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.

Three tiny lakes

Sat. 21 August: Memorial Lakes

Three tiny lakes – but in a grand mountain setting.

Considering this magical world lies so close to the hugely popular and well-traveled Ribbon Creek, it is surprising that it is as little-used as it appears to be.

After four kilometers fast walking along the wide Ribbon Creek Trail, one might easily miss the little pile of stones which marks the entrance to this secret world. There was no signpost, and this trail is not shown on the Kananaskis map boards prominent at major trail junctions in the area. It is as if it doesn’t exist.

This narrow trail climbs up into what is officially called the North Fork of Ribbon Creek. At the far end of the creek are three lakes, each one much higher and harder to get to than the previous one. This is where J and I were heading today.

The forecast had predicted rain until Environment Canada decided at the very last moment to change this to sun. The vast forest fires across BC had blanketed Alberta and Saskatchewan with a very unusual smoky haze, creating very poor visibility. As we walked up the trail, I could smell the smoke. As I mentioned to J, if I closed my eyes, I might have been strolling along the platform at Sheffield Midland station in the late 1950’s waiting to board the steam train to Bristol! This platform, however, was anything but flat. The trail, consistently narrow, had a few quite steep sections as we climbed up the valley. Some tall, vertical cliffs to our left rose up into the mist.

Eventually we approached a canyon, and a series of impressive waterfalls crashed down between the narrow canyon walls. Crossing a side stream, we contoured left through the trees above the first headwall, and came to the first of the three Memorial Lakes. This lake had a pretty green/blue colour. In the still air, it reflected the mountains which ringed it.

The lake lay in the trees below a colossal and very dangerous-looking mountainside consisting of a series of cliff bands, down which were streaming a series of waterfalls. Our final destination, the third lake, lay at the top of that huge mountainside, but luckily the trail did not attempt any foolhardy frontal assault. To the right of the cliff rose Bogart Tower, and our route would pass below and around that peak.

Crossing the western end of the lake, over a small stream, we now started a long, energetic climb up to the second lake. We first climbed a steep slope, beside a tumbling river and small waterfall. The ground consisted mostly of loose rocks, but luckily a path up these slopes had been formed by the many feet which had passed this way over the years. Otherwise it might have been a tricky ascent. Looking back, we could see down the valley, where the smoky mist still clung to the mountainsides and in the valley floor.

Climbing up more steep scree slope on a diagonal path, we finally reached the second lake. Surrounded by trees, with a backdrop of towering mountain walls, this lake had a bright duck-egg blue colour. It too reflected the mountainsides in its still waters. This was a spectacular setting, with lone larch trees standing above the valley, and a backdrop of bare mountain cliffs, spattered with patches of snow. This was a wild, beautiful corner of the Rocky Mountains.

But now our test began. To reach the third and final lake, we had to clamber up a steep rocky mountainside, through a gully made of loose and broken rocks. Luckily the route was still obvious, although we both agreed this was not the way described in the guide book. One short scramble over a rock ledge brought us to slightly easier but still steep and slippery terrain. Soon we found ourselves in a tiny hanging valley, directly below the Bogart Tower. Ahead of us a steep grassy slope led up to the final col.

Finally reaching the top, we looked down onto a scene of remote and stunning beauty. We had climbed up behind that huge cliff we had seen from the first lake. Here lay a picturesque little lake, under the grand Bogart Tower, and with a backdrop of wild, bare mountainsides, rising to the high ridgelines of 10,315 ft. Mt. Bogart. Its namesake Tower was simply a lone outlier.


Photo courtesy of J:

This lake sat on the edge of the cliff, and could have been designed by an artist. A spit of land jutted out into the lake, with some spruce trees on it, reflecting in the still water.


The lake reflected the sky like a mirror. Although the water level was dropping, it was far from being a “puddle” as the guide book had warned. The light was at its best, with the sun shining brightly, despite the slight haze in the sky.

Standing above the lake on a small hill was a stone memorial, erected to mark the tragic loss of thirteen lives in three separate plane crashes in 1986. One could hardly imagine a more remote and beautiful location for a memorial. One could imagine family members making pilgrimages up here – although it is a challenging place to reach for anyone not used to hiking in the high Rockies.

We snapped quite a few pictures. Before starting back down, we stood on the edge of the huge cliff to admire the first lake far below, now bathed in sunshine. The cloud in the valley bottom had quickly dissipated.

