Geoffrey Capes was prolific at keeping a personal diary. For years he wrote daily about the weather, local events, and details of his numerous mountain trips. All his diaries are now kept in the archives of the Courtenay and District Museum. Following is some of the stories from his diaries that were later edited by his daughter Katherine Capes.
Courtenay to the Summit of “The Dome” (Comox Glacier)
July 26 – 30, 1929.
Friday, July 26 was dull and there had been heavy showers in the morning. Undeterred, however, six climbers – Mr. Cyril and Miss Alfreda Berkeley from Departure Bay, Mr. Arthur Leighton from Victoria, and Messrs. W. Adrian B. Paul, Ben Hughes, and myself, all from Courtenay, left the foot of Comox Lake in Harry Rees’ launch at noon, relying faithfully in a good luck omen in the form of a black cat that had crossed in front of the car. When at 2:15 we shouldered our packs at the head of Comox Lake, the rain had ceased. Following the old trail and skid roads of cedar poles made by loggers, we reached the foot of the First Trout (Willemar) Lake at 4:15. Here we piled into three boats, one without rowlocks, and rowing two and towing the third, we arrived at the head of the lake at 6:00 p.m. Following the Puntledge River, now only a stream on our left, we walked along a swamped-out trail through a magnificent stand of timber to the Third Trout Lake. Here we found, as if made for us, a rough table with seats, and a fireplace, which we designated Base Camp. After eating, Paul made his way across the lake to get bearings and view the route, and the fisherman (myself) waded out into the water, where, besides getting cold feet, I caught a fair-sized trout. Next morning, we left behind all the comforts of basecamp at 5:25. on a bearing of N65° W magnetic, we climbed to the top of Comox Gap, about 1200 feet elevation. Then on a bearing of S75° W, still climbing steeply, though the absence of much underbrush made the going good, we reached a small pond at about 7:00. Here a halt was called for breakfast. The weather continued to improve, the clouds lifting. On again, we climbed steeply to a bluff giving us a view of the Puntledge Valley. a short descent, then rising again, we saw through the trees on our right the valley of the southern fork of the Cruikshank. A breather followed, while oranges were consumed and hardtack thrown at inquisitive whiskey jacks, who ignored it. Another short descent, then a steep rise, sometimes hugging the bluffs over the Puntledge Valley, other times scrambling through thick azaleas (probably white rhododendron bushes), brought us at last to the more open country of the highlands. Topping a rise, a superb view bursts upon us. In the brilliant sunlight, the glaciated “Dome”, slung between two peaks, gleamed ahead. South of the glacier, a towering square peak we later named “The Pillar” (The Red Pillar), streaked with a long white cloud, dominated all the other mountaintops. Eastward, the Comox Valley, the sea, the smoke of Powell River, and the myriad peaks of the Coast Mountains stretched before us; while on our left spread the flatter country of Alberni, across another jumble of peaks. For a while we travelled over more level ground to the summit of Mount Evans [Kookjai Mountain], from which we descended steeply into a park-like valley, where the heather tempted one to rest under the shade of the scattered trees. A fair-sized lake (Tatsno) connected by a stream to another smaller lake. The ascent from this inviting valley was up long slopes of mostly bare rock, to the summit of a mountain we christened on our return Black Cat Mountain, owing to our success. It took a little time to find a way down Black Cat Mountain. We followed a deer trail along a ledge, until it gave place to a sheer cliff. By hanging on to trees and branches we descended into a narrow valley or pass. I broke my alpenstock here. Climbing brought us to the base of “The Dome”, reached by a short steep bit onto a gradually rising ridge, more or less flat on top and not very wide, which we named “The Dome Approach”. The final stage loomed ahead and above. It might be possible to reach the top by dark but the route was unknown. No one was sorry at the decision to make camp at 3:30. The sky was cloudless by sunset, giving promise of a chilly night at our elevation of probably 4250 feet. We were in a fairly sheltered spot, a rocky ledge at our backs, with patches of snow all around us. A log fire was built, boughs were spread on the heather, and more boughs erected in the lee of the ledge. The packs filled with heather made good pillows. We lived in the lap of luxury and supped on bacon, sausages, bread, butter, jam, and coffee. While daylight lasted, we scrutinized the cliff above us; a ledge seemed to offer a possible route. The party gradually settled down on the bough beds. The fire burned brightly at our feet; the two outside men were the coldest. Sometime after dark an eerie wind swished past, making a sound as of a gale in the trees, only there were no trees. Most of us slept well in about 20-minute snatches, occasionally everyone rising simultaneously to get nearer the fire. Before dawn we all drank a cup of Oxo, and at 3:30 got up. The eastern horizon over the Coast Mountains gradually lightened into a vivid orange until the sun rose. After a light breakfast we moved off at 5:00, taking only enough food for one meal. The ledge we had studied from our campsite proved wide and easily negotiable; in fact, we called it the “Wagon Road”. We climbed between the snow and the rock then scrambled up a steep brush covered cliff to emerge on a small mountain connected