Sunday, September 09, 2007
Mount Kidd, South Peak
This one needs a do-over. I didn't get too close, didn't even get to the ridge. But I got an adventure out of it.
The south peak of Mount Kidd is seen as an out-and-back diversion from Guinn's Pass. Craig Copeland had written about it as such, in his article in last Thursday's Calgary Herald. Between that article, and Daisy and I having it on our to-do list, it pretty much chose itself as a destination for this weekend.
Much of the range visible on the drive out had been touched by snow fall the night before. Banded Peak, in the area of Elbow Falls, was easily recognizable as a massive white pyramid with it's black stripe across the snow cover. Curiously, Moose Mountain was still in it's light grey summer colours.
I arrived early at the Galatea parking lot. Daisy and I had hiked this trail earlier this summer, so I was familiar with the first part it. A fog bank hung over the valley, giving the morning a grey, gloomy look.
The trail switches back and forth across the Galatea Creek several times, so the bridge count is high. I began down the long slope to the first one, a suspension bridge over the Kananaskis River beside where Galatea Creek feeds into it. By the time I crossed the third bridge, the sun had broke through the fog bank.
Lots of dripping, too. I imagine the lower elevations got mostly rain the night before, and the humidity was high. The bridges were wet and slippery, as were the rock outcroppings on the trail in the forest.
The Scrambles book mentions a trail just before the seventh bridge, that heads up a broad gully to the ridge from Guinn's Pass to the peak - a short cut of sorts. I counted six bridges, then kept watch for this trail, but soon found myself at the seventh bridge. I dithered about backtracking to find it, or continuing on to Guinn's and working from there. I opted to backtrack.
The Scrambles book drives me crazy, sometimes. The pictures are mostly informative, but sometimes, as in this case, the low contrast black-and-whites hide identifying features. And the descriptions can be pretty sparse, too. Daisy and I discussed our frustration with this, but we concluded that it wasn't a bad thing. Determined scramblers will figure things out, while those who aren't quite so serious are kept from getting themselves into unpleasant situations.
The trail is marked by a small cairn, the book says. It also says it's at the edge of tall pines that give way to stunted poplar. The main trail does pass through an open forest of tall pines, a couple of hundred metres before that seventh bridge. On the third pass, I decided to check out a dodgy looking possibility - a little overgrown, with a few dead logs across it. Three steps in, I almost tripped over the cairn.
All that moisture on the trees, from dew and rain and snow, was dribbling down from the canopy by now. The poplars were every wet, and because the trail was nearly overgrown, by ten metres in I was pretty wet. My fleece and new climbing pants kept me plenty dry, but the hikers were soggy. I was glad for the synthetic socks.
The bush backed off from trail shortly, and I found myself climbing the steep grassy meadow of an old avalanche fall. A couple of rock outcrops made it more interesting, but it was pretty smooth climbing. Eventually the gully widened, and the trail went to the right toward slabby channels beside a ridge.
This was were I ran afoul of the book. It said to stay left, and that's what I should have done. But this trail kept right. Eventually, on the slabs, I reached a point where I could go no further. I slipped at one point, and backslid a couple of metres, banging my elbow.
From this point, I began an internal debate as to whether I should retreat or continue. I felt if I could mount the ridge, all I'd have to do was walk it to the top of Mount Kidd. I backtracked a dozen metres and then started up the side of the ridge. It was mostly dirt and some small outcrops, though the top was a rock band with a couple of notches that looked accessible.
This climb wasn't bad at all. I guess I was experiencing more of that drama that Daisy talked about. Up through a short chimney in the rock band and I was on an easy slope to the top.
Nope. The lesson here is, where you want to go is always on the next ridge. And I topped the ridge to find the one I thought I was on, was actually another kilometre and a half farther on (and up) across a huge bowl of snow covered scree and scrub pine. As I surveyed the bowl, and listened to the occasional clatter of falling rock on the slab far to my right, the question on my mind was, here the heck was the trail from Guinn's Pass?
It looked to be far across the bowl, below a long rock band on top of the ridge to the west, but it was awfully indistinct. I would dearly have welcomed Daisy's take on this. On this side of the bowl, the snow covered scree gave way to snow covered slab, so if I was going to get up there, I was going to have to go way over to the other side to get around that.
It really was beautiful up there. I was traversing a couple of square kilometres of snowy terrain, mostly alpine meadow, and climbing slightly to keep above the scrub pine. It was slippery, but not overly so. And eventually, I was in snow covered scree, which not too much more slippery.
