Tag Archives: Britannia Range

A Monday on Brunswick

 

Sometimes I ruminate on the passage of time. It’s peculiar, in that that some things seem to take an eternity, and others seem to flash by like leaves in November wind. At any rate, as time relates to this tale, it has now been nearly a year and a half since I moved from North Vancouver to Nanaimo. As much as I’m enjoying the island life so far, occasionally I still find myself reminiscing about places I’ve visited in the North Shore Mountains. Brunswick Mountain, for reasons I’ll explain, comes to mind quite often! 

 

Me, on Brunswick Mountain in summer with Howe Sound below…..Photo by Doug
Brunswick as you see it from the east ridge of Harvey

I’m fortunate enough to have a decent view of Brunswick from where I now live, in Nanaimo’s north end. Clearly visible from Vancouver Island, the mountain appears as striking as ever, rising sharply out Howe Sound and the Salish Sea with its companions.   In keeping with the theme of the Britannia Range, its name is derived from British Naval sources. The HMS Brunswick was a 74 gun ship launched way back in 1790, and it was captained by John Harvey, whose name adorns one of Brunswick’s closest neighbours.

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Brunswick Mountain at right, seen from Departure Bay in Nanaimo

Captain Richards named the mountain in 1859, but its first recorded ascent came thirty years later, in 1889. Dr Henry Bell-Irving, Sḵwxwú7mesh Chief Joe Capilano, and an unnamed native companion climbed the 1788m Brunswick and other peaks in the area on a hunting expedition. Back then, access to the Britannia Range was far more complicated, involving several days walking from Vancouver’s North Shore through the Capilano River watershed or an approach by boat from Howe Sound.

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Chief Joe Capilano of the Squamish Nation

Today, access is a breeze, comparatively. It’s just a reasonably short drive from Greater Vancouver to the village of Lions Bay. Since 2005, when I first climbed this mountain with Simon, I’ve managed to stand on the summit of Brunswick seven times. Why so often? Well, read on and I’ll try to show you why I’ve come to love this peak so much!

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Brunswick Mountain at left here, hiding behind Mt Harvey in winter

 

It was a Monday in late May of 2010 when I parked at the trailhead in Lions Bay and began the long walk up the logging roads. To climb Brunswick Mountain requires a lengthy slog up those roads, and it seems even longer somehow when you don’t have anyone to talk to, right? The weather was impeccable. Sun broke through the forest but the path was just shaded enough to keep me cool. My relentless stroll was only interrupted by a misstep that landed me a bit of a soaker in Magnesia Creek, but that also served as a bit of a wakeup call.

The trail was completely free of snow until the point it emerged from the trees just below the Howe Sound Crest Trail (HSCT) junction. It was there, when I broke out my ice axe and strapped on my crampons, that the fun really began! The snow slope was well shaded at first, and very unyielding.  As I climbed steadily,  my spikes bit reassuringly into the hard surface with each step, and I drove my axe with purpose, getting into a good rhythm. This being the spring season, there were a few sections melted out near rock faces that had to be negotiated carefully, but soon enough I found myself within reach of the ridge. Redoubling my effort, it was then a question of heading up toward the impossibly blue sky!

Anvil Island and Howe Sound
The aptly named Hat Mountain
The iconic Lions were hiding in there somewhere!

I preoccupied myself with trying to get a photo of the Lions, but they were enshrouded in Howe Sound’s usual rolling fog at the time. At the crest of the ridge line, I then shifted my gaze to Mt Hanover, which looked resplendent in the morning light amid the clouds to the east. When snow remains on Brunswick, you must be mindful of cornices, so as usual I was extremely careful to keep well away from them! I made my way steadily to the summit ridge, opting to remove my crampons at that point, the snow being mostly melted off.

Somehow, I’d forgotten how much I’d enjoyed these views, though they certainly were not new to me. That aforementioned fog remained to the west, and a light but warm breeze escorted me as I followed the ridge upward. Better still, it occurred to me, this was also my birthday, and  about as good as a Monday could be!