with the main mass of “The Dome”. The Twin Peaks and the glacier drew our eyes always. What had appeared simple at a distance became different on a closer view. Instead of continuing on and up, we found ourselves descending to an intervening deep gully. The negotiation of the gully took us some time but, that accomplished, the final stage was before us. We came to “Two-Tree Pass”, named after two widely separated lone trees. The top of “The Dome” from “The Dome Approach” had the appearance of one side of a cube, with precipitous walls. On the southeastern corner of the cliff bulged out, reminding one of a fortress with a bastion at one corner. Although steep, the “bastion” proved an easy route to the summit from the pass. Climbing leisurely up the rocks for about 1000 feet, we paused here and there to examine many flowers – penstemon, saxifrage, and phloxs. Veering to the right through a thick patch of scrub cedar, we reached the edge of the glacier at 8:45 a.m. Not much of the big snow field was insight; it was hidden over the brow. A crevasse not far away decided us to use the rope. Paul leading, we followed parallel with the bare rock of the southern edge until we had climbed over the brow, when a vast expanse of dazzling whiteness met our eyes. I should judge the snow field to be about two miles long by one wide. It was not level, but very like its name, “The Dome”. The glaring white of the snow was a vivid contrast with the intense blue of the sky. We climbed gradually higher, turning at right angles, parallel with the other magnificent glacier (Cliffe Glacier) and its guardian peaks (Argus Mountain and The Red Pillar). A steep bit and, at 10:15 we reached the highest (6445 feet), a rough, rocky island on the northern edge of the mountain. Below, between us and the sea, the only sign of civilization was the Comox Valley basking in the sun. The main street of Courtenay was plainly visible through the glasses. Our first thought was to light a fire with the sticks we had collected along the way. Then we poured on our “pillow” heather, which we had kept in our packs. This made a smoke that we hoped would be seen from Courtenay. To the east and the north, across the Strait of Georgia, the peaks of the Coast Mountains stood out, Mystery Mountain (Mount Waddington) being plainly visible. Out of the haze to the southeast rose the top of Mount Baker. Immediately north of us lay the Forbidden Plateau, showing Mount Albert Edward and the other mountains of that area. Southwest, west, and northwest stretched a wilderness of sharp peaks, many of them higher than our viewpoint. Numberless little glaciers hung to the sides of the mountains. A deeper blue through notches in the peaks indicated the Pacific Ocean. A thousand feet or so below us lay a small lake of vivid green ice (Miller Lake). The other glacier (Cliffe) and its two peaks appeared of easy access by a narrow, flat, snow-topped ridge. Having eaten, we investigated the well-built cairn that stood on the highest point, and to our regret we found nothing in it. We wrote our names and addresses on a piece of paper and put them in a box, which we buried in the cairn. It happened that before leaving camp in the morning, Paul, grieving for my alpenstockless condition, had fashioned out of a small tree a thick and heavy substitute. Although I might have had desperate need of it on the descent, the party without by-your-leave, considering the symbol of more important than the individual, now commandeered the stick and stuck it upright in the cairn, tying thereon a flag made of a Quaker Flour sack, which would have waved in the breeze had there been any. We started the descent at 12:30 and, returning over much the same route we had followed in the morning, reached our campsite at 3:30. After eating, we set off again at 4:45, descended into the pass, and, in the broiling sun, made the arduous ascent of Black Cat Mountain. We struck straight across the top and descended into the green beauty of Evans Park [??], reaching our lunch spot of the day before 6:45. We decided to camp here, and the first thing everybody did was to head for a swim, Miss Berkeley to the upper lake, the men to the lower one. We left camp at 6:00 in the morning and climbed to the summit of Mount Evans. We could see most of the route we had followed to the top of “The Dome” and we spent some time taking a long farewell of the magnificent scene. Two pigeons flew by us as we made our way to the highest point of this mountain, where we built a cairn. We came unannounced upon a buck and two does. The buck watched us with twitching ears, then suddenly gave vent to two long, loud snorts and darted away. The black flies kept us on the move when we would have rested for a spell. We lost our way for a time but soon our leader, Paul, signified with his favourite grunt to come on. We found our old friend the Breakfast Pond and, from then on, negotiated the uncomfortable descent to Comox Gap and the still worse travelling over the loose rocks down the final steep slope to our Base Camp, where we arrived at 10:45 a.m. We revelled in various soups and foods and unlimited tea. About 2:00 p.m. we packed up and hiked through the forest to the First Trout (Willemar) Lake in about 40 minutes. We embarked in the boats and arrived at the cabin at the foot of the lake, then lazed away the rest of the day. At 8:00 next morning, leaving the boats as we had found them, we set off down the partial skid road trail to Comox Lake. On reaching the lake at 10, Rees and the launch were waiting for us. On the way down we stopped the boat to have a last look at the corner of “The Dome”.
