Northbound
The truth about ridge hiking
The mountains stretching across Northern British Columbia are a hiker’s paradise no matter what style of walking you prefer. But what sets a ridge apart from a traverse, a peak, or a pass?
Traversing suggests the monotony of sidestepping on steep slopes. Peaks are great, but why hike all the way up, just to come down? And passes? Nothing more than low saddles—hardly a destination.
But the sublime theory of ridge-hiking goes like this: after grunting up through the trees to the summit, an expanse of wide-open alpine ramps lead hikers from peak to peak where they gaze upon high-elevation views of surrounding beauty, possibly for days at a time.
We strap on our backpacks for an overnight trip to Ashman Ridge, behind Smithers’ Hudson Bay Mountain, to experience the ridge walk—what some would call the nirvana of hiking. After parking in a clearcut and scrambling through the mess that used to be a forest, we push through the lower-elevation perils of devil’s club and dense, wet brush.
Blissfully, within two hours we hit the heights. It is mid-summer and flowers are dotted throughout the alpine carpet at our feet.
But theory and practice do not always meet and, as the clouds roll in, the ramps lead to peaks now buried in whiteout conditions. We set up our tents in the low saddle and hope for views the next day. Alas, it is not to be.
Later that summer we choose the Webster Lake Trail in the Telkwa Range. I can still see our route along the mountaintops as I gaze from a distance at the blue outlines spreading east. This time an old mining road leads us into higher elevation with little more endurance than needed for navigating the confusing network of dirt roads. The trail cuts a swath along the slope, winding up toward the carpeted Hankin Plateau. But against all instinct, we turn off the trail and descend, crossing the creek and pushing up the other side.
Once again we climb. We are above a deep-walled crater, looking down at the icy blue of Webster Lake. This is it, the much-sought wide-open ramp.
The views are astounding. As far as the eye can see, there are mountains. The wide Bulkley Valley sweeps like a river of green and brown below. We continue climbing and soon the ramp begins narrowing to a tight rocky ridge.
I look down. On both sides steep scree slopes lead to bright green bowls far below. Ahead is the jagged knife-sharp edge of the so-called ridge. “Looks do-able to me,” says Tom, my ever-game companion. I swallow and shoulder my pack.
Luckily, the dog backs out first and we abort the mission, scree-skiing down to the welcoming flat bottom of the left-hand bowl.
Tents are erected and dinner is prepared along with much discussion about the best way out of the enclosed oasis we have found.
“We’ll have to go up the snow,” say Adrian and Tom, the two in charge of the maps.
Pauline seems game, and at this point I’m new enough to the backcountry that I defer to their expert opinions.
The next day we easily gain the ridge by boot-kicking our way up the steep snow slope, and continue along. After one more potentially precipitous fall (ask Adrian about the rescue) we get to the wide-open alpine of the ridge above Hunter Basin.
But one night is not enough. Tom wants days along ridges. He, like any real ridge enthusiast, doesn’t find these adventures in books. Instead, he looks for large white high-elevation blobs on topographic maps, and traces the route that will keep him up there. Dips into low elevation green, also known as timberline, are tantamount to failure.
So with the tantalizing theory of ridge-hiking still fresh in my mind, I agree to embark on an eight-day adventure to a series of white amorphous shapes on map sheet Kitwanga 103 P/1. The unnamed blob is crisscrossed by words like Nass Ranges and Hazelton Mountains, but soon enough the hike will have a moniker of its own.
Merran and Ivan decide to come too. We even find someone who describes a trail starting in Woodcock on the north side of the Skeena. Instead of slogging through the bush to reach the summit of our blob, we trudge up a steep trail until we hit alpine. Heaven.
Tom has studied the maps. He has dashed a pencil line along the route he wants to take. He showed it to all of us, while at home with steaming mugs of tea in hand. We nodded sagely while passing the milk, and agreed to this trip.
Late on the second day we hit the top of the peak that stands between us and our magical ridge. As we set up camp for the night, the maps and compasses come out and the pencil line is assessed. “We’ll head up that way,” says Tom, pointing to sheer steep walls that lead to sharp points.
“Where is the ramp?” I ask. “Soon, soon,” he says. This is when I ask to see the map. “Here?” I say, pointing to the little lines all bunched together so tightly you can barely see between them on the topo map. “This is where you want us to go?”
Now I remember the ominous words of another friend. “I’m a little worried about what you’ll do when you get to the ‘O,’” he said. The O on the map is in the words ‘Hazelton Mountains,’ and we are days from there yet.
And so it begins. For every 1500 metres we climb, we descend it again. Sometimes we do this two or three times in a day. Our ridges are jagged spikes and they are often topped by overhanging cornices of snow. To avoid them we sidestep along rocky slopes.
We are still one day away from the “O” and I’ve already cried twice. I have skid marks on my thighs from slipping on scree (I hate traversing). Ivan has scouted the latest snowfield we have to climb to see if it’s safe.
He gets within a few feet of the top and boot-skis down. “We’ll get as far as that, then someone will have to heave themselves up top and haul the others up the last few feet,” he says. “It looks good for a few hundred metres, but I can’t see what is on the other side.”
This is the moment when the hike officially becomes known as the Trail of Tears.
We abort the mission, descend the steep mountain, and stumble into the trees. Failure.
The forest is treacherous. We crawl over and under deadfall (no easy feat with 40 lbs on your back), fighting our way through thickets of devil’s club in every draw, and worry if we’ll ever find our way back to the heights.
After a depressing night in the mosquito-infested forest we struggle back up to treeline and camp in a meadow with a view of our would-have-been route.
“It wasn’t so bad.” We are all smiling now and scratching our bug bites. The next morning, a ramp takes us up to the summit and the ridge is, once again, sublime. For half the day anyway, until the next obstacle…
h4Hiking info resources
All hiking doesn’t have to be this hard. For easy access to alpine, you can’t beat the hike to Crater Lake on Hudson Bay Mountain. Drive to the top of the Ski Hill Road and you are already almost there. Two of the mountain’s three highest peaks are accessible from here as well.
Einar Blix’s Trails to Timberline and More Trails to Timberline are essential for would-be hikers who don’t have a map-toting ridge enthusiast in their life. Blix covers hikes from Houston to Hazelton, Terrace and Kitimat.
What about other parts of Northern BC? On the eastern side of our great region, I defer to Mike Nash. His book Exploring Prince George outlines days and days of incredible outdoor recreation opportunities in that area.
Now that I live on Haida Gwaii, I can regale you with tales of hiking here too. I’ve been to the top of Sleeping Beauty Mountain near Queen Charlotte and seen the potential for a ridge walk to the west coast, but the topo map shows it mostly covered in green. Best to stick to the beaches, I say.
Fern Henderson’s classic Haida Gwaii Trail Hikes and Beach Walks will tell you all you need to know. The Tlell Watershed Society also has a series of booklets on walks into the forest. If you are on the islands this summer, check the schedule of Sierra Club hikes offered by the local chapter.
For an overview, check out Vivien Lougheed’s From the Chilcotin to the Chilkoot: Selected Hikes of Northern BC which chronicles trails, from easy to difficult, between Bella Coola and the Yukon.
By: Carolyne MacDonald
6 October 2009