Monday, August 27, 2007
East End of Mount Rundle
I just about forgot to write up this post. I was a little rushed when I finished this hike, and wasn't able to get to it right away.
I wanted another short one, and I was late getting out of town, too, so this one seemed perfect. I parked at the Goat Creek lot, along with several dozen other hikers and bikers, and set off down the road I'd just drove up on. I met someone wandering along the reservoir, looking for the trailhead to Ha Ling. I pointed him back toward the parking lot, and across the road. Then came on the trail I wanted, proceeded perhaps a hundred metres along it, then headed back to the parking lot.
I'd forgotten my GPS. Again.
GPS securely on my wrist now, and started (something else I tend to forget to do), I set out again. The trail bounds up the forested slope, switching back and forth a bit, until it begins to climb the ridge. Very quickly, the trees thin, due to the slabby nature of the terrain. Lots to climb if you want to go direct, and it looked like lots do.
Zig-zagging up the slope, you often get to see the reservoir below through the trees. The drop over the side is incredibly steep, and you gain altitude quickly. Eventually, there's a level stretch for maybe fifty metres, then it heads up again, through light scree and slab and much thinner forest. Ha Ling looms to the right across the gap.
Most of what you see is not the hike-able part of Ha Ling. In your face, almost, is the great vertical wall that is so impressive from main street Canmore. From this angle, it's hard to see anyone up there, but there must be dozens judging by the crowd of cars in that parking lot.
The wind becomes noticeable now, as the trees begin to space themselves out. Ahead are small clumps of them, scrubbly pine, mostly. As I walk by them, in the lee of a couple of them, are couple or small groups, sitting out of the wind, snacking or resting.
My moment of misdirection. These are the moment I miss Daisy's experience most. The trail apparently splits about here, at the last of the trees. The trail to the right goes straight up the slope, and that's the one I take. Another trail goes left across the scree, and is apparently the easier one. My bad luck, or inexperience, or inattention, or something.
The trail zigzagged up the scree, and came to a small level area, with a large dishwasher sized boulder on which someone has built a cairn. Just past it, maybe five metres, the terrain ends. I sidle up to the edge and try to look over. Usually when you get close to these edges, theres more terrain below, very steeply sloped, for sure, but scarily steep. This one, there was nada. It could even have been a little bit of an overhang. Breathtaking.
I continued up the slope, more slogging on scree, but it was going quite quickly. I got to the ridge that sloped steeply left, and as I approached, I felt I was about to get an incredible view. I wasn't disappointed.
Below was a huge bowl, scree everywhere, slashed all the way down by rock bands. It was like a big funnel, sloping down to the right into a narrow gap, perhaps three hundred metres below. And that's where ground ended. Below that gap, almost straight down, was the road I drove up on, at least another three hundred metres below that. My estimates are based on the fact my GPS said I was over six hundred metres above my starting point.
Awesome is the word, and there's no hyperbole in it. You can only stare in slack-jawed awe at the scale of the place, and the beauty. A terrible beauty. I've read that phrase recently, but I can't remember where.
The path continued up the ridge to the left. I could see a small group moving along the top of the scree on the other side, below the cliffs of the summit (well, the summit at this end. The true summit of Rundle is several kilometres to the northwest, overlooking the townsite of Banff.)
The book I have on scrambles says that you can climb the ridge I was on to the top, but it looked incredibly intimidating, with that huge scree funnel to the right, and endless scree to the left. I chatted with the foursome that were returning, and one said that there was chimney about a hundred metres farther on that I could try. OK.
I edges along the scree, below the cliff. Soon I found myself at the bottom of a narrow chimney. It sort of looked that some had climbed it, but jeez, it was narrow, and steep. And there didn't look to be much for hand and foot holds. Or finger and toe holds.
The trail seemed to continue, so I followed it some more, and ended up at another chimney, quite wide at my level, and narrowing a lot, but not nearly as much as the other one. Past the narrow spot it widened out again, to the top. It looked like it had seen a fair amount of traffic.
What the heck. This was a little tricky. Lots of what looked like solid rock, I could wiggle pretty easily. Not to be trusted. Still there was lots of solid stuff too. At the narrowing, it was hard to judge whether to stay left or sidle over to the right. A couple of steps up the left side decided it. I sidled right, and picked my way up to less precarious ledges.
I found I was still on trail, and the trail I was on joined another that edges along the summit block or farther on toward the ridge. I went up to the summit block, and a crack on the left end of it let me climb the last metre and a half to the top.
Windy! That's the first thing I noticed as I stood up on the flat top of the summit. A cairn was piled in the middle of what was likely less than a hundred square metres. The wind threatened to push me over the side, into that funnel that ended in that gap that was now well over four hundred metres below. Wow!
Lunch time. I sat in the lea of the cairn. Not much protection from the wind, but there was a surprisingly comfortable spot. Across the bowl below, a spike of rock stuck straight up. It likely looks directly over the Nordic Centre. Farther left another one, a little broader, and looking almost accessible with a meadowy col leading to it. More of Rundle humped beyond.
Across the valley, Grotto and Lady MacDonald, two more on my list. The park gate was was visible beside the spike, and there must have been a hundred vehicles lined up to get in. Meanwhile a steady stream of them flowed past in the through lane. Busy day in the park.
After lunch, I climbed down off the summit block, and followed the path a few metres to a nearly wind free table, agianst the next block of Rundle's ridge. I should have looked around, because I would have discovered the easy way down.
I went back the way I'd come, picking my way down the steep scree toward the chimney. Going down was no more tricky than coming up, but it was still a little hairy. Every jutting rock I put my foot on, I'd stomp hard on it, to make sure it was solid. Every hand hold I wiggled as hard as I could. Several moved appreciably. One that didn't came away in my hand after I had some weight on it, and I pivoted outward as it slid out of my hand and tumbled down the slope.
Eventually, I got back down to the faint trail across the scree below, and began to make my way back to the ridge. Another misstep. I hugged the base of the cliff, past the narrower chimney, and around a hollow, to a dead end. I stopped and examined the way ahead and below. And there, twenty metres down, was the trail.
I backed up to the narrow chimney and found where I'd diverged. I got on the trail and back to the ridge without further incident.
The way down was uneventful. Fun and further exporation of the edge and the glimpses of the reservoir below, becoming closer with startling rapidity.
Just into the trees, I caught up with one of a trio that had been on top just in front of me. He asked how I'd got up, and I told him. And he said they took the other way. This was my realization that the trail split somewhere about here.
He headed on and caught up with his friends. I continued down.
That chimney. Not really a problem, and looking a lot scarier that it was. But it probably wasn't the best choice. It's interesting that when that rock came away, I didn't really feel anything. Perhaps the adrenalin was already at max. I kept calm and continued. No worries. But several minutes later, and several metres below, I kinda wondered what I'd gotten myself into there. In any case, it was exciting, and I loved every minute of it.
East End of Mount Rundle
Starting elevation: 1670 m (5479 feet).
Highest elevation: 2575 m (8448 feet).
Lowest elevation: 1670 m (5479 feet).
Elevation gain: 905 m (2969 feet).
Distance: 7.2 km (4.5 mi).
Time: 3:50.
I wanted another short one, and I was late getting out of town, too, so this one seemed perfect. I parked at the Goat Creek lot, along with several dozen other hikers and bikers, and set off down the road I'd just drove up on. I met someone wandering along the reservoir, looking for the trailhead to Ha Ling. I pointed him back toward the parking lot, and across the road. Then came on the trail I wanted, proceeded perhaps a hundred metres along it, then headed back to the parking lot.
I'd forgotten my GPS. Again.
