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Travel & Adventure Guides

Past stories ------ Summer 2006 ------ Table of Contents Canadian Winery Destinations Otters of Kyuquot Sound Fishing in the Prairies Moncton - 3 Great Day Trips Sylvia Forest - Mountain Guide Yukon River Quest Path to Paradise A Century of Summits Mina Hubbard's Journey Tent Buyer's Guide Climbing Della Falls ------ Winter 2005 ------ Table of Contents 10 Best Mountain Destinations Affordable Adventures Spa Holidays Snow Shelters David Marra - The Ice Man Adventure Travel Insurance Tempest in Tofino ------ Summer 2005 ------ Table of Contents Dealing With Mosquitos Search for the Freshwater Sea Girls On Top Journal Astronomy Ottawa - 3 Great Day Trips Seabound Grasslands National Park Sugar Bush Country Hallowed Home of the Haida ------ Winter 2004 ------ Table of Contents Cross Country Skiing Snowshoeing Dogsledding in the Yukon Snowmobiling Winter Photography Mountains as Water Towers Knapsacks Explained Contributors ------ Summer 2004 ------ Table of Contents Thor Peak Rocky Mountain Teahouses Canoeing in Northern Sask. Fantastic Fundy Destinations Summer Stargazing Kayaking the Great Lakes Adele Frizzell - Adventure Racer BC Mountaineering Hiking Shoes Explained Exploring Nootka Sound

BY NATALIE ST-DENIS

For 12 years, I secretly hid a neatly folded topographic map of Mount Everest in my dresser drawer. It's not that I expected to summit the world's highest peak, but that map - squirrelled away where no one would find it - was a symbol of my deepest desire to climb mountains. I felt it each time I saw photographs of majestic snow-capped peaks thrusting out of glistening glaciers. Such images captured my imagination and stirred a longing to breathe mountain air and experience wilderness untouched by civilization. Like other climbing enthusiasts drawn by its jagged granite spires, I'd made my destination Bugaboo Glacier Provincial Park in British Columbia's rugged Purcell Mountains.

The desire for a climbing adventure is one thing. Safely fulfilling that desire is quite another. Research on my obsession thrust me into a world of carabiners and camelots, anchors and belay stations, crampons and ice axes, crags and crevasses. The laws of physics - my worst subject in high school - provided critical knowledge that I'd need before venturing into the mountains of the West. I began by joining the Alpine Club of Canada (ACC) in 2000, and I spent every free moment rock climbing. While my brain assimilated new terminology and skills, I subjected my body to running and weightlifting to develop my cardiovascular fitness and strength.

The following summer, I attended a session of the ACC's mountaineering camp in the Selkirk Mountains. My first week of mountaineering nearly destroyed my romantic illusions about climbing. It was an intensive six days of getting up early and working my body hard. I had to deal with altitude headaches for the first three days and was often scared. I panicked on my very first alpine climb, even though I was safely tied to a guide. Looking down a 400-metre drop beside me, I suddenly couldn't move. In climbing terms, I was "gripped."

After reaching summits and returning to camp day after day, however, I felt more fulfilled than fearful. Mountaineering is more challenging - physically, psychologically and emotionally - than I had expected. But its power rests with the rewards of pushing your body to new levels of performance and finding the stamina to resolve the inner conflicts between anxiety and desire, fatigue and determination. In order to climb safely, you have to develop a core trust not only in your fellow climbers but in yourself. Nothing else had ever consumed me in this way, and I wanted more.

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It was with a mix of euphoria and disbelief that I found myself en route to Bugaboo Glacier Provincial Park the following week. My hope was to meet other climbers who would invite me to tag along; if not, I'd hike and scramble on my own. After driving 48 kilometres on a logging road, I arrived in a parking lot littered with chicken wire and large rocks. It was a curious sight, but it was all part of the price paid for encroaching on wilderness. The resident porcupines had developed an appetite for car parts, so like everyone else, I spent an hour wrapping my vehicle in protective wire.

With my backpack filled with 25 kilograms' worth of climbing gear, all-weather clothing and a four-day food supply, I started out on my solo trek. My destination was the Conrad Kain Hut, five kilometres along a steep trail that takes you from lush forest to alpine meadows and gains 700 metres in elevation. Named for the celebrated Austrian alpinist, the hut was built as an ACC base camp to help contain human impact on the area. Fresh bear prints in the muddy trail were a constant reminder of lurking danger. After nearly three hours, I glimpsed the cabin. Built on a large rock and surrounded by glaciers and the Bugaboos' 3,000-metre granite spires, it was a breathtaking sight, dwarfing all the photographs that had lured me there.

When I arrived in late afternoon, the hut was warm, bright and buzzing with activity. I was greeted at the door by a collage of climbing boots, crampons and ice axes dangling from hooks and by the unmistakable smell of sweat and soggy clothes. It felt so real to me. Like anyone smitten with a new passion, everything about climbing seemed magical, and I was falling under its spell. Here I was at one of the world's greatest climbing sites and in the company of people sharing the same dream, from hard-core climbers to visitors who would venture only a few metres from the hut.

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The next day, I ventured out to explore the area. Despite the dark skies and occasional drizzle, I plodded my way up the scree. The perspective was unlike anything you experience at sea level. The clouds were thick, low and scudding across the sky. The ground was cold and hard, yet it supported exquisite tiny flowers, a test-ament to the resiliency of life even in the harshest conditions.

With crampons secured to my boots and ice axe in hand, I descended a small snowfield. Up to my left, there was a "shooting gallery," and below, a bowl-like formation that amplified the sound of frequent falling boulders as they rolled, bounced and crashed to its base. I was relieved when I passed this perilous section and made my way up the Brenta-Cobalt Col. It offered a spectacular view of green meadows, trees and Cobalt Lake, also known as Blue Lake. The weather was becoming increasingly variable, however, and I opted to turn back rather than make my way to the water.

With the weather still iffy the next day, attempted a scramble up Eastpost Spire (2,697 metres). I plodded my way up the scree, but as I got two-thirds up the mountain, dark clouds were moving in from the west.

I sat there briefly wondering what to do. If I turned back, I'd feel like a wimp. I wanted that summit, to recapture the thrill of success. If I kept going, however, I might have a hard time finding my way back through the fog and wet rocks. I had no one to turn to for advice. I sheepishly headed back down, returning to the hut moments ahead of the rain. I had made the right decision. Heavy snowfall kept us cabin-bound on the third day. That day of rest held surprises as I spent the time talking to other climbers, studying topographic maps and dreaming of returning to challenge some of the area's peaks.

When it was time to head back home to Ontario, a wave of sadness washed over me. I'd fallen in love with these rugged mountains and all the possibilities that climbing offers. With renewed resolve, I have since honed my skills and earned more experience in the wilderness. I can't wait to head back to the Bugaboos this summer — and I will climb those peaks.

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