Le Tour de Black Tusk

Anyone who knows me well enough is quite aware that I’m an obsessed Tour de France fan, so much so that I’d somehow shamelessly work “Le Tour” into the title of a story. There’s something about the true sacrifice, courage, and suffrage of the world’s premier bicycle race, which was first held in 1903,  that has always fascinated me. I’ve been a devoted fan of Le Tour for decades. This story, full disclosure, bears no real resemblance to that gruelling 21 stage bike race, seeing as how it’s really about a one day tour of the Black Tusk region in Garibaldi Provincial Park. That said, I hope you’re enjoying the race so far this year and that you enjoy this tale. Hey, in the end, I’ll settle for the latter!

I like the riders who ride breakaways on the mountain stages, like Thomas Voeckler here, who has recently retired
It’s just so damn difficult!

It had been some time that we’d been kicking around the idea of hiking up the Rubble Creek Trail en route to camping on the shoulder of the Black Tusk one evening, and then doing some looking around on the following day. So it was on a perfect August afternoon that Doug and I were grinding uphill, overnight packs in tow, starting out on the dusty switchbacks at the relatively late hour of 6 pm. It was a balmy 22 degrees, cooled by a bit of a breeze, and surprisingly, there were very few hikers encountered on the trail. The intent wasn’t actually to climb to the summit of Black Tusk- I had done that before, and on this trek we had chosen not to bring our helmets- but to thoroughly explore this ancient volcano’s features.

Rubble Creek with The Barrier lurking behind. It’s important to remember several people have died in recent years trying to cross this raging torrent. Take care when you are near its banks as the current can be merciless!

The hike in to our campsite up went exceedingly well! We covered the 1400 metres of elevation gain and 15 kilometres of distance in just about three and a half hours. We then set up our lightweight shelters right at the end of the maintained trail, as per the park signs.   The Perseid meteor showers were in their beginnings, and it was amazing to be in a place so very quiet that was so close to civilization. Garibaldi Lake loomed silently below, and a panorama from Helm Peak all the way around to the Tantalus Range stretched out before us. One could easily see how this place had become sacred to the Squamish people, as there’s really no place that is quite the same!

Garibaldi, The Table, and Mt Price at dusk

Well, sometimes it’s true that all good things must come to an end, because the next thing we knew, an insidious breeze began drifting down from the col above. It started out innocuously enough, but after a while we felt as though we’d been tossed straight into a walk in freezer.  We had not brought an excess of warm clothing ( especially myself), and this was to be a major issue as the night wore on. It would have helped to pack an extra layer or three! Pretty soon we reconfigured the shelter into a double bivy to try to cut down on the draft, which helped a little bit, but I spent one of the most restless outdoor nights of my lifetime. To give you an idea of how cold I was, I wasn’t even annoyed that I’d forgotten to pack the beer I’d brought with me, so I’m sure that must have meant we were close to the limits of hypothermic tolerance! The hours ebbed away at a snail’s pace, the way they always do when your teeth are chattering. We knew that it was to be sunny and 25 degrees the next day, but of course the night hung on endlessly.

Never was I so glad to see the glow of sunrise nudging the ridge beside Helm Peak at 5 am or so. I don’t know how cold it was at Helm, but I’m certain there was probably plenty of rock falling there just as there was on the slopes of Black Tusk above us that night. You see, sleeping directly below the Tusk is kind of like being at poolside with a bunch of big kids behind you, because you never really know if they’re going to push you into the pool, or not! After a while, I had convinced myself that most of those rocks were smallish and far enough away, perhaps because we had not the inclination to move anyway. So ended the infamous “Night of the Frozen ‘Nads”, as we took to calling it later!

Here follows a few images taken at the scene. You’ll have to imagine the cold just as I had to imagine the photo, as I had rolled over in the middle of the night and somehow shattered my camera screen! That made photography quite interesting for the rest of the trip, as I had no clue what I was getting in the shots that I took.

Sunrise glow over Helm Peak
As I stood up to take this photo, I remember pretty much every joint in my body cracked audibly!
Good morning, Black Tusk!
The sun rising further, and bringing its warmth with it! So…much…warmth!
Left to right, Castle Towers and Panorama Ridge with the Overlord Group in behind, all destinations that we have been lucky enough to hike

I’d be remiss, before telling the rest of this tale, if I didn’t give you a little background information on this intriguing destination, so first a little knowledge. The Black Tusk is one of the most identifiable landmarks you’ll find in the Coast Mountains. It almost seems to be thumbing its nose at the world, some might say, while others have implied the gesture might be a little more profane! The true summit, rarely reached due to several pitches of hard to protect and fast crumbling rock, is 2319m in elevation. The sub summit I had reached years ago has a worn trail right to the top and stands slightly shorter. It can be seen from quite a distance from the Squamish and Whistler area as you drive along the Sea to Sky Highway (Highway 99). Part of the Garibaldi Volcanic Belt and, of course, the Garibaldi Ranges, it’s classified as a stratovolcano

The Black Tusk is certainly as well named as it is conspicuous

The volcano has been extinct for ages, but trust me when I tell you that when you walk its slopes it somehow seems like it could spring to life at any given moment. Geologists believe that it was originally formed about 1.2 million years ago, and that a second round of activity after glaciers receded eroded the surrounding cinder cone, leaving only its harder lava core. It’s thought that the most recent changes occurred just 170,000 years ago, which is relatively recent in geologic time!

One of Doug’s finest photographs! That’s me making my way toward the ridge in the background

Unbeknownst to many, the Black Tusk actually also has two sizeable glaciers, which can be found on the northeast and northwest slopes of the mountain. Like many glaciers today, they are in serious retreat, but since they are also covered in a substantial layer of fallen rock for the most part, they are melting very slowly.

Doug descending the trail off the cone

The peak also has great significance to the people of the Squamish First Nations. They call it T’ak’t’ak mu’yin tl’a in7in’a’xe7en, which translates as “Landing Place of the Thunderbird”. It is said in their lore that the fire and lightning of the thunderbird was what formed the mountain. Having long been fascinated by its unique appearance, I can certainly see why they assigned such mystic qualities to it, as it certainly commands your attention! After all, as original inhabitants, they may well have witnessed its fury firsthand! When you visit, remember these words, and treat the land with the utmost respect.

The Thunderbird


Garibaldi Panorama

After the rough night, we didn’t expect too much of ourselves, but as it turned out the coffee and cheerios we put down had us on the way to points higher at around 7 am, but not before we’d defrosted somewhat! We walked parts of  the approach trail toward the summit to have a look at the chimney, stopping for all distractions on the way. Most folks who visit only bother with the direct route, so you usually have the outliers to yourself, which I enjoyed a lot. Next time up I think I would want to camp above the col on one of the sub summits, as the views from there are unparalleled!
Here are some scenes from all of that rambling, and I hope you enjoy them as much as we did!

Approaching Black Tusk from camp
Garibaldi Lake always has that beautiful colour, owing mostly to glacial till
Doug surveys the valley below
Each and every type of rock made a different sound underfoot. These would scrape loudly and then clink together resoundingly!
You can see where the trail has worn into the slope before it swings over to the left, but as you approach it you can see a band of rock there that almost tricks the eye into believing the trail goes straight up the sheer rock face!
Here is another profile of Black Tusk. The red rock in the foreground was both surprisingly good for traction, yet also constantly crumbling
These hardened fins of the volcano’s core remain exposed, after the rest of the cone has eroded away
This picture shows you my uncanny ability to find dirt wherever I go! Photo by Doug
The song “Might As Well Be Walking On The Moon” came to mind while walking this mountain
Here comes Doug down the field of shrapnel. The trail is actually well worn and relatively stable underfoot
When this volcano was last active it must have been quite the sight!

The diversity of this place was very unexpected. I’d just expected to find a big pile of black rock but there was so much more there than meets the eye. Once we’d had our fill of the main summit, we branched out to explore the perimeter areas.

Having had enough of the cone, we headed off to the opposite side of the plateau


Some flowers manage to eke out an existence in these supposedly barren soils
This rock sounded like you were breaking dinner plates as it was walked on!
This view was very addictive!


More different textures
No shortage of spectacular views!
A perfect ready made shelter. This would have worked well against the winds
The Squamish Cheakamus Divide and beyond

It was at this point we took a break for lunch, not really wanting to leave, but knowing that we had to. Returning to the mountains and forests again and again is seen by many as seeking a challenge, but for me it has always been the easiest thing in life to do. It’s the everyday mundane tasks and duties that confront me the most, while the mountains are a place to savour freedom in one of its purest forms! The sunny weather and warmth of the midday sun may even have been the very best part of all, as we soon forgot the cold of the previous night! It took a couple of hours to descend the path back to the parking lot, and we soon met the first of the hikers on their way uphill once we reached Taylor Meadows.