GPS securely on my wrist now, and started (something else I tend to forget to do), I set out again. The trail bounds up the forested slope, switching back and forth a bit, until it begins to climb the ridge. Very quickly, the trees thin, due to the slabby nature of the terrain. Lots to climb if you want to go direct, and it looked like lots do.
Zig-zagging up the slope, you often get to see the reservoir below through the trees. The drop over the side is incredibly steep, and you gain altitude quickly. Eventually, there's a level stretch for maybe fifty metres, then it heads up again, through light scree and slab and much thinner forest. Ha Ling looms to the right across the gap.
Most of what you see is not the hike-able part of Ha Ling. In your face, almost, is the great vertical wall that is so impressive from main street Canmore. From this angle, it's hard to see anyone up there, but there must be dozens judging by the crowd of cars in that parking lot.
The wind becomes noticeable now, as the trees begin to space themselves out. Ahead are small clumps of them, scrubbly pine, mostly. As I walk by them, in the lee of a couple of them, are couple or small groups, sitting out of the wind, snacking or resting.
My moment of misdirection. These are the moment I miss Daisy's experience most. The trail apparently splits about here, at the last of the trees. The trail to the right goes straight up the slope, and that's the one I take. Another trail goes left across the scree, and is apparently the easier one. My bad luck, or inexperience, or inattention, or something.
The trail zigzagged up the scree, and came to a small level area, with a large dishwasher sized boulder on which someone has built a cairn. Just past it, maybe five metres, the terrain ends. I sidle up to the edge and try to look over. Usually when you get close to these edges, theres more terrain below, very steeply sloped, for sure, but scarily steep. This one, there was nada. It could even have been a little bit of an overhang. Breathtaking.
I continued up the slope, more slogging on scree, but it was going quite quickly. I got to the ridge that sloped steeply left, and as I approached, I felt I was about to get an incredible view. I wasn't disappointed.
Below was a huge bowl, scree everywhere, slashed all the way down by rock bands. It was like a big funnel, sloping down to the right into a narrow gap, perhaps three hundred metres below. And that's where ground ended. Below that gap, almost straight down, was the road I drove up on, at least another three hundred metres below that. My estimates are based on the fact my GPS said I was over six hundred metres above my starting point.
Awesome is the word, and there's no hyperbole in it. You can only stare in slack-jawed awe at the scale of the place, and the beauty. A terrible beauty. I've read that phrase recently, but I can't remember where.
The path continued up the ridge to the left. I could see a small group moving along the top of the scree on the other side, below the cliffs of the summit (well, the summit at this end. The true summit of Rundle is several kilometres to the northwest, overlooking the townsite of Banff.)
The book I have on scrambles says that you can climb the ridge I was on to the top, but it looked incredibly intimidating, with that huge scree funnel to the right, and endless scree to the left. I chatted with the foursome that were returning, and one said that there was chimney about a hundred metres farther on that I could try. OK.
I edges along the scree, below the cliff. Soon I found myself at the bottom of a narrow chimney. It sort of looked that some had climbed it, but jeez, it was narrow, and steep. And there didn't look to be much for hand and foot holds. Or finger and toe holds.
The trail seemed to continue, so I followed it some more, and ended up at another chimney, quite wide at my level, and narrowing a lot, but not nearly as much as the other one. Past the narrow spot it widened out again, to the top. It looked like it had seen a fair amount of traffic.
What the heck. This was a little tricky. Lots of what looked like solid rock, I could wiggle pretty easily. Not to be trusted. Still there was lots of solid stuff too. At the narrowing, it was hard to judge whether to stay left or sidle over to the right. A couple of steps up the left side decided it. I sidled right, and picked my way up to less precarious ledges.
I found I was still on trail, and the trail I was on joined another that edges along the summit block or farther on toward the ridge. I went up to the summit block, and a crack on the left end of it let me climb the last metre and a half to the top.
Windy! That's the first thing I noticed as I stood up on the flat top of the summit. A cairn was piled in the middle of what was likely less than a hundred square metres. The wind threatened to push me over the side, into that funnel that ended in that gap that was now well over four hundred metres below. Wow!
Lunch time. I sat in the lea of the cairn. Not much protection from the wind, but there was a surprisingly comfortable spot. Across the bowl below, a spike of rock stuck straight up. It likely looks directly over the Nordic Centre. Farther left another one, a little broader, and looking almost accessible with a meadowy col leading to it. More of Rundle humped beyond.
Across the valley, Grotto and Lady MacDonald, two more on my list. The park gate was was visible beside the spike, and there must have been a hundred vehicles lined up to get in. Meanwhile a steady stream of them flowed past in the through lane. Busy day in the park.
After lunch, I climbed down off the summit block, and followed the path a few metres to a nearly wind free table, agianst the next block of Rundle's ridge. I should have looked around, because I would have discovered the easy way down.
I went back the way I'd come, picking my way down the steep scree toward the chimney. Going down was no more tricky than coming up, but it was still a little hairy. Every jutting rock I put my foot on, I'd stomp hard on it, to make sure it was solid. Every hand hold I wiggled as hard as I could. Several moved appreciably. One that didn't came away in my hand after I had some weight on it, and I pivoted outward as it slid out of my hand and tumbled down the slope.
Eventually, I got back down to the faint trail across the scree below, and began to make my way back to the ridge. Another misstep. I hugged the base of the cliff, past the narrower chimney, and around a hollow, to a dead end. I stopped and examined the way ahead and below. And there, twenty metres down, was the trail.
I backed up to the narrow chimney and found where I'd diverged. I got on the trail and back to the ridge without further incident.
The way down was uneventful. Fun and further exporation of the edge and the glimpses of the reservoir below, becoming closer with startling rapidity.
Just into the trees, I caught up with one of a trio that had been on top just in front of me. He asked how I'd got up, and I told him. And he said they took the other way. This was my realization that the trail split somewhere about here.
He headed on and caught up with his friends. I continued down.
That chimney. Not really a problem, and looking a lot scarier that it was. But it probably wasn't the best choice. It's interesting that when that rock came away, I didn't really feel anything. Perhaps the adrenalin was already at max. I kept calm and continued. No worries. But several minutes later, and several metres below, I kinda wondered what I'd gotten myself into there. In any case, it was exciting, and I loved every minute of it.
East End of Mount Rundle
Starting elevation: 1670 m (5479 feet).
Highest elevation: 2575 m (8448 feet).
Lowest elevation: 1670 m (5479 feet).
Elevation gain: 905 m (2969 feet).
Distance: 7.2 km (4.5 mi).
Time: 3:50.
Sunday, August 19, 2007
Mount Baldy
Don't wanna travel forever to get to a good hike. Don't wanna spend the whole day hiking. Not my normal feelings about hiking, but I needed to be back in town at a reasonable time, and Mount Baldy was the perfect choice.
I'd bought Scrambles of the Canadian Rockies a couple of weeks ago, and had been reading through it to decide on future hikes, and to try to keep up with Daisy's knowledge. I'd read through most of the descriptions for the Front Range, so this one had been processed somewhere along the line. It's close to the junction of highways 1 and 40, and the book suggests it's a three to five hour hike. Perfect!
I pulled off the Kananaskis highway into the clearing at the trailhead, then headed up a short steep rubble slope to what is likely the old highway. It's not obvious, and the book is no help, but I learned later that the suggested trail goes sharply left at this point. I went right.
The trail plunged into forest and up a washed out gully. The sun by this time had just cleared the ridge above and was shining almost directly down the gully. The trail dipped into the forest at the side, then back into the gully, across the rock fall and up into the forest on the other side, then back again, switching back and forth through.
