Words and Photography by Justin Ross
The alarm went off at 5 a.m., the kind of early that makes you question your life choices for half a second before muscle memory takes over. January had been relentless, weeks of storms stacked on storms, grey skies pressing low, rain tapping at the windows like a reminder that winter wasn’t done with us yet. The kind of month that slowly wears you down without you noticing, where motivation feels harder to access and everything takes a little more effort than it should.
I met Rhys down in North Vancouver while the city was still dark and quiet. We loaded up and caught the first ferry across to the Sunshine Coast, our gear packed tight in our RUX 70Ls, bikes strapped down, coffee doing its best to keep up. The ferry terminal lights reflected off wet pavement, and for a moment it felt like we were slipping out through a side door while everyone else stayed inside. It felt less like a trip and more like an escape, a small rebellion against the routine that winter tries to lock you into.
Langdale shoreline, our gear locked and loaded, Rhys riding on Itrail Roberts Creek.
By the time we reached Roberts Creek, the air had changed. The forest was impossibly lush, green stacked on green, damp from all that winter rain but glowing under breaks of sunlight. Everything felt saturated and alive. Moss clung to the trees, the ground was soft underfoot, and the light filtered through the canopy in a way that made the whole place feel calm and energized at the same time. It was the kind of light that instantly lifts your mood, the kind you don’t realize you’ve been missing until it’s on your face.
Riding bikes through the trees, it felt like shaking off weeks of built-up tension. But it also brought up a quieter, more complicated feeling. Since a bad crash last summer and dealing with a concussion that lingered for most of the year, my relationship with mountain biking hasn’t been simple. There’s still love there, but it now sits alongside hesitation, a constant internal check-in before committing to a line or picking up speed. Every ride carries a memory of impact, of the months spent recovering, of learning how fragile momentum can be. That day in Roberts Creek wasn’t about pushing limits. It was about rebuilding trust, riding within myself, and remembering that joy can exist without adrenaline. Every pedal stroke pushed the winter blues back, but it also felt like a small step toward confidence returning on my own terms.
We spent the day moving between worlds. One moment winding through quiet forest trails, surrounded by towering trees and filtered light. The next, out on the open ocean shooting boating content for Protector Boats and RUX. The contrast was unreal. Stillness and motion, shadow and glare, earth and salt. It felt like two extremes stitched together into one day, each one making the other feel sharper.
ProtectorTarga 310, loading our gear onto the boat, our lunch for the day in the RUX Cooler Bag.
Out on the water, the sun reflected off the surface in a way that felt almost medicinal. After a storm-packed January, that brightness hit differently. Cameras were rolling, gear was locked in, and watertight with both the RUX 40L and Waterproof Totes. Everything worked the way it was supposed to. There is something deeply grounding about that, especially when the weeks leading up have felt chaotic and weather-dependent. For the first time in a while, it felt easy to breathe. That sunshine did more than light the scene. It kept us sane.
As the day went on, fatigue set in the best way. Sun-warmed skin, salt drying on jackets, legs heavy from riding. The kind of tired that feels earned. Those are the sensations that cut through the fog of winter and remind you why you do this in the first place.
Stop off on the rocks for lunch, fresh prawns, and sunset with the fog rolling in.
Heading back, quiet and worn down in the right way, one thought stayed with me. The 5 a.m. wake-up call is always worth it. Every s i n g l e time. Especially in winter, when it would be easier to let the weather decide your mood. The real cheat code isn’t forcing motivation when the days feel heavy. It’s being always ready. Having your gear prepped, your systems dialed, so when a sliver of light shows up in the forecast, you can take it without hesitation.
Because sometimes beating the winter blues isn’t about waiting for conditions to improve. It’s about saying yes to the early morning, trusting the process, and chasing the sun wherever it’s hiding.
Thanks, Matt at Protector Boats Canada, for the day out on the water. Built in New Zealand and trusted globally by professionals and adventurers alike, Protector Boats are the ultimate adventure weapon for confident cruising in challenging conditions.
See the packing list for this trip here.