One last look at T’ak’t’ak mu’yin tl’a in7in’a’xe7en, the Landing Place of the Thunderbird
The Black Tusk
Enjoying wildflowers in the meadows below
We were almost tempted to jump into this waterfall!
The Tantalus Group on the horizon

The Tour de Black Tusk ended very well, though the haze of distant wildfires obfuscated some of the views, and by mid afternoon we reached the truck and our highly anticipated cooler of beer. We met scores of people on their way up the trail to Garibaldi Lake. It was a popular place then, and that’s even truer today. All manner of folk were seen, in all ages, shapes and sizes, and in widely ranging states of preparedness. In the parking lot we enjoyed some much needed refreshments and were even gifted some cheese by some hikers from Washington that we met! Random acts of cheeseness, what more could a Canadian ask for?

While it might be difficult to time a trip to this wilderness in order to avoid the crowds, the highly unique terrain of the Black Tusk is without a doubt worth the effort. If you manage to see it for yourself, here’s hoping your tour goes as well as ours did, minus the evening chill!

Laurent Jalabert takes on a mountain stage in the 1995 Tour de France






Blowdown Pass, High Above It All

In this day and age of modern and lightweight gear, 4X4 trucks and sport utility vehicles, it’s important to remember that mountaineering used to be much more of an arduous pursuit. The approaches were lengthy and required far more time and commitment, as there were few mining and logging roads. The chances for rescue were often slim to none, if an accident occurred. In part because the access we enjoyed on this particular excursion was relatively easy, I feel compelled to dedicate this story to the mountaineers of yesteryear. Like Tom Fyles, pictured below, they fought the harder and lonelier battles of earlier exploration, and I raise a glass to them all, as you should, too!
I do, however, have a story or two to tell, so let’s get on with that…
It was a perfect September afternoon, the kind most hikers dream about. The wheels of Denis’s Toyota pickup rocked back and forth, and side to side as we steadily made our way up to Blowdown Pass. This valley, perched on the boundary of Stein Valley N’Laka Pamux Provincial Park, is a genuine Coast Mountain paradise, home to rugged peaks, and spectacular floral displays. It’s also one of the strongholds of southwestern British Columbia’s remaining grizzly bear population, and a place whose name is closely associated with some unique historical lore, but more on that just a little later. The upper  section of the Blowdown Creek Road certainly required some very skilful driving, but fortunately, Denis was more than up to the task!
The three of us arrived atop the Blowdown Pass in the evening, but we were surprised to notice we’d still have the time to climb Gotcha Peak before the sun was to set. We quickly decided that rather than setting up camp right away, we’d take to the mountain instead. We only needed to gain somewhat less than four hundred metres in elevation to the summit, which we managed easily in about forty five leisurely minutes! Doug led the way with Denis following, while I tarried behind taking far too many photos.
Soon we were on our way up to the summit of Gotcha Peak, as short and sweet of an ascent as I’ve ever had!
Doug and Denis discussing something interesting. Spoiler alert, it’s probably probably beer or potato chips!


Sunset light soon began to fall on the nearby peaks
A boulder overlooking Gott Peak and the Cottonwood Creek Valley beyond
The guys heading up Gotcha Peak, with the summit not too far above


And here it is, Gotcha Peak’s summit cairn, at 2459 metres, with the flanks of Notgott Peak off to the left


Notgott Peak in fading light


Dramatic sights were everywhere!


What I thought was Blowdown Peak, but now I’m not too sure
Had it not been so late in the day we’d likely have climbed Notgott Peak as well

We spent only a scant five minutes on the summit before hiking back down, as there was beer for us to drink and a tent for Doug and me to pitch, after all. Besides, Denis abhors excess summit loitering at the best of times! The trip back to the pass took us just twenty minutes or so, and was only delayed by more of my camera shenanigans!

Denis on the descent. You can see the Blowdown Creek Road winding its way up the valley
I was fascinated with how this photo turned out

After we climbed Gotcha Peak, Denis set up camp in his trusty Toyota, while I helped Doug pitch his MEC Wanderer car camping tent which we have dubbed “The Hoser Hilton”. What with our somewhat icy tenting experience on the Black Tusk recently all too fresh in our minds, this time we were really loaded for bear! We had down sleeping bags, full sized pillows, and countless layers of clothing. We even brought camp chairs and firewood! A fire pit was built, stories were told, many beers were drank, and chips were crunched as the cold night air settled in the pass. Myriad topics were discussed around the campfire, chief among those the upcoming NFL season- we are all Seattle Seahawk fans- and the crazy characters of the old Clubtread hiking website over the years, the latter enough to fill the pages of a epic novel! Tales of adventure were many, to say the least. Sometimes you don’t realize all the things you’ve done over the years because you’re often so focused on the next excursion!

A blue moon would rise later that night, but beforehand, its glow illuminated the skies above the 2360m summit behind camp, which I was already scheming to climb before breakfast the next morning. These were good times, with great company, in one of those special places that defy normal description; Blowdown Pass is a location you almost appreciate more after you have left it than when you were actually there!

The Blue Moon

As easy as this climb was for us, the man for whom this valley was named lived a decidedly rougher and more challenging life. His story, which I will relate here, was one of considerable struggle in a very different era.

The Gott Creek Valley (and Gott Peak), also once the site of lucrative mining interests, takes the name of local guide, trapper, and legend Francis “Frank” Gott. He was the subject of a manhunt in the Lillooet area after the shooting of local game warden Albert “Bert”Farey in 1932, by most accounts, but the story is actually much more nuanced than some folks would have you believe. You see, Mr Gott was of native heritage, and the man who sought to arrest him was following a provincial law which for decades had given no proper respect to the fact that the St’át’imc people had hunted animals for sustenance long before colonial powers had arrived in British Columbia.



The news of his day more or less tells us that the authorities were angered by “out of season hunting”,  so they had enacted the Protection Game Act of 1905 to basically force people to comply with their new rules. They were also known to specifically target indigenous people most frequently, and this harassment no doubt engendered further hostilities. In addition, the law was also trying to prohibit the sale of alcohol to “Indians”, and would often prosecute First Nations people who were caught either consuming liquor or providing it for others. That, essentially, was a further violation of their rights. (Gott also served a six month jail term for the latter offence.)

The warden, Bert Farey, and Frank Gott had originally been feuding for several years, after he had fined Gott previously for hunting a deer illegally. That feud finally came to a head in 1932, when Gott shot Carey and killed him after an altercation ensued over yet another deer carcass. Gott, then distressed, left a note professing his intent to commit suicide, and subsequently a posse was raised to hunt him down. He was found, shot several times as he fled, and eventually captured, but he never stood trial as he later perished from his injuries in 1932 at the age of 76.

It is considerably sad that these events ever came to pass, truthfully. Gott was revered for his skills as a woodsman and guide, and was also considered a fine man by those who knew him. After all, at the age of 62, he had disguised himself and even dyed his hair to appear younger just so he could fight for Canada in World War I. (The maximum age for enlistment was 47!) He served the country well, but once authorities discovered his age he was discharged in 1917, returning to his Lillooet area home with both the British War Medal and the Victory Medal. Among the people of the St’át’imc Nation, Frank Gott is considered a hero, and I quite frankly agree with that in many ways. While it’s true he almost certainly shot Farey and killed him, he was also being forced to follow unjust laws and he was subject to the many other abuses native Canadians faced on their own ancestral lands. Gott’s story, and that of game warden Bert Farey, who was also both a decent man and a decorated World War I veteran, are needlessly tragic. If nothing else, they were and are glaring examples of the mistakes and oppression of colonialism. Even today, there are plenty of reparations to be made between First Nations people and Canada. It is my sincere hope that things continue to improve. For more about the St’át’imc Nation history, read here

The Cottonwood Valley was once the sight of the very productive Silver Queen Mine,  which was why the road up to Blowdown Pass was originally constructed

I was up at the break of dawn the next day, as I always am in the mountains, and so set off alone to enjoy the sunrise before breakfast. A golden glow illuminated the Cottonwood Valley beyond the pass as bright orange skies ushered in the day above Siwhe, Evenglow Mountains, and the Stein Valley beyond. I scrambled up the northeast ridge of that summit behind camp, hands in pockets, with snow falling faintly, until a steep frost covered section and a pair of gullies demanded closer attention. Caution was needed there as a little Class 3 scrambling complicated by slick, loose, rock led me to the summit, where I gazed out on the panoramic views over the Stein Divide. That done, it was time to head back to camp for coffee and oatmeal – two things that Doug makes  better on on camping trips than anyone else I know! Rather than descend all the loose rock covered with a glaze of frost and traces of fresh snow, I instead descended the west face toward Gotcha Peak on larger granite blocks before angling down toward camp, as the rock there was somewhat drier.