The gully soon narrowed, still well forested, but walled in by a sheer face of rock on each side. Very narrow, actually, though not quite as confining as Grotto Canyon was. And though not terribly dense, the forest never let up through here.
Eventually the walls fell away to let the forest back in, while the trail meandered up the gully. Eventually the trees fell away too, as the trail charged up steep scree. At this point it was pretty clear I was going the wrong way, at least according to the book. What I was climbing up on, was what the book suggested was a quick way down at the end of the hike it described. This trail charged up the scree to a col between the south and west peaks of Baldy.
The book described ascending the ridge to the north (east?) peak, and then, for the more adventurous, continuing to the other two peaks. I was working backwards.
Just over an hour from the car, I scrabbled left of a thick copse of pine to the col. The trail from here wasn't clear at all, but to the right, there were a couple of breaks through trees showing where hikers had passed before. I decided to try for the west peak.
The trail showed here and there as it wandered through clumps of pine and shortly it began to climb steeply up the ridge. I got to a small outcrop, and stopped for a snack as I surveyed the wall in front of me. North west was the gully I had ascended, and Barrier Lake below. The other side was nothing but forest up and over the next ridge. Around to the left, a faint trail hugged the rock face, and I had followed it to a dead end, a steep gully that looked impossible, but I don't doubt there are some who have tried it.
The way ahead was a steeply sloping slab, maybe twenty metres high and topped by a scrubby pine. Right in front of me a shallow crack lead to the tree, with lots of hand and foot holds. To the right, the slab curved more over the top with less height, but that would take me out over the scree slope. Still it looked like the easier ascent, and I was up it pretty quick.
From there it was more of the same. There was a bit of climbing, and a bit of a traverse right under another naked slab, to another gully that I was able to climb to the top of the slab, and some more relatively easy climbing. At the end, there was a blocky boulder, and I quickly was up and over it, to find myself at the end of a narrow ridge.
Brief exposure, indeed. The ridge was short, no more than perhaps fifteen metres, but table-top narrow, and sheer on either side. I sat and studied the other side for a few minutes. As dramatic and breathtaking as it was, the ridge wasn't any problem at all. In a brisk breeze, it might be adviseable to cross on all fours, but otherwise nothing to it. The problem was there didn't seem to be any where to go after crossing.
The other side was climbable, no doubt, but I felt I was getting out of my depth, and being solo, it didn't seem like a good idea to continue. I retreated.
Daisy says rock climbers are drama queens, and I get that. On the way down, you look below you for places for toes and fingers, and you keep feeling around for something solid. The rock on this beast is crumbly, too, so some really good looking hand holds come away with a little wiggling. But at the bottom, you look up at what you just been on, and realize that it was really no big deal. Perhaps part of the drama is a fear of getting stuck, or slipping (poetically called glissading, a term taken from dance, of all things.) But while you're up there, it's pretty exciting.
Back to the col I had originally climbed to, and I surveyed the trail faintly winding up the slope to the south peak. Not much of a climb, really, compared to others I've done, and I was at the top in no time. It was the perfect spot for lunch, and to survey the trail to the north peak. I looked back toward the west peak. A large cairn on top was directly in front of the scars of the ski slopes at Nakiska. The other way was a view of the Kananaskis highway curving around Barrier Lake before striking straight north to the TransCanada. Lining up that view with the one directly opposite, the west peak was actually straight south. Hmmm...
This was another narrow ridge, maybe a kilometre long. Both sides were steep and chunky, with the west side broken by plates of rock that formed narrow chimneys that looked easy to descend, except that there was a huge rock band below them that would block any further progress. At times the ridge was terrifically narrow, though not nearly as narrow as the one I stopped at on the west peak.
At length I reached a chopped up, blocky edge of rock, and the trail veered right on the scree along a wall. The scree became a ledge that ended at a gully up the rock face, under another stunted pine. There were hand and toe holds up beside the tree, to another ledge that sloped steeply to the left for a short distance. This got me back on the edge of the ridge, and from there it was a scrambly climb to the summit.
I paused, snacked, and signed the book sealed in the short piece of plastic sewer pipe, of the kind tethered to almost every accessible peak in this part of the world. Hazy skys lightly obscured the peaks across the valley, and toward the south. Far to the north, grumpy looking weather was building in the foothills north of the TransCanada, and the peaks behind Yamnuska. Here's a nice shot of the south and west peaks from the north peak.
The descent from the north peak was a scrabbly zig-zag across slabby scree. Several paths attested to the amount of traffic that this hike saw, though it was nowhere nearly as scarred up as, say, Ha Ling. I could see people making their way up, and eventually met a foursome out for a late day climb.
The ridge leveled off in front of a gendarme, a great carbuncle of rock on the ridge. A well used trail dropped to the left on the scree to bypass this hulk, but another, less used trail tackled it straight on. I kept to the high path, and came to a steep climb up the face. Not terribly tricky, it still required firm finger holds, and after maybe fifty meters, I topped out in a fissure in the rock that lead to a vertical drop of about the same distance.
Backing down, I found not five metres from the start of the climb, a trail that followed a ledge around the face I climbed. It never seems to fail that the trail ahead is nearly invisible, but it's completely obvious when you look back.
This trail led to an easy, but a little intimidating, downclimb of maybe ten metres, onto the trail, that continued easily along the top of the gendarme and back to the ridge.
Artistic types climb mountains. One or more had been here, building a full sized sofa out of flat rocks, that faced what was either a fireplace or a T.V. Kinda cozy, and surprisingly comfortable.
I was back in the trees, but only for a short time. A second gendarme, the crux of this hike blocked the way. Here's where my trail finding skills deserted me. It looked like the trail continued over the top, an easy enough scramble. The book suggests a trail that goes down the scree on the north side, but I totally missed it.
I eventually came to a narrow crumbly-looking face, and a faint trail that dropped northward across a steep slab punctuated by the occasional twisted pine tree. At this point, it probably would have been smarter to backtrack and find the other trail.
Anyway, I started backing down the slab. More drama. I got to the first tree, and rested while standing on the soil that had accumulated at its roots. Then I started to the next tree. From there I was able to traverse toward the wall of the crux, which offered better handholds while I climbed down to the now-obvious trial in the scree below.
Once on the path, it was pretty straight forward back to the ridge, and then into the forest. Rooty and steep, but nothing particularly challenging. I was my usual noisy self, discussing what ever popped into my head with the trees, or singing snatches of tunes I half remembered. Which made the sudden "Hi, there!" quite startling.
That got a hearty laugh from the two women on their way up on a late afternoon jaunt. We chatted a little, and I shared what I'd learned about the trail ahead of them. Twenty minutes later, I was at the car, easing my feet out of my hikers, and snacking on the last of my trail mix.
This was an exciting one. The view was spectacular as always, but the added adventure of some challenging climbing and route-finding really added to it. I was back in the city only a little late for my evening activities, (cuz I really needed a shower!)
Mount Baldy
Starting elevation: 1402 m (4599 feet).
Highest elevation: 2202 m (7224 feet).
Lowest elevation: 1402 m (4599 feet).
Elevation gain: 800 m (2625 feet).
Distance: 8.3 km (5.2 mi).
Time: 5:34.
I'd bought Scrambles of the Canadian Rockies a couple of weeks ago, and had been reading through it to decide on future hikes, and to try to keep up with Daisy's knowledge. I'd read through most of the descriptions for the Front Range, so this one had been processed somewhere along the line. It's close to the junction of highways 1 and 40, and the book suggests it's a three to five hour hike. Perfect!
