KatieTheKat

You've seen the pictures... now you want the story behind them.

The plan was ambitious, to say the least: an AVERAGE of 35km/day over 4 days. My jaw dropped when I first learned of this plan, especially since I thought this was to be a bush-whacking trip. But Scott soon assured me that we would be following marked routes and trails, which he pointed out on a very respectable- and offical-looking map. Besides that, based on the pictures from his previous trip, it looked like we were headed for open territory, easy to traverse even without a trail: (scott's pictures). So, quite happily (though with the teeeeniest twinge of trepidation), I agreed that this was a fabulous idea.

Fate seemed to be ruling against this adventure from the beginning. First off, when I hiked the Juan de Fuca trail the week before (http://gallery.antiflux.org/thekat-JuanDeFuca-2005), I found a gaping tear in one of the seams at the back of my 10-year-old backpack (actually, it was a mouse who found it first and used it to steal some oatmeal and trailmix). But that was ok: I had a full day off the day before we were to leave for the Chilcotins - I would use that day to shop for a new pack and get ready to go. What I didn't account for was the bug.

The bug remains to this day a bit of a mystery. Perhaps it resulted from a missing O-ring in one of our water filters. Perhaps it was a virus. Perhaps it came from food. Whatever it was, it hit Ken while we were on the Juan de Fuca, forced Kit and my mom to their beds two days after the trip, and caught up with me the day I intended to prepare for the Chilcotin trip. Thus, instead of merrily dispensing of dollars at MEC, Tuesday found me struggling to make my way home from the ferry terminal (I had been in Nanaimo) without expunging the contents of my gut on a bus or Robson Street. Once home, after fully emptying my digestive tract from one end to the other, I spent the entire day and night in my bed, hoping that, like the others, I would feel better the next day.

This brings us to Wednesday morning, the day we were to depart. I awoke feeling relatively lively and full of optimism. I pedalled to MEC, but found I had been over-eager and had to wait with the small crowd outside until the doors opened at 10am. I strode confidentally to the backpack section and a saleswoman helped me to fit 2 packs: an Arcteryx Bora 75 and a Gregory Electra. Both felt good. Both had nice features. I continued to agonize over my decision while I found some water-friendly shoes (an alternative to sandals), picked up some dehydrated food, and had my knife oiled and sharpened by my favourite bearded MEC employee. When Scott called me again around noon, I was still in the store, my stomach still completely empty (I was still afraid to consume anything, especially since I was not at home), but I had finally decided upon the Arcteryx.

By the time I got back home, I was ravenous. Hoping for the best, I ate a half cup of applesauce, then waited. After about 20 minutes, when no violent reaction seemed to take place, my confidence increased, and I had some more. As I packed, I proceeded to test my reaction to some chicken noodle soup, 2 pickles, some melon, and various other scraps of food. By the time Scott arrived to pick me up, I was confident that the bug had been banished, and so we set out happily on our adventure.

The "summer use only" road leading to Gold Bridge from Pemberton gave Dima's car (which he had so kindly lent us for the trip) a few rough jolts. It was dark by the time we pulled into the forest recreation site on Mowson Pond where we set up camp for the night, a short distance away from our chosen trailhead.

[and finally, we make it to the actual start of the hike!]

Day 1
=====

Our adventure began somewhere near Gun Creek, or was it Eldorado creek? I don't have a copy of the map. Anyhow, after getting past a very high-tech gate by lifting up a small log, we started up the road. We past a trail that branched off to the right. We continued climbing up the road. Eventually (maybe 10 minutes later), Scott pulled out the map and GPS to check on our location. Apparently we were supposed to take that trail that went off to the right. Instead of backtracking, we decided just to head due south - a few minor scrapes and many pebbles in the boots ensued as we quickly dropped down to the trail, our little detour behind us.

As we followed the trail for the first 12km or so, the going was easy. We were in shade. The terrain was mostly flat. The trail was wide and obvious. I felt that I could continue in such conditions almost indefinitely.