On our way back down the mountainsides, the rock step needed great care to avoid a nasty slip. But we made it safely down to the second lake, now bathed in sunshine. Carefully watching every step, we negotiated the steep, slippery scree slopes all the way back down to the lower lake. As we crossed the side creek beyond the lower lake, we saw our first people of the day, a couple of backpackers heading up the trail. Just a little further down the trail, we met a young couple, who were the last people we saw until we were almost back on the main Ribbon Creek trail.

But first of all, before dropping back down the trail, we detoured to admire one of the waterfalls in the narrow canyon. By stepping off the main trail just a few yards, you can stand in a perfect vantage point to admire a raging waterfall, crashing down into a small pool. I walked right up to the base of the falls, so that J could get the ideal photo to demonstrate its scale. Luckily he was a quick shot so I didn’t get too wet!

This trail had a lot of steep downhill sections which we seemed to have no difficulty marching up earlier in the day. It was almost trickier getting back down without having a nasty slip. By now it had warmed up, and it had turned into a very pleasant summer’s afternoon in the mountains. Eventually we heard voices, and passed a couple frolicking about near the head of the trail. A few minutes later we were back on the wide Ribbon Creek Trail.

It was a fast four kilometer hike back to the car. We passed several groups of day trippers, but it really wasn’t too busy for a perfect sunny weekend afternoon. And so we returned to the car park, with J snapping a picture of me by the “Bear in the Area” sign. It would be a brave bear who would venture out along the busy Ribbon Creek trail.

Statistics
Memorial Lakes
Sat. 21 August

Total Dist. 16.8 km (hike)
Height Gain 2264 ft.
Max. Elev. 7260 ft.
Time on trail 7 hrs. 26 mins.

Tocher: The ultimate lookout

Sat. 14 August: Tocher Ridge Fire Lookout
This fire lookout has everything: difficult to reach, a stunning remote ridge-top location, sweeping views of the Canadian Rockies, and – despite being closed in 1972 – still fully equipped inside.

I had been planning this trip for a while, as I knew that it would be close to my physical limits, even if things went to plan. Over 36 kilometers on the trail, and a height gain of 3720 feet, made this more than my typical weekend jaunt. And I would be heading out into remote mountain country, on rarely used hiking trails. Given my encounter the previous weekend with “unmaintained” trails, up to Mt. Daer Lookout, I prepared for the worst, and was mentally ready to turn back if necessary.

For an early start, I had stayed overnight at West Louise Lodge, a very basic motel in glorious surroundings west of the Continental Divide. So in the morning it only took me a few minutes to reach the trailhead at the Natural Bridge tourist spot on the Emerald Lake road west of Field. As I biked up the trail, the first light of dawn was just revealing the forests and mountains all around me. It was a cool morning and I soon had to put on my fleece gloves to stop my hands from freezing. In past days there had been a lot of rain in Alberta, but today promised to be sunny – and so it proved. It took the sun a long time to reach my trail, from the first signs of sunlight on the high peaks opposite.

This journey might be described in three sections, each roughly 6 km long:

The first section was on a gravel road dropping down to the Emerald and Amiskwi rivers, both crossed on good bridges. At one time you could drive down here, but now it is a quiet backwater. Just beyond an old picnic site, I came to a junction: to the right, the remote Amiskwi trail, to the left, my route. It was an easy bike ride on a flat forestry road, close to the wide, blue-green Kicking Horse river, then between tall pines in deep forest. Reaching a junction in the trees, I turned right onto the Otterhead Valley fire road.

This second leg of my journey started with several kilometers of steep trail, up which I steadily pushed my bike. There was no hurry. The sun had only just caught the higher mountainsides, and it was still early in the day. This old fire road was now just a trail up the densely forested hillsides. Eventually the gradient eased off and I was able to ride my bike again for short periods between having to push it. I was looking forward to the return journey where I would benefit from all this hard work. High up on the top of the ridge ahead of me, the sunlight was reflecting on something. It was the lookout building, although still too far away and high up to be more than a bright light.

Somewhere along this stretch, I saw a very encouraging sight – a newly cut tree trunk, moved off to the side of the trail. “Thank you!!” I said aloud, and with relief. For this meant that there was a very good chance that the Yoho Park trail crew had been this way and my journey now seemed much more probable of success.