I pulled off the Kananaskis highway into the clearing at the trailhead, then headed up a short steep rubble slope to what is likely the old highway. It's not obvious, and the book is no help, but I learned later that the suggested trail goes sharply left at this point. I went right.
The trail plunged into forest and up a washed out gully. The sun by this time had just cleared the ridge above and was shining almost directly down the gully. The trail dipped into the forest at the side, then back into the gully, across the rock fall and up into the forest on the other side, then back again, switching back and forth through.
The gully soon narrowed, still well forested, but walled in by a sheer face of rock on each side. Very narrow, actually, though not quite as confining as Grotto Canyon was. And though not terribly dense, the forest never let up through here.
Eventually the walls fell away to let the forest back in, while the trail meandered up the gully. Eventually the trees fell away too, as the trail charged up steep scree. At this point it was pretty clear I was going the wrong way, at least according to the book. What I was climbing up on, was what the book suggested was a quick way down at the end of the hike it described. This trail charged up the scree to a col between the south and west peaks of Baldy.
The book described ascending the ridge to the north (east?) peak, and then, for the more adventurous, continuing to the other two peaks. I was working backwards.
Just over an hour from the car, I scrabbled left of a thick copse of pine to the col. The trail from here wasn't clear at all, but to the right, there were a couple of breaks through trees showing where hikers had passed before. I decided to try for the west peak.
The trail showed here and there as it wandered through clumps of pine and shortly it began to climb steeply up the ridge. I got to a small outcrop, and stopped for a snack as I surveyed the wall in front of me. North west was the gully I had ascended, and Barrier Lake below. The other side was nothing but forest up and over the next ridge. Around to the left, a faint trail hugged the rock face, and I had followed it to a dead end, a steep gully that looked impossible, but I don't doubt there are some who have tried it.
The way ahead was a steeply sloping slab, maybe twenty metres high and topped by a scrubby pine. Right in front of me a shallow crack lead to the tree, with lots of hand and foot holds. To the right, the slab curved more over the top with less height, but that would take me out over the scree slope. Still it looked like the easier ascent, and I was up it pretty quick.
From there it was more of the same. There was a bit of climbing, and a bit of a traverse right under another naked slab, to another gully that I was able to climb to the top of the slab, and some more relatively easy climbing. At the end, there was a blocky boulder, and I quickly was up and over it, to find myself at the end of a narrow ridge.
Brief exposure, indeed. The ridge was short, no more than perhaps fifteen metres, but table-top narrow, and sheer on either side. I sat and studied the other side for a few minutes. As dramatic and breathtaking as it was, the ridge wasn't any problem at all. In a brisk breeze, it might be adviseable to cross on all fours, but otherwise nothing to it. The problem was there didn't seem to be any where to go after crossing.
The other side was climbable, no doubt, but I felt I was getting out of my depth, and being solo, it didn't seem like a good idea to continue. I retreated.
Daisy says rock climbers are drama queens, and I get that. On the way down, you look below you for places for toes and fingers, and you keep feeling around for something solid. The rock on this beast is crumbly, too, so some really good looking hand holds come away with a little wiggling. But at the bottom, you look up at what you just been on, and realize that it was really no big deal. Perhaps part of the drama is a fear of getting stuck, or slipping (poetically called glissading, a term taken from dance, of all things.) But while you're up there, it's pretty exciting.
Back to the col I had originally climbed to, and I surveyed the trail faintly winding up the slope to the south peak. Not much of a climb, really, compared to others I've done, and I was at the top in no time. It was the perfect spot for lunch, and to survey the trail to the north peak. I looked back toward the west peak. A large cairn on top was directly in front of the scars of the ski slopes at Nakiska. The other way was a view of the Kananaskis highway curving around Barrier Lake before striking straight north to the TransCanada. Lining up that view with the one directly opposite, the west peak was actually straight south. Hmmm...
This was another narrow ridge, maybe a kilometre long. Both sides were steep and chunky, with the west side broken by plates of rock that formed narrow chimneys that looked easy to descend, except that there was a huge rock band below them that would block any further progress. At times the ridge was terrifically narrow, though not nearly as narrow as the one I stopped at on the west peak.
At length I reached a chopped up, blocky edge of rock, and the trail veered right on the scree along a wall. The scree became a ledge that ended at a gully up the rock face, under another stunted pine. There were hand and toe holds up beside the tree, to another ledge that sloped steeply to the left for a short distance. This got me back on the edge of the ridge, and from there it was a scrambly climb to the summit.
I paused, snacked, and signed the book sealed in the short piece of plastic sewer pipe, of the kind tethered to almost every accessible peak in this part of the world. Hazy skys lightly obscured the peaks across the valley, and toward the south. Far to the north, grumpy looking weather was building in the foothills north of the TransCanada, and the peaks behind Yamnuska. Here's a nice shot of the south and west peaks from the north peak.
The descent from the north peak was a scrabbly zig-zag across slabby scree. Several paths attested to the amount of traffic that this hike saw, though it was nowhere nearly as scarred up as, say, Ha Ling. I could see people making their way up, and eventually met a foursome out for a late day climb.
The ridge leveled off in front of a gendarme, a great carbuncle of rock on the ridge. A well used trail dropped to the left on the scree to bypass this hulk, but another, less used trail tackled it straight on. I kept to the high path, and came to a steep climb up the face. Not terribly tricky, it still required firm finger holds, and after maybe fifty meters, I topped out in a fissure in the rock that lead to a vertical drop of about the same distance.
Backing down, I found not five metres from the start of the climb, a trail that followed a ledge around the face I climbed. It never seems to fail that the trail ahead is nearly invisible, but it's completely obvious when you look back.
This trail led to an easy, but a little intimidating, downclimb of maybe ten metres, onto the trail, that continued easily along the top of the gendarme and back to the ridge.
Artistic types climb mountains. One or more had been here, building a full sized sofa out of flat rocks, that faced what was either a fireplace or a T.V. Kinda cozy, and surprisingly comfortable.
I was back in the trees, but only for a short time. A second gendarme, the crux of this hike blocked the way. Here's where my trail finding skills deserted me. It looked like the trail continued over the top, an easy enough scramble. The book suggests a trail that goes down the scree on the north side, but I totally missed it.
I eventually came to a narrow crumbly-looking face, and a faint trail that dropped northward across a steep slab punctuated by the occasional twisted pine tree. At this point, it probably would have been smarter to backtrack and find the other trail.
Anyway, I started backing down the slab. More drama. I got to the first tree, and rested while standing on the soil that had accumulated at its roots. Then I started to the next tree. From there I was able to traverse toward the wall of the crux, which offered better handholds while I climbed down to the now-obvious trial in the scree below.
Once on the path, it was pretty straight forward back to the ridge, and then into the forest. Rooty and steep, but nothing particularly challenging. I was my usual noisy self, discussing what ever popped into my head with the trees, or singing snatches of tunes I half remembered. Which made the sudden "Hi, there!" quite startling.
That got a hearty laugh from the two women on their way up on a late afternoon jaunt. We chatted a little, and I shared what I'd learned about the trail ahead of them. Twenty minutes later, I was at the car, easing my feet out of my hikers, and snacking on the last of my trail mix.
This was an exciting one. The view was spectacular as always, but the added adventure of some challenging climbing and route-finding really added to it. I was back in the city only a little late for my evening activities, (cuz I really needed a shower!)
Mount Baldy
Starting elevation: 1402 m (4599 feet).
Highest elevation: 2202 m (7224 feet).
Lowest elevation: 1402 m (4599 feet).
Elevation gain: 800 m (2625 feet).
Distance: 8.3 km (5.2 mi).
Time: 5:34.