From Courtenay Across the Mountains to Buttle Lake
July 11 – 24, 1930.
We drove to Bevan just before 7:00 a.m. Barty Harvey (game warden), his big dog Sport, myself, and two packs were allowed to pile on to the Comox Logging Company’s speeder with the men going to work. The speeder was a Ford engine on the front car with attached trailer having a seat lengthwise on its sides. We crossed the Puntledge River and zig-zagged up the mountain. This saved us an arduous climb through the uninteresting logged off country. At 1700 feet, when we reached the timber, we got off and started up the Becher trail. The weather was sunny, with light clouds and a cool breeze. My pack weighed 45-pounds, Barty’s a bit heavier. As we did not propose to tire ourselves out, we took our time, and it was not until 12:40 that we reached the Mount Becher cabin, built by Comox District Mountaineering Club. At 2:00 we set off again climbing the steep hill over the shoulder of Mount Becher. On the more level an open spots Barty stopped to put on Game Department signs, for this part of the country has been declared game reserve. The rough ground was a mass of purple (red) heather in bloom, marked here and there with patches of white heather. At 5:10 just before a shower came on we reached the late trapper Tommy Anderson’s cabin on McKenzie Lake. Staying here for the night we enjoyed a supper of Aunt Jemima’s pancakes, later walking around the meadow surrounding this end of the lake, where voracious mosquitoes were in much evidence. The meadow grass was a vivid green against the dark patches of timber on the mountain sides. We watched four deer for some time, their curiosity about us bringing them every once in a while a few steps nearer. Although there were plenty of mosquitoes outside, we were absolutely free of them sleeping on the old boughs on the dirt floor of the ancient cabin. Setting off next morning, after crossing the meadow it was all uphill through the woods until we reached the more or less level open country. At noon as we descended into the woods at Panther Lake, it rained a little. We lunched in the shelter of the trees, then crossed more open country till we came to the steeper scent that led to Croteau’s camp on the shore of Croteau Lake. The little cooking shack of shakes and the scattered tents were rather dismal looking, enveloped and drifting fog. We left at 4:15, following the trail back down the steep hillside, over some sodden grass land, then up and down across country. Eventually we arrived at the surveys camp on Circlet Lake. Regan, who was in charge of the Esquimalt and Nanaimo Railway survey party, made us welcome. Due to the low-lying clouds, they had been making slow progress in their work of fixing the boundaries of the proposed park. We were lucky to have found a shelter, as it rained all night. Owning to the unpropitious weather we delayed leaving until midmorning when the clouds had lifted a bit. The first part of the ascent up Mount Albert Edward was very steep, but good going over heather. About 5300 feet elevation, some 1300 feet above Circlet Lake, we struck rock, with low lying scrub timber in sheltered spots. A cold wind met us. Snow marked red in patches, lay here and there. A heavy shower of hail sent us crouching under umbrella-like branches of the low trees. This shower was the last of the bad weather. At length we reached the bare, wide mountain top, several hundred feet below the peak. Leaving our packs we reached the summit cairn (5858 feet) in 20 minutes at 5:00 p.m. There were many beautiful small flowers along the way. Buttle Lake and its surrounding mountains were smothered in cloud. Our prospective route lay thousands of feet below, down a timbered valley. We observed the divide between Cruikshank River flowing towards Comox Lake, and Ralph River, which we plan to follow, going to Buttle Lake. In the opposite direction, Seymour Narrows and the innumerable coastal islands were visible, though the main mountains were hidden. After leaving our names in the cairn, already stuffed with other names, we returned to our packs. We began to drop down a series of gently sloping terraces with almost perpendicular bluffs between each terrace; plenty of hand holds but the continual dissent was very hard on the legs. We saw a blue grouse and through the glasses spotted two otters on Ralph Lake. Then we were stopped short on the brink of 100-foot drop. After half an hour’s search we picked out a draw, which we descended. As we went down, we were struck at meeting vegetation characteristic