This section of trail seemed to be longer than I had imagined, as it undulated along the side of the deep valley. I made it longer by having to repair a puncture to the front tire. But it only took me fifteen minutes to fix, and I was on my way again. Finally in a section of dense undergrowth I came to the junction for the Tocher Lookout trail. The remains of a sign, firmly nailed to a tree, pointed up to the right.

Changing from bike shorts to hiking gear, and leaving my bike to the porcupines or other rubber-loving critters who like to chew on bike tires (according to someone with a sense of humor who wrote online of his trip up this trail), I set off on the final leg of the ascent. This third section of my journey was a series of nine long switchbacks, climbing often very steeply up to the ridge high above and hidden in the trees. There were signs of the trail crew at work all the way up. As a result, there were no obstacles apart from narrow sections of trail where bushes and young trees had started to cover the route. But higher up, the trail improved and the going was straightforward – but very steep. Counting the zig-zags, I was at number nine, and heading straight up through the trees to the top of the ridge, now in sight. Now I could see the lookout building upon the rocky ridge to the left. Suddenly as I reached the ridge top, I could see the whole of Yoho National Park, mountains and valleys, spread out in every direction.

These final few hundred feet took a lot of effort, but finally I was standing on a narrow, rocky ridge, on top of which sat Tocher Lookout, a square, squat building with a cupola mounted on top. It was in surprisingly good condition despite having been closed down a full thirty eight years ago in 1972. The glass was still intact in all the windows, and was tinted slightly black, so I could not tell if there was anyone inside. I hesitantly opened the door, whose key was in the lock, and stepped inside.

Here was a fully kitted out room, with everything one might need for several nights stay on the ridge. There was a table and two chairs, a flat board for a bed, a sink, utensils and stove, orange coveralls hanging on a peg, broom in the corner, candles, magazines, pack of cards, and so on. The stairs led up to the tiny cupola. I climbed the stairs and admired the view in every direction. There was even a small table and a chair up there for the fire observer to use. Two windows were designed to open to allow cool air to circulate on hot days.

Down in the main living area was a visitors book, or, according to the front cover, the “Tocher Ridge Natural Planetarium Log Book”. Entries went back to September 1997, but there were relatively few. In some years, only a small handful of people made it up there. This year I was first up since the trail crew were here in late July. Their log noted that they had been dropped off by helicopter with their chain saws, and they had made their way down the mountain clearing the windfall as they went. They added that they hoped to return later in the year to do some painting inside the lookout.

The most surprising entry was in the late 1990’s when someone made it up in December on skis. They said it took 10 hours from Natural Bridge - incredible feat. Other people noted the spiritual calm they felt when staying up there. It seems most people stayed at least one night. I would have liked to have stayed a night as well, but it was not even noon. So I carefully closed the door, and after taking a short scramble on the rocks around the lookout, started back down the mountain.

Below the lookout was a dilapidated loo, with two walls missing – a very drafty perch. A circle of stones marked the helicopter pad – it would be quite exciting watching a helicopter make a landing up there on that narrow rocky ridge.

I made very good time back down the very steep trail. These relentlessly steep sections were tough on the knees. I seemed to whiz down the slopes, counting down the switchbacks from nine to zero. Back at the bike I was relieved to see that no porcupines had chewed my tires!

Changing back into my biking shorts, I was soon making good progress along the undulating portion of the trail. Then the fun began. The final several kilometers of the trail, back down to the valley below, was one fast descent. I am sure a more experienced biker would have done this in half the time, but I still made good speed, enjoying the fruits of all that earlier uphill labor.

With relief I returned to the final leg of my journey, along flat trails. I stopped by the edge of the Kicking Horse river to enjoy the magnificent mountain scenery and the swiftly flowing river. The final kilometer required me to push the bike up the gently curving road, but eventually I came out into civilization again, joining the busload of curious Japanese tourists at the now busy Natural Bridge parking area. One Japanese lady stood behind my car, silently staring inside as I loaded the bike.

And so I returned in crazy traffic to town. Nobody seems to care about speed limits on the Trans-Canada Highway, even in heavy traffic or at roadworks. But I set my speed below the limit and let everyone pass me, in their hurry to reach the flat prairie.

This adventure had worked out in the best possible way imaginable: the trail was obstacle-free from start to finish, the weather was perfect, I had the energy to make this journey safely, and there were no bears. One cannot ask for more than that.


Statistics
Tocher Lookout
Sat. 14 August

Total Dist. 11.0 km (hike) +25.6 km (bike - ridden or pushed!) = 36.6 km
Height Gain 3720 ft.
Max. Elev. 7495 ft.
Time on trail 7 hrs. 55 mins.

