Having recently finished a trip report of an amazingly successful weekend in the mountains with Bob Taylor and Simon Nadeau (Wedge Mountain in January – a Winter Paradise) I was conveniently reminded of a much less successful but equally memorable trip into the “Tolkien Ring” of mountains, located near Birkenhead, north of Pemberton. The area is home to three mountains named after characters from the popular Tolkien books “Lord of the Rings”, Mount Aragorn, Mount Gandalf, and Mount Shadowfax. We had set out ludicrously early from Bob’s luxuriously sizeable (lol) pad in North Vancouver, and after the obligatory stop in Squamish for my morning cup of Joe we continued north past Pemberton, parking just outside the Birkenhead Lake park entrance.
The logging road from Birkenhead lake entrance was snowed in, though we were pleased it had been plowed as far as it had. It was still early on Saturday morning when we left the truck, forced to snowshoe just over 6km to the trailhead up varying gradients of FSR. The four of us, Myself, Bob Taylor, Mitch Leblanc, and Mitch’s nine month old Malamute, Tona moved at a good pace, all of us, even the pup, laden with gear. The surroundings were peaceful, serene, not a flake of snow in front of us had been disturbed. We broke our way through knee-deep powder for what seemed like an eternity before we reached the trail head and the start of the actual approach. The trail turned up steeply here, winding its way through thick forest with a couple of old logging cut-blocks along the way. As the afternoon wore on it began to snow, adding to the already deep powder slowing our progress. We broke out into open snow-covered meadow just as we began to lose our will. In front of us lay a beautiful alpine lake, not yet covered in snow, and nestled in the snow banks on the far side was our home for the night. It was a short hike around the lake, or at least it seemed to be, though with such a great distance behind us any time would have seemed short. We were all thrilled to reach the hut, throwing off our gear and basking in its protection from the cold and snow.
We were pleased top discover that this was not the typical alpine A-frame hut either, as it came equipped with all manner of amenities. White gas lanterns, cutlery and cookware, cards and even a small library including none other than, you guessed it, the Lord of the Rings trilogy. The spacious downstairs housed two full size picnic tables and from what we understand, a broken kerosene heater under the floorboards. The upstairs was less impressive, much more a standard affair, lots of floorspace, and that’s about it. Outside, not far from the hut is a sturdy outhouse, not stocked with TP, although who wouldn’t pack some in with them on a winter excursion is a mystery to me.
Meals and water were a solitary affair, Bob and I each having packed our own stove and meals, and Mitch sticking to the raw paleo diet he was (and I think still is) on. I remember feeling a little jealous of Tona, while we all slaved away over stoves boiling, cooking, eating, washing, Tona simply received a handful of the same dry supper she always gets, and happily licked it off the floor with no waiting at all, sometimes the life of a dog seems very appealing, especially one lucky enough to get to climb mountains and frolic in snow.
Shortly after dinner I set out alone on snowshoes to begin breaking trail towards our objective, trying to shave some valuable time and energy off of the day ahead of us. I continued through deep powder for what seemed like hours, by order of headlamp, enjoying the dark night and peaceful surroundings. When I felt I had done my duty, and was no longer energetic or interested in continuing, I turned and retraced my steps to the hut, the distance back passing in a fraction of a time. I remember feeling disappointed thinking “hmm, well that wasn’t that far at all!”. Upon returning to the hut I was immediately ready for bed, and quickly laid out a place for myself upstairs.
The night was cold and I awoke from time to time, my senses keen as if someone or something was there, but every time I quickly returned to my slumber. In the morning I learned that Mitch had awoken much more frequently, as Tona had been enjoying chasing the local rodents around the lower floor of the hut. I found the dog’s behavior hilarious, though I felt bad for Mitch’s lack of sleep.