As you arrive on the summit ridge the cornices will be to your left, usually. A cornice, for the uninitiated, is mass of snow, ice which projects over the edge of a mountain ridge. Due to the fact they are not supported underneath, they frequently can collapse, and should be given a wide berth at all times!
Mt Hanover and the mountains to the north and east
This photograph illustrates the dangers of cornices quite well, I think
Looking down at the lakes of the Howe Sound Crest
My favourite view of Hanover, as you see it from the gap in the ridge

Next, I downclimbed a prominent gap, then continued on to a short traverse across more snow to regain the ridge. It’s an easy stroll past the helipad to the summit cairn from that point onward. A well deserved rest was in order before beginning my descent. Well, that, and a few more photos!

The views here are as good as it gets!
On a clear day you can see well into Garibaldi Provincial Park from here!
Continuance of the ridge to the east horn of Brunswick
Spectacular summit views!

The descent, as it turned out, was somewhat easier, the snow having softened considerably. Due care had to be taken in particularly difficult spots simply by facing into the slope, while driving my axe solidly into the snow for support. Eventually, it was off with the spikes and back onto the trail, and, inevitably, the logging road. Arrrgghh, the logging road! I did take some consolation in that The Lions made a brief appearance, at least.

The Lions

I ended up making it back to the truck that day in just over six hours, including plenty of time for loitering. Notably, once the snows melt away this hike can be typically be done a couple of hours faster, of course, and hey, if you’re really into punishment you can even run the logging roads. However long it takes you, it will be well earned, as you will need to gain almost 1545m to attain the peak!

What is truly grand about this trek, in all seasons, is the way it gets you so high above Howe Sound. I’ll leave you with an assortment of images from that very first climb there that Simon and I did in 2005. If you haven’t yet acquainted yourself with Brunswick Mountain, I highly recommend it, and if you do, I’m certain you’ll soon count it as an old friend!

Spring on Magnesia Creek. Today I’m told this crossing has been made much easier
Lupines
See that black dot near the centre of this photo? It’s a hummingbird, with Howe Sound as the backdrop!
The cliffs of Mt Harvey and its north ramp. I am sadly reminded that five hikers met their death there some years back when a cornice collapsed and they fell the entire length of this face
The charm of life in the most barren of places always captivates me

 

In 2005, on my first hike up Brunswick. This photo brings back great memories!  …Photo by Simon
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*******Author’s Note*******

This is dedicated to the late Norm Strandebo, a friend of friends, who climbed Mt Brunswick 45 times, before passing due to heart problems over a decade ago. Berg Heil, Norm, now that’s commitment!

 

Capilano Mountain, Thanks for the Memories!

Friday, the 12th of July, 2019. It was a warm afternoon as I pushed my bike onto the ferry at Departure Bay. My destination? Horseshoe Bay, where I’d catch a ride with Steve. The morning after, we’d be meeting up with Doug for a biking and hiking expedition to Capilano Mountain. It would be my first hiking trip back on the mainland since moving to Vancouver Island, and I was really looking forward to the trek!
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Aboard the ferry in Departure Bay, Nanaimo, B.C.
 This, for Doug and me, would be a return to a mountain that we had first climbed some 14 years ago, and I was wondering just how well we might recollect the details. If you’re up for a comparison of two fine adventures and a dash of historical perspective, grab a refreshment or two and read on!
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A view of the Britannia Range from the deck of the ferry. Capilano Mountain is hidden behind these peaks
For clarity, I’ll first cover our “ancient” history from the first excursion, before recounting our recent experience. Much of the route remains the same, but there have been some important changes since then, not to mention that time may have altered our impressions somewhat!
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The scene at the bottom of Furry Creek in 2005, as we readied the bikes alongside my beloved 1992 Dodge pickup. I drove it until October of 2018 and I miss it a lot!
The heat of the summer sun had begun quite early on that summer morning in late August of 2005. As on many of our trips, just as we still do today, we relied on the directions in Matt Gunn’s Scrambles in Southwest British Columbia. It’s always an invaluable resource and I highly recommend you get yourself a copy!
I think I was expressing my displeasure at biking logging roads, but Doug, on the other hand, looked reasonably happy. Had he drank more coffee? I’m thinking yes….

 

Timberjack Skidder parked at the roadside

 

Biking up the road, old school!

