In 2003 I took a photo that managed to capture the magic of that year's
climb. The first time we took our daughter with us in 2006, she bravely slept
most of the way up, sitting on my shoulders, her head resting firmly on mine.
In 2009
my parents visited us from Israel for the first time. Our relatives from
Portland joined us to spend some family time with them. We all went out to
enjoy the place, most of the pack taking the cable car. Phyllis, my relative's
wife and I took what turned out to be the bonding experience of walking up the
hill.
A few
years later, my in-laws were seriously injured by a car on a visit to Germany.
This happened just a month before we were scheduled to have a family vacation
in Israel. The timing was such, that sticking to plan was the most helpful
choice. They were helped back home by Anat's brothers. We kept on with
preparing the now slightly changed context of our visit. Just two weeks before
flying to Israel, we took Inbal for her first on-foot Grouse Grind. Inbal, then
nine years old asked me after completing the course: "do you think grandpa
would manage the climb?" "Sure." I responded. "Even grandma
could." Inbal, in surprise: "You think so?" "Of
course." I continued. "She might not want to, but she definitely
could."
It is an
atypical warm summer in Vancouver this year. Still, nothing compared with other
regions in the world. Again, in a few months we are scheduled for a visit in
Israel. Anat's parents are planning their vacation in Tanzania a few days from
now. Inbal's second climb to the Grouse was an uneventful, enjoyable weekend
experience.
However,
my impression is that the place has become even more touristy; even more
corporate. The socially compelling side of the physical challenge looks to me
now a bit like an anthropological observation opportunity. I enjoyed walking
along a family whose daughter, younger than Inbal, patiently waited for her
parents, guiding her even younger sibling. The effort makes for talking to be
minimal, but the occasional exchange with others gives a curious sense of
community.
While my
leisurely pace is still that of a fit person, the many competitive climbers
make me think of the diversity of participants in this venue. In the past I was
amused to think that although walking up the path is not for everyone, it could
sometimes feel like you're in the middle of a downtown sidewalk. I was reminded
of that thought while braving one of the narrower sections of stairs, close to
the top.
Some
people were a step or two in front of me, a few behind me. Not a lot of room
for passing or letting others pass. You just wait patiently for the next
widening of the path to make your move. If at any point someone lets you
through, a quick thank you is all that is exchanged. Then the breath and steps
of a quicker climber were getting closer until I hear from behind an impatient
"excuse me". There isn't a lot of room to move sideways so I continue
climbing. When she asks again and passes the pack I am with I'm not sure
whether I'm amused or irritated. As a newly minted Canadian I probably should
have said "Sorry". Being who I am I'm happy to have avoided a
confrontational "Excuse me!"