It was when we stopped by Eldorado Creek for a snack that we encountered the first of our foes - bugs. Mosquitoes and cabin flies to be precise. I tried sitting down to rest but found that I was able to spend less time swatting if I moved around while I ate. We were happy to reshoulder our packs and continue on our way.

When we came to the general area where the "route" on the map diverged from the trail, we watched carefully for any sign of a path leading off to our left. With Scott ahead of me, I noticed the faintest hint of a what might be a trail leading out of a little clearing - after finding nothing else promising, we came back to this and followed it a short distance to find that it quickly developed into a dusty trail winding off through the woods.

Though it had more ups and downs and a few more fallen logs to hop over, we were happy to find that the route seemed well-travelled (mostly on horseback, it seemed), and that it was quite distinct. Blazes oozing yellow sap marked the trees along the sides. Speaking of blazes, the sun was beating down with increasing intensity as we ascended among the dry and dusty pines. Sweating my weary way up a hillside, I started to wonder how many kilometers we had yet to go. What a relief it was to stop for lunch looking out over a beautiful valley, listening to a stream roar down through rocks, with a touch of a cool breeze delighting us by its presence. While I ate my bagel with cheese, I found that if I continuously swept my free arm back and forth over any exposed skin (as a horse might swish its tail), I was able to keep the swarms of bugs at bay.

I'm not sure exactly where it happened.. it happened in a gradual way so that you never were entirely convinced that it had happened.. but
somewhere on a scree slope or maybe in a marshy patch, the route which had once been so clear and well-trodden eluded us altogether. For a while, we would continue to find occasional bits of flagging tape when we scoured the edges of the next clump of trees, and these would lead us a few steps down the route, but then we would emerge to the open again, or find ourselves no longer on the route, but on a moose's trail that would vanish to no particular destination. Instead of pushing steadily along, we now found ourselves pausing, hesitating, trying one route then another, and our progress slowed as the sun shone on. We started to push through patches of thick brush and dry branches. The whip of a branch on a shin produced a searing pain as a red scratch appeared. I tried wearing my sunglasses to protect my eyes from spruce boughs, but the dappled light reflected inwards and made it difficult to see. We tried going up and picking our way across large scree and boulder fields, but the going was slow. We tried going down where it was flatter and there were frequent animal trails, but it was marshy and riddled with dense clumps of sharp-branched knee- to shoulder-high shrubs. The day wore on, and the thick bugs continued to make stopping far from restful. I struggled to keep up with Scott as he wove his way along - if I were to make the slightest pause, the trembling of branches to the right or left would be my only clue as to which way he disappeared.

Exhausted, aching, hot, hungry, and with dusk fast-approaching, we stopped in a little clearing in a clump of woods where the ground was not marshy and the slope not too steep and a source of water available, and made our camp. We were 5km short of our intended destination of Leckie Lake, after 11.5 hours on the "trail". The car was 35km behind us.

Day 2
=====

Bushwhacking is much easier and less painful with a little practice. And when it is not unexpected. I felt a bit like a moose or a deer gracefully making my way up the valley in the relative cool of the morning. As we approached the lakes, the country became more and more open and we were treated to beautiful vistas in every direction. A boulder balanced at the edge of a distant precipice. The clear sparkling blue Leckie Creek burbled merrily down the valley. Bold granite boulders punctuated meadows of wildflowers. And up by the lakes, a strong breeze kept bothersome bugs away. As we basked, smiling, in the sunshine, it felt as though all of our hardships, now behind us, had been worthwhile.

On our way up to our first pass, traversing a broad green hillside, Scott spied a large grizzly rooting around a fair distance above us. We moved a little closer up towards him to get some pictures (still at a very respectable distance), and spent a couple of minutes watching him in awe before he spotted us and galumphed away into the safety of the bushes above.

At the pass, we stopped for lunch and gazed out at the broad valleys and peaks stretching ahead. Our plan from here was to drop down into the valley, meet up with a trail, and follow it over another pass and on, around through the valley, near the end of which we would camp for the night. Before reaching the trail, we would have to cross a creek, which we hoped would not be too difficult.