Sunday, August 12, 2007
Ha Ling
I've wanted to do this one ever since Nony suggested it a couple of years ago, and related her experience on it. Since Daisy is tied up for the next couple of weeks, I was going to be going solo, so why not do a busy one?
I pulled into the Goat Creek parking lot, already half full, and still half in the shade of Ha Ling. A couple of other groups were preparing as I was, and a group of five asked if I'd take their picture. All Russian, and having a great time. They went toward Rundle, while I crossed the road to climb up to the reservoir, that was the start of the Ha Ling trail.
Across a small bridge spanning the channel, around a small building, and into the forest. This was more of the lush forest that I keep running into on these hikes. It's hard to believe conditions are so dry that there's been a fire ban.
I passed a young woman with her nine-month-old on her back. She was taking her time, and probably a good thing, as the lower trail is full of roots. I decided to take it as hard as I probably would have had to if I'd had to keep up with Daisy, so I made good time.
The trail is groomed, sort of. It switches back and forth through the forest, and there are deadfall trees lining the trail like curbing. In places they block shortcuts. Sometimes they hold back some rock fall that helps to widen the path to something more than a narrow ledge. All very civilized.
The spongy peat soon gave way to dry dirt, and occasional glimpes of the valley and the range on the other side indicated how fast I was climbing. The trees began to thin and the dirt turned to gravel. The trail began to skirt bare slabs.
At 2300 metres, the trees had thinned considerably, and across a gully to the south, was a beautiful plateau, not much bigger than a city lot, very green, with a few firs spotting it. Some one had decided it would be a perfect camping spot, and had pitched a bright orange tent.
From here, the trail climbed out of the trees, and split into dozens of trails. There seemed to be a main trail most of the way, but mostly, it looked like a hiking free-for-all. I got to the ridge and had a look over the edge. Canmore spread out below, almost map-like since the view is nearly straight down. To the left, the ridge climbed to the peak.
I kept to the ridge, enjoying the view of the valley. As I neared the top, I'd peek over the edge, and it's breath-taking how nearly vertical that face is. I got to the very top, and found a couple of wind breaks, round walls against a rock that looked like topless igloos. Probably very cozy, but definitely no view. I picked a rock to sit on and fished my lunch from my bag.
This is a very popular hike, probably seeing a hundred or more people on a day like today. As such, the wildlife is pretty savvy about handouts. Sure enough, within seconds of my sitting down, a striped squirrel approached wearily. I declined to share my burritos, but held out a pumpkin seed from my trail mix. Not shy at all. After that, he nearly climbed up my arm, looking for more.
This was an amazing vantage. Canmore lay completely in view below. Mount Lady Macdonald and Grotto Mountain stood across the valley. The highway and the Bow River wound north-westward to disappear behind Mount Rundle, and south-eastward, past Deadman's Flats to Lac des Arcs. The Three Sisters were hidden behind the imposing prow of Mount Laurence Grassi.
I decided to follow the ridge across the col to the southeast to another peak, on an well used and obvious trail, since I could see a couple of groups coming from that way already. To the right, naked slabs sloped to the forest and the reservoir. To the left, were broken rock bands, momentarily looking accessible.
The trail topped out on an alpine meadow, which dropped suddenly to a viciously jagged gully that disappeard from view. The trail continued to the left along an climbing and quickly narrowing ridge that climbed up to a peak that, if I read the map right, is called Miner's Peak. By now the wind had picked up considerably and threatened to push me toward the valley below, so I found a sheltered spot for a snack and to survey the scene.
I dug the field glasses out and checked out Ha Ling in profile. From a bit of a bump far below, up a long crack, I counted thirteen climbers strung out from bottom to almost the top. Meanwhile, looking back over the col, several more hikers were coming up the way I had. It was getting crowded over there.
I put things away, and returned to the meadow. I climbed a small rock band and went toward another small peak, at least small from where I was seeing it. As I came along side it, I could see a sheer face that descended to forest a couple of hundred metres below.
Around the other side was a scree slope with several faint trails across it. The scrambling book suggests that there is a way to cross to Mount Laurence Grassi, but it required expert trail-finding skills, and perhaps some climbing gear. Easier, and much safer to climb that one from the reservoir below. There's apparently a trail that starts a kilometre or so past the start of the Ha Ling trail.
The wind was really starting to pick up, and it had a definite chill to it. Time to start down. I followed the trail down the ridge, and it joined up to one of the trails coming up.
It was a good time to head down, as rush hour seemed to have started. I passed at least a hundred people on the way up, most asking if they were close or if they were half way. I answered honestly.
An hour after leaving the ridge I was in the parking lot, watching a gaggle of cyclists tearing between the cars parked in the lot and on to the Goat Creek Trail. At the other end was the Banff Springs Hotel. I left the lot, and down the dusty road that hugs Rundle, past the Nordic Centre and into Canmore. I thought briefly about stopping for a coffee, but headed instead for the highway and home.
Ha Ling
Starting elevation: 1687 m (5534 feet).
Highest elevation: 2493 m (8179 feet).
Lowest elevation: 1687 m (5534 feet).
Elevation gain: 806 m (2644 feet).
Distance: 7.6 km (4.7 mi).
Time: 3:30.
I pulled into the Goat Creek parking lot, already half full, and still half in the shade of Ha Ling. A couple of other groups were preparing as I was, and a group of five asked if I'd take their picture. All Russian, and having a great time. They went toward Rundle, while I crossed the road to climb up to the reservoir, that was the start of the Ha Ling trail.
Across a small bridge spanning the channel, around a small building, and into the forest. This was more of the lush forest that I keep running into on these hikes. It's hard to believe conditions are so dry that there's been a fire ban.
I passed a young woman with her nine-month-old on her back. She was taking her time, and probably a good thing, as the lower trail is full of roots. I decided to take it as hard as I probably would have had to if I'd had to keep up with Daisy, so I made good time.
The trail is groomed, sort of. It switches back and forth through the forest, and there are deadfall trees lining the trail like curbing. In places they block shortcuts. Sometimes they hold back some rock fall that helps to widen the path to something more than a narrow ledge. All very civilized.
The spongy peat soon gave way to dry dirt, and occasional glimpes of the valley and the range on the other side indicated how fast I was climbing. The trees began to thin and the dirt turned to gravel. The trail began to skirt bare slabs.
At 2300 metres, the trees had thinned considerably, and across a gully to the south, was a beautiful plateau, not much bigger than a city lot, very green, with a few firs spotting it. Some one had decided it would be a perfect camping spot, and had pitched a bright orange tent.
From here, the trail climbed out of the trees, and split into dozens of trails. There seemed to be a main trail most of the way, but mostly, it looked like a hiking free-for-all. I got to the ridge and had a look over the edge. Canmore spread out below, almost map-like since the view is nearly straight down. To the left, the ridge climbed to the peak.
I kept to the ridge, enjoying the view of the valley. As I neared the top, I'd peek over the edge, and it's breath-taking how nearly vertical that face is. I got to the very top, and found a couple of wind breaks, round walls against a rock that looked like topless igloos. Probably very cozy, but definitely no view. I picked a rock to sit on and fished my lunch from my bag.
This is a very popular hike, probably seeing a hundred or more people on a day like today. As such, the wildlife is pretty savvy about handouts. Sure enough, within seconds of my sitting down, a striped squirrel approached wearily. I declined to share my burritos, but held out a pumpkin seed from my trail mix. Not shy at all. After that, he nearly climbed up my arm, looking for more.
