Forgetmenot via Wildhorse

Fri. to Sun. 27-29 August:
Quirk Creek to Wildhorse Campsite to Forgetmenot Mountain

Forgetmenot conquered!

So what’s all the fuss about? Why has this modest peak in the Alberta Foothills become such a passion with me for the past year? On the map, it looks just like many of the higher Foothills.

Well, for a start, the highest point of Forgetmenot Mountain, at 7,640 ft., was once the site of a fire lookout, reached by a remote fire road from distant Millarville to the east. So I knew that I had to visit the mountain in this, my “year of the lookouts”. Then there is the fascination of a logistical challenge. While the northern end of this long ridge is within easy reach of the popular Elbow Valley campgrounds, the southern end is in a lonely wilderness. To travel from one end to the other, along the high ridges of this mountain, is a journey of around 14 kilometers, with a stiff climb of over 2000 ft. to reach the start of the ridge. And when you get to the southern end, you have to get back again.

So how to conquer Forgetmenot? I had spent many absorbing hours figuring out alternate attack plans, and then just last month, the answer came to me. Then, of course, I could not wait to put my plan into action, as I will describe. In short, this became a three day, two night adventure during which I traveled over 58 km by bike and on foot, waded the Elbow River twice, and camped out in sub-zero temperatures, hail, and snowfall. But I succeeded in reaching the summit!

The journey started at Cobble Flats, near the western end of the popular Elbow Valley, just after noon on Friday. Here, having loaded my bike and backpack with my supplies, I forded the Elbow River. Having made this crossing twice before, I knew exactly where to cross, and marched confidently knee-high through the freezing water and up onto the far bank. Here I picked up the rough Quirk Creek road, which ran eastwards through the trees for a while before turning uphill, then swinging southwards into Quirk Creek. The road made for good biking and I made my way steadily along this flat, green valley under a bright sun. At this time of year, the cattle were grazing in the meadows. But as I discovered, these cattle were a shy, independent breed. They spend the summers wandering into lonely corners of the Foothills, and so are wary of strangers and probably on the lookout for unfriendly predators.

I passed the turn-off to Iyarhe Ipan, the site of my exciting final treck of 2009, when I battled through a snowstorm on my bike – but that was November and this was now August, so of course I would not have to worry about snow – so I thought!

Coming to a junction with an older trail, I left the main road and wandered through the meadows and along a rougher road which, despite the recent warm, dry weather, had several large puddles which I found a way around. Rejoining the better road, I turned left and crossed a couple of small bridges, then onto another rough section of road. It was here that I saw a large herd of wild horses. They seemed curious to see me, but quickly turned around and headed into the trees. I saw them again on my return journey and they evaporated into the forest in a few seconds. Apparently they are not frequently seen.

After about twelve kilometers from the start, I reached an old signpost indicating the junction for Wildhorse backcountry campsite. Here I was standing in a wide, flat valley, running from north to south, and with the long, high ridgeline of Forgetmenot Mountain directly opposite me along the western side of the valley. I crossed the grassy valley floor to the forested hillsides on the other side, picking up a faint trail. This muddy little trail wound its way through the trees, up into a hidden side valley. Although the little valley looked green and pleasant, it was actually a well-disguised bog. The trail cunningly avoided the valley floor. Cutting across a low forested hillside, it snuck up to the campsite at the far end of the valley, crossing the bog on a narrow corduroy road made of thin tree trunks. This trail was not designed for bikes – but it was clearly a favorite of the cattle, judging by the number of hoof prints.

Wildhorse campsite – a romantic name. But this place will never make the “popular Alberta campsites” listing. I just can’t figure out why anyone ever decided to put a campsite here in the first place, hauling up a half dozen picnic tables, and a nice little outdoor loo, then servicing it with plenty of loo rolls! It really is not on the way to anywhere, tucked away in this remote, wet valley. But then it suited MY purpose very well. So it may have once been popular with the horseback riders, or the cowboys rounding up the cattle in the Fall. But (apart for the loo and its supplies!) it was in bad shape. Picnic tables were rotting away, and everything looked very dilapidated. There was a battered little box on a post, with some registration/survey slips inside for campers to make their comments. So perhaps someone still cares for this place?