BC Adventures - the good, the bad, and the ugly

Thurs./Fri. 5/6 August:
Mt. Daer Obstacle Course (“The Bad”)


Another trio of fire lookout mountains conquered over two days in British Columbia. I was thinking of calling them “the good, the bad and the ugly”, but that might be a bit unfair on the ugly one, and understating the bad one!

I left town in the late Thursday afternoon rush hour, which in the summer months is not too bad at all.

It’s not very often that I drive west into the mountains at this time of day. The light and the shadows were awesome. The line of mountains west of Canmore was bathed in vertical shafts of sunlight, and Mount Rundle, above Banff, stood out in strong relief under blue skies.

At Castle Junction, I turned off the Trans-Canada Highway onto the Radium Hot Springs road. It’s a hundred kilometer drive through spectacular mountain valleys, through the Kootenay National Park, to Radium. Unlike the Trans-Canada Highway it’s a much quieter road – but not free from speeding Calgarians trying to break the sound barrier on the way to their summer cottages.

This valley has suffered badly from huge forest fires over recent years. Whole mountainsides are filled with dead trees. Through this long stretch of wilderness there are only two camping areas. McLeod Meadows campsite lies hidden in the trees by the Kootenay River, about 30 km short of Radium Hot Springs. It’s quite large, and today was mostly empty. I chose a nice site, pitched my tent, and went exploring down by the river, as the evening light was fading. The trail to my first lookout starts right here in the middle of the campsite.

Complete silence descended early in the valley, as the traffic on the highway dwindled to an occasional vehicle, and there was not a breath of wind on this warm night.

The next morning, the sun seemed a bit reluctant to rise – the shorter days are already noticeable. I was on the trail with my bike by 7.30 a.m. under hazy blue skies.

What a start – two lovely bridges, the first a suspension bridge – crossed the double streams of the Kootenay River. My trail climbed a short bank, and came immediately to the Kootenay Valley fire road. Most people cross straight over and head up to Dog Lake for the fishing. The fire road itself is actually a somewhat neglected grassed-over track through the trees. It was dead flat so I whizzed along on my mountain bike for a few kilometers until I met my first obstruction of the day. A large tree had fallen across the trail, and so I had to detour around it. A little further along, I came to another obstacle, then another. Finally I had to leave my bike behind, and continued on foot.

Just over 6 km from the start, I came to an overgrown road junction. The fire road continued on a short way until it apparently came to an end at a washed out bridge. The lookout road to Mt. Daer turned up to the right. This was my route. Buried upside down in the grass was a wooden sign. I was able to read: “Mt. Daer Fire Lookout - 4 Miles” with an arrow pointing to the left. This old forgotten sign, probably erected when the fire lookout was built in 1959, was a poignant reminder of the day when tourists would easily have driven their cars up to the mountain top to visit the lookout.

No longer! In fact, it very soon became apparent that not even hikers had been this way in a while. For the trail was covered by fallen trees and out-of-control undergrowth. It would have been an easy hike long ago, as the road climbed in a series of seven long, but gentle, switchbacks.

It was particularly bad lower down where multiple trees had fallen. I found myself clambering over trees, crawling under them, and climbing up the hillside above them where there was no way over or under. Some clearer stretches gave me some encouragement, but it really was an obstacle course the whole way up. In fact, I almost lost heart at one point. But then I gained confidence after a while, when I realized I was halfway up, so I told myself that I might as well carry on now.

I had been keeping an eye on the weather, and I could see an early thunderstorm approaching across the valley. It started to rain, so I put on my rain gear. Luckily it proved to be a short shower, and the last one of the morning.

The final switchback was a ludicrous push through dense, wet, seven foot high alder bushes hiding fallen tree trunks! But I was almost there. Finally I reached the end of the road and a clearing in the dense forest. And to my surprise, I discovered a little cabin hidden in the trees. I had not expected this.

The cabin, once the home for the fire lookout person, stood neglected in the trees, with the screen door hanging off one hinge. But the front door looked solid and there were curtains in the intact windows. I felt a little trepidation as I reached out to open the door. Perhaps this was the home of a lonely hermit? The inside came as a pleasant surprise.