 

Me and Phyllis Creek, on the second logging spur. That old North Face pack was a beauty, I thrashed it beyond recognition!   Photo by Doug

 

After 14 years, you’d expect there to be some gaps in our memories, but for the life of me, looking at some of these photos it seems as though I must have done this trip with a possible concussion. Oh, wait, come to think of it, I may well have, but more on that later! The first strong memory I had was crossing a massive washout of Beth Creek before finishing the bike portion of the trip. It wasn’t long after this that we cached our rides at the trailhead, elevation 665m.

 

Me crossing the washout in 2005. This crossing has been rerouted now and you cross the creek toward the back of this photo.                               Photo by Doug

 

Much as you’d all know or could probably guess, by the name of this website, I’m a real aficionado of old growth trees. We must have been moving very swiftly that morning, because my impressions of this forest seemed inadequate, to say the least. Doug’s own notions were similarly understated. When we walked this trail so many years later, observations were to change, but here were the only images of those ancient trees I recorded at the time.

 

The forest below Beth Lake, August 2005

 

I have to laugh because when I first looked at this old image I thought I’d inadvertently captured a bear, but that is definitely not the case!

 

Beth Lake is a stunning place, and I vividly recalled being struck by its beauty. Then, as now, the shadows cast by the ramparts above make the lake challenging to photograph, especially as one tends to arrive in morning light. What we both remembered best were all of the berries we ate there! It turned out we thought the lake was at about 1000m in elevation, but actual statistics have it at 1085m.

 

A shadowy Beth Lake in August of 2005

 

Well, before I get into describing this year’s trek, how about a little history?

The name Capilano will be forever enshrined in the history of British Columbia. Chief Joe Capilano, who was born in 1850, was a leader of the Squamish Nation from 1895 until 1910, when he unfortunately died from tuberculosis. Known as Sa7plek ( pronounced Sahp-luk) to his people, he fought very hard for the recognition of native rights here in Canada. Most notably, he traveled to the nation’s capital in Ottawa, and to London, England with several other native leaders to meet with King Edward VII. They wanted to express the urgency regarding the settling of native land claims, which even today is still an issue.

The delegation of leaders were also in protest of the government law which banned potlatches in 1885. A potlatch is a gift giving feast practiced by indigenous peoples of the Pacific Northwest Coast of Canada and the United States, among whom it is a focal point, historically, of their economic system and culture. The government basically banned it in order to force cultural assimilation, but also to further the colonial interests of churches, who considered it to be both Pagan and anti-Christian. Understandably, First Nations people saw the law as a great injustice and symbol of oppression, which it absolutely was. It was not until 1951 that the ban on potlatches was lifted.

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Chief Joe Capilano

Capilano, who was also known as Joe Mathias, was an avid outdoorsman and guide in his younger days. Along with Dr Henry Bell-Irving and an unnamed native companion, he spearheaded an 1889 expedition into the Britannia Range that climbed the West Lion, Harvey, Brunswick, Hanover, and a number of other peaks. These were first recorded ascents, but ironically, they did not climb Capilano Mountain, though it most likely would have been within their reach. Capilano Highlands, Capilano Road, Capilano River, and Capilano Lake, however, all bear his name on Vancouver’s North Shore.

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Joe Capilano (credit Vancouver City Archives)

What piqued my interest even more was that Joe Capilano also worked in the sawmill at Moodyville, a pioneer settlement in what is now the Lower Lonsdale area of the city of North Vancouver. I had lived in that part of North Vancouver for the last three decades. He even inspired prose, as well known poet Pauline Johnson’s “Legends of Vancouver” was adapted from his tales of adventure!

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Moodyville Milling (North Vancouver Museum and Archives)

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“Rattlesnake, rattlesnake! Rattlesnake, rattlesnake!…” The rhythmic sound of Steve’s stereo was playing a long and steady beat as we rolled along Highway 99. That lengthy tune, courtesy of King Gizzard and the Lizard Wizard, was serving two purposes. The first was to get us locked into hiking mode, and the second? It was answering that eternal question “How many times can you say ‘rattlesnake’ in one song?” Whatever the answer to the latter was, we were pretty psyched up!  I was definitely looking forward to the long climb of Capilano Mountain as we pulled up behind Doug’s Toyota at the bottom of the Furry Creek Road that morning.
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Doug and Steve get ready to roll

