Snow, Tea, Golf & Quiet Trails: A Rare Weekend With the Fam in the Rockies

There are winter weekends that feel calm, cozy, and restful… and then there are winter weekends like this one — the kind where you somehow cram five different sports, three different energy levels, and at least one identity crisis into forty‑eight hours. Ours fell firmly into the second category.

It was the kind of weekend that starts with optimism, ends with sore legs, and leaves you wondering how you’re simultaneously an adult with responsibilities and also someone who still forgets which foot goes in the snowboard binding first. A weekend that reminds you why you live in the Rockies, why you love the chaos, and why you occasionally need to disappear into the forest to recover from your own social battery.

But more than anything, it was a weekend that reminded us how good it feels to spend time with family — especially now that we’ve moved away and don’t get to see everyone nearly as often. When they’re here, we try to soak up every minute.

Here’s how it all went down.

Skiing for the Coordinated, Snowboarding for the Slightly Terrified

Let’s start with the obvious: skiing is for the coordinated/skilled members of the family. Snowboarding, apparently, is for me — the one who thought, “Sure, I haven’t done this in ten years, but how hard can it be?” Somehow, my body agreed and I managed to turn without immediately face‑planting.

Every Snowboard trip I go through the same emotional arc:

• Denial: “I definitely remember how to do this.”

• Panic: “Why is the ground moving so fast.”

• Acceptance: “Okay, turning is happening. We’re turning. We’re… alive.”

• Ego: “Honestly? I’m kind of good at this.”

• Humility: Immediately catches an edge and almost dies.

Note to self: get out more often. Ten‑year gaps are not ideal.

But despite my identity crisis, Lake Louise delivered. The snow was good, the views were the usual “postcard‑but‑make‑it‑real‑life” level of stunning, and — shockingly — it wasn’t a human traffic jam. No lift lines that made you question your life choices. No crowds of teenagers doing TikTok dances in the middle of the run.

And honestly? Sharing the slopes with family made it even better. When you don’t see each other often, even the chaotic moments feel special — the laughter, the near‑falls, the “did you see that?” moments. It all hits differently.

Tea, Skating, and Pretending We’re Classy People

After surviving the slopes, we kicked things off with something a little more our speed: skating first. Lake Louise wasn’t busy, which felt like winning the winter lottery, so we took full advantage. We glided around like we knew what we were doing — peaceful, calm, almost elegant… if you ignore the part where I nearly wiped out (I’m also not the best skater…more of a Summer sports guy).

Skating with family we don’t get to see often felt especially good. When you’ve moved away and visits are rare, even the simple moments hit differently. Just being out there together, laughing, wobbling, and soaking in the mountain views felt like a little gift.

Then, in a plot twist no one saw coming, we leaned into the fancy side of Lake Louise.

We booked the tea experience — which is absolutely not our usual MO — and suddenly found ourselves living our best “wealthy Victorian mountain tourist” lives. Little sandwiches. Tiny pastries. Tea poured from a pot that probably costs more than my snowboard.

And listen… I went in skeptical, but those little sandwiches? Elite. Those desserts? Even better. I ate the majority of them because, in this family, I am the designated human garbage bin — the one who finishes whatever everyone else “can’t” because they’re “full.” Full? Couldn’t be me.

But honestly, the best part wasn’t the food (though the food was dangerously good). It was sitting around the table with family we rarely get to see, catching up, laughing, and pretending we were far fancier than we actually are. Those moments feel rare now — and they matter.

Tea + skating + mountain views + family time = peak Canadian winter energy.

Launchpad Golf: Retired Millionaire Vibes With Questionable Aim

From elegance to chaos, we transitioned into Launchpad golf — which, if you’ve never been, is basically TopGolf but with more mountain views and more opportunities to question your hand‑eye coordination.

Launchpad has big “retired millionaire with questionable aim” energy. You stand there, swinging a club like you’re auditioning for a commercial, while the ball rockets off in a direction that is absolutely not where you intended.