Here was a beautiful empty room with hardwood floors, cupboards, sink, and a built-in sleeping area with mattress. The windows still opened easily, and there was a broom in the corner by the sink. But there were paint chips on the floor which had over time been falling from the ceiling. I gained the impression that this had been used as a handy overnight cabin in past years, but that it had perhaps been two or three years since the last person had used it. Given the impossible nature of the trail, this did not surprise me. But the state of this lovely home was a surprise. By the sink was a page from an old newspaper – the Calgary Herald dated June 11th, 1974. It advertised Texas Instruments calculators for $89! I felt compelled to sweep the floor before I left this forgotten home and prepared for more battle with the bushes.

I knew that the old lookout tower had been removed many years ago – and was apparently now being used at a helicopter base in Canmore. I found the concrete bases for this tower hidden in the trees just beyond the clearing. On one of the posts the date of 1959 had been written – the year this lookout was erected.

The return journey back down the crazy trail seemed just a little easier perhaps, but still needed a lot of energy in negotiating all the obstacles along the way. There were very few views on this trail. The occasional glimpse of the towering mountains on each side of the valley was through a haze caused by smoke from the forest fires raging across several areas of BC.

Finally, after the grueling final stretch, I made it back to the fire road junction. I dropped down to the lonely Kootenay River to relax for a short while, before returning to my bike and then back to the campsite. It was not surprising that I had seen nobody at all on this trip – nor any bears luckily. They might have been lurking in the alders a few feet away from me and I would never have known!

For the rest of the day I put my feet up in the campsite, recovering from a tough six hours on the trail. That evening a thunderstorm rolled across the valley, and so I sat in the car enjoying the spectacle. My tent was perfectly dry – easily able to withstand such an assault. It was an early night for me.


Statistics
Mt. Daer Lookout
Fri. 6 August

Total Dist. 14.0 km (hike) +10.4 km (bike) = 24.4 km
Height Gain 1770 ft.
Max. Elev. 5525 ft.
Time on trail 6 hrs. 30 mins.


Sat. 7 August: Above the Clouds (“The Good” and “The Ugly”)

A mist clung to the treetops as I drove out of the silent campsite early the next morning, and turned west onto the deserted highway. The mist hid any sign of the mountains which rose steeply on each side of the road. Suddenly, as I started to drop down towards Radium and the Columbia River Valley, the sun came out. It’s a spectacular entry into Radium, through a short tunnel and then squeezing between two cliffs, past the hot pools. Suddenly one could have been in Switzerland. Chalet-style motels with balconies festooned with bright flowers, lined the road. Turning left onto the highway to Windermere, I was once more in the fog.

My destination this morning was Swansea Mountain, site of a former fire lookout. This mountain sits above the resort town of Windermere and its lake. I could see none of this in the fog. Partly by luck I found the road I was looking for and was almost at the foot of the invisible mountain when I came upon a sign proclaiming “Race in Progress”, and two people in red safety jackets barred my way. It seemed very early for a public event, being around 8 a.m. I was directed back and along a mine road which ran slightly higher up the mountainside. Soon I was on the rough fire road heading up a steep mountainside.

The second edition of Mike Potter’s Fire Lookouts book offers a long toil up from the foot of the mountain to the summit. His first edition, however, has you driving almost the whole way up the mountain. I chose to follow the first edition! This proved to be a classic fire road, very like many fire roads I have hiked up this year. So it was fun, for a change, to be driving up the narrow, rough, switchback road, imagining perhaps what it would have been like in the past for every lookout observer on their way to their remote mountaintop lookout homes.

This road ended a few hundred vertical feet from the summit in a small car park. From here it didn’t take me long to climb the steep, narrow trail through the trees to a superb mountain-top. Here I was above the clouds. Far below me, the clouds lay along the Columbia Valley floor. Small sections of Invermere and Windermere were visible through holes in the cloud. This was a sensational vantage point.

This hilltop is used by those crazy people who strap themselves to hang-gliders and para-gliders and launch themselves off the cliff-top using steep ramps. And today would be the grand annual gathering of all these brave souls at the top of this mountain, waiting their turn to cheat death.

Preparing to greet them were a couple of friendly guys who were up there early to set up a barbeque and to coordinate the arrival of the helicopter carrying the hang-gliders from the valley below. It takes a special devil-may-care person to enjoy this sport. One of my new friends told me of one person who took off and headed left instead of right, and ended up hitting a cliff-face head-on. If they get it right, they will land in the car park of the pub down beside Lake Windermere – a definite incentive to turn the right way!