 

The weather on the 13th of July, 2019, was quite uncertain. We expected a mix of sun and cloud, with a strong chance of showers, but decided to give it a go anyway. It was about 8 am that we started out riding up the logging road.
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Starting out on Furry Creek Main
We weren’t as quick as expected on that ride. Doug seemed to be going strongly, but Steve had a bit of a sore back and I just seemed a bit tired. When we reached the correct spur for the turnoff we actually biked right past it, but luckily, we checked our bearings after a few minutes.
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Foxglove in bloom
That was a good catch by Steve, and it no doubt saved us much unneeded exercise on the day! With said diversion out of the way, we now cycled up the somewhat overgrown spur that would eventually land us at the trailhead. We knew it was the right road when we soon reached the familiar bridge over Phyllis Creek.
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The familiar sight of Phyllis Creek
Somewhere around 450m in elevation we encountered a substantial washout that seemed relatively recent, but at least there was no problem carting our bikes around it. That was more than we could say about the next one, which was bad enough that we decided to cache our bikes much earlier than we had hoped.
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Steve looks enthusiastic here!

 

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Stashing the rides
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This washout prevented us from getting the bikes any further!…Photo by Steve

The hiking, as a result, began around 200m lower in elevation than in 2005, and a couple of kilometres in distance of walking were also added to the trip. We didn’t feel it then, but we certainly would later! It took at least another hour to finally arrive at the Beth Creek washout, which was near where we had left our bikes on the first trip.

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Beginning that walk to the old trailhead…Photo by Steve

 

On the ride up, naturally, we told Doug about the “Rattlesnake” song, so from that point on in the entire trip any obstruction, challenge, or random topic of conversation had us chanting “Rattlesnake! Rattlesnake” at opportune times. You might be surprised how funny a recurring joke can be over the course of an entire day. Between that, Seinfeld dialogue, and South Park imitations, we kept ourselves well amused!

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The cast of Seinfeld. We’re all fans, but Steve goes next level and even names his pets after characters who’ve appeared in the show!

For a taste of the best of Eric Cartman, click here.

 

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Things are looking up as we cross near the old washout!

 

We kept a steady pace on the trail, and worked our way up to the old growth forest which starts at roughly 800 metres elevation. That was where the fun began. Steve was  on the lookout for Porcini mushrooms, which were expected to be in season considering recent rains. First there was one, then another, and another, and another, and… you get the idea! He finally reached the point where he’d be adding too much pack weight if he didn’t wait to pick them on the way back. As it was, even after trimming the mushrooms they weighed over five pounds. This, for Steve, was a constant source of joy all day long!

 

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Steve gets really animated around mushrooms, as you see here!  …Photo by Doug

 

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Violet Cort…Photo by Steve

 

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Bear’s Head Tooth Fungus…Photo by Steve

 

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Porcini…Photo by Doug

 

As much as Steve was stoked about all the mushrooms, I was equally enthralled by the ancient forest we found ourselves in. Yellow Cedar, Pacific Silver Fir, and Mountain Hemlock were the dominant species, and the chattering of Beth Creek nearby added to the ambience.

 

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Pacific Silver Fir in this section have regrown in an old logged area that was formerly Western Red Cedar, curiously. This is just below the old growth forest at roughly 800m elevation

 

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Me and Steve trekking the old growth forest…Photo by Doug

 

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The delicate plants of the forest floor

 

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A spectacular Yellow Cedar, over 800 years old

 

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Doug on his way up while Steve stashes mushrooms

 

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Truly spectacular forest!

 

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Another Porcini!

 

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Doug finding a way through some deadfall

 

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Strolling

 

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Morning at Beth Lake, soon after we emerged from the forest, was all too familiar. The one regret was that sadly we were too early in the season to gorge ourselves on berries as we had done many years ago! As before, we took a break near the lake boulders for lunch, and once again, the mosquitoes found us in seconds!

 

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A moody Beth Lake in morning

 

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Doug in the boulder garden. This was a place we really remembered well, including all the mosquitoes!

 

We worked our way through steep forest after leaving the lake area, which we knew would give passage to the boulder field. There were even more mushroom finds, and more than a few venerable trees in this subalpine forest to keep us amused. Much to our chagrin though, the boulder field was not as close at hand as we had speculated!