I started a roaring fire in the fire pit, thanks to lots of dry logs handily stacked beside a tree. Dinner consisted of an awful desiccated Italian pasta followed by a more edible packet of syrupy peaches.

It was a cloudless, and very cold, night. I slept well, tucked inside my warm sleeping bag and with a wooly hat on my head.

There was frost on the meadow the next morning. I had decided to leave my bike at the campsite as it was too much of a struggle getting it up and down the narrow trail. This worked out perfectly well, and instead I made the whole journey today on foot.

I followed the muddy trail back down to the wide meadows of Quirk Creek. Here I turned southwards and followed the trail until it ended abruptly at Volcano Creek gorge. This canyon cuts a deep gash in the hillsides – a truly impressive sight.

Joining the route of the old Forgetmenot fire road, I now turned west and through a gate, leaving the meadows and cattle behind. This route would bring me to the southern end of the Forgetmenot range. The first few kilometers of the road took me close to the edge of Upper Threepoint Creek canyon, a pleasant stroll along a grassy track in mixed deciduous and evergreen forest.

Eventually I reached the point where the fire road left the valley behind, narrowing to an overgrown trail, and heading northwards up the side of the ridge at a comfortable angle. I had done a lot of worrying about the state of this section of the trail, given my experience with windfall on Mt. Daer lookout trail. I needn’t have worried. From here, all the way to the summit - a distance of 6.4 kilometres - this was a wonderful trail.

Although the fire road itself had been “reclaimed” decades ago, there was never any doubt as to the route. The grade was gentle, and the route fascinating. Deciding on the best way to reach the distant summit must have given some long-ago surveyor a great deal of challenge and pleasure. After reaching the first ridge, the trail swung across a plateau, then up a straight route towards the next ridge. Now twisting and turning, it came parallel with a cliff with a large boulder field below it. The final section became steeper, until the road found a way to reach the final ridge, making its way to the summit on the north side of the rocky ridge-top. Bravo! - I can hear the lookout cry to the driver of the first vehicle up there. What a journey that would have been.

Of course, the summit of Forgetmenot has the grandest of views. No need to repeat the list of Front Ranges on view. And to the east, the city of Calgary seemed almost to be in touch, perhaps 60 kilometers away as the crow flies, across the low foothills and the prairie. To the north one could follow the full line of this long, high Forgetmenot Ridge, all the way to its far end. Forgetmenot is more a series of high plateaus connected by long ridges, rather than one single summit.

There is nothing left now of the long-ago removed lookout, except for a few lumps of concrete, but it would have made a spectacular mountain home. The ridge was very rocky, but flat and spacious, with a separate helicopter pad to the west.

It was the clouds which fascinated me. Overhead it was a beautifully clear, sunny day with hardly a breeze. But to the south a line of flat cloud seemed to be approaching, heralded by some weird, wispy forerunners. And far to the north another line of cloud could be seen. Little did I know what would break loose just a few hours from now. But at that moment, it was just another breathtakingly beautiful late summer’s day in the Alberta Foothills.

I made fast time all the way back down the trail, enjoying the vistas of clumps of pines silhouetted against the high ridgeline. At the northern end of the lower switchback, a short trail led to a bird’s eye vantage point of Quirk Creek spread out below. The location of my secret valley could be seen, but not the campsite itself.

In fact, I made good progress all the way back to the campsite, lingering at the Volcano Creek gorge for a late lunch break. Here three cyclists were relaxing before heading off up Quirk Creek. They were the only people I saw the entire three days on the trail.