of much lower altitudes on the coast side. he next half hour was one of the most trying I have ever experienced. In growing darkness, we forced our way through tangled brush, small growing trees, mostly cedar, interwoven with long horizontal older branches; underfoot were vegetation smothered boulders and broken rock. At last we struck heavy timber with less underbrush. It was 8:15 we had descended some 3000 to 4000 feet in three hours. On finding a comfortable place to camp by Ralph River, a spot of rum relieved our weariness in enough to enjoy an excellent supper. We turned in, the fire burning merrily at our feet, and slept fairly well until about 2:00 a.m. when we woke up cold so threw some more wood on the fire and made some Oxo. Sport must have had a hard day for he gave vent to some delayed action barking after sounds of something dashing through the woods had faded away. Mightily refreshed, we woke to a summer’s morning and left at 9:30. Fair going through timber along the river brought us in half an hour to Ralph Lake sparkling in the sunshine. An old B.C. Lands Department pamphlet describes the lake as abounding in gamey cutthroat trout, but nary a one would rise. Later, as we discovered the series of waterfalls that make up Ralph River, we did not see how any cutthroat without wings could reach the lake. The south side was impassable because of a mountain rising straight up; on the north side a wooded space divided the lake from the mountain. From then on the going was poor, due largely to all the growing outwards instead of upwards. After lunch we went down a steep descent, through some hard going with devil’s club, then up steep bluffs. At the summit we had a three-way view. Ralph River lay hidden below. We could see up the valley we had come, and down its tree covered length where it widens out toward Buttle Lake. Opposite us to the south another tree smothered valley (Siokum Creek) rose steeply until it carved out of sight between two mountains. One of the things that remains in my memory of that view was that the whole country, except for the mountain tops, was covered with trees. From such a viewpoint the amount of forest is striking. We made a long descent, probably 1000 feet or more, which was hard on tired legs. We kept to the river for a time and once waded to the other side, but the going was no better so we crossed back and climbed up a ridge, which we followed from then on. The top of the ridge, while good walking, seemed interminable. Finally, after about three hours we went steeply down to Ralph River and in a few minutes arrived at the long hoped for junction with Shepherd Creek. After wading across we made camp in a delightful spot on an open sandy beach free of mosquitoes. We decreed the morning for rest. Once more laden with packs, we struck off through the timber in early afternoon aiming for Henshaw Creek. It is an up and down country with occasional bluffs and a certain amount of salal, and on the bluffs starving timber. In late afternoon we reached the lake shore so had succeeded in our undertaking crossing the mountains from Courtenay to Buttle Lake. We followed the shore southwards to the head of the lake which entailed travelling around a long bluff, then through a terrible patch of mattered windfalls. Eventually we reached a big creek that we sought decided must be Henshaw. We crossed on a log through some devil’s club and down to a perfect camping spot on the shore. The remains of many shacks and bits of useful debris were there from an old camp. Next day with some logs, old shakes and rusty nails we built a raft, made a mast and paddles. We then paddled about a mile across the lake to set up a camp by a little stream. In the morning the wind being against us, we struck a blanket on the mast and went up the lake to Myra Creek. We explored upstream for about half a mile, till we reached a much-used camp site; cupboards nailed to trees, fireplace, and all the rough comforts made by campers who are staying some time. It was probably the headquarters of prospectors, as this area is all staked out in mineral claims. Going further we came to a wide dark pool; across it a simple magnificent waterfall an unexpected delight returning to the mouth of the creek, we decided to travel down the lake all night, to avoid the daytime winds. The lake was calm and the stars shone from a clear sky as we paddled. The air was warm and pleasant. Several times we heard melancholy howling away off which we took to be wolves. About 1:00 a slowly growing glow showed up on the rim