Siwhe Mountain and the sunrise glow, as if painted by a brush
Sunrise in Cottonwood Creek shines on
Looking down at Blowdown Lake just below the pass
The road to the old Silver Queen Mine


The summit of the unnamed peak behind the pass was a pretty nice place to be
A panorama of the Blowdown Valley, Gott Peak is at right
One last look at the sunrise, time for coffee!

I soon returned to camp just as Doug had the coffee ready. We all had our fill of breakfast and the jokes flowed freely as we geared up to tackle Gott Peak. As the valley began to warm, we followed the intermittent trail up the west ridge. The track first winds its way up heather and krummholz laden slopes into the alpine tundra above. Eventually, it passes a small bump on the rolling ridge before making its way to the summit proper of Gott Peak. The clouds were ever present, actively moving about in an effort to block the sun, sometimes successful, sometimes not. No need to rope up for this one, folks! It’s just a question of putting one foot in front of the other and following the obvious route till you reach the final cairn, so that’s what we did. Views from the  2511 metre summit and on the ridge walk were sublime, especially those of the Gott Creek Valley, stretched well out before us, and of Blowdown Lake, far below in its secluded bowl. On the way back Doug took the lead and tried to save us some elevation gain by leading us on a traverse below the ridge crest, which was an interesting diversion. The entire trek to Gott took maybe about a couple of hours with considerable kibitzing along the way, and soon after we were packing up for the drive down.

Noble warriors all, from the campfire session the night before. Pack it in, pack it out, people!
The sweeping ridge line of Gott Peak
Morning comes to Cottonwood Valley
Denis hiding out in his natural habitat. Gotcha Peak is right behind him to the left in this photo
This was the peak I had climbed before breakfast. That fresh dusting of snow had already vanished
Doug and Denis on their way up the ridge
The Gott Creek Valley
On the eastern sub summit looking out toward the rest of the ridge
Dry and rugged alpine terrain
Blowdown Lake
Fragile and tiny lupines
Doug hams it up trying to make things look steep and difficult!
Endless ridge walking opportunities
Returning to the road as we get ready to head home
One more look at Gotcha Peak and Blowdown Lake

On the whole, it was a quiet visit to the mountains. We saw just two day hikers on their way up as we left, and a couple more on their way down who looked like they were returning from a much longer trek.

Wildlife report?
Many pikas were heard or seen, but no photographs.
Half a dozen marmots were seen, but again, no pictures.
No bears were seen at all, and, most likely, all mosquitoes were presumably killed by the cold as we were not bitten a single time!

As always, the drive down was not nearly as difficult, because gravity works, and before noon we were kicking back with lunch and a couple more beers alongside Duffey Lake. This was a five star outing for all, and many thanks go to Denis for his driving skills, as the road was without a doubt the most difficult obstacle to overcome on this trip! If you haven’t had the opportunity to visit Blowdown Pass, then get there soon, it’s an experience you won’t forget!

Duffey Lake





Two Summer Days in the Mamquam Valley

The sound was as loud as it was clear! The distinctive grunt and snapping of jaws left little doubt as to its source. Motioning silently to each other, we beat a hasty retreat down the alder choked logging spur, hightailing it back to the Mamquam Forest Service Road. Chris and I had no question that we’d run into an ill tempered black bear, even though neither of us had seen it. So ended our ill fated assault on Pinecone Peak!

Actual black bear, possibly similar to what was heard. The sound was enough to get rid of us!

This story had its beginnings in the third week of June 2008, when we had decided to set out to climb the aforementioned mountain. Armed with some decent route descriptions and trip reports from good friend Simon, we had made our way deep into the Mamquam Valley in Chris’s trusty Ford, under deceptively clearing skies. The road was still wet from spring torrents as Chris displayed an array of evasive manoeuvres to avoid obstacles better left to four wheel drive travel. In addition to running some damn fine bookstores ( visit him at one of Vancouver’s Pulpfiction Books locations ), he can also flat out drive a logging road! Up until that ursine encounter, it had been a fairly pleasant outing. We had even taken the time to stop and look at the many creeks bursting with meltwater as the skies seemed to part above, hinting at a bluebird day. Optimistically, I felt that the weather would take a turn for the better, after all, how often does the forecast turn out to be wrong these days?

Rushing waters were the order of the day!


The M-22 Spur, bear not included!

Alas, we were duped by the weather gods! It was just as well, I suppose. Ominous clouds had begun gathering above and the rain then began to fall, lightly at first, then harder, and harder still. What to do now? Well, we wandered about the valley, hiked up a few logging spurs, located the M-110 logging spur that led to the Pinecone Lakes Trail and Peak 6500, then spent a little more time perusing the area. Some considerably large stumps of Western Red Cedar were one highlight of the morning, along with several piles of shotgun shells and views of misted forest.

Wandering a cut block above the Mamquam River

Clouds hung low in the morning silence, a deer hopped through an opening in the clearcut and soon disappeared. We marvelled at the endless determination of the road builders, and wondered aloud how many more piles of spent shotgun shells there might be in this valley. Good thing none of the local Leroys were around that day!
A stroll up yet another spur netted a really rare find- an old Zenith cabinet style  colour television with, you guessed it, another nearby cache of shotgun shells!


A moody day
Colourful array of spent shell casings


A misty forest scene
Is this thing on?

As my friend Tracy later said “Wow, that TV’s seen better days!! I bet it remembers this Coke commercial, or this Big Mac commercial, and, of course, Mikey.”                 Televisions like these sure do bring back fond memories, don’t they? In my mind, I almost could imagine Adam West (R.I.P.) and Burt Ward in an episode of the old Batman series playing out on screen! Bam! Sock! Thwack!

The only real Batman (the late Adam West) and Robin (Burt Ward) ***Not for profit, All rights reserved***


Alive with greenery!
Chris heading for one of those big cedar stumps

From there we bushwhacked back through the clearcut, admiring the surprising biodiversity, and the general aura that showed us that the Mamquam Valley was a special place, despite the obvious human disturbances.

We finished our foray with a wander down to the banks of the Mamquam River itself, enjoying the sounds of the roaring current amid the din of the pouring rain, while I vainly attempted to keep my camera dry just to try and land a few decent photos!

Thuja Plicata, the Western Red Cedar
The Mamquam River


Another raging creek

It hadn’t exactly been the kind of alpine excursion we’d daydreamed about, but it had nevertheless been a memorable day!  I’d characterize it as unexpectedly eventful, at  minimum.
Soon enough we were enjoying our lunch in a Squamish cafe, drinking coffee and telling more tales, a little wet but certainly none the worse for wear. An ironic denouement, at least for Chris, considering his profession. We’d come to buy, but settled for browsing, in the end, though we enjoyed it well!


The weeks rolled by swiftly, and soon, summer was almost over. Doug and I seized the opportunity to head up the Mamquam Valley again, before the days began to shorten. On this occasion, not only was it not raining, but the chance of precipitation was basically nonexistent! We were determined to find the M110 logging spur and hike up to Peak 6500, sometimes known as Seed Peak. The mountain sits in the same cirque as Mt Gillespie, in an alpine playground full of tarns, beautiful granite blocks. There are even remnants of a pocket glacier, whose demise seems inevitable.

Here are a couple of views from the road as we drove up the M 110 spur….

The Mt Garibaldi massif, as seen from the M-110 logging spur. It’s the closest volcano to the Greater Vancouver area, and it’s right on the doorstep of Squamish!
After winding our way up all those logging roads, finally we managed to reach the trailhead to Peak 6500. Both the road and the trail had been brushed out and reflagged, making our passage somewhat easier. The track began with a beautiful walk through subalpine forest to a plateau, then followed with a steep scramble up to Peak 5700, which has an outstanding view of the surrounding Coast Mountains!

The more we meandered, the greater was my affinity for this place. Should you decide to visit it yourself, please remember to treat it with the utmost respect. Be sure to leave no trace by packing out what you pack in, and take great care not to damage the fragile environment!

One of the sections of fast melting glacier in the basin

As day trips go, this wasn’t a long one by my standards. It was about seven hours car to car including all the alpine sauntering, but the drive up will take you at least a couple of hours, so an early start is recommended. One thing I can assure you is that you won’t be disappointed!