An hour later, maybe half way around the bowl, I was out of the snow and on dry scree. A couple of deep trenches swooped down from above, and curved toward the narrow gully at the bottom of the bowl. From here the indistinct trail below the rock band seemed to pretty much disappear. I climbed down and up the steep sides of the gullys, and decided that maybe I would just continue to Guinn's Pass, descend to Galatea Creek, and call it a day. Another forty minutes and I stood below the rock band, trying to find an invisible trail. Was I even in the right place?
I followed the rock band down and south toward a wide meadow, but the terrain yielded no clues as to where I was relative to Guinn's Pass. I figured it had to be on the other side of this rock band, but the meadow seemed to end abrubtly not too far along. I wasn't sure where to go from here. The pass seemed out of reach, and backtracking would be a long slog. I dropped into another gully that skirted the meadow, and continued downward.
The gully narrowed as it approached forest, and ended abruptly at the edge of a cliff. With fifty metres of straight down, I had to backtrack a little. I reached some much more climbable stuff a couple of hundred metres upslope. Time for lunch.
After scarfing down my lunch, I climbed down the rest of the rock face, then picked my way down a steep moss covered slope through stunted pine to the bottom of the bowl. Rock fall snaked along the narrow gully, and a ridge of hard pack stood out at the side. It did look like it had seen some traffic, so I kept to it.
The gully narrowed even more, to a trench filled with a thick forest of impassible pine. But the rock fall followed beside was a wide clear space of moss and lichen covered rubble. The cliff that generated this field of boulders stood to my right, close and imposing, an eagle circling overhead.
Eventually the rockfall ended and the faintest trail lead through forest at the edge of the trench. The ground was soft and springy from centuries of fallen vegitation. The scent of it, and of the pine permeated the air. The trail crawled along the side of the trench, over and under dead fall. Occasionally I had to stop to figure out the best way through. It never became really thick, though there were some tricky climbs over dead trees on the steep slope of the trench.
Eventually I found myself back on an ancient boulder field. It seemed to spill out of the forest, having formed so long ago that the trees had reclaimed the space upslope. The incredible silence that had been with me almost since I had left the main trial several hours before was finally broken by the sound of running water.
I pulled out the map and munched on some trail mix. My GPS said I was just above nineteen hundred metres. The contours of the map suggested I was very close to Galatea Creek, which the main trail to Lillian Lake hugs closely, and in fact, very close to the junction with Guinn's Pass. So I was very close to getting back on that trail, I thought.
The bottom of the boulder field was again forest, but again, there seemed to be a trail meandering along it's edge to the left, and into the forest and the sound of water to the right.
This was real bushwacking, my first experience of it. I picked my way through springy moss, and over dead trees. Centuries of layers of dead vegetation threatened to swallow my trekking poles, which ofter sunk almost a metre into the ground. Very green and very lush.
I finally pushed through to the creek, not knowing if it was Galatea or a feeder from upslope. I thought about crossing, but heavy deadfall on the opposite bank was in the way of a relatively open slope up to what might possibly have been the main trail. I couldn't tell from below. I began picking my way down the creek, first one side, then the other. A huge tree had fallen along the creek, and I balanced along it until I had to get down on slippery wet rock again. The poles again proved their worth to help steady me as I tip-toed across the water.
On another huge log, I walked along it and discovered in front of me a bridge across the creek. I'd found the trail. It turned out to be the ninth bridge on the trail, not all that far from the Guinn's Pass junction. So close. From here it was solid walking back down the path to the parking lot, maybe an hour and a quarter later.
Even though I didn't make the object, didn't even come close, I really enjoyed this adventure. I learned a lot about how to judge the scale of things - everything's a lot farther away than you think. I learned I could bushwack my way through forest. As for the objective, I think I was on the trail to the ridge from the pass. In re-examining the photo in the book, with its washed out details, it showed what looked like the rock band I'd reached on the far side of the bowl. The ridge would have been no big deal to reach, but I was intimidated by the snow on the one side and several smaller rock bands near the top on the other. And I should have checked out the far side of that meadow at the bottom of the rock band.
I won't be going back this season, but this one is definitely on my list for next year.
Mount Kidd, South Peak
Starting elevation: 1549 m (5081 feet).
Highest elevation: 2556 m (8389 feet).
Lowest elevation: 1525 m (5001 feet).
Elevation gain: 1007 m (3308 feet).