We wasted no time with the morning preparations, it was all business, and stepping out of the hut we were greeted with a pleasant surprise. The snow had continued, even quickened during the night, leaving us with what must have been 12 inches of fresh snow since I had broken trail towards our summit the night before. Though the trail I had carved through the meadows was mostly snowed in, it still greatly eased the effort of snowshoeing. We continued along, our trail, almost invisible, could only be noticed when you stepped off of it, sinking almost to your waist. We hadn’t made it far past where I had turned back the night before,when Bob picked a sparsely treed ridgeline, steep couloirs on either side, and decided that this would be our route to the summit. We turned up and fought our way up through loose snow. The consistency of the snow was horrible, completely refusing to pack under your feet, it would simply smear and sluff around under you, refusing to give you a firm footing. This made the steep climbing laborious and frustrating. The day wore on, the hours passing faster than the distance or elevation, it wasn’t long before we had given up on the enchainment of the three mountains and set our sites on just Aragorn. Occasionally I would get so frustrated with sinking and slipping backwards in the loose snow I just wanted to scream at the top of my lungs, but every time I glanced behind me and saw Tona grinning, clawing her way up the slope behind I felt better.
The ridge turned up sharply and rock began to jut out of the snow cover, we ground to a crawl as the climbing started to feel a little precarious. Just beyond this steep section was the summit ridge, our goal not too far beyond that, but looking behind us Tona was unable to climb the steeper ground we had just covered. We tried to coax her up, and though the tried tirelessly to climb she could make no progress. Bob stepped one foot into the couloir and reached out for Tona’s collar to help her up to our perch on the rocks.
AVALANCHE. No one yelled it, but we could all hear it, all see it happening. Bob was right in the thick of it, his one footstep had caught and dragged him in. The snow around him was churning, large blocks of snow dragged down the couloir as logs in a raging river, Tona had been caught too, and immediately she had completely disappeared from site. Bob, who had been only a few feet from me seconds before, was getting pulled further into the couloir in a strange whirlpool type motion I couldn’t fathom, a look of confusion on his face. It didn’t take him long to act, rolling towards me he fought his way free of the churning snow and ejected 10 feet or so below my perch on the rocks letting out a mighty shout of excitement and relief, seconds later Tona too came shooting out from the frothing snowpack as if shot from the barrel of a gun. Mitch leapt clear over me and down towards Tona to grab her and calm her, and make sure she did not get pulled back in. I remember standing on the snow-covered rock, feeling insecure though on solid ground and in no risk, gripped, not by fear, but uncertainty, confusion, and adrenaline. I trembled as I quickly swapped my ski poles for an ice axe. We all exchanged looks, and with not a word spoken on the subject we turned and began the long descent towards the hut. It was very late in the day now, the day light starting to leave before we even managed to return to the hut. We packed quickly and set out as fast as we could for the long march back to the truck.
The light barely lasted to the end of the lake, “Didn’t we already break a trail here?” I exclaimed, annoyed to be trudging through powder in the same place we had the day before. The hike out was painful, and the day had already taken so much of our strength. Mitch, a dedicated runner and fitness machine had his Garmin gps watch on, and to add motivation we took turns breaking trail, 1 kilometer each, lets see who can cover the distance fastest. We ran as fast as we could, trying desperately to beat one another’s time. Bob would set a record, Mitch would break it, I would come up short, repeat, every time the watch beeped the man in front would step off trail and fall into the back of the line. My feet were killing my, my back aching, running to the car, loathing the experience, but loving it. We continued this system until we reached the truck, long after darkness had surrounded us.
“I guess they only plow this road on weekdays” we reasoned, the snow covering the road as high as the bumper on Bob’s pathfinder. The all-wheel-drive worked wonderfully as Bob coaxed the truck down the snow-covered road with surprising speed. It didn’t take long for the effort of breaking through all the snow sent the temperature gauge through the roof, the vehicle was seriously overheating. We stopped and waited, hoping the car would cool off, but it didn’t. Unsure of what had happened Bob stepped out to look under the hood, a few minutes later he returned and slowly started moving the truck towards home. Slowly but steadily the temperature began to fall, snow had jammed up the entire front of the engine compartment, preventing any air from accessing the radiator. I remember sitting in the back seat, exhausted, my eyes darting from the temperature gauge to the road, searching for kilometer markers, hoping we would make it to the highway without wrecking the truck, and home.
–This had been my first winter mountaineering experience, all of my other travels limited to spring through fall. At the time I had no real knowledge of avalanches and the specifics of how they form and are triggered, none of us had been carrying shovels or any other avy gear. I’m very glad to say my knowledge and experience has grown exponentially since then. We got very lucky, obviously escaping unscathed where one, or all of us could easily have perished.
andrewleduc
avidalpinist
Luke Elder
the avid alpinist 