Well, everything started out as planned. The descent to the creek was easy and the beauty of our surroundings was stunning. Crossing the
(at most) knee-high creek in sandals and shoes felt wonderful on our battered legs. After a short break on the other side, we climbed up and followed a narrow horse trail up to the next pass. As we descended again into the next valley, Scott pointed out a line of forest cutting down the hillside and mentioned that we ought to make sure we stick to the trail once we reach it since that would surely be easier than bushwhacking. I heartily agreed.

The problem with sticking to a trail (a trail clearly marked as a "minor trail" - the step between "route" and "major trail"), is that a trail must exist to be stuck to. We began by following what Seemed like a trail, but
it soon vanished completely. The terrain was still open though, so we carried on, keeping our eyes open for the path, as clumps of trees loomed. Well, I think that, what with all this foreshadowing and all, you know what happens next. We found no trail, the bush came on, and it was day 1 all over again, only worse. Worse why? Because the ground was steep, the bush was denser, we were more tired, and worst of all, we had expected easy going. And the bugs were relentless.

We felt that we should stay quite high on the slope since we still had hopes of finding the mythical trail and furthermore the valley would be swampy. Frustrated and angry at the uncooperativeness of the land, we pushed on. I began to despair as we moved farther into what seemed like an increasingly impenetrable and hostile place (despite the still beautiful views), wondering how I would ever make it back out to the car in the next 2 days, knowing that each difficult and painful step was only making it farther away. And still I couldn't rest because of the bugs and Scott kept disappearing ahead of me and it was so hot and each branch that brushed my legs brought renewed pain to the scrapes it touched and my feet were blistered and sore and I felt like a wimp for all these despairing
thoughts and... ARGH!

We slowed our pace a little and pushed on and eventually my spirits improved enough that I could laugh at our predicament instead of cry.
When we hit upon a broad stream channel which afforded us a view up to the peaks above us and down to the valley bottom far below, we stopped to consider our options. We could go up.. up to the top, where there were no trees.. but the climb would probably take 2 hours. Or we could go down to where the trees might be a little bigger, the ground a little flatter, and where we might manage to find a campsite.

We opted to go down, and came across a pretty little clearing with a relatively flat place that looked just right for the Hubba Hubba. Scott discovered a water supply nearby and so we decided that this was indeed
to be our home for the night. We set up the tent and went inside to escape the bugs and consider our plan for the rest of the trip.

Days 3 and 4
============

Rested and refreshed, we decided that we dared to proceed towards Warner Pass, but that we would not worry about finding the trail and instead take a shortcut to get there. The thought of retreating to the previous pass and taking the known trail from there back towards the car was entirely
unappealing.

As it turned out, going down the slope had been a good choice. An excellent choice. It may have helped that we were going around to the drier side of the mountain too, but suddenly we found that the going was easy. The trees got bigger and farther apart. The ground was flatter. Choosing a route was easy (most of the time). And our surroundings were becoming more and more beautiful. We made it to the top of Warner Pass by lunch time.

From here on, there is little to relate (which is good, since I've been at this for far too long). From the top of Warner, a clear trail led our way down to turquoise lakes and wildflower meadows. We took a highly refreshing dip in Warner Lake. We camped at the next lake where there was a picnic table, a fire ring, and even a rustic outhouse. In the morning as we gazed out over the calm lake sipping our tea, we saw what looked like a black dog but must have been a wolf running along the opposite bank. Hiking through wildflower meadows dotted with groves of white birch trees, I can't begin to describe how wonderful it was.

Day 4 was a long day at 28km. When we finally spotted the gate and the car, both Scott and I burst into a run. Altogether, we covered 35 + 21 + 21 + 28 = 105km in 4 days. At least 15-20km of that was hard bushwhacking. We learned many lessons: don't make the first day too hard; don't count on trails merely because they appear on a map; don't tell Scott you want a challenging trip :). All in all, though, we had a wonderful time, as the photos will attest (of course there are very few photos taken during the rough spots). I would highly recommend the
Chilcotin as a hiking destination.

happy trails!

kat

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# posted by thekat : 4:25 pm