I came to Whistler for the first time completely oblivious to it’s awesomeness.
I tagged along with a friend for the afternoon as they caught up with someone from high school, I drank my first Caesar (and loved it) then went home.
I thought, “hey, that seemed like a pretty interesting place.”
Fast forward past a few more trips like that one, and some extend stays with long nights of partying and kissing a tall ginger Tasmanian, and I found myself loving Whistler more and more. It began a bit of a fantasy – the thought of abandoning the city that I started to build a little life in, to inhabit the epic mountain town of Whistler.
On weekends I found myself itching for the last minute of work so I could hop in my car, make the 1.5 hour journey and just go play.
(Floating around lakes on explorers while drinking cider was definitely a top priority) 🙂
And after little to no persuasion, I saw an opportunity to explore the mountains at high speed, through winding trails and trees. I discovered mountain biking. After several trail rides, sweating through my pedaling, I thought I’d try the bike park at Whistler.
I fell in love. Two words: chair lifts.
My growing community in Whistler had me wishing I could spend every spare moment hanging out, in conversation and doing some sort of epic wilderness activity in the beautiful surroundings.
Jumping off a cliff? Yes, please. Swinging and dropping from a rope swing? Okay, let’s do it. Double zip-lining into the lake on a one man zip line? Sure, why not.
Weekend trips turned into extended stays where I would work from coffee shops (thank goodness for internet jobs!) and stay until the very last moment where I would have to turn around and drive my car down the winding, beautiful sea-to-sky highway to big city where I lived.
Every time I would leave, no matter how beautiful the drive, my heart would melt.
I was truly falling for Whistler.