Chasing the tallest waterfall in Canada: Della Falls

Seven kilometers in, “it’s not so bad” I mumbled as I cradled my camera in my left arm and grasped my hip strap with the right hand. This helped alleviate pressure from my shoulders and forced my back straight. We were almost half way. “Eight more to go,” Kim checked her GPS. The pack was heavy, likely around 20kg.  Mine was lighter.  We had already crossed three rivers. One of which we removed our shoes. The glacier water numbed our feet. For the next ten minutes I forget about the brewing blisters on my ankle. Moleskin had delayed this inevitable fate. I’d always gone for runners instead of these clunky hiking boots. I remembered why, but this time I had no choice.

The last eight kilometers reminded me of Nepal. The hard days when your body just didn’t want to move but you keep going because you have no choice. One foot in front of the other. There was barely an incline, yet I wished I had done more squats.  I looked up from my feet, and saw tents. We had made it. I kicked off the shoes, helped set up tent and crashed.

The next day, we hiked up to the viewpoint. It was then that I remembered why I love to do this.  We sat at the top catching up on life, devouring our cucumber hummus sandwiches and homemade granola bars, and reminiscing on our travels together. It was just us and the falls.

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