Except — plot twist — I actually played well. Shockingly well. The kind of well that makes you think, “Maybe I am a golf person.” Maybe it was the sunshine. Maybe it was the 10‑degree weather in early February (which is unheard of). Maybe it was the fact that golf is basically just walking outside with occasional violence.

But suddenly I was excited for summer. Excited to get out on a real course. Excited for the outdoor vibe of golf — the fresh air, the views, the slow pace, the excuse to be outside without pretending to be athletic.

And doing it with family made it even better. There’s something about laughing together over terrible swings and surprise good shots that sticks with you. These are the moments we miss when we’re far away.

Launchpad was a vibe. A warm, sunny, early‑February miracle of a vibe.

Ending the Weekend the Only Way Introverts Know How

After all that socializing, movement, and pretending to be coordinated, we did what any self‑respecting introverts would do: we retreated into the woods.

Bragg Creek was the perfect reset button. Quiet. Peaceful. Exactly one other human on the trail — and we immediately pretended to be part of the forest so we didn’t have to interact. Classic.

There’s something about winter hiking that hits different. The air is crisp. The snow (in this case mud…) muffles everything. Mia was in her element, trotting around like she owns the place. And you get to exist in this little pocket of calm where the only thing that matters is the sound of your boots crunching on the trail.

It was the perfect way to decompress after a full weekend.

Why These Weekends Matter

Living in the Rockies isn’t just about the big adventures — the multi‑day hikes, the summit pushes, the epic road trips. It’s also about the small, chaotic, imperfect weekends that somehow become your favourite memories.

It’s about:

• Remembering how to snowboard without dying

• Skating on a lake that looks too pretty to be real

• Eating your body weight in tiny desserts

• Accidentally playing good golf

• Spending rare, meaningful time with family

• Ending the day in the forest, where everything finally feels quiet again

It’s about the balance — the chaos and the calm, the adrenaline and the stillness, the family time and the introvert recovery time.

These are the weekends that remind you that life doesn’t have to be perfect to be good. It just has to be lived.

The Takeaway

If there’s one thing this weekend taught me, it’s that winter doesn’t have to be endured — it can be embraced. Even if you’re slightly terrified on a snowboard. Even if your golf swing is questionable. Even if your social battery is running on fumes.

Get outside. Try the thing. Laugh at yourself. Eat the desserts. Skate the lake. Cherish the family time when you get it. Hide in the woods when you need to. And soak up every messy, beautiful moment with the people (and dogs) who make it all worth it.

Because honestly? Weekends like this hit different.

From Corporate 8–5 to Weekend Warrior: The Struggle Is Real (And So Are the Mountains)

There’s this funny little myth floating around the internet — the idea that people who live near the Rockies spend every weekend gallivanting up peaks, sipping summit coffee, and posting inspirational reels about “choosing adventure.”

Yeah… about that.

Let’s talk about the real transition from a corporate 8–5 to the adventure weekends we wish we had. Spoiler: it’s not seamless. It’s not aesthetic. And sometimes it’s not even happening.

The Corporate Drain Is Real

By Friday at 5:01 p.m., I’m usually staring at the wall like a Victorian child recovering from consumption. The week has wrung me out like a damp dishcloth — emails, deadlines, meetings that could’ve been Slack messages, and the existential dread of “is this really what I’m doing for the next 30 years?”

Sometimes the idea of a “chill day” (translation: lying on the couch, doing absolutely nothing, and pretending gravity is extra strong) wins. And honestly? That’s okay. Burnout is real, and no amount of motivational mountain quotes can override the fact that my brain occasionally turns into mashed potatoes.

Don’t Let the Outdoor Content Fool You

We try to get out every weekend. Truly. We live in one of the most beautiful places on Earth — the Albertan Rockies are literally our backyard. But don’t let the steady stream of outdoor content fool you.

We do not make it out every weekend.

Sometimes we barely make it out of bed. And while Instagram might suggest otherwise, we’re not superhumans powered by trail mix and optimism. We’re just two millennials trying to balance work, life, dogs, and the occasional existential crisis.

