I love Vancouver in the Winter – the snow-covered North Shore Mountains, the brisk breeze across the Harbour and Stanley Park to Run.

When I’m there, which is a lot, I live in N. Van on the waterfront. Sometimes, I’ll get up very early and have a light pack ready from the night before.

At 5 AM, the house is silent apart from the fridge motor and the streets are deserted. Leaving the front door, all I hear is the click of the clock and my feet hitting the ground; even the neighbour’s yapper is off duty! I’ve got neck problems, so I detect traffic better by listening than moving my limited neck to see, and today, there is nothing to see.

I head onto the deserted Harbour waterfront with just the soft wind blowing and I can see Van City across starting to wake, maybe hear the waves gently (or not so if it’s rough) lap on the shore and hopefully my keys are tightly clipped into my pack, so they won’t clank which is amplified here.

I hear gentle whooshes as the wind floats over my open ears and I feel it caress my bare arms as I’ve got my sleeves rolled up being warmer on the flat waterfront. My soul is full of the views and sensations, though my mind is vacant as I let my legs do all the talking.

I head inland, through the city and towards Grouse Terminal through the quiet suburban streets and I seldom see a car or anyone daft enough to be up this early. I listen hard for anything, maybe a plane above looping over to YVR or in the background a seaplane starting to warm up for the first flight into the morning.

As I near Grouse Terminal, I hear a loud whirr: it’s the motor of a mobile tower cabinet that in the daytime noise would barely notice, then a louder whirr of a bus stop hoarding’s motor.

Clip, clip, clip of my feet on the pavement’s flagstones. Slurp as I take some water in from my pack’s hose.

My breathing and clips quicken as I ascend the Nancy Green Way’s windy road, yet I still hear nothing else, apart from the trees.

I swipe at the gate and the Gondola soars me high into the trees and below me, I see the city still sleeping. The overhead motor’s whirr, whirr of permeates the silence. Inside, I open my bag and swap out my roadies for snowies – still thin but with big, wide studs and more insulation and I put on another thin layer, gloves and get my poles out from the sites and extend them.

I walk around the upper base and look around: I’m alone in the snow – apart from the bears who are fast asleep! The wind blows gently as I look out and. before me is a city of 2m quiescently slumbering as all I hear is wind, and I silently eat a biscuit and sip from my pack’s bladder. The sun is rising over Abbotsford, illuminating the cities below and I see down to the US Border and over to Nanaimo. So stunning, so alone on the snow. The silence in the snow is so loud, I think as my heart and soul relaxes into this stunning view and my thoughts evaporate.

I run-pole up the hill past the slumbering bears crunch, crunch, crunch goes my feet, hoo, hoo, hoo I breathe slowly and deeply and a gentle wind whistles past my ears and gently kisses my sleeved arms and legs.

As the morning progresses, I run down the trails, up some blues and sometimes Gondola down others through the crunch of the morning snow. I start to hear more crunches as I see other livelies making most of the early morning and I’m no longer alone on the mountain.

It’s now mid-morning and I’m hungry, so I head back to the Upper Base for morning tea and now the snow is neither empty, nor quiet, though my stomach is the first and not the second, so I head inside to fuel.

So cold, yet such a hot day in the silence of the snow: this is why I come first light.