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I put the phone down, puffed out my cheeks and exhaled slowly. How would I decide? It was a classic dilemma faced by many parents who try to squeeze big days in between family-related time commitments.

To say yes, I would have to have my bag packed the night before with exactly the gear needed – and only that gear – and have all my daughter’s clothing packed for daycare and lunches for her and me ready in the fridge. Water bottles would need to be filled, waiting to go like willing soldiers at the front door, and clothing laid out for the morning’s hike, plus warmer items to change into once at the base of the route. The alarm would sound and I’d be up drinking coffee and gravely spooning cereal quickly so that I could wake Little Missus and get her changed and fed. Then I would race to the van, perform a happy daycare drop at 7:45 a.m. and finally drive to the Apron parking lot to meet my pal and begin our adventure.

We’d have to hike up the Apron, up Boomstick Crack and on up through the woods above, until we could deke out left into the South Gulley, up the continuously sliding and slimy gully to the base of the route where we’d have to don dry clothes and begin stage two, the climb.

Somehow my pal had all but convinced me to try this new route from the ground, a route I knew little about, on a daycare day where pickup was at 4:30 p.m. sharp and when a forecast of drizzle hung in the air above our heads. From the base it would be seven pitches of ferocious and technical climbing to the summit, where we’d have to pack up and hightail it down the Stawamus Chief’s second summit trail and on to the Apron parking lot so I could pick my daughter up.

I planned, played and replayed the day in my mind trying to find the answer to whether I should go or not. On the one hand, I had a great pal visiting whom I don’t have the pleasure of climbing with often on a new visionary route pulled at my heartstrings. On the other, my little wild child might be left at daycare alone without her dad for pickup because he was off climbing on the Chief. This didn’t sit right. The latter image easily shut out the first with brutal twinges of adult-esque guilt mixing with the excitement of picking up my little hellion at closing time swirling in my mind. I dialled my pal’s number to bail on him.

When the day came, I dropped off my daughter in a happy mood and headed straight to the Cat Lake boulders, where I had a savage session and mangled my hands as the drizzle descended. I kept glancing towards the Chief wondering if he’d gone up and what it was like up there. Maybe time would have played out on queue and everything would have been fine? I grocery shopped, cooked dinner, cleaned up the house and finally picked up my little gal, still in a great mood. The rain had showered on and off all day and I thought I’d made the right decision yet I felt regret. I talked to my pal that evening, and he’d gone up alone to work parts of the route self-belayed and do some more cleaning on it, his infectious enthusiasm spilling out from my phone like the glass one-litre milk jug that slipped from my hand and onto my tile kitchen floor – bam.

Sometimes, doing what makes sense, doing what will get the most boxes ticked on the to do list and avoiding the risk just doesn’t feel as good as doing what feels right. I’ll never know if I would have made daycare pickup after spending a drizzly day up on the Chief, but the regret I feel was perfectly balanced by the happy squeals at 4:30.