Apparently all the participants were currently enjoying a hearty breakfast in the cloud-covered town below, but would soon all be heading up the fire road to get the day’s events under way. So not wanting to end up in a traffic jam on that steep and narrow road, I didn’t stay long. I should have waited another five minutes as I soon heard the approaching helicopter and missed seeing it drop off the hang gliders. But I was already on my way to my next fire lookout!

Safely back down in the Columbia River Valley, I now turned north, back through Radium, and on to Spillimacheen. Driving through these grand BC valleys is not a journey, it’s a special experience. This long stretch of road from Radium north to Golden is much less used than the Trans-Canada and the road to Windermere. I was able to drive leisurely along the green valley enjoying the scenery and some of the pretty farms and homes which generally looked quite prosperous – although my BC friends tell me the Province is in a mess and nobody can make a living off the land any more. It was hard to tell from a casual glance.

At the tiny hamlet of Spillimacheen I turned off the highway and crossed the valley floor, on a narrow, but modern bridge over the wide and swiftly flowing Columbia River. This valley is part of the great geological feature called the Rocky Mountain Trench which stretches for 1600 km and separates the Rockies from the next range of mountains to the west, being the Purcells.

On the other side of the valley I could see a high, forested hillside, behind which were grand mountains half-hidden in a hazy atmosphere caused by the forest fires across BC. This hill was Jubilee Mountain, and on its summit was my next destination – Jubilee Lookout.

It was an easy job to drive about ten kilometers up the good fire road, to the start of an abandoned mine site. From here the road was everything that the Daer Lookout road wasn’t! In fact, I could have driven all the way up to the lookout itself – but that would have been boring indeed.

Making good time, I soon came to the forested ridge top, where sat a very ugly and tall steel tower, on top of which sat the fire lookout building. In a way it was actually quite spectacular from an engineering point of view. And you could seal yourself off up there and feel very safe. But it was not one of the more scenic lookouts I have seen.

I sat below the tower, looking down on the hazy valley far below. Then I heard a voice from above (!). It was the lookout observer welcoming me and asking me how long I had been there. When I told him I was “doing the lookouts”, he replied “Well, you had better come up then”. Not believing my luck, I quickly climbed the metal stairways winding up the tower, to the upper platform.

The friendly observer bore some resemblance to the rugged ex-paratrooper, John Ridgway, whose Scottish Adventure School I had worked at forty years ago. “Forty” seemed to spring up more than once in the conversation. Later he told me he had been hiking for forty years, and I calculated that I had also been hiking for over forty years! In his case, he had encountered a dozen bears, and had been treed once. With many of my earlier hiking years being in Scotland, I had no such statistics to relate!

I was invited inside the spartan lookout building. In the centre was the firefinder telescope. In one corner a bed, and we sat at a table on two upright chairs. Of course the walls consisted entirely of windows and there were no curtains. We studied the maps and he gave me some very handy tips on ridge hiking in the Bugaboos, which on a clear day would have formed a spectacular western horizon for this lookout tower. Today the peaks were a hazy blur.

My friend, whose name I am afraid I did not ask, and was not told, was acting as a weekend caretaker for the woman observer who usually lives up here. He has served as a lookout at several places, including Ironstone, in the Crowsnest Pass of southern Alberta - which I visited earlier this year. He was now retired, but had worked for the forestry service all his life.

In his view the job of the fire lookout in BC is in jeopardy. The government has no money to make repairs or to properly man the towers. This is in contrast to Alberta where he said that people go to Rocky Mountain House for proper training, and of course the lookouts are fully manned all season. Apparently in BC you are lucky if you get as many as ten days a year up in your lookout, as these BC towers are only manned at times of high fire alert. Sadly, this tower on Jubilee Mountain now usually stands empty.

After a very enjoyable chat, I thanked my kind host, and climbed back down the tower to the trail below. I took one last look back up into this colossal – and I still say ugly! - structure before heading down off the ridge.

It didn’t take me very long to stride back down the hill. The lupins were very colorful. The mosquitoes had been a little annoying, but had mostly been kept at bay by my bug spray.

Returning to the valley floor, I stayed on the west side of the river valley, and followed the lonely gravel road to my next destination: Lower Bugaboo Falls. Here the mosquitoes were of the warrior breed. They were out to get anyone who dared to walk the trail, regardless of bug spray. As a result, this was a speed walk through the woods, up to a high point then down to a dangerous clifftop viewpoint of the falls far below. The Bugaboo River carries a lot of water down from the mountains, and the falls were certainly worth a visit- but those pesky bugs were all over one’s face. It took me even less time to get back to the car.

