Back Up High (Days 42-46)

Off With a Bang

After 3 days of chilling (42-43-44), my last chunk of the trail started off with a bang. A 32km day, with more than a kilometer of elevation gain, to get out of Cumberland and into the swampy meadows of the Forbidden Plateau.

It was definitely a challenge, since the last part of my hike was relatively flat compared to the inclines I plunged into on day 45. My legs burned and my heart pounded in my chest. But I was elated; so excited to finally experience the much-anticipated Strathcona Park section of the trail.

I got dropped off in Cumberland early in the morning and set off to rejoin the trail where I left it a month ago, when I fell into town off the Beaufort mountains to the south. Mountain bike trails and the odd road lead me around the east side of Comox Lake. Skirting the shores of the lake involved crossing a small log jam at the mouth of a swamp, and I had to be careful with my footing so as not to end up with wet mud feet so early in the day.

The trail wound through some recent cutblocks on its way to the dam at the Puntledge river flowing out of the lake. I know that in some peoples’ eyes the sight of all the stumps and the bare dried-up ground is a sorrowful thing – but I couldn’t help but see beauty in all the unique colors that come out in such environments. The brown-red dirt exposing itself through the dead white moss. The sun bleached wood that appears almost blue-purple next to the new green shoots of salal and bracken fern. Maybe it’s my inner treeplanter, having spent so much time on hillsides that have been razed to the ground, that finds devastation pleasing to the eye.

Up and Up and Up

After re-watering and re-fueling at the river, I started my ascent. I marvelled at how anyone could ride a bike on trails so steep. I got lost in a debris-choked new cut block that likely cleared out some older trail I was supposed to be following – but I just pointed myself uphill, and soon enough I found an orange marker and regained my confidence.

The patchwork pattern of blocks at various stages of regeneration gave way to the steep, bushy, berry-filled slopes of Wood Mountain Ski Park. I hoped I didn’t collide with any bikes heading downhill on the twisty-turny snake of dirt.

Peace

Finally, I found myself at the boundary of Strathcona Provincial Park, which at 100+ years old was the first provincial park to be established in BC. With most of the climbing behind me, I began to hug the contours of the mountains as I wound around them. The greenery had burst forth since I was last at this altitude, with blueberries and heather arching across the trail to scrape my bare legs. There was no snow to be found, and the creek beds were dry. The air was so still, and there was not a sound, save for the odd bird and the buzzing of flies. The spaciousness of the forest felt so welcoming.

I took a tiny detour to Drabble Lakes for some water, and carried on through some grassy swampy meadows to McKenzie Lake to camp for the night. No one else was around, which surprised me because it was a weekend in a provincial park. But I wasn’t complaining, as I had the peacefulness of the place all to myself.

Buggy Meadows

Day 46 began with a rainbow, but also wet feet. The mere 5 minutes of rain soaked the tall grasses in the meadows around McKenzie Lake, and as I brushed my way through them, water ran down my legs to collect in my socks. The soggy mess in my shoes turned my feet to mush.

Continuing on further into the Forbidden Plateau, ponds and lakes were abundant, and so were the bugs. I tried to keep moving so I wouldn’t be an easy target.

Though I was still in the trees, I caught glimpses of the patchy snow on the tall mountains to the west. I was eager to meet them, and experience the new kind of terrain they had to offer.

Side Trip

When I got to Circlet Lake mid-morning, I quickly set up camp, scarfed a bunch of food, and took off again with some water and snacks. I had been inspired to make a side trip to Mt Albert Edward, one of the tallest mountains on the island – at 2093m, it’s only about a hundred meters under the Golden Hinde which is the tallest, and also located in Strathcona Park. It’s a very popular trip to camp at Circlet Lake and hike Albert Edward from there. I couldn’t pass up the chance to get up there and see it for myself, especially since I was so close.

I couldn’t even see the mountain from the lake, and it was only after I made a very steep climb to get on top of a wide ridge that I found my goal within my sight. The peak jutted out over an ice field, playing hide and seek in the clouds.

Albert Edward was at the end of the southern arm of the horseshoe-shaped ridge. To the north, around the arch, I could see the summit of Jutland Mountain, where I’d be headed the next day. I made a mental note of the turnoff, wary that I’d have to make the whole steep ascent up to the ridge with my full pack on the next morning.

Life

The ridge rose gently to the summit, and there were no technical parts or scary exposures. I met lots of people up there, and it seemed like I was always within earshot of another person. I was grateful for that – given my previous experience in the Beauforts, when I was all alone and felt like I was in over my head, it was nice to see other humans around. It can’t be so crazy if other people also thought it was a good idea to come up here, right?

As I climbed higher, the trees gave way to coarse shards of rock.

I hopped up a stone staircase that seems to be hewn especially to invite hikers into the barren moonscape above. A bridge from the green world to the beige world. I was struck with a renewed appreciation for the narrowness of the constraints within which plant and animal life can exist. Only a mere 2000m above sea level, and the rocky snowy ridge seemed sterile.

But, the closer I looked, the more I spied new types of organic life that my eyes had not yet learned to identify. Tiny flowers hidden in the dirt. The orange and green splotches of lichens that clung to the rocks. Life was still here, adapted to the conditions. I even heard the faint call of a bird, and the buzz of a fly. To be bird or a fly, living in this playground in the clouds – what would that be like?

By the time I got to the top, it was encompassed by cloud. As I turned to go back down, it started to rain, and I had to pay attention to the shadows of cairns in the mist to find my way.

Back at the lake, I stood in the refreshing water, washing my arms and legs of dirt. I still had a little bit of the afternoon left to rest before tackling Jutland the next day. I passed out early, wiped from the intensity of the last two days.

Signed,

Carly