This was an amazing vantage. Canmore lay completely in view below. Mount Lady Macdonald and Grotto Mountain stood across the valley. The highway and the Bow River wound north-westward to disappear behind Mount Rundle, and south-eastward, past Deadman's Flats to Lac des Arcs. The Three Sisters were hidden behind the imposing prow of Mount Laurence Grassi.
I decided to follow the ridge across the col to the southeast to another peak, on an well used and obvious trail, since I could see a couple of groups coming from that way already. To the right, naked slabs sloped to the forest and the reservoir. To the left, were broken rock bands, momentarily looking accessible.
The trail topped out on an alpine meadow, which dropped suddenly to a viciously jagged gully that disappeard from view. The trail continued to the left along an climbing and quickly narrowing ridge that climbed up to a peak that, if I read the map right, is called Miner's Peak. By now the wind had picked up considerably and threatened to push me toward the valley below, so I found a sheltered spot for a snack and to survey the scene.
I dug the field glasses out and checked out Ha Ling in profile. From a bit of a bump far below, up a long crack, I counted thirteen climbers strung out from bottom to almost the top. Meanwhile, looking back over the col, several more hikers were coming up the way I had. It was getting crowded over there.
I put things away, and returned to the meadow. I climbed a small rock band and went toward another small peak, at least small from where I was seeing it. As I came along side it, I could see a sheer face that descended to forest a couple of hundred metres below.
Around the other side was a scree slope with several faint trails across it. The scrambling book suggests that there is a way to cross to Mount Laurence Grassi, but it required expert trail-finding skills, and perhaps some climbing gear. Easier, and much safer to climb that one from the reservoir below. There's apparently a trail that starts a kilometre or so past the start of the Ha Ling trail.
The wind was really starting to pick up, and it had a definite chill to it. Time to start down. I followed the trail down the ridge, and it joined up to one of the trails coming up.
It was a good time to head down, as rush hour seemed to have started. I passed at least a hundred people on the way up, most asking if they were close or if they were half way. I answered honestly.
An hour after leaving the ridge I was in the parking lot, watching a gaggle of cyclists tearing between the cars parked in the lot and on to the Goat Creek Trail. At the other end was the Banff Springs Hotel. I left the lot, and down the dusty road that hugs Rundle, past the Nordic Centre and into Canmore. I thought briefly about stopping for a coffee, but headed instead for the highway and home.
Ha Ling
Starting elevation: 1687 m (5534 feet).
Highest elevation: 2493 m (8179 feet).
Lowest elevation: 1687 m (5534 feet).
Elevation gain: 806 m (2644 feet).
Distance: 7.6 km (4.7 mi).
Time: 3:30.
Sunday, August 05, 2007
Mount Cory
The weekend's coming and what to do? I called Daisy Thursday evening, but she was out. I left a message suggesting we get together. She called back Friday afternoon, and suggested this one. Worked for me.
I picked her up around 7:30, and we hit the highway, along with several hundred other vehicles. Gotta love the long weekend traffic. Around Dead Man's Flats, we realized we'd forgotten Daisy's park pass - oh, well. At the park gate, we exchanged a twenty for a meagre bit of change and a slip of paper to place on the dash to appease the local gendarmerie, should they chance to check on us.
A little confusion at the start: we curved around Cascade Mountain with it's signature waterfall, and past the Banff turnoffs. Wasn't the trailhead at the end of the Vermillion Lakes road? U-turn at the 1A junction, and back to Banff. At the end of the Vermillion Lakes road, a pause, then we consulted the book. Ah.
Back to the 1A junction and 1.9 km from there on 1A (so the book said) was a bit of a turn-off to park at. One person was already there prepping for the climb. A group of three with a dog pulled up as well. After gathering up our stuff, we charged into the forest behind them.
Three ribs are separated by deep ravines on the this beast, and the easiest route is supposed to be up the eastern-most. From the highway, the trees completely mask the view of these ribs, and once in the forest, we had no idea what rib we were on. Without any landmarks to tell us where we were, we fell back on the old reliable method of assuming other hikers knew where they were going.
Reliable, indeed.
Daisy set the pace, as usual, and I struggled to keep up. The threesome with the dog stepped aside to let us pass, and the single hiker followed. As we climbed, we found our companion was Darian from Chicago, taking a hiatus from his career to travel. This was his second scramble in the Rockies, a stop on the way to a planned long-term stay in New Zealand.
Daisy tends to take the straight up route. She likes to get her hands involved in the ascent, taking on rock bands and outcrops. I follow, relying on her experience, and the fact that I can, not to mention that it's fun to climb. As a result, Darian kept stepping ahead of us by going around these little climbs. It's not like these little climbs were all that challenging, and certainly not dangerous, but I think Daisy and I were having more fun.
About this point, I realized I'd forgotten my GPS. I would have loved to get the map, distance and elevation profile for this hike, but, oh, well.
We came to the top of the rib, where we discovered we were probably climbing the wrong rib. The top dropped nearly vertically to a small saddle, and the only way down was by a bit of a crevasse with a couple of shelves. Daisy went first, being the experienced rock climber. It was pretty easy to get to the bottom shelf, but that left about three metres to the bottom.
Once she found a way, I followed - I'm a rock climber! How cool is that? I found I could rely on my hands, fingers and arms to support me, and on my boots to grip the small footholds. This was the another step in the discovery of how much I could trust my body and my equipment.
Once Darian was down, we dropped to the east into the forest, around the rock face that wrapped around from the top of the rib. This continued the steep hike. We passed several small caves, the largest maybe five metres deep and a metre high.
Once past that, we got to the face of the first false peak. This is where the terrain we were on began to show itself. Cory is at the south end (a caveat here: I don't have a firm handle on directions. I judged from the direction of the sun, and my own impressions) of a range made of an ancient sea bed lifted and turned vertical by the forces that formed these mountains. The layers are stark and prominent, forming cracks and crevasses that face the south.
We stopped for a break, while Darian wandered along the face to the east, to check the path ahead. Daisy was fresh with the exhuberance and enthusiasm of our climbing and scrambling so far, handed me her camera and tackled the most prominent crack. Half way up, she posed for a picture. (Once she sends me some, I'll post pictures here.)
Once she was back down, Darian returned to report on the way ahead. We had to drop a few metres downslope to a rock band, and again Daisy led the way, climbing down the band, with Darian and I following. From there it was a short steep climb past this first false peak to a beautiful meadow between it and the second false peak.
The view here is spectacular, as it had been almost all the way up. Eastward, Banff nestled agains the foot of Rundle, and westward, Castle Mountain sheltered a huge plateau from the TransCanada highway.
We climbed to the top of the second false peak, and checked out the way ahead. This site has pictures of what we faced. The Hole In The Wall is a large cave, maybe twenty metres high, staring back at us from across the gap, and the trail wound up the ridge to the east of it. From here, Darian went east, while we went west.
When the volcano in Hawaii erupts, lava flows down its slope to the sea. Once it hits the water, it freezes into huge round lumps, called pillow lava. And that's what we faced across the gap, literally an acre of it. That it formed under water on a sea bottom was obvious by the occasional exposed rippled sand bottom framing the formation. And more striking was that this chunk of sea bed was vertical, and about 2500 metres above sea level. Here's a much smaller example of pillow lava near the north peak.
We scrambled down to the bottom of the gap, then across to the ridge. We briefly thought about checking out The Hole In The Wall, but there didn't seem to be a way to continue from it up the rock, without retreating back to where we stood. Too much effort for this trip.
We started up the ridge, and we caught the occasional glimpes of Darian as he charged on ahead. Eastward we could see the Cory Trail snaking along the top of a ridge toward Mount Edith, and a single striding hiker.