A view from the summit cairn



The Hollyburn Fir

The Hollyburn Fir is an absolute revelation! Sitting almost inconspicuously in a shaded forest clearing on West Vancouver’s Brewis Trail, it has somehow managed not only to avoid being logged, but also to evade even being discovered until 1985, at least officially! Its trunk measures over ten feet in diameter and its age is estimated at about 1000 years old. The tree was nominated for the B.C. Big Tree Registry by Randy and Greg Stoltmann, both West Vancouver residents at the time, I believe. It still ranks highly on British Columbia’s list of top ten Douglas Firs, as far as I know.

The first time I saw this tree I was surprised that it seemed so little known. That has changed now, and it gets many regular visitors
The trunk retains a lot of diameter as it rises, and is very straight and true. I believe the height is roughly 250 feet, when I last checked

You would think that an enormous Douglas Fir would have drawn more attention over the years, especially as it resides in an area that once had extensive logging and has also been used considerably for recreation. It may just have been that it was a well kept secret by locals, as there are even eighty year old cabins in the vicinity that are less than two kilometres from this tree!

The base of the Hollyburn Fir is a bit over ten feet in diameter at breast height
It’s easy to feel humble standing alongside something that is ten centuries old! Doug giving it the stoic turn of the 20th century style pose in this photo!

It’s no surprise, however, that it was found on the lower slopes of Hollyburn Mountain. A large scale logging operation at the turn of the twentieth century did a fair share of harvesting in both Lawson Creek and nearby Brothers Creek. The forests of Lower Hollyburn were legendary! Many of the trees taken in those days were between 500 and 1000 years old in age. Even so, many grand specimens do remain standing, but with certainty, the Hollyburn Fir may just outshine them all!

This is the more rarely photographed west side of the tree
A closeup of the bark structure on one side of the tree

If you haven’t had the chance to visit this giant, I suggest that you do. In a world that persists in seeing ancient forests simply for their dollar value, trees that have lived for a millennium are in increasingly short supply. This one, at least, is protected from that avarice, and to see the Hollyburn Fir is like travelling back in time!

I am always happy to visit the Hollyburn Fir!

Seven O’Clock Happens Twice a Day

Steve laughed heartily, leaning over to the right in the cab of his Toyota 4X4. “Damn it,” I said. “When am I ever going to get that right?” You see, his truck is imported from Japan, where vehicles are all right hand drive, so I keep on going toward the wrong door when I go to get in the passenger side. “Haha, you’ll just do it again before this trip’s over! Mark my words,” he replied, laughing harder still. He opened up the tailgate and we rearranged our gear for the long drive north. Soon, we were bound for Britannia Beach, where we’d be meeting Doug and Wally at Galileo’s for a coffee at 7 am. From there, it was back onto Highway 99 to Pemberton, where we’d be detouring toward Birkenhead, and a series of logging roads that would finally bring us to the head of Tenas Creek. Destination? Seven O’Clock Mountain.

Seven O’Clock Mountain, from July 2010, taken from Sun God

Nestled high on the divide between the Birkenhead, Tenas, and Tenquille Valleys, this was a familiar haunt to Doug and I, as we’d biked up the Tenas Creek Road with overnight packs and set up camp near Sun God Mountain eight years before ( You can read more about that here ). While we then managed to climb Sun God, we’d run out of time to summit Seven O’Clock Mountain on that occasion, so were stoked to be returning for another try. For Steve and Wally, it would be their introduction to the area.

There would be quite an eclectic mix of generations present on this trek, with Doug and I in our fifties, Wally in his seventies, and Steve in his thirties. The coffee went down smoothly, and we soon moved on, with Doug leading the way in his Toyota Tacoma. Our only stop was for fuel in Pemberton, where we amused ourselves with current tales of adventure and had a few laughs looking at some very peculiarly dressed summer tourists. The weather was clear and sunny, and we couldn’t have been happier to have had a couple of days free to enjoy the mountains!

Wally gets a photo of Doug before we head up, with Mt Ronayne in the background

Driving up the Tenas Creek Road had not been an option for us back in 2010 due to washouts and downed trees, and cycling up the road had been pretty gruelling back then, as we’d later reminisce. This time we’d heard the road could be driven right to the trailhead, and as it turned out, that proved to be true. Just before 1030 am we parked the trucks and geared up for the hike, much to the delight of the waiting clouds of insects. On this trip there was a lot to look forward to, with plenty of food and gear along for the ride, and a full cooler of beer for refreshments!

No, Steve is not a member of ZZ Top! Those dudes are way, way older and not as “sharp dressed”

The forecast was typical for the region in July, expected to be clear, sunny, and approaching the low thirties in degrees Celsius. The trail, if you can call it that, is a notoriously steep and sparsely marked track. We soon settled in for the long uphill grind.

I was surprised to notice you could see the summit ridge of Sun God from where we parked

Among the sundry topics of conversation as we climbed was an online trivia game for prizes Doug told us he’d been playing lately. All players answer the questions and are eliminated as soon as they fail, apparently. He spoke of one question that involved clocks that knocked out a lot of competitors, then wryly suggested that all the millennials must have dropped out of the running because none of them knew how to read clocks with hands. This brought great laughter from all, and good humoured protest from Steve, who proclaimed he had no trouble telling time and proceeded to prove that several times during the hike. Besides, it was more than easy for him to get back at any of us when we mentioned anything prior to the mid eighties, since he was more than happy to point out he hadn’t even been born by then! None of that stopped me from branding the colour of his shirt as “Millennial Orange”, though.

The approach trail is pretty minimalist and features a lot of this type of action!

The trail through the forest was steep and unforgiving, but the the bushwhacking was still light and tolerable. I could tell that the route hadn’t received excessive traffic in the years since my last visit. I found, however, that my memories of the approach had blurred, and after a while it seemed like unfamiliar territory. All that changed, naturally, when we broke out of the trees to the welcome view of Mt Ronayne. It then dawned on me that we were not too distant from where Doug and I had bivouacked eight years before, with Sun God Mountain towering above us.

Our first look at Mt Ronayne!
Me, Wally, and Steve crashing through the brush! Photo by Doug
Wally, me, and Steve grinding up the boulder field. The Sun God/ Seven O’Clock Col was getting ever closer! Mt Ronayne in the background. Photo by Doug
Doug smartly taking refuge in the trees as we scrap our way uphill
Sun God comes into view, can you see Doug scrambling around the corner?
We could now see the road we had driven up the Tenas Creek Valley
Arriving at the col! Photo by Doug

Once we were within sight of a most familiar lake below the summit ridge of Sun God, we decided to take a break. I was glad of that because I had to take off my new boots and repair some blisters they’d already given me. The meadow looked as beautiful as ever, snow free as it was this time. When Doug and I had last visited it had been entirely snow covered.

The southeast summit of the Ronayne massif
A big zoom on Birkenhead Mountain across the valley. We hope for a closer look someday

Steve then trekked down to the lake to replenish his water supply while the rest of us snacked. Wally and Doug, meanwhile, were discussing the frustrating issue of markers continually disappearing from Grouse Mountain hiking trails back in North Vancouver. The problem was resulting in lost hikers and late nights for the North Shore Rescue team that they volunteer with. Somehow Wally, armed with an effusive sense of humour, managed to make that a funny conversation. I think his many experiences in different parts of the world have given him some well rounded perspectives on life!

The guys enjoying a snack before we begin the battle
Steve heads down to the lake for water. “Millennial Orange” is an easy colour to spot!

I spoke of my impending move to Vancouver Island, which was to begin in several weeks. Changes are often unsettling to me, and this one was about as big as they get! Having lived several decades in the same place, I’d be going from knowledgeable to neophyte, so to speak. The bright side was going to be all the new discoveries I’d be making!

Back to business! The first order of the day was to gain this ridge line

A brief meeting of the minds followed while we scrutinized the route in front of us. It looked relatively straightforward to begin with, because we needed to reach the high point visible on the ridge above to make a clearer decision about where to go next. The walk began on blocky steps, which became steeper as we climbed. The views of the valley and Sun God Mountain had our spirits soaring, and the sun, as it turned out, was not nearly as hot as we imagined it might be.

Doug leads Wally and I up to the ridge. Photo by Steve
Doug and Wally lead the way!
Sun God and the lake. Doug and I had camped there in 2010
Nearing the ridge crest
So many distractions!
Wally, Steve, and…what’s that? Me taking a photo? Pretty unusual! Photo by Doug

Once we reached the top of the ridge, we could see that there was a broad col and another sub summit that was our next obvious destination, but the route we needed to follow wasn’t immediately apparent. In the end, we chose to flank the ridge on the left side and work our way around it, which required thrashing our way through some pretty persistent krummholz before we managed to emerge just above the col. Krummholz, by the way, is defined as a forest of stunted trees near the timber line on a mountain. It also has the nasty tendency of scratching unprotected limbs and provoking random outbursts of foul language!

