 stairs, makes me feel about as active as a geriatric seal.
From that point on, it just gets worse. The path gets steeper. The steps suddenly turn into giant boulders you need to ascend on your hands and knees. There is a bannister made of rope somewhere above the halfway point (“Only halfway?” you cry between gasps), which you must clutch onto to drag yourself forward, or you just know you’ll fall backward, knocking the many people behind you down like dominos. If you stop to guzzle some water and catch your breath, you get smug, partially amused looks from the athletic types who skip past you, not a bead of sweat on their brows.
You are often stuck in a bottleneck with the many, many people who insist on tackling the Grind for their own reasons. Some might say it’s for the feeling of accomplishment of having climbed a mountain, but it’s not quite that. I’ve read Into Thin Air, and this hike wouldn’t even get you a quarter of the way to Everest base camp. It’s more like the most exasperating hike you’ve ever decided to take in Vancouver, clogged by people you didn’t really expect to be there, all the while hoping that a cougar doesn’t leap out of the woods and devour you.
Then, you finally somehow make it to the boulders at the top, your hike time never seems to be below an hour and fifteen minutes, and all you want to do is go home. On that $20 gondola.
Speaking of descending Grouse Mountain, the most troublesome offenders might be those people who insist on walking down the Grind. I did that my very first time up the mountain, and it was actually more stressful and difficult than going up. You have to account for every single step, or you’ll be in for a world of hurt. Now, with the vast quantity of ambitious trekkers making their way up, it’s actually quite rude and risky to skip your way down, getting in everyone’s way and quite possibly creating an accident. Yet there are plenty of people who try it, if my memory serves me correctly.
You might be thinking, “Gosh, is there anything positive about the experience? I’m going to be visiting Vancouver in the summer and the Grouse Grind is on my must-do list!” Of course. I will give it this: No matter if it’s a blazingly hot day, the forest provides cool, constant shelter right from the bottom to the top. You’ll never be in direct sunlight, and it’s utterly stunning the whole way up (if you can even pay attention through your exhaustion, that is).
Also, unless you’re just doing it for exercise — and it’s a truly excellent workout — hanging out at the top of the mountain can be lovely, and the photo opportunities are endless.
Additionally, I read years ago that it was turning into a pick-up spot (i.e., people meeting and eventually dating), but I find this hard to understand. After all, we’re all huffing and puffing, grumpy and annoyed as we try to make it to the top.
…Okay, I suppose that’s just me I’m describing. I’ve been there, done it, and I certainly don’t discourage anyone from tackling the Grind; it’s simply not for me, and it doesn’t have to be.
However: those 500 steps at Wreck Beach? After you’ve been sunning yourself all day, likely enjoying some adult beverages and herbal delights? Now, that’s a challenge I’ll recommend to anyone!
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