of the mountain. Gradually a crescent moon appeared, then the whole of it, a deep yellow. At daylight we landed on a gravelly beach. About 7:00 a.m. I was awakened by the terrific heat of the sun, so hunted a shady spot. Waking again about 11 and seeing the enticing beach from which to cast a fly I could not resist the temptation. The “Queen of Waters” soon had attracted many fish. I caught nine, all about half-pounders. It’s 6:30 p.m. we shoved off on the unwieldy raft. We put up the blanket but progress was slow, about half a mile an hour. Just after 11 we were astonished to see a light a mile or two away that appeared and disappeared. Barty signaled with his powerful flash, but the light was seen no more. An hour passed by, and another; instead of blissfully floating we were experiencing a nightmare – condemned to paddle like fury and getting nowhere. However, another flash, much nearer, effectually awakened us. Barty’s signals were answered and we were soon within hailing distance. We touched shore to be welcomed by a man named Munro who had arrived that evening from Victoria with his two sons. Next morning we left the raft with regrets, though without it we could not have covered the 8 miles we had taken 14 hours to cover. Munro’s two boys agreed to take us in their rowboat as far as Mrs. Titus’s [Nootka Lodge], which required several hours. The lady at first appeared annoyed by the arrival of two tramps at her establishment, then made us welcome. A speedy motorboat took us to the foot of the lake where we put on heavy boots again and took the trail to the Upper Campbell Lake. About dusk we halted for the night in a comfortable cabin with a stove of sorts. Late next morning on reaching Sutherland’s Camp we were welcomed and given a hot meal. We then drove back to Courtenay which we had left two weeks before.
The First Two Ascents of the “Rooster’s Comb” (Golden Hinde)
July 18 – 25, 1937.
Sid Williams, Roger Schjelderup and myself left Courtenay about 7 a.m. on July 18, 1937, in Roger’s old Model T Ford truck. First, though, we had weighed our packs – Sid’s nearly sixty pounds, Roger’s about thirty-five and mine fifty pounds. Arriving at Sutherlands on Upper Campbell Lake we got a boat and rowed up the lake reaching the start of the trail to Buttle Lake at 11:30. On Buttle Lake we rowed to a beach two bays beyond Wolf River and camped at 8 p.m. We left next morning early in perfect weather: calm, with lifting clouds and sunshine. After about two hours’ row, we landed at Philips Creek and followed blazes up the creek. Soon we had to climb a steep ridge, but the going was good; not much underbrush, and few mosquitoes. We came across the surveyors’ Camp 2 across the river, six miles from Buttle Lake, where we made a two-hour halt for lunch. The going continued good, with a steady and easy ascent, now traveling more or less west. At 6:40 p.m. we met two of the survey party packers returning from Camp 3. At 7:30 p.m. we decided to descend to the creek for a suitable camp spot. All the way down, the ground was covered with windfalls, then we struck terrible thick bush along the creek. There was no gravel bar or any spot at all for camping. A few yards ahead on the other side was a large open space on the mountain slope, with patches of snow. Crossing the creek on a log we immediately struck terrible traveling – almost impenetrable bush interlaced with long, outward-growing alder branches, and no visibility. Sid finally climbed a small tree and we found a way out. It had taken two and a quarter hour to go no more than probably two hundred yards. We finally made camp at about 3000 feet on a heathery uneven slope alongside a brawling stream. A full moon lit up the country. Next morning, we descended to Phillips Creek, crossed and found the blazes without trouble, and at 10 a.m. emerged onto a small bluff. Hearing a shout, we saw through the glasses a man rapidly descending from the top of a 1000-foot pass ahead. Sid has a yell that can be heard for miles and for a time we had a yelling match. We went on, coming out towards the head of the valley with mountains on all sides. After crossing the creek on the remains of an enormous snow slide that covered it, we knew we had to go over the pass but had lost the survey markers, so waited for the man, who turned out to be one of the packers. He pointed the way, so we went on, crossed a rock slide and snow patch, then for four hundred feet, the blazes led us through brush and timber up a mountain side. We came out onto a wide gully of rock and snow. It