I wish I could see this scene from above. It would look like an exquisitely detailed model laid out on a table in a garage. Picture an outdoor scene with moulded mountains and motionless Lego-like trees; all identical, branches heavy with generous dollops of snow. Between the trees half a dozen skimobiles, the jetskis of the snow, are ablaze with headlights, saddled up and straining at the bit. If it all feels not quite real it might be because I’m expected to pilot one of these things. At speed. In the pitch black. Up a mountain.
We’re in the Callaghan Valley, 90km north of Vancouver, at the base of Mount Sproatt, getting introduced to our individual 700cc Ski-Doo brand skimobiles, which are about to convey us 1000 vertical metres up to a small log cabin in the woods, where steak awaits. Run by Canadian Wilderness Adventures, this unique, high-octane combination of beef and petrol is known as Sproatt Steak Night.
Our guide Mike has some advice on what to do in the reasonably unlikely event of an emergency. “Don’t be too alarmed if it tips you out,” he says. “If you fall out just stay there.” Which is probably pretty good advice when you’re lying in the woods with a snowmobile across your legs.We’re in the Callaghan Valley, 90km north of Vancouver, at the base of Mount Sproatt, getting introduced to our individual 700cc Ski-Doo brand skimobiles, which are about to convey us 1000 vertical metres up to a small log cabin in the woods, where steak awaits. Run by Canadian Wilderness Adventures, this unique, high-octane combination of beef and petrol is known as Sproatt Steak Night…
Mike calmly assures us the only serious injury from falling off is likely to be to our egos. “Usually your friends have a laugh at you, then you get back on.” I quietly determine to do my utmost not to launch my career in comedy tonight.
We jump on and straddle our Ski-Doos. Mike is mad. He takes off with a spray of snow and is soon just a faint buzzing somewhere along the trail. I’ve no choice but to try to keep up; he’s the only one who knows where the steak is.
We ride in single file along twisting tree-lined tracks, our headlights throwing yellow beams in all directions like a frantic search party. The temperature is beyond cold but I don’t mind. We’re well rugged up and the Ski-Doos even have heated handles. Either that or mine is on its last legs…
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