The wind in the North Shore mountains is dense with cedar and wet earth. Mountain bike trails crisscross these foothills like veins. The ground is soft underfoot, a quilt of moss, red bark and hemlock needles that springs back underfoot. Somewhere off the Baden Powell tower hollow tree stumps, gigantic interiors smooth and cavernous, hidden castles in the heart of the forest. It’s quiet here, save for the soft rustle of leaves overhead, the ancient, crumbling heartwood dampens all sound waves. Beds of vivid green moss sprawl out around the castles, so alive it glows in the dappled light. The forest towers above, ancient and unyielding, its canopy fractured by misty shards of sunlight. The moss is cool and welcoming, as if the earth itself were a pillow in this foliage fortress.