was quite an arduous climb to the top of the pass, reached at 1 p.m. Below us the valley in which lay a string of lakes, the source of the Burman River, which empties into the West Coast. Here we lunched. On a mountain top [Mount Burman] across the valley we spotted two men, who turned out to be Alfred Slocomb and Robinson, surveyors. Just after 3 p.m. we started along the top for a short way, then made a steep descent through timber and brush for about five hundred feet to a lake [Carter Lake]. At the far end, staring by itself over a wooded ridge showed the “Rooster’s Comb”. At the other end we saw a tent which was the surveyors’ Camp 4. On the lake floated cakes of snow, broken off from the snow patches surrounding it. We followed along the shore to camp, where we met Slocomb and Robinson and made use of their fire for supper. Later in the evening we spotted a figure at the other end of the lake, who turned out to be Cyril Jones, assistant engineer for the City of Victoria. We had made space in the small tent for five of us; now we had to squeeze in six, where there was room only for three. It became very cold with fog all around us when we turned in. It rained in the night, but by morning showed signs of clearing. We left Camp 4 at 9 a.m., Mr. Jones accompanying us. A small lake just above the camp was still more than half covered with ice and snow. We topped the ridge and came down on a fairly large lake [Schjelderup Lake], the source of Wolf River. The clouds were lifting but the Rooster’s Comb would not clear. After waiting over an hour for a photo we did at least get a glimpse of the top. Our route lay around the left of the lake across three fairly large and steep snow patches, where a slip would have meant drowning. From the end of the lake, we looked down the length of the Wolf River valley. We descended steeply three hundred to four hundred feet, crossed over some flat ground, then had an uncomfortable traverse along a bush- and timber-covered mountainside. The route followed a short way up a small gully, which we left to emerge onto a ridge of the Rooster’s Comb in open country. Above to the right we could see the top camp of the survey party at about 5000 feet. Following the ridge tops we reached their Camp 5 about 4:30 where we found Norman Stewart, the head of the survey party, and his assistant, Dan Harris. They informed us they had that day [July 21] climbed the Rooster’s Comb. Stewart offered us Harris as a guide for our attempt next day. July 22 dawned a perfect, cloudless morning with a film of ice on the little lake by the camp. Harris led off at 8 a.m. We crossed an easy slope, then a wide scree and snow field until we reached a rock face, where we roped, although there were foot and hand-holds. Next, we crossed a few-feet-wide steep snow patch and then had more rock climbing. About one hundred feet from the top, we discarded the rope and made our way over broken boulders to the summit reached at 10.35 a.m. The “Rooster’s Comb” [now officially the Golden Hinde] is 7219 feet, the highest point on Vancouver Island, and very nearly at its centre. We stayed on top for over an hour, examining the surroundings and photographing. We put our names in the small cairn that Stewart and Harris had built the day before. We could see some of the survey party on the big peak of this mountain, away from the three-peaked summit we were on. We reached camp at 1:15 p.m. Starting homewards at 3:15 p.m., we arrived at the meadow at the top of Wolf River valley just above the waterfall by 5;15 p.m. There were a few ducks on the lake just above the falls. Three of us got to Camp 4 about 7:15 p.m.; I dragged in some half an hour after. In full moon light we all squeezed into the little tent. The next morning, we spent en-route to the survey party base camp, which we reached after a forced halt over-night. The cook treated us royally with a whopping breakfast. The rest of the day was lazed away in eighty-two degrees temperature. On the morning of July 25, we started down the lake in perfect weather, with the cook at the engine. Arriving at the end of the lake at 11:15 a.m. we lunched, said good-bye to the hospitable cook, and started up the trail to Upper Campbell Lake. Seeing no boat at the cabin at 3:55 p.m. we of necessity continued on the trail, reaching Sutherlands at 5:15 p.m. As seen from the truck, the logged-off rolling country to Camp 8 was a purple mass of blossoming firewood. We had clutch trouble, but reached Courtenay by dark.
Four Days in the Beaufort Range
September 4 – 7, 1938.
