Trip Reports
Four Goes at Meslilloet
During some downtime in the fall of
2000, recovering from a double hernia surgery, I stumbled across
Meslilloet Mountain in the Backroads map book. It was marked with a
mountaineering symbol. I was intrigued.
I spent a week in bed planning the trip, which is all you can do to
stay sane during those times when, for whatever reason, you are
separated from the mountains. At first my plan was to bike to Deep Cove
and rent a canoe which would get me to the head of Indian Arm with my
bike. Then I could bike up to the Meslilloet Creek spur road and climb
the West Ridge. By the time I was ready to go, canoe rental season was
over. That's when the idea that this
trip could be done from my house, with the canoe towed behind my bike,
came to me. I had done a couple of self-propelled mountaineering trips
prior and it always seemed a better way. I got a canoe from Mountain
Equipment Co-op and planned a road test to Deep Cove with my friend
Jesse.
The Road Test: Because of the young and cocky influence that we had on
each other, we decided to knock off Felix (designated 'strictly for
desperate peak baggers' in Fairly's guide) while we were at it. As
usual, we had no idea that it was beyond our one-day time limit. Jesse
and I successfully biked to Deep Cove Saturday after work. Jesse biked
with a trailer full of gear and I with a canoe behind my bike (full of
coffee cups and junk food wrappers from the 'brutal' approach). Apart
from a touch of black ice that delivered us off the road and onto a dry
curb, getting a canoe and all our gear to Deep Cove was no problem. We
laid down our sleeping bags on the beach for the night. We had the
misfortune to wake up lower than the high tide line, during high tide,
but we chalked it up to a lesson learned. We paddled through a thin
layer of ice out of the Cove and three hours later we arrived at the
head of Indian Arm. We had brought our bikes with us, in the canoe, to
make certain that it was feasible. Not for lack of desperate peak
baggers, Felix had to wait for another trip. After spending the rest of
the day canoeing and biking back to Vancouver we rewarded ourselves
with miso gravy fries at the Naam.
Attempt #1: Early January 2001. Jesse and I planned to meet our friends
Ivan and Bill, for an attempt on the West Ridge. They would drive to
Squamish and then bike south to Meslilloet Creek. We would approach
from our previous route.
Jesse and I biked to Deep Cove then canoed to the Indian River after
work a day earlier than this. We woke up just below the high tide line
in the rain. I had a dream that Jesse had brought a waterbed with him,
which Jesse woke me up from, telling me that the tent was under water.
The problem with learning lessons is usually the duration for which you
can retain that lesson. The next day we biked to just below the West
Ridge on the Meslilloet Creek spur road. This left us separated from
the toe of the West Ridge by Meslilloet Creek and its gully. We camped
and waited in vain for Ivan and Bill.
Ivan and Bill had met lots of snow and ice below the Stawamus-Indian
divide, there they had drank some fine Croatian wine and then decided
to head home.
We opted for the West Ridge direct instead of continuing around to the
north side of the ridge and going up Grants Keyway. We went to bed
early and woke up at 5:00am. After six hours of the wettest and most
brutal bush whacking (with ice axes to assist against the gradient) we
found ourselves well below the alpine and decided that we had no chance
of gaining the summit. We turned back and headed back to Vancouver. By
the time we got into Vancouver I was sick with a cold and exhausted; I
decided to take a direct route through town that had us biking over
unnecessary hills. Jesse's logic against, was perfect babble to me. All
I could do was head directly for the Naam. Hunger is the finest of
seasonings and miso gravy took on a flavour that can not be described.
Attempt #2: February 2001. Jesse lied to his good friend Paul Barclay.
Something about a weekend hike. All three of us set out to do the South
Ridge via Hixon Creek, Norton Lake, and Joseph Lake. One kayak, one
canoe and a trailer full of gear. We were turned back three times on
the first day by high winds on Indian Arm. The debates about which
direction we should be heading (home vs. Meslilloet) were relentless,
sometimes with each other sometimes to ourselves. About one third of
the way up Indian Arm we had to turn back or camp as it was well past
dark and still, white caps threatened at our gunwales.