We have reached the sky!
Distant horizon looking somewhat foreboding, but good weather stayed with us on this trek
This was our next target, but first we would have to find the best way of getting there
The clouds were a great source of entertainment all day long!
Sorry, no photos of the brush I led us through. This photo makes me look smarter!

It was Doug who immediately concluded, and all agreed, that we should try out the other side on the way back. For a few minutes though, we savoured the satisfaction of being at the col!

Sun God at the centre of attention!


Mt Ronayne and company


The col was a wind blasted and barren place, all except for one persistent plant!
That plant in question was the durable mountain veteran Purple Penstemon

Now it was time to cross that col, with its splendid vistas far and wide, and scramble up the next pile of rock. Feeling a bit more energetic, I led the way upward, weaving through, around, and over the great granite boulders. It seemed as though we’d reach the summit soon, but as I crested the top I realized we still had to gain another 200 metres in elevation. We soon realized there was yet another peak to negotiate, and this one was going to be a bit more complicated!

We would follow the left skyline here, with some variations
This fine view of Cerulean Lake greeted us as we arrived on this part of the ridge!
Sun God was now looking larger than life!

We took to the rock enthusiastically, at first we followed close to the top of the ridge but, upon further inspection, we were forced to drop down and traverse it on a series of ledges on the left side. The right side, due to sheer drops, was not really an option at all! Already we could see that there was still another climb to deal with after this one, and after a little more meandering we were soon at its base.

The ridge crest had a great view, but no way were we walking on the remains of a cornice!
It was at this point I scouted ahead and decided to descend and traverse, after we got “cliffed out” here
Wally with Doug and Steve as we head for the next objective
I found some ledges then we scrambled up and across this formation.
Rock Ptarmigan. So often you don’t see them until you’re right on top of them!

While it didn’t lead to the summit we all wanted, that next section of scrambling finally cracked the code! We were now on an expansive and broad plateau that led to an outcropping of rock almost half a kilometre away. Seven O’Clock Mountain was finally in our sights! We took a short break at an icy tarn there as Steve filtered some water for everyone. I can clearly recall how wonderful it tasted, as does everything when you’re in the mountains, it seems!

Are we there yet?         Nooooooo!
Looking over the divide into the Tenquille Valley
Steve’s military grade water filter did a great job of restocking our supply here!
I almost decided to take a nap here!
My idea of a perfect world!


Doug now took the lead again as we traipsed across the summit plain and soon we were digging in for the last hundred metres or so of climbing. It had taken us about twenty more minutes to reach the final pitch.

Doug getting started on the plateau
Snow layers over rock
At one point the sky turned so blue that I had to check to see whether or not I was wearing my sunglasses. I was!
The clouds rescued us from direct sun exposure here, which was fortunate
A clump of the delicate looking but ridiculously tough Mountain Rock Phlox
Looking back at the plateau as we make for the summit

The top was reached somewhere around 2 pm in the afternoon. Steve and Doug mused that it would have been cool to be on Seven O’Clock at seven o’clock, but of course that would have meant we would have had to walk out in darkness! At Wally’s insistence, we all assembled for a summit photo or two and broke out some snacks. The views of surrounding valleys were breathtaking, and it was a highly satisfying place to be relaxing.

We now towered over Mt Ronayne and could see the mountains beyond it
The summit cairn!
Teal coloured tarn
Boyz in the Hood







Well, I reasoned, it’s time to turn it around, because “All that beer back at the trucks is not going to drink itself!” The laughter rose once more, as we began the long descent.

Doug leads us across the plateau again
Doug, me, and Wally begin that trek home!



One last look at the summit of Seven O’Clock Mountain


About to leave the plateau, but time for one more look!


Reversing our steps wasn’t too complicated, as it turned out, but we did manage to find ourselves off route a couple of times. At one point, we thought we’d lost Steve while contouring around the ridge again, but it turned out he’d taken a different route that got a little too complicated. I suggested we call it The Millennial Line, kind of a droll play on the Millennium Line, if you’ve ridden Vancouver’s Skytrain.

Pondering the route back



Ronayne resplendent in the afternoon light
Staring at the sky while waiting for Wally to get around this corner. Photo by Steve

What follows here is a sequence of shots taken by Steve on the descent, as Wally, Doug, and I descended the route.

This was some fairly barren ground! Photo by Steve
Doug leading the way. Photo by Steve
Photo by Steve
Hands on! Photo by Steve
Getting there…Photo by Steve
Where to next? Photo by Steve
Steve titles this one “Old Man Yells at Mountain”. (Smart aleck kids these days) Photo by Steve
It’s almost like posting the same photo twice in a row, but not! Copyright The Simpsons All Rights Reserved
The shadows began to descend, and so did the mosquitoes!

On the way back we ended up following very close to the same route, but Doug had made an earlier suggestion that would have saved us heading back to the lake and instead forging a direct line to the trail. In retrospect, it might well have served us very well had we tried it, as the extra hour or so was crucial when you consider that the bugs were now swarming aggressively as the afternoon light began fading. As it was, we careened through the brush ever downward, joyously reaching the road at six o’clock. “That’s when the big hand is on the 12 and the little hand is on the six, Steve”, as Doug explained.

Back on the logging road, trucks within grasp!

On our way up the valley, we had managed to check out an ideal camping spot on the banks of Tenas Creek, so we returned, hoping to find it unoccupied. It was not only free for the taking, but for some strange reason the mosquitoes never really figured out we were there! Doug and Wally were going to sleep in the truck, while Steve and I set up our tents with the idea of viewing the heavens later.

Obligatory camp shot, with my MSR Hubba in front

I had brought firewood but we managed to add to our supply by cleaning up the wood lying about the parking area. Soon we settled in for dinner, drinks, other refreshments, and an evening of tall tales told around the campfire. All manner of trips, past, present, and future, were discussed, as well as gear, music, history, and numerous other topics. Wally had us all laughing hard with the funniest story of the evening, all about a guy who used to do work safe presentations at a place he had worked at many years before. His films featured the woes of chainsaw accidents and apparently, though gruesome, were sometimes as funny as they were terrifying. Let’s just say one of the incidents recounted had us crossing our legs in mock agony. I told some stories about a couple of the more colourful baseball managers I’d played for over the years, while Doug shared some hilarious tales about the late North Shore Rescue leader Tim Jones, who we all knew and loved. Steve? He added a few stories of his own, but mostly, he just “enjoyed listening to you old guys talk!”

Tenas Creek

After a superb night out under the stars, we awoke to yet another picture perfect day, packed up, and had breakfast before beginning the long ride homeward.


Even as I once again failed to find the passenger side of Steve’s truck, it nevertheless struck me that you can never spend enough time with first rate friends. Seven o’clock may happen twice a day, but ironically, time has a way of standing still in the mountains.



Hiking the Dreamweaver Trail

I’ll call him “A”, and ultimately, it was his vision. His brainchild was to build a unique trail joining several challenging obstacles on the east side of Mosquito Creek Canyon to connect with a substantial log crossing on Mosquito Creek. From there, a serpentine path would twist its way through a superb grove of Western Red Cedars on Grouse Mountain that had somehow escaped the crosscut saws of early twentieth century loggers. It would eventually meet with the well worn Lower Grouse Mountain Highway (LGMH) Trail, which could then be used to access other paths. That trail would come to be known as Dreamweaver (click here for map)

One of the old wooden signs that used to mark the trail. It has since been removed, I have been told

Our unnamed trail builder was a  highly skilled woodsman with an impressive array of carpentry skills. The evidence shows that he is also someone who seems to like to tackle a difficult project. In other words, the perfect person to battle the route’s obstructions. The crux of the matter was a sharply sloped hillside high above Mosquito Creek bisected by a jagged ravine which had been worsened by decades of flooding. There was also the usual problem of massive fallen trees, not at all uncommon in this canyon.

Deadfall and other resultant chaos is common in the Mosquito Creek Valley, which is very steep sided and in a constant state of change

But were those downed trees really a problem?

“A” certainly didn’t think so. There was a massive log that spanned the hillside, but it was not quite safe for passage, at least not for most hikers. So what was the solution? In time, he figured it out! He would build a bridge using that fallen giant as a base.