Sunday September 4 – Ruth Masters spent the night here. Katherine [Capes] had us all up by 4:30. Adrian Paul arrived and we breakfasted. Left home at 5:55 and drove to Grants Logging Road south of Fanny Bay, found the gate padlocked, woke up a lady who informed us there was no key, all we had to do was lift off the chain. We went three miles uphill until we arrived at a trestle bridge that Nell [Geoffrey’s wife] would not face after we left so we turned by a Donkey and left Nell to take the car back. Cut into logged off country. Struck a fire guard trail, the recent fire had just reached about here, then hit another old logging grade which provided good going until it became covered with a thick alder growth. The sun was shinning with some cloudiness. We looked across a valley to another grade higher than we were and it took us from 8:15 to 9:40 to reach this point over very old slash and windfalls and through some green timber. At 10:30 after a steep descent through fireweed the fluffy seeds of which got in one’s eyes, we reached a fairly big creek where we lunched. At 11:05 we followed the lefthand grade of a narrowing valley, logging had been done high up the mountains on east side, there was a tremendous amount of bad slash. We followed a grade which still had steel [railway tracks], two or three trestles had to be crossed and then the going had become too steep for a railway and a cab road took the place of its railroad. Near the end of this we decided to begin climbing and picking the most suitable route, we climbed up a steep ascent through the timber, in places it was almost too steep to climb on the dry soil. The sun had gone by then and odd clouds were drifting up the valley. At 1:50 we reached an easier slope and continued through woods upwards. A very gentle rain started which became heavier and it was not long before we were soaked. We had reached the normal summit surroundings, heather, rock and stunted timber. We had a view of the Coast and Denman Island where the sun still shone here and there. I got stuck on a small bluff in one place and was glad of Paul’s rope. We considered stopping but although there was plenty of water in the air, we found none on the ground but we stopped at 4:00 after a little search for the most suitable spot. There was a little puddle of rain water which Paul scooped up with a cup and we all had dug a hole in a dry pot hole and enough water seeped through for our wants. We built a huge fire, took off some of our clothing and dried it. Paul’s rope became a clothes line strung between two trees. Ruth interested us into taking honey with tea. The rain more or less ceased but the clouds were impenetrable. I wanted to go on but was in the minority so after getting wood for the night I turned into my sleeping bad under a tree. The others did the same later. It was about 6:30 and still light, but I figured the more rest the better.
Monday September 5 – Slept very well with wakeful intervals when I heard the rain pattering and it was raining when we rose. Visibility a hundred yards or so. The rained ceased at 6:55 and we moved off and by 7:20 reached one mountain top. We could see nothing except in one direction and that was just a glimpse of Sproat Lake. We could only estimate its height, anywhere between 4000 and 5000 feet, one or two of the peaks we climbed might have been a few hundred feet higher. There were odd snow patches here and there. We seemed to warm after descending the peak, quite a fair-sized lake reposed on the mountaintop. By 9:30 we had come down some distance and the majority decided to have a meal by a little lake. It took a lot of hard blowing and a lot of searching for dry chips to get a fire going. We had no axe but Paul had a candle. We made a hearty meal and continued upwards about 10:30. I do not know how many actual summits we climbed on this trip but it was up and down all the time. More of a descent between some peaks than others. Some of them were only rock and stones, with no vegetation. There were a few grouse knocking about. At 11:45 we hit probably the most difficult descent of the trip, a very steep bluff. Katherine used the rope as a precaution. Another high peak loomed up through the fog so we descended quite a distance by a fairly large snowfield and rock slide with some rather fine precipice scenery. Owing to the fog it was impossible to take photos. We climbed back to the ridge having picked an easier route than climbing over the peak. We looked down on a small lake and several narrow water courses. After going a little way it began to rain. We sheltered under trees. It became heavier with some hail. Finally, Paul and I left our shelter to return to where the girls were. We decided to build a huge fire right against a tree, one of a clump where we were sheltered. It took a little time and lots of blowing, but the trunk of the tree produced an up-draught; suddenly the flames roared upwards at the identical moment there was a clap of thunder. We stayed there a long time, had some oxo. There was a thunder storm some distance away. Finally, we went through the rain and fog and wind. On one mountain top we found a small cairn with a few smaller ones. We passed a very pretty fairly big lake, there were the remains of a bivouac by the edge. We hesitated whether to camp in some woods just above the lake, but decided to go on. About two the weather had no improved and there was little visibility so we camped in a small draw dividing two summits. There was no shelter whatever, but a very big log lay in a convenient position for lighting a fire. It again took some time to get one going, but in the end we had all the heat we wanted. We supped and turned in.