Distance: 16.7 km (10.4 mi).
Time: 7:13.
The south peak of Mount Kidd is seen as an out-and-back diversion from Guinn's Pass. Craig Copeland had written about it as such, in his article in last Thursday's Calgary Herald. Between that article, and Daisy and I having it on our to-do list, it pretty much chose itself as a destination for this weekend.
Much of the range visible on the drive out had been touched by snow fall the night before. Banded Peak, in the area of Elbow Falls, was easily recognizable as a massive white pyramid with it's black stripe across the snow cover. Curiously, Moose Mountain was still in it's light grey summer colours.
I arrived early at the Galatea parking lot. Daisy and I had hiked this trail earlier this summer, so I was familiar with the first part it. A fog bank hung over the valley, giving the morning a grey, gloomy look.
The trail switches back and forth across the Galatea Creek several times, so the bridge count is high. I began down the long slope to the first one, a suspension bridge over the Kananaskis River beside where Galatea Creek feeds into it. By the time I crossed the third bridge, the sun had broke through the fog bank.
Lots of dripping, too. I imagine the lower elevations got mostly rain the night before, and the humidity was high. The bridges were wet and slippery, as were the rock outcroppings on the trail in the forest.
The Scrambles book mentions a trail just before the seventh bridge, that heads up a broad gully to the ridge from Guinn's Pass to the peak - a short cut of sorts. I counted six bridges, then kept watch for this trail, but soon found myself at the seventh bridge. I dithered about backtracking to find it, or continuing on to Guinn's and working from there. I opted to backtrack.
The Scrambles book drives me crazy, sometimes. The pictures are mostly informative, but sometimes, as in this case, the low contrast black-and-whites hide identifying features. And the descriptions can be pretty sparse, too. Daisy and I discussed our frustration with this, but we concluded that it wasn't a bad thing. Determined scramblers will figure things out, while those who aren't quite so serious are kept from getting themselves into unpleasant situations.
The trail is marked by a small cairn, the book says. It also says it's at the edge of tall pines that give way to stunted poplar. The main trail does pass through an open forest of tall pines, a couple of hundred metres before that seventh bridge. On the third pass, I decided to check out a dodgy looking possibility - a little overgrown, with a few dead logs across it. Three steps in, I almost tripped over the cairn.
All that moisture on the trees, from dew and rain and snow, was dribbling down from the canopy by now. The poplars were every wet, and because the trail was nearly overgrown, by ten metres in I was pretty wet. My fleece and new climbing pants kept me plenty dry, but the hikers were soggy. I was glad for the synthetic socks.
The bush backed off from trail shortly, and I found myself climbing the steep grassy meadow of an old avalanche fall. A couple of rock outcrops made it more interesting, but it was pretty smooth climbing. Eventually the gully widened, and the trail went to the right toward slabby channels beside a ridge.
This was were I ran afoul of the book. It said to stay left, and that's what I should have done. But this trail kept right. Eventually, on the slabs, I reached a point where I could go no further. I slipped at one point, and backslid a couple of metres, banging my elbow.
From this point, I began an internal debate as to whether I should retreat or continue. I felt if I could mount the ridge, all I'd have to do was walk it to the top of Mount Kidd. I backtracked a dozen metres and then started up the side of the ridge. It was mostly dirt and some small outcrops, though the top was a rock band with a couple of notches that looked accessible.
This climb wasn't bad at all. I guess I was experiencing more of that drama that Daisy talked about. Up through a short chimney in the rock band and I was on an easy slope to the top.
Nope. The lesson here is, where you want to go is always on the next ridge. And I topped the ridge to find the one I thought I was on, was actually another kilometre and a half farther on (and up) across a huge bowl of snow covered scree and scrub pine. As I surveyed the bowl, and listened to the occasional clatter of falling rock on the slab far to my right, the question on my mind was, here the heck was the trail from Guinn's Pass?
It looked to be far across the bowl, below a long rock band on top of the ridge to the west, but it was awfully indistinct. I would dearly have welcomed Daisy's take on this. On this side of the bowl, the snow covered scree gave way to snow covered slab, so if I was going to get up there, I was going to have to go way over to the other side to get around that.
It really was beautiful up there. I was traversing a couple of square kilometres of snowy terrain, mostly alpine meadow, and climbing slightly to keep above the scrub pine. It was slippery, but not overly so. And eventually, I was in snow covered scree, which not too much more slippery.