“Bugaboo” seemed to be a very good word to sum up this short hike. Then the pesky blighters all seemed to want to join me in the car and I spent the next ten minutes busily swatting them before I could safely drive away.

And so I returned to my campsite at Mcleod Meadows after a day filled with plenty of exercise – and after enjoying a huge bacon-cheeseburger in Radium. Nevertheless, I had the energy to bike around the campsite and the picnic area taking advantage of the bright evening skies to catch a few photos.


Statistics
Swansea Mountain
Sat. 7 August

Total Dist. 1.0 km (hike)
Height Gain 345 ft.
Max. Elev. 5675 ft.
Time on trail 0 hrs. 41 mins.


Statistics
Jubilee Lookout
Sat. 7 August

Total Dist. 8.8 km (hike)
Height Gain 1035 ft.
Max. Elev. 5503 ft.
Time on trail 2 hrs. 45 mins. (incl. an hour chatting at the top)


Statistics
Lower Bugaboo Falls
Sat. 7 August

Total Dist. 3.0 km (hike)
Height Gain 100 ft.
Max. Elev. 2900 ft.
Time on trail 0 hrs. 29 mins.


Sun. 8 August: Marble Marvel

Sometime in the middle of the night, it started to rain. It was comforting to know that my tent was more than up to the challenge. As far as I was concerned, it could rain as much and as hard as it liked, as I lay snugly in my sleeping bag. I had taken the precaution to load the bike onto the car rack and take down the tarp the previous evening, so I was able to make a very efficient exit early that morning, without really getting wet.

The return journey through the damp Kootenay Valley was very enjoyable. There was just about no traffic. I saw any number of deer as usual. But then up ahead I saw two dark shapes moving across the road. By the time I could see what they were, one had disappeared into the trees. The other, a large black wolf, stood there in the middle of the road, watching me with curiosity. I took a poor photo of it before it moved off behind the car and into the trees.

Near this same stretch of road on Thursday evening I had seen a black bear shuffling off into the forest. And just a little later in my journey, in busy traffic just west of Banff, a bear raced across the Trans-Canada Highway, jumped over the central barrier, and was narrowly missed by the car ahead of me as it ran off into the trees.

Near the top of Vermilion Pass is a tourist hot-spot – Marble Canyon. There is always a reason that a certain place becomes a magnet for passing drivers. This place lived up to its reputation.

Tokumm Creek tumbles down from the mountains as a normal busy stream, but then suddenly plunges into a deep chasm, 200 feet deep and just a few feet wide, before eventually emerging again, and joining the Vermilion River. The scary scene can be safely observed from a series of bridges built across the canyon, and connected by an easy interpretive trail.

The most impressive place to stand is where the river suddenly takes a dive into the abyss, at the top end of the canyon. This place had been ravaged by huge forest fires in 2003, but the trail and bridges have since been rebuilt. It’s definitely worth a visit – especially if you go early and have the place to yourself.

On the way home, I stopped at the Alpine Helicopters base in Canmore in search of the old Mt. Daer lookout tower – there is a photo of it in Mike Potter’s “Fire Lookouts” book. Sadly it no longer exists, and now a nice new, modern heliport stands in its place.


Statistics
Marble Canyon
Sun. 8 August

Total Dist. 1.4 km (hike)
Height Gain 100 ft.
Max. Elev. 4900 ft.
Time on trail 0 hrs. 26 mins.


Statistics (Total)
Daer/Swansea/Jubilee/Lower Bugaboo Falls/Marble Canyon
Fri. 6 – Sun. 8 August

Total Dist. 28.2 km (hike) +10.4 km (bike) = 38.6 km
Height Gain 3350 ft.
Max. Elev. 5675 ft.
Time on trail 10 hrs. 51 mins.

Jewel in the Crown

Fri. 30 July: Moose Mountain

This mountain, just five feet short of 8,000 ft., apparently looks like a moose from some angle which I haven’t yet discovered!

There’s no question that this rugged peak is one of the most popular hikes for Calgarians, being so handy to the city. I myself have been to the summit three times before and today would make it four. And I have been part way up on other occasions.

