|
|
|
|
Climbing In The Canadian Rockies part 2
We lingered as long as we could, crouched at the summit and thought about how Fay, Sarbach, Collie and the others must have felt a century ago. Their notion of the sublime, when the forces of nature overwhelm, was still pertinent despite the advances in equipment and increased awareness of the mountain environment. The outcome of adventure is never guaranteed. A sense of being exposed and vulnerable was foremost in our minds. The Valley of the Ten Peaks and Mount Assinaboine - Canada's Matterhorn remained elusive behind a stubborn veil of cloud. Back at the hut we cooked a late breakfast and watched an inquisitive coyote on the snow, its nose held to the air and sniffing. The stoves and cooking utensils were provided. Fuel and food had to be packed in and of course all rubbish packed out. With room for around twenty the huts always felt very intimate, making it easy to enjoy the company of others experiencing this vast playground. But we had to remember that these were big peaks. The apparent ease of some routes belied the seriousness of the terrain and the variability of the conditions. It certainly filled us with admiration for those who had pioneered routes up these mountains. For us it was Mount Victoria that didn't feel right. Foot placements in the thawing snow were precarious and the piles of rocks tumbling past our noses had us running for cover. Still we were just getting started. Victoria would wait, there were other days, other huts, other peaks to climb. Through the Alpine Club of Canada we had also booked spaces in the 'Neil Colgan' above the classic Rockies scene of Moraine Lake near Lake Louise and the 'Stanley Mitchell' in Yoho National Park. Tucked away in the Little Yoho Valley this luxurious log-cabin was named after one of the founders of the Alpine Club Of Canada , Stanley Mitchell, and has changed little in over fifty years. It proved to be a wonderful oasis. Out the back, continuing past the wood-pile, a faint path led steeply beyond the tree-line. Bright-red Indian Paintbrush daubed a clash of vibrancy into the delicate bloom of alpine meadows. We climbed Whaleback Mountain for a better look at the spectacle before the lightning stabs of a thunderstorm. The towering ramparts of The President commanded the stage. It was probably a good thing that the official trails hadn't made it this far. The forested haven in Little Yoho had a more comforting feel than either the Abbot's Pass or the Colgan hut. And while staying at the latter, thoughts of the descent clung uneasily in the backs of our minds. Retreating from its exposed position in bad weather would have seemed like abandoning the final bastions of man. Sited at 9700 feet the Colgan hut is the highest permanent structure in Canada although permanence in this environment is an arrogant term given the raw power of the mountains. Accessing it was more serious than getting to the others. We opted to ascend the 'Perren Route' instead of the rubble of the 'Schiesser Ledges' or the bomb-alley of the '3.5 Couloir'. After our experiences on the scree to Abbot's Pass and the flying rock on Mount Victoria the three pitches of climbing on what is described as the 'best rock' in the area seemed to offer the best sport and be the safest choice. Foaming from the Valley of the Ten Peaks a river called a halt to the trail. We stepped off the edge of predictability and walked straight through the icy water. Somehow we had missed the log-crossing. Armed with a brief description of the Perren route on a scrap of paper, finding our way was already proving interesting. A mess of broken trees, smashed by avalanches, merged into the talus slope that soon gave way to an intricate ledge system. Carrying heavy packs the climb through a gully in the first cliff band felt slightly more awkward than it should. We noted possible abseil stations for our descent. After over 2000 feet of vertical progress the final buttress, bounded on the right by a tottering icefall, looked formidable although graded modestly. The first 25m pitch rose steeply, trending rightwards, on good edges to a spike before disappearing over a bulge. With growing confidence we relished the freedom of movement, coaxing the holds into surrendering themselves in our upward progression. In retrospect I don't think we should have hauled the lead-climber's rucksack. It became jammed. After an airy traverse, a long run-out took us onto the glacier and the final climb to the hut. Perched on the continental divide, the insulated, yellow tin cabin offered spectacular views right through to the Bugaboos in British Columbia. Not a breath of wind stirred, something which was probably unusual given that the roof was tethered to half-a-dozen sixty gallon drums filled with rock. From the Neil Colgan hut some of the summits were as little as thirty minutes away. There were routes of every standard with the north face of the aesthetic Mount Fay providing a number of classic summer alpine ice outings. Despite being named after Charles Fay who had been on the first ascent of Lefroy, he had been beaten to the summit in 1904 by a thirty-seven year old English woman, Gertrude Benham and her guide Christian Kaufmann. Male adventurers of the time didn't appreciate being outdone by women no matter how skilled and committed they were. Fay was furious and it is rumoured that he dismissed his guide. The golden days of alpinism had a darker side too. Thankfully, the atmosphere when we met a guide and his client on the summit was more relaxed. They too were staying at the hut and later that day we watched the anvil clouds gather before charging in across the sunset, roaring and shooting bolts at the rocky ridges. Down in the valley it is easy to forget just how wild the Rockies are but not up here. Our eyes scanned across miles of tangled forest and minds contemplated countless lonely summits. We teetered back over the log-crossing which bore the crampon scars of frigid early starts and hit the trail. Looking back at the massive citadel north-faces of Mount Bowlen, Fay and Deltaform it was easy to see what those pioneers came in search of, with their Romantic ideals fuelling the engines of the railways. It is the same aesthetic nerve that is touched today, providing the continual impetus for exploration not just geographically but also in a human sense. |