 

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A very aged mountain hemlock

 

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Intricate patterns in yellow cedar bark

 

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At long last, a view I remembered! Can you see the guys bushwhacking? We are nearly at the base of the boulder field!

 

Just as we were approaching the draw that contains the boulder field, we stopped to filter some water. The clouds above were starting to look a bit suspicious, but we were somehow convinced it wasn’t going to rain. Still, as we shifted into low gear heading for the ridge above, the views behind us were definitely becoming more obscured.

 

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Arriving at the vaunted boulder field!

 

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Getting closer to the top!

 

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Doug and one really big rock!

 

Though it seemed like a long time grinding up to the ridge, we finally arrived. Now came the circuitous ramble that would take us behind the ramparts into the alpine basin beyond. On the way, we ran into a mother grouse, and for a time the clouds even hinted at blue skies!

 

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Trying, but failing, to get a picture of the grouse…Photo by Steve

 

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Mt Windsor in the clouds

 

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The first tarn to welcome us to the alpine….Photo by Doug

 

As mentioned before, Capilano’s broad alpine basin, though it takes a solid effort to reach, is what really makes this trip worthwhile. Unfortunately, as luck would have it, the rains arrived there just as we did, dampening our spirits a little. At the time, I remember saying if we wanted the sun to come out, we just needed to put on our rain gear. Just a few minutes later, we were peeling off our jackets as the sun broke through the clouds. I’ve no doubt in my mind it would have deteriorated into a torrential downpour had we left them at home!

 

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And here comes the weather!

 

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Rain, rain, go away…

 

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…Please come back another day!

 

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That chant doesn’t always work, but it sure did that day!

 

We pushed onward, with the aid of countless jokes, toward the summit. There was a bit of route finding involved, but the views were now becoming very worthwhile. Our first order of business was to once again lose some hard earned elevation gain as we made for the summit ridge. So close, and yet so far away.

 

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Steve and I at the base of the ridge, finally….Photo by Doug

 

Doug’s memory returned as we began the climb up a steep slope filled with heather, and he reminded me of how we’d wrestled with that problem on the first trek. This time, after a fresh rain, plenty of care was needed just to stay upright! Steadily though, the summit got closer and closer!

 

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Love this picture of me and Steve getting ever so close to the summit!…Photo by Doug

 

And then we were there! It was just as I recalled it, a broad and rambling granite plateau, with expansive views everywhere! We took some time to enjoy our lofty perch, but not too long, as I had to be down in time to catch the ferry homeward. In the end, with a more relaxed pace and so much exploration, this trip ended up taking us over four hours longer than it did in 2005! Here are some of the sights and scenery we took in at the summit!

 

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Doug’s photo of the summit cairn, elevation 1681m

 

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Steve’s idea of a summit shot! …Photo by Doug

 

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I know what you’re thinking… Maybe if Steve had worn his boots in the first place the trip would have been easier? Not really, he just usually takes them off on summits. Note the current use of gaiters by Doug,  not just a fashion statement! They are very effective for preventing some, but not all, ground wasp attacks.

 

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Britannia Range summits!

 

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Appian Mountain and the North Shore Mountains behind

 

This view was obscured in 2019. In the foreground is “Chanter Ridge” which I  traversed with Simon in spring of 2006. In behind you can see Sky Pilot, Sheer, Ben More, and Ben Lomond, while Mamquam Mountain is at centre on the horizon

 

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A cloudy scene above Howe Sound

 

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Our worries about the rain now seemed forgotten!

 

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From whence we came, soon to be repeated!

 

With some regret, we began the trek down to the tarns, happy in the knowledge that we were halfway home! On the descent, we had some unfinished business to take care of in the form of retrieving Doug’s bear spray and gathering more of Steve’s mushrooms. The emerging sunlight meant we’d be staying dry, at least!

 

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Returning to the perfect tarn!

 

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Looking toward Gordan Lake Basin

 

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Alpine glory!…Photo by Doug

 

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It was at about this point that I began to get a bit of a leg cramp, but lately Steve always packs electrolyte tablets to add when he filters water. They are an item I keep forgetting to add to my own kit, as they’ve proven useful many times. Luckily the tablets breathed life into me at just the right time, but they didn’t help the sore back I was also dealing with. Getting older isn’t always fun! We hiked onward, behind the ramparts, up and down, up and down, up and down… until we finally reached the boulder field again.