Again, I suffered from sensory overload. The vertical plains of the old seabed faced us edge on, and we climbed the more eroded parts between slim planes of rock. Sometimes these layers were a metre or more thick, sometimes they were a few millimetres, and razor sharp. Everywhere, plates of rock had fallen over onto long slopes of scree.
A couple of more false peaks and we caught up with the lone hiker we'd seen on the Cory Trail. (And I apoligize; I've forgotten his name.) He stopped before the last climb to the south peak for lunch, while Daisy and I pushed on. This was steep gravel and dry mud. The trail was marked by foot prints made while the clay was still wet earlier in the season.
We stopped for jackets and a quick snack, then continued along the rock band, across the top of a small snow bank, and then up a small ridge to the top, where we caught up with Darian. This was a perfect stop for lunch, and watching the trio with the dog climb up toward us.
The view! To the north, the lines of the formation we were on were incredibly prominent. The vertical planes of the formation ran straight across several peaks about fifteen kilometres before beginning to lean and curve slightly to the right, to the horizon another five or ten kilometres further on. (My estimates - actual distances may be wildly different.) You can see this behind me in this picture, and in the picture above of Daisy on the pillow lava.
Toward the east, Mount Edith, Mount Norquay, and Cascade Mountain, then slightly south, Banff up against Mount Rundle, and the tiny bump of Tunnel Mountain (it looked tiny from our vantage!) Sulphur Mountain, with the road up the backside to the top of the Banff Gondola, a tiny glint at the top. Straight south was the unmistakeable pyramid of Assiniboine, rising well above the surrounding terrain. A little west of that, the square face of Mount Bourgeau, still with the snow under the peak, which prevented us from seeing the Banff townsite when we climbed it over a month ago. More west, a huge glacier, probably above Lake Louise, and northwest, the end-on view of Castle Mountain with its plateau behind.
After lunch, we crossed the ridge to the north peak, again catching up with the two lone hikers. This is the view looking east.
After a little discussion with the others about which way to go down, we headed to the bottom of the ridge between the peaks. The scree slope to the south would lead down to the Cory Pass trail (which the trio with the dog had chosen), or to the ridge trail that was so obvious from our vantage point. The other choice was the scree slope to the north.
Steep and tricky in places, but the four of us started down. The two loners had trekking poles, and after all this, I definitely have them on my shopping list. We worked our way down, sliding with loose scree, and making decent time in dropping perhaps three hundred metres to where the slope took a right angled turn to the right. The scree wasn't too bad for some distance, and we could slide and run with it.
But eventually, we got into coarser stuff, which was a little more treacherous, as it wouldn't slide, and could roll out from underfoot. I went down several times, falling on my backside, once jarring my knee when my outstretched foot rammed against a solid rock, and once shaving a pencil eraser sized slab of skin from a finger. Naturally, Daisy was more surefooted, not falling once.
On either side of us, jagged rock faces reached up to ridges topped with the thin slabs, forming a marching line of sharp edged sentinels watching over the valley we were in. At the bottom of the scree, it flattened out to wash plain edged by trees, just above which stood a couple of hoodoos. We think this was the Valley of the Gargoyles (or Valley of the Gargles - Daisy has a charming way of mangling polysyllabic words.)
To the right, the line of the Edith Pass Trail slashed across the slope of gravel at the backside of Edith. We climbed this slope, but mostly traversed it, to the path. By this point, the two solo hikers were just disappearing into the distance.
The trail went for at least a kilometre, and just before a headwall holding back the valley below us, a herd of maybe twenty five sheep grazed in the grassy silt that had piled up behind it, including four almost-grown lambs. We were maybe thirty metres above them, but they completely ignored us.
At the headwall, we stopped to look back.
At least five hundred metres above was the top of the scree, the point where we'd made the ninety degree turn. It's the col in the picture. The scree continues up maybe another three hundred metres to the col between the peaks. Daisy said it was the longest and toughest scree slope she'd been on. A very impressive sight from below, and hard to believe we'd just descended on it.
Down the headwall, and back on the scree from Edith, we rounded the mountain and eventually entered forest. By now, I was feeling the fatigue, and some ache in the knees. We wound through the forest over a heavily rooted trial, occasionally coming out in clearings and avalanche runs. The trail descended pretty aggressively most of the way.
Eventually, the forest changed from thick fir to open poplar, and we reached the junction of the Edith Pass and Cory Pass trails. Continuing on, we caught up with two of the trio we'd started up with. Half a kilometre on, we reached the Fireside picnic ground and the third member with the dog. He'd gone ahead and returned with their car. They graciously offered a ride to ours, which we accepted. And halfway along the highway, we passed the two singles. In our car, we drove back to meet them, offered them a ride the last kilometre.
The end of another incredible hike and scramble with Daisy, we capped with with a pizza in Canmore with Daisy's son and girlfriend. Then home for a cup of tea, a hot shower, and the sleep of the dead.
Since I forgot my GPS, the following is estimates, and from published data.
Mount Cory
Starting elevation: 1416 m (4646 feet).
Highest elevation: 2802 m (9193 feet).
Lowest elevation: 1416 m (4646 feet).
Elevation gain: 1386 m (4547 feet).
Distance: 20.? km (12.? mi).
Time: 8:00.
I picked her up around 7:30, and we hit the highway, along with several hundred other vehicles. Gotta love the long weekend traffic. Around Dead Man's Flats, we realized we'd forgotten Daisy's park pass - oh, well. At the park gate, we exchanged a twenty for a meagre bit of change and a slip of paper to place on the dash to appease the local gendarmerie, should they chance to check on us.
A little confusion at the start: we curved around Cascade Mountain with it's signature waterfall, and past the Banff turnoffs. Wasn't the trailhead at the end of the Vermillion Lakes road? U-turn at the 1A junction, and back to Banff. At the end of the Vermillion Lakes road, a pause, then we consulted the book. Ah.
Back to the 1A junction and 1.9 km from there on 1A (so the book said) was a bit of a turn-off to park at. One person was already there prepping for the climb. A group of three with a dog pulled up as well. After gathering up our stuff, we charged into the forest behind them.
Three ribs are separated by deep ravines on the this beast, and the easiest route is supposed to be up the eastern-most. From the highway, the trees completely mask the view of these ribs, and once in the forest, we had no idea what rib we were on. Without any landmarks to tell us where we were, we fell back on the old reliable method of assuming other hikers knew where they were going.
Reliable, indeed.
Daisy set the pace, as usual, and I struggled to keep up. The threesome with the dog stepped aside to let us pass, and the single hiker followed. As we climbed, we found our companion was Darian from Chicago, taking a hiatus from his career to travel. This was his second scramble in the Rockies, a stop on the way to a planned long-term stay in New Zealand.
Daisy tends to take the straight up route. She likes to get her hands involved in the ascent, taking on rock bands and outcrops. I follow, relying on her experience, and the fact that I can, not to mention that it's fun to climb. As a result, Darian kept stepping ahead of us by going around these little climbs. It's not like these little climbs were all that challenging, and certainly not dangerous, but I think Daisy and I were having more fun.
About this point, I realized I'd forgotten my GPS. I would have loved to get the map, distance and elevation profile for this hike, but, oh, well.
We came to the top of the rib, where we discovered we were probably climbing the wrong rib. The top dropped nearly vertically to a small saddle, and the only way down was by a bit of a crevasse with a couple of shelves. Daisy went first, being the experienced rock climber. It was pretty easy to get to the bottom shelf, but that left about three metres to the bottom.
Once she found a way, I followed - I'm a rock climber! How cool is that? I found I could rely on my hands, fingers and arms to support me, and on my boots to grip the small footholds. This was the another step in the discovery of how much I could trust my body and my equipment.