I elected to ask a cabin owner for a good place to camp for the night,
hoping that the nearby cove would be fine. I stood at his backdoor,
cold and frustrated from a day of travel with not much distance to show
for it. When he opened the door a waft of warm air hit my face and at
once I noticed the two glasses of wine and the beautiful woman that he
was cooking dinner with. That doorway separated our two different
worlds. I almost walked in to find out what we were cooking. He was
short on words and told me the only place to camp was across the Arm on
the North Twin Island. After almost capsizing, we arrived there and
camped for the night.
We woke up to calm waters and made it to the head just as the wind
picked up again. Only by relentlessly asking Paul about his Physics
project (and all the necessary Physics to understand it) we managed to
hike all day towards Joseph Lake. Along the way we bumped into two beer
drinking motorcyclists who boat out to this area in the winter when the
logging roads are closed. They had been doing this for a few years and
had never seen anybody before. They told us that their wives had
noticed us biking on the Dollarton Highway and wondered why they never
did anything like that. We hiked up to Norton Lake on a logging road.
Then we hiked up an overgrown logging road above Norton Lake to a
saddle that brought us to the top of Hixon Creek gorge. We traversed
north, finding the odd bit of orange flagging and made it to just below
Joseph Lake late that night. Paul's GPS insisted that we were actually
in Joseph Lake, but we were clearly right beside the creek. It snowed a
wet snow all night and we drank scotch as we watched the tent walls
sag. It started to rain as we packed up camp. Silence hovered over camp
as we waited to see who would mention turning back first. We arrived at
the Naam later that night.
Attempt #3: The last weekend of winter. No one was willing to take any
more time off work to paddle in the rain with me. So, left with no
partners, I planned to leave after work by myself for the South Ridge.
Luckily Russ my co-worker had no idea what I was talking about and
decided to join me. Some details may have slipped my mind when I was
inviting him. We decided to leave the following morning. Two kayaks
were filled with all our gear and each of us strapped one to our bikes.
I picked Russ up at his house just as it began raining. It rained
consistently all day. We arrived at a woodshed at the head of Indian
Arm just as the day ended. I was soaked head to toe. As far as I know
there is no protection against twelve hours of travel through West
Coast weather. I had Gore-Tex covering everything except my boots and
my face. We built a fire, ate carrots and drank Jaegmiester and Glen
Livet. Day one and already I was feeling those beautiful soothing Naam
sensations. A wolf visited us the next morning and he didn't like
something that he smelled; he tucked his tail between his legs and
headed back up the road towards Squamish. It rained all morning as we
biked and hiked to Norton Lake. Just after we left Norton Lake the sun
came out! We stopped and took our outer clothes off to enjoy the heat.
Shortly after, we headed into the soaking wet bush towards Joseph Lake.
The sun ensured that the snow from the trees melted on us all the way
to Joseph Lake. We arrived wet and bitter at Joseph Lake with one day
left. My thermarest had a hole in it and I spent the night waking up
every hour thinking how much warmer it would be if I could manage to
tuck the rope under my sleeping bag. I never did. The next day we
walked across Joseph Lake and up the South Ridge to the infamous Bump.
As we roped up, a couloir to our right avalanched and disappeared down
the mountain. I belayed Russ to the gap separating us from the summit
ridge. He told me that he wasn't too experienced in these matters but
that it just dropped off. I checked it out. I gave the same assessment.
I discovered that all my climbing gear was in the tip of my kayak at
sea level. All my courage, if I ever had any, was at the bottom of that
couloir. The ridge is easy third class in the summer and so it is
probably easy climbing in the winter, but not for Russ and I. We turned
back and pushed for home. Later that night I biked past the Naam, I was
too tired to stop.
A Different Mountain: This Summer Matt Gunn drove his friend Colin and
me to a point that took us two days in the winter to access. I spent a
pleasant day bushwhacking to the bump and on to the summit cairn. From
the summit I saw nothing but white. Visibility was zero. It felt right
though, that I wasn't allowed a view after such an easy approach. I
couldn't justify a visit to the Naam.
Matt asked me, on the drive back to Vancouver, if I would recommend the
route to my friends. Mat and Colin are not as tolerant of bushwhacking
as I am and had turned back at Joseph Lake. I told him I didn't think I
could, but I wasn't answering the question he had asked. I was
answering the question I thought he was asking 'did I think that he
should recommend it to his friends?' Of course I would recommend it to
my friends and I am currently looking for partners for winter 2002.