 

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Steve and I descending the boulder field, Goat Ridge and Sky Pilot at right…Photo by Doug

 

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Yours truly, slugging through the boulder field…Photo by Steve

 

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Wild light over Howe Sound

 

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Early evening light on Beth Lake

 

We busied ourselves with hustling toward the bikes as best we could, but it soon became apparent I wasn’t going to make the 820 pm ferry at Horseshoe Bay, so I’d be catching the 1040 pm sailing. Steve’s cache of mushrooms also steadily grew on the hike down! When we finally reached the bike cache, I walked right by it, not noticing my GPS had recalibrated somewhat. The ride down went well, albeit cautiously for me as I was unable to adjust the seat post on my bike. Once we reached the trucks, everyone breathed a collective sigh of relief!

We chilled for a while before moving on, as the sun began to sink slowly out of sight. An hour or so later, I was laid out on top of my pack on the deck of the ferry, utterly spent and gazing at the full moon. It would be after midnight before I was on my way home from Departure Bay, and two more hours until I finally slept. It had been a long and rewarding day!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

2019———————–

Biking onto the ferry, staying at Steve’s. Delores and Bosco

 

 

Repeat it all, speed walker, finding the mushrooms, finding the bikes, ride down, ferry ride home by 1 pm

Notes, electrolyte water tablets, Steve’s filter

Bagger challenge spooning, Tweedsmuir, Burwell, wtf is with our memories? Only remembered a bit re the forest, the climb up to base of boulder field, and the swim tarn area, also a bit about the climb up to the summit last pitch

How the hell did we manage to do this in just over 8 hours even after I endoed and broke my ribs? That was 2005, this is now. Arguably I think Doug could have managed it this time in 1 1/2 hours less, but the rest of us were on the limit.

 

Traversing the Ridge of Chanter

Tucked away on a sharp divide between Cyrtina Creek and Furry Creek, the unofficially named Chanter Peak and its accompanying approach via its western subpeaks looked to be an adventurous ascent.  Simon had diligently researched the ridge and knew that it was rarely hiked and promised great views, and that was more than enough to pique my curiosity! The name Chanter, assigned by the Bivouac website, refers to the pipe of a bagpipe which is provided with finger holes with which to play the melody. It was not, as we joked then, what you call those groups of friendly Hare Krishna folk you sometimes see carrying on and singing happily at the airport. The peak’s suggested name is supposed to be in keeping with the Scottish theme of names in the area, like Ben Lomond and Loch Lomond, whose names are official.

Our  immediate concern  when considering our options, was to try and avert any kind of route that crossed a potential avalanche chute. The north face of the ridge that you see in the photo below had several that were particularly dangerous looking and incredibly steep.

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Chanter Ridge: We were to approach at right and traverse to the left in this photo. The summit of Chanter Peak is 1568 metres in elevation. Our exit ramp is clearly visible at far left… Photo credit Martin O.

So it was that on a perfect tenth of May in 2006, we set out to tackle the task. Simon’s Nissan X-Trail lurched to and fro up the logging road, and we took delight in watching a big black bear cross the road at one point! It was evident that it was going to be a warm spring day, and we continued up the road to park at a washout about 8 kms from the gate. I was intrigued about this ridge, since I had seen it when climbing nearby Capilano Mountain the year before. We had packed snowshoes, crampons, and ice axes, as we weren’t sure exactly how the snow conditions might play out, and expected the trek to last a good portion of the day.

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Morning views from our parking spot
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Here is a view of the ridge, in the foreground, as I’d seen it from Capilano Mountain in August of 2005. Sky Pilot Mountain is at left, and the tower of Ben Lomond on the right

We began by crossing Cyrtina Creek to gain the forest below the western side of the ridge. This went well, at least for Simon, but I managed to end up in the drink.

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Simon shows how it’s done on the creek crossing

None the worse for wear, we continued through stands of ancient mountain hemlock, working our way to the bottom of the ridge. Plenty of stories and laughs were exchanged as we worked our way upward. We had developed quite a rapport through previous expeditions and now had that easy sense of humour that only develops through familiarity.

