We traveled from Baltimore to San Diego, then from San Diego to Vancouver.
Advice: don't do this.
Friday July 11
To be clear: we got up early on Friday morning. We got out of bed. But we did not get to the park when we'd planned. That's because we were chatting and grabbing breakfast. Instead of taking the bus to Lynn Canyon Park like responsible, budget-conscious tourists, we grabbed a cab, which is the international travel equivalent of scoring an own-goal at the beginning of the match.
We did actually get there, though, and in a strange city sometimes any start is a good one. Also, the park was obviously lush, bordering on postcard-perfect. We gave ourselves points for our good tourist judgement.
I had originally planned to hike the entire trail loop at Lynn Canyon. In retrospect, it was about as realistic as learning Portuguese by watching soccer matches. The park, it turns out, is huge. The trails are beautiful in a way that makes you simultaneously grateful to be alive and acutely aware of the quality of your shoes. If you go to Lynn Canyon, be prepared to hop from rock to rock on the stream beds and from log to log on the trails.
The park makes a big deal out of its suspension bridge. It hangs over a waterfall. It's a nice place to get the 'I'm so alive' sensation of wobbling over a great height with a plunge to a certain death while, at the same time, being completely protected by the rails and suspension wires.
After the bridge crossing, we noticed how Canadian law is different from ours. We saw plenty of signs saying that dogs had to be kept on leashes. The dogs and owners informed us by their example that the signs were not enforceable, in their opinion. The canines involved were many and slobbery - by which I mean friendly - so it was no big deal. We hiked down side-trails that led to the creek, where we discovered that rocks are indeed slippery and Canadians are indeed willing to go swimming in a creek created by snow melt. So are their dogs.
We then trudged up the main trail to the tops of several hills, one exhausting climb after another, because they call it Lynn Canyon and not Lynn Gentle Rolling Meadows. We spent a lot of time looking down at where we had been and wondering if we had to backtrack. (The answer was: oh yes.) The hike was the natural world's version of the dreams where you suddenly realize you're flying, except your legs hurt, you're sweating through moisture-wicking fabric, and every dog wants to taste your flavor combination of insect spray and body salt.
After several geological ages of hiking, we reached that magical moment that occurs on every outdoor adventure when someone says, "We've earned a drink." This is similar to the older, traditional recreational code of "I can't feel my feet" but it seems to conclude the hiking session with more cocktails and fewer complaints.
Lynn Park summary:
Worth it? Nine on a scale of ten, yes.
Would we go again? Eight out of ten, yes.
Dogs on leashes? One out of twenty-seven. She was very friendly.
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