An hour later, maybe half way around the bowl, I was out of the snow and on dry scree. A couple of deep trenches swooped down from above, and curved toward the narrow gully at the bottom of the bowl. From here the indistinct trail below the rock band seemed to pretty much disappear. I climbed down and up the steep sides of the gullys, and decided that maybe I would just continue to Guinn's Pass, descend to Galatea Creek, and call it a day. Another forty minutes and I stood below the rock band, trying to find an invisible trail. Was I even in the right place?
I followed the rock band down and south toward a wide meadow, but the terrain yielded no clues as to where I was relative to Guinn's Pass. I figured it had to be on the other side of this rock band, but the meadow seemed to end abrubtly not too far along. I wasn't sure where to go from here. The pass seemed out of reach, and backtracking would be a long slog. I dropped into another gully that skirted the meadow, and continued downward.
The gully narrowed as it approached forest, and ended abruptly at the edge of a cliff. With fifty metres of straight down, I had to backtrack a little. I reached some much more climbable stuff a couple of hundred metres upslope. Time for lunch.
After scarfing down my lunch, I climbed down the rest of the rock face, then picked my way down a steep moss covered slope through stunted pine to the bottom of the bowl. Rock fall snaked along the narrow gully, and a ridge of hard pack stood out at the side. It did look like it had seen some traffic, so I kept to it.
The gully narrowed even more, to a trench filled with a thick forest of impassible pine. But the rock fall followed beside was a wide clear space of moss and lichen covered rubble. The cliff that generated this field of boulders stood to my right, close and imposing, an eagle circling overhead.
Eventually the rockfall ended and the faintest trail lead through forest at the edge of the trench. The ground was soft and springy from centuries of fallen vegitation. The scent of it, and of the pine permeated the air. The trail crawled along the side of the trench, over and under dead fall. Occasionally I had to stop to figure out the best way through. It never became really thick, though there were some tricky climbs over dead trees on the steep slope of the trench.
Eventually I found myself back on an ancient boulder field. It seemed to spill out of the forest, having formed so long ago that the trees had reclaimed the space upslope. The incredible silence that had been with me almost since I had left the main trial several hours before was finally broken by the sound of running water.
I pulled out the map and munched on some trail mix. My GPS said I was just above nineteen hundred metres. The contours of the map suggested I was very close to Galatea Creek, which the main trail to Lillian Lake hugs closely, and in fact, very close to the junction with Guinn's Pass. So I was very close to getting back on that trail, I thought.
The bottom of the boulder field was again forest, but again, there seemed to be a trail meandering along it's edge to the left, and into the forest and the sound of water to the right.
This was real bushwacking, my first experience of it. I picked my way through springy moss, and over dead trees. Centuries of layers of dead vegetation threatened to swallow my trekking poles, which ofter sunk almost a metre into the ground. Very green and very lush.
I finally pushed through to the creek, not knowing if it was Galatea or a feeder from upslope. I thought about crossing, but heavy deadfall on the opposite bank was in the way of a relatively open slope up to what might possibly have been the main trail. I couldn't tell from below. I began picking my way down the creek, first one side, then the other. A huge tree had fallen along the creek, and I balanced along it until I had to get down on slippery wet rock again. The poles again proved their worth to help steady me as I tip-toed across the water.
On another huge log, I walked along it and discovered in front of me a bridge across the creek. I'd found the trail. It turned out to be the ninth bridge on the trail, not all that far from the Guinn's Pass junction. So close. From here it was solid walking back down the path to the parking lot, maybe an hour and a quarter later.
Even though I didn't make the object, didn't even come close, I really enjoyed this adventure. I learned a lot about how to judge the scale of things - everything's a lot farther away than you think. I learned I could bushwack my way through forest. As for the objective, I think I was on the trail to the ridge from the pass. In re-examining the photo in the book, with its washed out details, it showed what looked like the rock band I'd reached on the far side of the bowl. The ridge would have been no big deal to reach, but I was intimidated by the snow on the one side and several smaller rock bands near the top on the other. And I should have checked out the far side of that meadow at the bottom of the rock band.
I won't be going back this season, but this one is definitely on my list for next year.
Mount Kidd, South Peak
Starting elevation: 1549 m (5081 feet).
Highest elevation: 2556 m (8389 feet).
Lowest elevation: 1525 m (5001 feet).
Elevation gain: 1007 m (3308 feet).
Distance: 16.7 km (10.4 mi).
Time: 7:13.
# posted by Kelly @ 9:10 a.m. 
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