In actual fact, that bridge had two incarnations because he wasn’t happy with the prototype. The final version would even be bolstered by wire rope cables. There would also be a sturdy cedar plank deck and some handrails at one end.  The result, after all those trials and tribulations, was a secure bridge that could withstand all but the absolute worst of Mosquito Creek’s propensity for natural disaster. It was a complex process into which he put his heart, soul, and determination. Days of work were required, as well as plenty of ingenuity, to get the job completed. A chainsaw, winch, plenty of physical strength, and the occasional friend also proved helpful.

So was he successful? Absolutely! The Kwai Bridge, as he named it, has stood solidly for the last seventeen years that I know of! Once this feat of engineering was mastered, then the next stage was to find a way to cross the oft raging waters of Mosquito Creek Canyon.

The Kwai Bridge is truly one of a kind and quite a feat of engineering

Once down on the banks of the creek, “A” once again found a similar solution to the problem of crossing Mosquito Creek’s main tributary. There was another fallen old growth giant admirably wedged across the waters! It could be used to bridge over to a series of big logs on the west bank of the creek! He set to planing it flat and etching it for improved traction. With all of that accomplished, all that remained was to choose an entry point into the forest above, where the track would continue its way into that splendid grove of cedars hidden nearby.

The crossing of the creek used to be quite simple as you would simply stroll across this downed tree that “A” customized

I have never had the chance to thank him personally, but the dedication he put into this project can only described as a labour of love. The North Shore Mountains have had more than their share of iconic trail builders, and Dreamweaver’s creator certainly takes his rightful place on that honour roll. Soon after it was built, the trail became a fast favourite of mine, and in the rest of this story I’ll try to show you why!

As the map shows, the trail actually begins in the maze of old skid roads near the top of St Mary’s Avenue in North Vancouver, where it makes use of a variety of different tracks which get it into the Mosquito Creek Canyon. For the purposes of this story I simply describe the trail from the point at which Dreamweaver intersects the Mt Fromme Trail, because I generally skip the conventional access and begin quite near where the Kwai Bridge is located ( I hike in via the Mt Fromme Trail which begins near the water towers at the top of Prospect Drive). 

Crossing the Kwai Bridge

When some local officials first saw the Kwai Bridge ten years later, there was a lot of disdain for it. In fact, though, despite its unorthodox construction, it has proven its worthiness over and over again. When you cross it yourself, take the time to linger and appreciate the effort it took to make it a reality, as you gaze down the sharp defile into the canyon.

Once you are across the bridge, your journey into the old growth forest begins! There is a nice group of cedars to wander among before the trail makes its way downhill to reach Mosquito Creek’s log crossing.

Among the old growth trees you see once you cross Kwai Bridge

The next segment of your excursion takes you across a slide slope that released about twenty years ago, with its origins half a kilometre uphill from the creek. The trail here becomes crude, with loose gravel, rock and exposed earth. New trees and foliage are struggling, with modest success, to reestablish growth on the rough hillside.

The slide path you cross on the way down to Mosquito Creek

Once you’re down on the banks of the creek, you’ll be looking to cross it, then head slightly downstream on the opposite side. If waters are high, you might find that fording the creek is now necessary, because that sturdy downed tree that makes the crossing has shifted somewhat over the years during storms.

The log crossing in 2018

In heavy rains, Mosquito Creek is not the place you want to be! In fact, further down the canyon the District of North Vancouver has even had to construct some elaborate cages of wire rope cable in order to catch and control debris torrents. Despite its proximity to North Vancouver, there have also been a disproportionate number of hikers that have lost their way in this canyon. Be well prepared if you go hiking there, and allow plenty of time so you don’t get caught out by darkness.

Mosquito Creek, just behind the log crossing
Golden reflections

The trail is sparsely marked once you reach the west side of the creek and enter the woods, so pay close attention to the footbed. The forest soon works its charm wonderfully as you hike upward once again. On a sunny morning I cannot think of a place I’d rather be, as every step adds to the enchantment.

Follow along yet another log as it leads you down stream to where the path climbs uphill
Looking back at the crossing from the west side, with the slide slope in the background
Climbing into the forest above, hearing the roar of the creek nearby

The silvered and spiky treetops pierce the upper canopy as the sounds of woodpeckers and songbirds fill the air. The forest takes on an entirely different character; Douglas Squirrels chatter loudly, laying claim to their territory, and the sounds of ravens and eagles are often heard echoing above.

Old and sun bleached Western Red Cedars

It isn’t unusual to see a deer, pine marten, or a black bear, and, on more rare occasions, even a bobcat or cougar. Barred Owls swoop silently in the treetops above sometimes, in search of prey. The creek itself is home to the Coastal Tailed Frog, a blue listed species in southwestern British Columbia, and the feisty Pacific Water Shrew.

Mosquito Creek welcoming committee!
Morning mist on Dreamweaver
Doug winding his way through the forest

The trees in this grove are centuries old, as wide as eleven feet in diameter, and the forest supports a diverse and mature understory which is wonderful to photograph. There are also immense boulders and several small brooks that trickle through the  glades. It’s hard to believe that you’re so close to civilization when you walk there, and it’s very easy to lose yourself in the moment. Places like these must be preserved for future generations to appreciate!

Woodpeckers are very busy in this forest
Skeletal remains and blue skies
If you do this hike, try to choose a sunny day!
Three Rocks, as I like to call this formation


Chris with one of the oldest cedars on the trail

You gain a few hundred metres in elevation as the track continues, and by the time you reach LGMH , you’re suddenly among the second growth trees again. Soon after that you will also encounter the signs of human detritus along the trail.


Twisting giant in the shade
Western Red Cedar, Thuja Plicata, over 400 years old
Several trees in the grove were about to be cut, but thankfully remain standing today. This tree is about 500 years old
What’s this? Classic beer bottles and an old kitchen knife

In terms of expediency, taking LGMH back down to the toward the top of Skyline Drive is the most efficient return to where you began, if you take my preferred route. Eventually you will reach the Baden Powell Trail and follow it down to the Mosquito Creek Bridge, (which isn’t far from the top of Prospect Drive). The Baden Powell Trail then loops back to Dreamweaver, and all of the other trails that connect to it.

I call any old kitchen items I find in the woods Ted Oliver Cookware, in honour of a certain good friend of mine. You’d be surprised how much of this stuff can be found in the North Shore Mountains!

Of all of the places in the North Shore Mountains I’ve hiked, the Dreamweaver Trail takes you through some of the most idyllic forest you’ll find anywhere. Hopefully you get the opportunity to explore the Mosquito Creek Valley more closely, though I do have to happily warn you that one visit probably won’t be enough. Just to prove it, here are some more images that showcase Dreamweaver’s beauty!

Tower of strength
The forest as it should be seen, natural and mostly undisturbed by man
Please do not remove the markers on this trail! They help ensure hikers do not get lost and also help search and rescue people find them!

To close this out this diatribe, I’ll leave you with this 1976 music video by Gary Wright. I think it’s reasonable to assume his song just may have inspired the name of this trail. In any event, the music does seem to suit a walk through the wilderness, if you ask me. I  played it while browsing the photos in this report and it somehow it just sounded right. I’ll let you decide if you agree!

Out of Sight, Out of Mind: The Oft Forgotten Mountain Hemlock

Here in the Pacific Northwest, when talk turns to the preservation of old growth trees, generally what people are discussing are the giants of valley bottom ecosystems. Western Red Cedar, Douglas Fir, and Sitka Spruce are most frequently mentioned. Why is that? Well, the answer seems obvious, in that they are located at lower elevations and as such might seem more relatable to the average person. They also reach great size and are conspicuously targeted by logging companies in pursuit of the almighty  dollar.

There are, however, a number of different species that grow in the Coast Mountains that simply don’t garner as much attention. One such tree is the Mountain Hemlock, also known as Tsuga Mertensiana . If you’ve ever explored the forests above 800 metres in elevation, then you’ve seen your share of them. What you have likely never heard, however, are sharp cries of protest when the oldest of their kind are cut down. In truth, most people remain unaware that they are even targeted for harvesting!

Five foot diameter Mountain Hemlock on Black Mountain in Cypress Provincial Park
An interesting pair of Mountain Hemlocks near Cabin Lake in Cypress Provincial Park. I like to call them The Happy Couple!

Invariably, you’ll find the Mountain Hemlock at those higher elevations, where it’s most prolific. In coastal British Columbia it shares space with Yellow Cedar, Pacific Silver Fir, and in this subalpine zone it tends to be the dominant forest tree.