Millennial Reality Check

Growing up, we were told we could be anything. Astronauts. CEOs. Professional dragon tamers. Instead, most of us became overworked adults trying to achieve goals that seemed totally reasonable when we were 10 and had no concept of taxes.

The truth?

I find it tough. Really tough. I hate working — not in a dramatic “I refuse to contribute to society” way, but in a “nothing will ever compare to climbing a peak with my little fur family and Kim. But here’s the thing: life isn’t all doom, gloom, and Outlook reminders.

The Positives Matter (Even When They Feel Small)

When I zoom out, I realize we’re actually doing okay. We’re working toward owning a home (slowly… like glacially slowly). We live in a place where stepping onto the front porch with a morning coffee feels like stepping into a postcard. We have jobs that support our sometimes‑expensive hobbies and our definitely‑expensive dog‑parent lifestyle. And that’s not nothing.

If I let myself spiral into the “can I do this for 30 more years?” mindset, it snowballs fast. But if I focus on what’s good — what’s realistically good — things feel lighter.

Why We Moved Here

We knew we’d always have to work. That’s reality. But we also knew we could choose where we worked. So we chose mountains. We chose a place where even if we’re too tired to hike, we can still see peaks from the driveway. We chose a life where adventure is always an option — even if we don’t take it every time.

The Takeaway

In today’s world, you have to be realistic with your goals and dreams. But you also have to do everything in your power to make your life more fulfilling — even in small, stubborn ways.

Or, in corporate‑speak: Control the controllables. And if one of those controllables is choosing to live somewhere that makes your soul feel a little less crushed after a long week?

That’s a win.

TPLO Holiday

Tikka’s TPLO Christmas Special: A Holiday Tale of Knees, Chaos, and Character Building

If you ever want to test your stress tolerance, try hosting your parents for Christmas and having your 7‑year‑old, 100‑plus‑pound Kangal–Cane Corso mix blow out her knee on a “nice, normal walk.” Nothing says holiday spirit like a sudden yelp, a limping dog, and the immediate realization that your festive season just took a hard left turn.

Because of course it did.

The Incident (a.k.a. The Christmas Plot Twist)

There we were, strolling along like responsible dog parents, when Tikka let out a sharp yelp that stopped all of us in our tracks. You know that moment when your brain goes, “Nope. Nope nope nope. Not today.” Yeah — that one.

With her being a large breed and already seven, we’re realistic enough to know she doesn’t have unlimited hiking years left. But we weren’t ready to start the “retirement era” just yet. So off to the vet we went, parents in tow, holiday plans derailed, and stress levels rising like Alberta property taxes.

The Diagnosis: TPLO Time

After X‑rays, bloodwork, and a full mechanical inspection, the vet delivered the verdict: a torn cruciate ligament. The fix? TPLO surgery — Tibial Plateau Leveling Osteotomy — which is basically the orthopedic equivalent of a home renovation, but for dog knees.

Quick TPLO 101:

Instead of repairing the ligament itself, the surgeon changes the angle of the tibia so the knee becomes stable without needing the ligament. It’s wild, brilliant, and apparently costs about the same as a used car.

The good news? Tikka’s bloodwork and scans came back perfect. A clean bill of health. Which made the $5,000+ decision a little easier — if you’re going to invest in a knee, invest in one attached to a dog who still has plenty of mountain miles left.

We booked surgery immediately. Because when your dog is your adventure buddy, you don’t wait.

Surgery Day: The Emotional Olympics

Tikka handled the surgery like a champ.

I, on the other hand, spent the entire day sitting on the vet clinic floor like an unpaid emotional support human.

See, Tikka is… selective about new people. “On edge” is the polite term. “Suspicious of everyone except her inner circle” is more accurate. So to avoid any “interactions,” I stayed with her all day while she floated through the universe on whatever magical cocktail the vet gave her.