Someone should give it a popular nickname, such as “the mother of all lookouts”, or “the jewel in the crown” - something to denote its position as perhaps the “premier” fire lookout mountain in Alberta. So naturally I wanted to climb to the top during this year, when most of my hikes are focused on visiting the fire lookouts of the Rockies.

J and I were on the hill just after 7 a.m., managing to be first in the small car park at the top of the steep road leading up from the Elbow Valley. This road was wet and slightly muddy after yesterday’s thunderstorms, but easily driveable.

I tried to make a bet with J that ours would not be the only vehicle by the time we returned to the car. He was too wise to put any money on it.

There is a large green sign at the start of the trail warning visitors to be careful not to get caught out on the high bare mountainsides during a thunderstorm. Today promised to be one of those days, so we had started early.

Almost immediately we had views of the lookout, perched high on the top the mountain, far across the valley, looking impregnable and unattainable.

But the gentle trail steadily climbs up the forested ridges, until finally it pulls itself up out of the trees. Here on the broad, grassy slopes, we could see the trail ahead as it climbed up onto the bare rocky hillside, in a series of zig-zags. According to the guidebook, you can choose whether to use the switchback trail or to head straight up the mountain. We didn’t need the guidebook to tell us that most sane people would choose the zig-zags.

Once up on the wide bare upper ridge, the final summit of Moose Mountain lay ahead, a fortress guarded by dangerous cliffs. But there is a straightforward path down across the col, up the final ridge, across the steep rocky scree slopes, and up to the lookout perched on the tiny summit. Here we sat on the helicopter pad just below the lookout building, and enjoyed some lunch.

The views west to the mountains were very good, and the atmosphere was clear enough in that direction for us to distinguish many of the Front Range peaks and valleys. But off to the east across the prairie it was hazy, due apparently to the many forest fires now burning across British Columbia. And there was a sense of instability about the atmosphere, despite the blue skies. Some clouds were starting to appear, and a front was appearing to the southwest. It turned out that, only a few hours after we completed our hike, some severe thunderstorms developed up and down the foothills, and there were even a couple of tornados to the north of Calgary.

Our lookout friend did not choose to make an appearance, but we signed the handy visitors book, and admired the views on this warm, almost windless day – a rare period of calm up on this exposed mountaintop.

The sound of distant vehicle engines could be heard below. Through the binoculars we could see that a new gas well site was being constructed far below us on the northern slopes of the mountain.

Just below the summit, someone had constructed an ugly little structure which looks like a noticeboard with a roof on it, held down by two concrete blocks. Nearby was a picnic table. Perhaps this will become a holding area for hikers waiting their turn to sign the visitors book!

As we started our descent, I glanced back to see the shirtless observer basking in the sun beside the lookout building. I gave him a friendly wave and got a hesitant wave in reply. It would be impossible for any fire observer on Moose Mountain to greet every visitor – they would have no time to do their real jobs. But in past years, when there were fewer visitors, there was perhaps more connection between hiker and observer. On our first visit here, way back in 1982, for example, L and I were invited inside the lookout building and met not only the young observer, but his pet spider too!!

There were quite a few mosquitoes flying about, even on the summit, They were later than normal arriving this year, so were now clearly making up for lost time. We met our first trippers of the day at the foot of the zig-zags above the broad meadows. The two guys commented on the lack of hikers today. On their last trip up here, they were chased down the mountainside by a thunderstorm, while other people happily sat up on the hillside as lightning flashed all around. As we traveled back along the lower trails, we met a few other groups of hikers, but it was relatively quiet for a summer’s day, and there was not even one mountain biker.

Looking back up the mountain, we could see late morning thunderclouds starting to build up above the peaks. The wildflowers on the steeply sloping hillsides beside the trail were at their best. We agreed that we needed to do some homework on finding out their names, since the mountain flowers on display on every hike in the Rockies are a big part of the pleasures of the journey – and after all these years I am ashamed to admit that I am no better able to identify most of them.

The final hill back up to the car was a good test of one’s stamina. Back at the car park, a number of hikers and bikers were preparing to set out up the mountain. I hope they were able to get down again before the arrival of the thunderstorms which were brewing up there.

As for J and myself, we felt pretty good about being able to reach the summit of Moose Mountain and back in just under four and three-quarter hours. A very respectable time for a couple of slightly ageing gentlemen!

Statistics
Moose Mountain
Fri. 30 July

Total Dist. 14.6 km (hike)
Height Gain 2198 ft.
Max. Elev. 7995 ft.
Time on trail 4 hr. 41 mins.