Having spent an inordinate amount of time in British Columbia’s southwest region, I’ve come to admire this hardy survivor of the woods. It’s specially designed to be able to hold the heavy snows of winter in the alpine regions, and to shed them efficiently. The Mountain Hemlock can be found growing in the most adverse conditions. It can thrive in groves, where some protection from the elements is afforded, but some big specimens are often found on exposed ridges, where they must confront the wrath of winter head on. Smaller, stunted versions are often found growing on rocky summits where their trunks thicken even more to withstand the winds.

Heavy snow loads and crazy shapes in winter!
Snow encrusted Mountain Hemlocks
Me with an ancient Mountain Hemlock near the Seymour Trail junction. Photo by Doug
Tsuga Mertensiana, the Mountain Hemlock. This one is on a wind blasted ridge at almost 1500 metres in elevation on Chanter Peak

The Mountain Hemlock is a tree that grows at a very slow and measured pace. When you see one that is just several feet wide in diameter that usually identifies a tree that is already several hundred years old. Growing season is short and difficult in the mountains, and nutrients are sparse, yet I’ve seen so many that have lived multiple centuries. In 2008, when Cypress Provincial Park was given permission to remove trees to accommodate some of the facilities for the Olympic Games, I made a startling discovery. Quite by accident I wandered into an off limits area where dozens of old growth Mountain Hemlocks had been cut down. Even the ones that were just three feet wide proved to be over 400 years old when I counted the growth rings and some of the trees were nearly two metres in diameter. Experts estimate that the tree can reach up to 800 years in age but I am convinced that some may make it into a second millennium.

Gnarled and ancient Mountain Hemlock. If ever there was such thing an ent, this is it! It grows on the summit of Mt Bishop, at over 1500 metres in elevation

Yet another example of similar negligence occurred when the trail to Joffre Lakes was expanded  back around 2010. BC Parks contracted a firm to do the excavation and during the process they decided to take down a number of Mountain Hemlocks that were over a thousand years old. This was done, allegedly, in the name of public safety, but truthfully in this case they simply took the easiest possible line to widen the path. I’m quite certain they would be standing today had that evaluation been more accurate.

Making tracks in the magic of a Mountain Hemlock forest

Many an ancient Mountain Hemlock has been levelled by ski resorts, road builders, loggers, and even homesteaders building cabins, over the years. Sometimes this has been done for business purposes, and other times for expediency, but nevertheless countless venerable trees have been destroyed in the process. Much of that destruction has occurred out of sight and out of mind, and it’s high time we paid more attention to this fine and noble tree. In the big picture, it plays an important role in nature, and must not be forgotten!

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Sun sets on Mountain Hemlocks and Vancouver, as seen from Mt Seymour




The Temple Giant

There are times, I am reminded, that a simple gesture of kindness leads to a great deal of happiness. Fifteen years ago I was given scanned excerpts of an out of print map published by the Western Canada Wilderness Committee (WCWC) by my good friend Vida, and that aided me in a long quest to rediscover the hidden old growth trees of the Seymour Valley. It has been a memorable journey, and during those years not only was I able to find all of the trees on the map, but also many more of the valley’s secrets.

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An excerpt from the WCWC map, now out of print. For today’s purposes, the newer Seymour Valley Trailway runs parallel and uphill to the original Seymour Mainline road which is now off limits to the public

The Temple Grove of Giants was really the first part of the map that captured my attention, with its high concentration of ancient Douglas Firs and Western Red Cedars. The Seymour River Valley had been extensively logged earlier in the twentieth century, so how had these trees managed to survive? Thankfully, there will be no more timber harvesting in the North Shore Mountains, so they are at least now protected for future generations.

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Matt meets the Temple Fir back in 2006. Hard for me to believe this was so long ago!

In order to get the big picture, I suggest reading Tolkien, Story of a Tree, in which I detail a broader history of the Temple Grove of Giants, but for today, I’ll focus on the Temple Giant.

Rich approaches the Temple Giant in 2008

Well over six centuries have passed since the Temple Giant took root in the forests of Hydraulic Creek. Since that was long before the time of colonization, its life was relatively undisturbed for most of that duration, but the early 1920s brought about considerable change. It is said that a human caused fire in 1936 broke out while fallers were working in the area, and authorities closed down their camp at that point. There was also The Great Depression to contend with, when timber prices plummeted, and that may have helped to save the grove as well. Years later, in the 1990s, when there were plans to begin harvesting again, the efforts of the WCWC finally led to the end of  logging in Greater Vancouver’s watersheds.

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The Temple Giant is among the largest Douglas firs in the province of British Columbia

The Temple Giant is without a doubt one of the most impressive Douglas Firs I have seen,  certainly ranking in the top five as far as British Columbia is concerned. Its diameter is well over eight feet at breast height and it pierces the skies at a height of over 250 feet! It may be as old as 700 years in my estimation. There are many others in the Temple Grove of Giants that are over four hundred years in age, in fact. If you’re interested in a visit, you’ll probably want to bring your bike so that you can cycle the Seymour Valley Trailway to the Hydraulic Creek Bridge. It’s an excursion well worth making!

The Temple Giant is a sight to behold. It’s a real time saver if you ride your bike to the trailhead!


Sunset on Seymour, a Retrospective

It was an early October afternoon a few years back when Doug and I finally got around to doing something we probably should have done years before. What was that, you ask? Hiking to the summit of Mt Seymour to catch the sunset! When I originally posted the photos from this trek, a lot of people I know said “Is that the first time you’ve done that? I thought you guys did that all the time.” Truth is, as often as both of us had explored the remotest corners of Mt Seymour Provincial Park, we had never actually lingered over a sunset there. There had been, of course, many treks where we’d seen the sunrise, but it was high time to change that equation.

Sunrises on Mt Seymour have been much more common for me. Here’s Simon watching the sun come up on our way to Mt Elsay years ago

So it was that Saturday evening Doug and I were headed up the mountain at about 5 pm, on yet another flawless autumn day. The plan was to scramble the south face of Pump Peak, then head over the shoulder below its summit, bypass Tim Jones Peak, then get to the summit of Mt Seymour well before the magic hour. The climb up was fun, with afternoon shadows providing a welcome respite from rays of sunshine that were unusually warm for October.

Reflections on the pond below Brockton Point
Late afternoon sun on Brockton Tarn

We set a decent pace uphill, reaching the summit by about 615 pm, where we soon broke out the cameras and refreshments. The sunset was an incredible show, and we had the place entirely to ourselves. Unbeknownst to Doug, I’d packed up four beers, some chocolate bars, and a sandwich, so we were well prepared for the show.

A sea of mountains to the north and west of Mt Seymour!
Setting up my Canon SX 40 as the light begins to change. I still use it for a lot of the big zooms I take

Although Mt Seymour is so close to the ever burgeoning metropolis of Vancouver, it is sometimes easy to forget that it is also the gateway to an expansive tract of wilderness. Few people find themselves on its summit at day’s end and fewer still venture beyond it, especially as darkness approaches.

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Looking west to Vancouver Island. Though I didn’t envision it at the time I now call “The Island” home!

The ever changing light was a delight to photograph, and we spent a good hour and a half savouring every moment. From the towers of Mt Judge Howay and Meslilloet to the glaciers of Mamquam Mountain and Garibaldi, from the city lights of Vancouver to the distant peaks of Vancouver Island, every mountain seemed visibly pronounced in some shade of vivid colour. I still recall it as one of the finer golden hours I’ve had a chance to see! Here are some of the more notable images I captured.

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Coquitlam Mountain, a real sufferfest for climbers I am told! I often wonder, when I see it from this angle, if anyone has ever ascended that prominent ramp all the way to the ridge . It is, of course, off limits, in the Coquitlam Watershed. It’s only 1583m in elevation but its west face is quite a dramatic sight!
Mt Robie Reid, in Golden Ears Provincial Park, almost 2100m in elevation. If you look closely you can even see its radio repeater
Looking over the east shoulder of Mt Bishop to the Mamquam Valley beyond. The Coquitlam Divide is at right above Indian Arm, which can’t be seen in this shot
Meslilloet Mountain, elevation 2000m, and having the distinction of hosting the closest glacier to the Vancouver area, as the crow flies
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Mt Garibaldi, in Garibaldi Provincial Park, 2678m tall, and the closest volcano to the Vancouver area. It’s much closer, however, to Squamish
The Fannin Range, of which Seymour is a member, also features neighbours Mt Elsay and Mt Bishop.  Meslilloet and Bonnycastle are in the background behind them
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Sunset begins to glow over Vancouver and company
Crown Mountain and The Camel in evening silhouette
Cathedral Mountain, at 1737m, is the highest mountain in close proximity to Vancouver, although it cannot be seen from North Vancouver where I used to live
To the east again, this is the twin towers of Mt Judge Howay, 2262m, near the head of the Stave Lake. It’s prized by climbers as it’s a real ordeal just to get to it. That’s Viennese Peak at far right over in the Chehalis Range
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The monstrous icefields of Mamquam Mountain, 2588m, in the Mamquam Valley in Garibaldi Provincial Park
The Sky Pilot Group, with Mt Habrich hiding out at right. At 2000m, it is the tallest in the Britannia Range, at the head of Britannia Creek

     I could go on and on about all of the things I love about Mt Seymour, but what I have always liked best is that you are in an alpine environment with unrivalled views of the city.