Once Darian was down, we dropped to the east into the forest, around the rock face that wrapped around from the top of the rib. This continued the steep hike. We passed several small caves, the largest maybe five metres deep and a metre high.Once past that, we got to the face of the first false peak. This is where the terrain we were on began to show itself. Cory is at the south end (a caveat here: I don't have a firm handle on directions. I judged from the direction of the sun, and my own impressions) of a range made of an ancient sea bed lifted and turned vertical by the forces that formed these mountains. The layers are stark and prominent, forming cracks and crevasses that face the south.
We stopped for a break, while Darian wandered along the face to the east, to check the path ahead. Daisy was fresh with the exhuberance and enthusiasm of our climbing and scrambling so far, handed me her camera and tackled the most prominent crack. Half way up, she posed for a picture. (Once she sends me some, I'll post pictures here.)
Once she was back down, Darian returned to report on the way ahead. We had to drop a few metres downslope to a rock band, and again Daisy led the way, climbing down the band, with Darian and I following. From there it was a short steep climb past this first false peak to a beautiful meadow between it and the second false peak.
The view here is spectacular, as it had been almost all the way up. Eastward, Banff nestled agains the foot of Rundle, and westward, Castle Mountain sheltered a huge plateau from the TransCanada highway.
We climbed to the top of the second false peak, and checked out the way ahead. This site has pictures of what we faced. The Hole In The Wall is a large cave, maybe twenty metres high, staring back at us from across the gap, and the trail wound up the ridge to the east of it. From here, Darian went east, while we went west.
When the volcano in Hawaii erupts, lava flows down its slope to the sea. Once it hits the water, it freezes into huge round lumps, called pillow lava. And that's what we faced across the gap, literally an acre of it. That it formed under water on a sea bottom was obvious by the occasional exposed rippled sand bottom framing the formation. And more striking was that this chunk of sea bed was vertical, and about 2500 metres above sea level. Here's a much smaller example of pillow lava near the north peak.
We scrambled down to the bottom of the gap, then across to the ridge. We briefly thought about checking out The Hole In The Wall, but there didn't seem to be a way to continue from it up the rock, without retreating back to where we stood. Too much effort for this trip.We started up the ridge, and we caught the occasional glimpes of Darian as he charged on ahead. Eastward we could see the Cory Trail snaking along the top of a ridge toward Mount Edith, and a single striding hiker.
Again, I suffered from sensory overload. The vertical plains of the old seabed faced us edge on, and we climbed the more eroded parts between slim planes of rock. Sometimes these layers were a metre or more thick, sometimes they were a few millimetres, and razor sharp. Everywhere, plates of rock had fallen over onto long slopes of scree.
A couple of more false peaks and we caught up with the lone hiker we'd seen on the Cory Trail. (And I apoligize; I've forgotten his name.) He stopped before the last climb to the south peak for lunch, while Daisy and I pushed on. This was steep gravel and dry mud. The trail was marked by foot prints made while the clay was still wet earlier in the season.
We stopped for jackets and a quick snack, then continued along the rock band, across the top of a small snow bank, and then up a small ridge to the top, where we caught up with Darian. This was a perfect stop for lunch, and watching the trio with the dog climb up toward us.
The view! To the north, the lines of the formation we were on were incredibly prominent. The vertical planes of the formation ran straight across several peaks about fifteen kilometres before beginning to lean and curve slightly to the right, to the horizon another five or ten kilometres further on. (My estimates - actual distances may be wildly different.) You can see this behind me in this picture, and in the picture above of Daisy on the pillow lava.
Toward the east, Mount Edith, Mount Norquay, and Cascade Mountain, then slightly south, Banff up against Mount Rundle, and the tiny bump of Tunnel Mountain (it looked tiny from our vantage!) Sulphur Mountain, with the road up the backside to the top of the Banff Gondola, a tiny glint at the top. Straight south was the unmistakeable pyramid of Assiniboine, rising well above the surrounding terrain. A little west of that, the square face of Mount Bourgeau, still with the snow under the peak, which prevented us from seeing the Banff townsite when we climbed it over a month ago. More west, a huge glacier, probably above Lake Louise, and northwest, the end-on view of Castle Mountain with its plateau behind.After lunch, we crossed the ridge to the north peak, again catching up with the two lone hikers. This is the view looking east.
After a little discussion with the others about which way to go down, we headed to the bottom of the ridge between the peaks. The scree slope to the south would lead down to the Cory Pass trail (which the trio with the dog had chosen), or to the ridge trail that was so obvious from our vantage point. The other choice was the scree slope to the north.Steep and tricky in places, but the four of us started down. The two loners had trekking poles, and after all this, I definitely have them on my shopping list. We worked our way down, sliding with loose scree, and making decent time in dropping perhaps three hundred metres to where the slope took a right angled turn to the right. The scree wasn't too bad for some distance, and we could slide and run with it.
But eventually, we got into coarser stuff, which was a little more treacherous, as it wouldn't slide, and could roll out from underfoot. I went down several times, falling on my backside, once jarring my knee when my outstretched foot rammed against a solid rock, and once shaving a pencil eraser sized slab of skin from a finger. Naturally, Daisy was more surefooted, not falling once.
On either side of us, jagged rock faces reached up to ridges topped with the thin slabs, forming a marching line of sharp edged sentinels watching over the valley we were in. At the bottom of the scree, it flattened out to wash plain edged by trees, just above which stood a couple of hoodoos. We think this was the Valley of the Gargoyles (or Valley of the Gargles - Daisy has a charming way of mangling polysyllabic words.)
To the right, the line of the Edith Pass Trail slashed across the slope of gravel at the backside of Edith. We climbed this slope, but mostly traversed it, to the path. By this point, the two solo hikers were just disappearing into the distance.
The trail went for at least a kilometre, and just before a headwall holding back the valley below us, a herd of maybe twenty five sheep grazed in the grassy silt that had piled up behind it, including four almost-grown lambs. We were maybe thirty metres above them, but they completely ignored us.
At the headwall, we stopped to look back.
At least five hundred metres above was the top of the scree, the point where we'd made the ninety degree turn. It's the col in the picture. The scree continues up maybe another three hundred metres to the col between the peaks. Daisy said it was the longest and toughest scree slope she'd been on. A very impressive sight from below, and hard to believe we'd just descended on it.Down the headwall, and back on the scree from Edith, we rounded the mountain and eventually entered forest. By now, I was feeling the fatigue, and some ache in the knees. We wound through the forest over a heavily rooted trial, occasionally coming out in clearings and avalanche runs. The trail descended pretty aggressively most of the way.
Eventually, the forest changed from thick fir to open poplar, and we reached the junction of the Edith Pass and Cory Pass trails. Continuing on, we caught up with two of the trio we'd started up with. Half a kilometre on, we reached the Fireside picnic ground and the third member with the dog. He'd gone ahead and returned with their car. They graciously offered a ride to ours, which we accepted. And halfway along the highway, we passed the two singles. In our car, we drove back to meet them, offered them a ride the last kilometre.
The end of another incredible hike and scramble with Daisy, we capped with with a pizza in Canmore with Daisy's son and girlfriend. Then home for a cup of tea, a hot shower, and the sleep of the dead.
Since I forgot my GPS, the following is estimates, and from published data.
Mount Cory
Starting elevation: 1416 m (4646 feet).
Highest elevation: 2802 m (9193 feet).
Lowest elevation: 1416 m (4646 feet).
Elevation gain: 1386 m (4547 feet).
Distance: 20.? km (12.? mi).
Time: 8:00.
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