Imagine a 100‑pound dog, high as a kite, staring at the wall like it’s giving her stock tips. That was our day.

We got her home that evening, and she did incredibly well considering the trauma — physical and emotional — of the whole ordeal.

Us? Not so much. She whined all night, and I learned something important:

I am absolutely not ready to lose nights of sleep caring for a small human.

Sorry Mom and Dad — grandkids will have to wait.

The Recovery: Licks, Limping, and Lessons

We had a few “licking scares” (the surgical site is basically a “do not touch” zone), but overall, Tikka healed like an absolute beast. Within a week she was already weight‑bearing, proving once again that dogs are resilient and humans are… well… soft.

Today she had her staples removed and did shockingly well at the vet — though, to be fair, she was still a little drugged. A girl’s gotta cope.

But Wait… It’s Christmas. Of Course There’s More.

You’d think one major crisis would be enough for the holidays.

But no. The universe said, “Let’s make it a trilogy.”

Disaster #2: The Shower Meltdown

Shortly after getting Tikka home, our shower cartridge sheared off inside the wall, causing the shower to run nonstop. Normally this would be annoying but manageable.

Except our new home didn’t have a shutoff valve behind the shower.

So I had to shut off water to the entire house.

At Christmas.

Cue emergency plumber. Cue emergency bill. Cue me staring into the void.

Disaster #3: The Car Says “Nope”

Just when we thought we were done, my car decided it no longer wanted to start in the frigid Alberta weather.

Because why not.

Off to buy a new battery.

At this point, I was half expecting the fridge to quit or the roof to cave in. But apparently the universe was satisfied with a trilogy.

The Takeaway

Yes, it was stressful. Yes, it was expensive. Yes, it all happened at Christmas, because of course it did.

But everything was fixable. Everything had a solution. And Tikka — our stubborn, anxious, loyal mountain dog — is healing beautifully. She’ll be back on the trails soon enough, probably dragging us up a mountain like nothing ever happened.

And maybe, just maybe, I’ll come out of this with a little more patience.

(But still no kids. Not yet. Absolutely not.)

Trading Hustle for Horizons: Why We Started Alpine Vista Media

Hey there! We’re Liam and Kim—corporate professionals by weekday, mountain wanderers by weekend. Alongside our two adventure-loving dogs, Mia and Tikka, and our curious cat Twigs, we’ve traded the hustle of Ontario for the wild beauty of Alberta. The move wasn’t just about cost of living (though that helped)—it was about reclaiming space. Space to breathe, to roam, and to reconnect with the outdoors that always felt like home.

The Alberta Rockies have become our playground, and Alpine Vista Media is our way of sharing that joy—one trail, one summit, one muddy paw print at a time.

But getting started wasn’t easy.

We’ve talked about launching Alpine Vista Media for months—maybe years. The idea of sharing hike reviews, gear tips, and stories from the trail felt exciting… but also intimidating. There’s that quiet voice that creeps in: What if no one reads it? What if it’s not good enough? What if people think it’s silly?

Truth is, we’re not influencers. We’re not web developers. We’re just two people who love the mountains and want to build something that reflects that. And while the passion is there, the tech side? That’s been a learning curve. Navigating website builders, DNS records, image compression, and social media algorithms—none of it comes naturally. Especially as we get older, it’s easy to feel like the online world is speeding ahead without us.

But here’s the thing: we’re doing it anyway.

Because the trails we hike, the views we chase, and the moments we share with Mia, Tikka, and Twigs—they’re worth documenting. And if even one person finds inspiration, or feels a little more confident heading out on their first hike, then it’s all worth it.

So this blog isn’t perfect. It’s evolving. Just like us. We’ll be posting hike reviews, how-to guides, gear tips, and stories from the trail. Some posts might be polished, others might be muddy—but they’ll all be real.

Thanks for being here. Whether you’re a seasoned summit chaser or just love mountain views from your screen, we’re glad you’re part of the journey.

Let’s get outside 🌲
– Liam & Kim | Alpine Vista Media