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.
# posted by Kelly @ 6:32 p.m. 
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