Moss-dark forest swallows the noise of the city as you leave Cypress Mountain’s lodge behind, boards creaking under pack straps while creeks chatter over granite. The trail rises in cool switchbacks past old hemlock and cedar, then breaks free at St. Mark’s Summit where Howe Sound spreads below—emerald islands afloat on steel-blue water, ferries cutting pale wakes, the wind urging you higher along the crest. By afternoon the ridge turns combed and raw. Granite ribs lift into the sky and the trail threads them, daring you to trust your feet. The Two Lions—called Ch'ich'iyúy Elxwíkn by the Sḵwx̱wú7mesh (Squamish) People—stand close enough to feel their stone hold the day’s warmth. Camp goes up in the saddle between them, stoves whispering while city lights flicker far away. Night is alpine-quiet. Stars shoulder into view. The ridge keeps watch.