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The beautifully open old growth forest that we saw that day is now forever gone, according to Simon, who repeated this trek some eight years later. At the time it had been slated to be logged, and though we had hoped it would be preserved, that, unfortunately, was not to be.

We soon came upon a tree that looked as though it would be a perfect den for a bear. Simon peered inside for a quick look, finding no ursine residents, but did so with a casual air that had us both chuckling at the time.

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Hey in there, anybody home?

In short order, the forest opened up into an area of scattered trees and lighter foliage. It didn’t quite don on me at the time, but there was good reason for that which would soon become obvious to us.

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The forest begins to open up as we near the ridge above

Once we crested these slopes you could tell that avalanches had snapped trees and created substantial clearings, and possibly in the not too distant past. We soon climbed into a bowl below the ridge and could finally see a path to the ridge above. Route finding was simple – we chose a steep gully already razed right down to the earth in some spots by a recent slide.  It provided an ideal avenue to attain Chanter Ridge. Had that avalanche not already occurred we might well have shifted our plans or stood down, but luck had prevailed, in this case.

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Me ascending the steep gully below the ridge… Photo by Simon C

This trek turned out to be one of those days in the mountains that has become especially memorable to me. Perhaps it was the feeling of isolation I felt, or perhaps it was the more than ample sense of adventure. I’m not sure exactly what it was, but these photos still evoke strong recollections. I  sometimes use the photo above as an icon on social media sites.

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Simon waiting for me atop the west end of the ridge

The elevation at the west end of the ridge was about 1420 metres, I believe. It was an appealing vantage point, and we were beginning to enjoy the day immensely. The route we would be taking to move eastward toward the summit seemed straightforward. We knew only of the destination, and scarcely little of the possible obstacles, but that was perhaps the best part of it all.

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Mountain views across the valley were beginning to improve!

The sun was beginning to warm us up quite a bit, and the first thing we realized was that neither of us had brought any sunscreen. While that was no issue at the time, it certainly was to be later. We resolved to move on, trying to shade ourselves wherever possible. There were, after all, plenty of other things to focus upon at the time. Here are some of the emerging views that were enjoyed.

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The ramparts of Capilano Mountain through the trees
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The Tantalus Range over in the Squamish River drainage
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Ben Lomond, a nice looking rock tower at the head of the Seymour Valley

We now concentrated on the task at hand; the next peak on the ridge was a short but sharp ascent of less than 150 metres, elevation wise. The snow, at this point, was well consolidated and ideal for travel.

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Simon assesses the route up the next peak we must ascend

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Getting up this peak was no marathon undertaking, but it did take some determination. We had to stop on a ledge to put our crampons on, and, as we did, we noticed a huge crevice where snow met rock. It looked very deep and foreboding, and neither of us wanted to end up trapped inside. We carefully moved past the ledge then tackled the last fifty meters or so to the crest. The first crux was soon ours!

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T’is the struggle that makes the man, as Simon captures in this photo!
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Sky Pilot Mountain, from near the summit of the first subpeak

The sun had really begun roasting us by then, especially since we were now without the cover of trees. I had wrenched a knee on the steepest section of the climb, but it seemed I could manage. We stopped to eat some lunch and survey the sublime views in every direction, savouring them as much as we could. We could now see the road we’d driven up the valley on, and where we’d begun, roughly 800 metres below on the valley floor.

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Looking back at the entrance to our valley and the road on which we accessed it
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Capilano Mountain, at the head of the Capilano River, a major source of Greater Vancouver’s water supply
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Simon having a look at Ben More, Sky Pilot Mountain and Mt Sheer

We had set a good pace up to this point, or rather, I should say, Simon had set a good pace! Of all the people I’ve been with in the mountains, he is certainly the quickest when moving uphill. I’ve often wished that I could spend the number of days he does in the hills, as usually he averages ascending over fifty new peaks a year and has climbed hundreds of summits. Me? I’m just glad to have been along for a decent handful of those hikes.

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Beginning the ridge walk…Photo by Simon

We were now in the kind of territory every mountaineer loves; an open stroll on a friendly expanse of snow with stunning vistas everywhere you looked. In the photo above, you see me working toward another peak on the ridge.