As I clambered back up the hidden valley to my campsite, more clouds were forming above Foregetmenot. It was still not even three o’clock when I arrived back at my tent. It had been a grand hike, but a long one. I had walked over 25 kilometers today, on mountain trails, and so I was ready to relax. Despite it being a warm sunny afternoon, I was keeping an eye on the clouds above the ridge to my west. I decided to eat early, and be prepared for a rain shower. Building a warm fire, I set up three tree stump stools around the fire pit, and was kept busy moving from one to the other as the breeze kept subtly changing direction.

At around seven o’clock, the first light drops of rain fell. I moved inside the tent – and there I stayed for the rest of the night. The rain picked up pace, and then later turned to driving hail pellets. What a thrill to be tucked in a warm sleeping bag in a weatherproof tent, hearing the elements battering the roof about three inches over one’s head! I put on my earphones, and happily read my book to the music of Erroll Garner. Later that evening in a lull in the showers, I could have sworn that I could hear rock music. I had heard the same faint sounds the previous night. No – I must be hearing things – I thought. But this time it was clear. For a moment I assumed someone had come into the campsite during the hailstorm and set up their tent. It was not so. The only answer – however improbable – was that somehow this little valley acted as a “sound collector” and was picking up loud music from the distant Threepoint Creek/Mesa Butte campsite, which lay at least 10 kilometers away, as the crow flies, to the east. There was no other reasonable solution.

In the middle of the night, I was awoken not by a sound, but by a lack of sound. I knew exactly what was happening outside. The rain had turned to snow. My thoughts turned to worst case scenarios, of the four feet of snow that fell on Livingstone Ridge one July, of being marooned for days up in this lonely isolated valley, while my work colleagues wondered where I had disappeared to, of running out of supplies, of pressing the emergency GPS button and summoning a helicopter, and so on.

Well, it WAS the middle of the night! And the snow might very easily have mounted up to a foot or so. But the fates were on my side. In the early morning it started to rain again, and by the time the first hint of dawn finally started to filter through the trees, there was only an inch or so of snow left on the ground around my tent. I had dodged a bullet.

But I was not “out of the woods” yet - literally. As a light snowfall continued to drift down, I carefully prepared my gear for the return journey, enjoyed my gourmet marmalade sandwich for breakfast, and donned my full winter gear – since it was below freezing this morning. Altogether it was a very unpleasant morning. Yet it just seemed to me like a test of my planning and of my gear, and I was thoroughly enjoying the challenge.

Due to the non-stop twelve hours of rain and snow, the narrow trail down out of my valley, with bike, was a tricky escape, down slippery, muddy paths. But caution won the day, and finally I was back down into the wide meadows of Quirk Creek.

From here it was a steady bike ride or bike push northwards back to civilization. Gravel roads, when wet, are not good surfaces to bike on. They are greasy and sticky, and even the slightest uphill section becomes tough going. But I was determined, as the snow fell lightly around me, and slowly but surely I progressed up the road.

Finally I turned the corner out of Quirk Creek, speeding down the hill into the Elbow Valley. Reaching the Elbow River, I was so wet and caked with mud that I simply jumped down off the bank into the river, with bike, and strode across in my full gear, not bothering to stay dry. The river had risen a little, but by then, nothing was going to stop me. Once across, it was only a couple of hundred yards back to the car and the end of the grand adventure.

In the damp rain, with a weak sun trying unsuccessfully to break through the clouds, I changed into drier clothes, cranked up the car heater to maximum, and drove home, where I had a very long, hot shower.

But I had succeeded in my goals, and in the process had stored enough exciting memories to last me a long time – or at least until my next crazy adventure.


Statistics
Quirk/Wildhorse/Forgetmenot
Fri-Sun. 27-29 August

Total Dist. 25.6 km (hike) +33.2 km (bike) = 58.8 km
Height Gain(car to peak) 2490 ft.
Max. Elev. 7640 ft.
Time on trail (total) 13 hrs. 32 mins.