Best city views by a mile, in my estimation!

There is no tram to pay for on the way down, for you must hike and scramble over rock, not staircases, and if you want beer you’d better bring your own, just the way I like it. When I moved to the Lower Mainland many years ago from Montreal, it was the first Coast Mountain I ever hiked. It is wilderness in every way, however, for those uninitiated, despite its proximity to civilization. Once you are above the ski runs and into the backcountry try not to forget that all the inherent dangers remain, along with all the potential for solitude and adventure.

Untold miles of wilderness looking northeast of Mt Seymour’s summit, about as rugged as it gets!
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Sun begins to set in the west
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A closer look at the Sky Pilot Group. The second highest summit is Ledge Peak
The Mt Arrowsmith massif on Vancouver Island is quite a landmark, at 1819m in elevation

With beers downed and photos taken, we packed up to head down via the standard parks trail. By the time we reached Tim Jones Peak the light had all but vanished, so then we were relying on headlamps, a GPS track, and our familiarity with the trail. When finding your way in darkness, the old route up the face of Pump Peak is somewhat harder to navigate, so we purposefully allowed more time for the descent. Hiking in the dark is in itself a skill, and not to be underestimated. For me, it’s something I don’t commonly do, but for Doug, as a North Shore Rescue member, it’s something he does all the time. It gives one a whole new sense of appreciation about what it takes to locate and rescue lost hikers at night. What was also interesting was that I discovered I really do know every inch of the Mt Seymour Trail, dark or otherwise. There are, by the way, always a headlamp and an extra set of batteries or two in my pack because lighting is never underrated!

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Light fading fast on the descent
A parting shot: Mt Burwell, 1545m, at left beside Cathedral, with Sky Pilot and Garibaldi and others on the horizon

All told, it took an hour and fifteen minutes to hike up, about an hour and ten minutes on the summit, and less than an hour and a half to hike down in the dark to make it  three hours fifty minutes for the trip. Highly recommended, but only if you are very well prepared, have excellent navigational skills, and you know the mountain well. If not, why not camp on the summit? I think I’ll do that myself sometime!

The Magic of the Blue Cedar Grove

The Blue Cedar Grove. It’s a title that stirs the imagination, kind of like The Golden Spruce, I remember thinking, when I first read the words. I never did remember to ask Ralf Kelman exactly why he’d chosen such a name, but as soon as I saw it on the Western Canada Wilderness Committee (WCWC) map, I knew that I needed to see these trees!

The first trip I made to this grove was hardly a day filled with great inspiration. It was a one of those spring days when it’s hard to anticipate what way the weather is going to turn. In short, I guessed wrong. Only half an hour into my bike ride up the valley, light rain began to fall, escalating into a torrential downpour by the time I had left my ride to hunt for the trees. I did decide to press on, but it seemed the further I walked the harder it poured! I made it as far as a soaking wet, moss covered boulder field before I conceded defeat.

The only find on a very rain soaked day was this fine four hundred year old cedar
A day when you could not keep the water off your camera lens!


The high point of the day was returning to my truck to don dry clothing, devour a sandwich, and drink a thermos of hot chocolate laced with Grand Marnier! ( I highly recommend that last part if you haven’t tried it before, just don’t drink and drive. Take a very long nap, like I did. )

It was four years later in 2008 that I finally returned. On that occasion I chose perfect weather, with the sun shining warmly on my birthday, no less! In a scant twenty minutes from where I left my bike I reached the grove, which certainly did not disappoint.

There it was, the moss covered boulder field where I had begun my retreat several years before!


Tall and towering cedars, draped in moss, set the scene. The forest floor and understory were a carpet of innumerable greens, though it was far from easy to decide where to place your next step.

In this case, moss grows on the east side of this big cedar!
If you like marked trails with few obstructions, avoid hiking with me!
Fallen giant on the forest floor
An explosion of greenery!


Spectacular place to spend an afternoon

I was quite surprised to also find a number of very nice Douglas Firs interspersed here and there, and along the creek a number of massive Bigleaf Maples held court, shading me from the midday sun. Nearby, a quizzical deer observed me clambering about, no doubt wondering what in the world I was doing there!

Douglas Fir aka Pseudotsuga Menzieszi
Bigleaf Maple on O’Hayes Creek
The sheer volume of their foliage is overwhelming!
Bigleaf Maples are highly underrated if you ask me


After enjoying the grove, I was soon drawn uphill, following the dull roar of water that I could hear in the background. When I found the source of the noise it was a surprise to me. A winter avalanche had roared down the creek canyon right down to an elevation of 500 meters. By the month of May the snows had melted out and the creek had created a cavern beneath them, leaving me something highly unique to explore. I dared not venture inside it, though, as I could hear the creaking and groaning of shifting ice echoing from within.

Just a shot here to give you an idea how steep and rough these creek valleys are. These are the nearby cliffs at Jack’s Burn, where you can sometimes spot mountain goats
O’Hayes Creek as seen from a helicopter. Credit to Doug for this photo, which really gives you a different perspective!

Some years later I was to learn that this creek was highly volatile indeed, as during heavy rains the entire couloir released and stripped out the creek bed right down to earth. You can still view the scars of that event in Google Earth images, another five years after it occurred! Here then is the walk up the canyon as I viewed it that day…

O’Hayes Creek
Over the years quite a few huge boulders have tumbled down this creek gully
Those are The Needles in the background
I got to see this rock tower from above on the day we traversed The Needles several years before
The canyon walls
A truly unique place, and one I’ll never forget!
The ice cave back in 2007. For scale, the opening is, or was, seven feet at its tallest. I did not go inside!
The sounds emanating from within were intimidating to say the least!

Having finally run out of time, I descended the gully once again, vowing to return. The next decade, however, would have a lot to say about whether that was going to happen, but suffice it to say that I was a very happy hiker on that sunny afternoon in late May!

This territory is about as rugged as it gets!
Cliffside cascade


I could not resist another look back at a truly incredible place



The end of a great day, heading back to my bike

In 2018, I would finally return again, on another absolutely resplendent day. I knew that soon I was to be moving away from the North Shore Mountains, and the Blue Cedar Grove compelled me to visit one more time. The day of discovery was a rewarding one, as I found several sizeable  Pacific Yews , hiding in plain sight as they always seem to be. One of them was so twisted and gnarled that I named it “The Elk”, for its upper branches that gave the appearance of antlers.

Introducing “The Elk”, one very interesting Pacific Yew!
The base of “The Elk”

I will never forget having lunch on the banks of O’Hayes Creek that day, warmed by the sun as countless birds sang nearby. It may seem trite to say I feel as though I’ve developed a bond with this place over the years, but I can’t think of any other way describe it. It is, without a doubt, one of the Seymour Valley’s special places. Here is a guided tour of what I experienced that day.


Shadows in the forest
This cedar tree had a very long piece of bark that seemed to have stripped from the trunk


Spiky treetops usually mean old growth trees!
Any time you find a yew around two to three feet wide you have yourself a very old tree
When a giant falls it can either be quite a roadblock or a highway for escape!


Rattlesnake Plantain
Timeless beauty




Little things!


Sunlit Alder trees
I call this cedar “The Moose”
Tilting panorama of a cedar tree

Imagine, if you can, the Seymour Valley in the late 1800s. It was a land almost completely undisturbed, abundant with wildlife, and blanketed with one of the finest coastal temperate rainforests this land had to offer.

Western Red Cedar, aka Thuja Plicata
Towering Douglas Firs

With the influx of settlers and the further displacement of indigenous peoples, however, everything changed. Much of the valley bottom timber was harvested, and the majority that remains many years later is in the stages of recovery. There are, however, places that do remain relatively pristine, and I’ve made it a passion of mine to search for them. The Blue Cedar Grove certainly possesses that magic in abundance, a place that always fills me with gratitude. Should you take the time to seek it out, I’m sure you’ll agree!

Blue Cedar Grove

Travels and adventures past and present, from camping to hiking to searching for B.C.'s remaining old growth trees, and treks to the mountains