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Simon with the westward end of the ridge and the Tantalus Range behind him

I was in no hurry to accelerate this part of the trek, as we trudged along through snow that was fast becoming isothermic. It was also clear we’d both be sporting obvious sunburns in the days to come but that too, seemed not to matter. We had not managed to catch sight of the summit yet but according to readings Simon figured it could not be far away.

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Simon on the ridge again, one of my favourite photos!

One could easily discern that the prevailing winds had the habit of creating huge cornices, which we were very careful to keep our distance from. It was safe hiking in the middle of the ridge, but we had seen the sheer drops and avalanche chutes on the north face and so naturally wanted nothing to do with those.

Soon enough, the summit was in our sights, and Simon took the lead again as we dug in for the top. You can see (in my photo below) Simon making tracks upward and next (in Simon’s photo) me ascending the ridge with the start of our ridgewalk in the distance.

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On the last pitch to the summit!
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Almost there!

In another ten minutes, we were standing at the high point, at 1568 metres, on this unnamed ridge! It was time to break out the cameras yet again before beginning the journey back into the valley!

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On the summit…Photo by Simon
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Sky Pilot Mountain, at 2031m, tallest in the Britannia Range
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Ben Lomond. Simon was to stand on its top in about 4 weeks, and while I was present on the trip when he did so, it would take me another year later to make it back for a successful second attempt. That’s a fine tale in itself!
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Cathedral Mountain, tallest in the North Shore Mountains at 1737 m….Photo by Simon
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Britannia Range…Photo by Simon
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Simon explores the surprisingly wide summit plateau

While capturing the summit had been eventful,  now it was time to think about the day’s second crux. How were we to get down? While we had a general idea, there was some apprehension due to the snow having softened and the need to avoid avalanche prone slopes. That would take some doing, but we were confident a solution would present itself.

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Pondering our escape

The mountain hemlock, pictured below, that guards the end of ridge where we dropped down may be well over 500 years old.

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Tsuga Mertensiana, Mountain Hemlock
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Where to next?

As we reached the end of the summit block, an appealing snow bowl with reasonably safe slopes came into view. We would start our trip downward there, plunging steps as we walked.

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The bowl we descended into, with the summit looming behind
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Me, hiking down into the bowl below the ridge…..Photo by Simon
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Mountaineer’s best friend

Next came a glissade on wet snow that enabled us to lose almost a hundred metres in elevation. At the end of the slide only quick reflexes allowed Simon to avoid a nasty broken snow bridge. Had I been in the lead I would certainly have broken through if only because my greater weight would have ensured that. As we stood about considering where we should go next, a conspicuous solution leaped out at us. A perfect ramp to our left seeemed to lead to the foot of the ridge, and since we knew that the slopes above it were reasonably safe,  we walked and glissaded our way down. It had taken merely half an hour to reach the valley floor.

The end of the ramp came abruptly, and  welcomed our return to the forest, but not without warning. Some weeks before, an avalanche had ripped down the couloir immediately west of our exit point and taken out a huge expanse of forest. There was no urge to linger there, because while the danger had passed, the feeling of vulnerability had not, so we continued on toward the logging road.

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The ramp where it met the valley below. You can see the devastation a previous snowslide had wreaked on the forest here! It looked to be a week or two old
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Another view from back on the logging road. The chute at center was the one that released. Our ramp exit may have been unsafe in typical winter conditions or even a couple weeks earlier

It had taken us just under eight hours to complete our trip, and we were feeling that brimming sense of accomplishment that a fine day in the mountains typically brings.

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Well done!

On our walk down the logging road, we stopped in to have a look at Rolf Beltz’s ski cabin, which has now long fallen into disrepair. We certainly wished it had a beer fridge, but you can’t have everything, I guess.

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Simon in the ski cabin
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A decent wood stove

All told, our eight hour day featured about 9 kms of travel and 1300 metres of cumulative elevation gain. It was a day that tested not just our skill and mettle, but also our critical thinking process. It was a satisfying day in so many respects, and I suppose that is why this trek has left such an impression on me. The ridge with no name, had, to us at least, made a name for itself!