After Jake had left, Cynthia nodded toward the picture on the mantle. "Impressive looking mountain, Lorne. Where is it?"

"Mount Waddington. But this shot shows only the top two thousand feet of it – there's another ten thousand feet of ice, snow and rock down to the valleys around it and another thousand from there down to sea level. Its rise above the valleys is comparable to the major Himalayan peaks."

"Oh! I remember the name from secondary school geography, but I forget where it is."

"Up the coast at the head of Bute and Knight Inlets, about two hundred kilometres east of the north end of Vancouver Island. It has such prominence that on clear days, it can be easily seen from there. And because it's the first thing hit by the warm, moist Pacific air, it makes its own weather."

"Aha! That explains Jake's comments."

"Exactly. The weather's unpredictability adds to the remoteness and the technical difficulties. Even in August, the midday temperature on the peak rises above freezing for only a few hours, if at all, so overnight rime and ice feathers are common."

I was about to ask about ice feathers when the chimes sounded again. "That should be the groceries."

While Lorne went to answer it, I removed my climbing shoes, and Cynthia chuckled, "You giving up on climbing already?"

"No, not at all. These aren't meant to be worn for long spells." I shrugged and grinned. "Nor for horizontal surfaces."

When we had put the groceries away, Lorne took the Waddington picture from the mantle and arranged the crash pads beneath the right wall. Then as I put my shoes on, I said, "Show me what you do in the dihedral. Looks like an easy send."

"Yes, easy using the mantle, but I've made a game of excluding it. There are few horizontal holds in the section – mainly vertical. I've tried bridging both face-in and face-out."

"Appears it would be easier if it's treated closer to a chimney." I laughed. "It is part of one, after all."

"A chimney? With no opposing faces, how?"

I walked across the pads, pleased with their cushioning quality, then placing my back against the chimney side, I planted my right foot on a thigh-high vertical joint and reached my left hand up to a finger jam. Then pulling up with it, I smeared my left foot under my butt, stemmed my right leg and moved my back up, my right hand winged in a smear to assist and stabilise. I found a crimp almost a full reach up with my left hand, relieved the stem and moved it higher before pushing up on the foot smear and replanting my back as I smiled down at him. "Like this, Lorne. Not done this in years, but it seems my body hasn't forgotten the moves."

"Oh, wow! Where did you learn that?"

"Let me concentrate on three more moves to finish, then I'll tell you." Less than a minute later, I rotated around and stepped onto the mantle, blowing a deep breath. "Can't believe how much I've missed this."

Cynthia shook her head. "You made that look as easy as walking up a flight of stairs."

I chuckled as I squatted and then sat on the mantle. "It is almost as easy when you've learned how."

Lorne stepped onto the hearth, reached up and lifted my butt off the mantle and guided me down into a hug. "Where did you learn?"

"Franz, a fellow in one of my UBC courses, was an instructor at Cliffhanger Gym, and he introduced me to climbing. Really got hooked on it, and he helped me become an instructor. We did routes on the Chief on the weekends, and we spent the whole summer climbing all the major peaks of central Vancouver Island."

"When was this?"

"My last two years of university." Wincing at the memories of what had followed, I pointed to the dihedral. "Your turn, Lorne."

When his stemming foot slipped on his first attempt, I said, "Move away from the face a foot or so. Give a better angle and more effective pressure on the holds; otherwise, you risk slipping again, or worse, barn-dooring."

He followed my advice, and two minutes later, he stepped onto the mantle, his entire face a smile. "Countless dozens of peels. Never thought to try it that way. Just kept bashing away at it with dihedral techniques."

I chuckled and pointed into the corner. "Now, to prove you've mastered this hybrid one, downclimb it."

The three of us spent the next long while teaching, learning and practising, interspersed by spells of sitting or lying on the crash pads, shoes off and discussing possible lines. The old instructor in me resurrected, and it gave deep satisfaction to see how quickly and eagerly Cynthia took to climbing. "You're a natural, Cynth."

"Thank you." She massaged her calves. "I find it better exercise than on the machines, at least, so my muscles tell me." Then running the back of her hand across her brow, she added, "And without all the sweating."

"Yes, it's great for flexibility, muscle tone and ego massage, but it's a bit short on cardio and aerobic." I shrugged. "That's where mountaineering comes in. The grind, the long backpack to approach the mountain and to ascend to where the serious climbing begins."

We lay gazing at the wall in silence for a long while, then Lorne asked, "What became of Franz?"

I blew a deep breath. "Came home early and caught him cheating on me. Kicked him out. Gave up climbing and focused on my dissertation and on writing."

Another long silence was broken by the jangling of Cynthia's phone, and she rushed across the room to it, returning a short while later, fist-pumping. "It's Ruth. Frank opened the email from the Mounties and replied to her, saying the image is garbled and needs to be resent."

Cynthia returned the phone to her ear and nodded as she listened. Then she looked up, smiling. "He suggested a change to the clean Suprême logo the Mounties then sent him. The dupe doesn't suspect they've broken into his system."