Tuesday September 6 – Both the girls sleeping bags got wet; the rain did not cease all night. The rain seeped through the zipper fastening on my bag, I used my trousers for a pillow ad they were soaked when I put them on; however, though the fog continued the rain had ceased and we got away at 6:30. At 7:00 we stood on the brink of a mountain gazing into a white fog in every direction; a strong wind blowing. Once by some caprice of the fog, we had a glimpse of the coast in one direction. We decided to wait. We went back to a more sheltered spot and built a fire and waited three hours then had a bite to eat, and decided to carry on finding our way by compass. Almost as soon as we started it began to rain and we ascended and descended peaks of varying heights, one or two quite high till after noon. We were soaked and the cold wind continued. We hoped every peak would be the last, and every descent we made we thought would continue, but always as we trudged another peak took gradual shape out of the mist. At last a much higher one than usual appeared and I suggested we make for the valley, but the others wanted to go on. There were a number of huge blue grouse on this mountain, probably feeding on the blue berries where were very plentiful and good. It was about one by the time we came down and to make Comox Lake by 4:30 meant we had to do something about it so we decided to descend. We worked our way from one step to another, until we were more or less below the bluffs, then for several hundred feet we descended by means of a small rocky creek which of course gradually became bigger and we took to the woods alongside. There was little underbrush for a couple of thousand feet and we made very good speed, but the rain continued though we could not get any wetter. Finally, we got to lower elevations. The down logs and brush became thicker, and the going was bad. We struck survey lines. Somewhere about 3:00 we struck the Alberni Comox Lake Trail and started homewards. We had come down so fast that my legs had become groggy, probably from my soaked trousers; every time I jumped from a log it felt as if my legs would give way. We heard a caterpillar tractor not far away, and to our surprise we emerged on to a road in the process of being made and about 3:45 to our surprise and also probably to the surprise of the inmates, we found a small logging camp consisting of two cedar shake buildings and two large tents. This turned out to be a road construction camp of 16 men belonging to the Alberni Pacific Lumber Co. It was 4 o’clock and the men were having their supper. The foreman said we could eat afterwards. We stood around the cook store and the Chinese cook and Chinese dishwasher gave us a good meal. These two cooks gave up their beds in the cook house to the girls and Paul and I were given beds in one of the big sleeping tents. After I had got fairly well dried out I talked to one of the loggers until about dark when everyone turned in. We were even given a pillow with white pillow case and it was good to be under shelter with the rain pattering on the roof.
Wednesday September 7 – Up before 6:00. The men breakfasted about 5:30. After they had gone, we were given a logger’s breakfast. Stewed pears, porridge or other cereal, toast, two eggs, all the bacon we could eat, fried potatoes, waffles and syrup. It was a dull morning but fine. They told us it as nine miles to the lake. My clothes were dampish, but that was no great discomfort after yesterday. We walked to the end of the grade, and watched the gas shovel at work. Then took to the woods until we reached the end of the work where the loggers were falling trees and clearing out the right of way. We had some difficulty in picking up the trail, but after finding it and shouted good bye to our logger friends we followed it. We had a little difficulty in picking it up where it crossed a creek. In a mile or two we came to the Comox Logging Slash, and were lucky enough to strike a cat road right away. The sky was clearing and it became sunny; at a halt we were able to discard sweaters for the first time in two days. We hit an old railroad grade. Saw one deer and one bunch of four. We came on the railroad and at the end of three hours arrived at the head of Comox Lake at 10:30. After some discussion I decided to ask Blackburn to make a special trip instead of waiting till 5:00 when the loggers left work. We were able to make our arrangements by phone and got Nell to meet us. We were home by noon.
From Buttle Lake to Great Central Lake
August 14 – 19, 1944.
Ted Greig and I pulled out of Courtenay on the afternoon Campbell River stage. From Campbell River there being only a few passengers for Camp 8 of the Elk River Timber Company, we went on by car. We were given two beds in No 12 Hut, the flunky suggesting there were not many bed bugs there. We’ve got a couple of loggers lunches from the cooks – great big sandwiches, cake, pie, biscuits, and an orange. A logger’s breakfast – I took only eggs and bacon but there was everything imaginable; the coffee was good. At 6:50 we boarded the train which took us to Upper Campbell Lake. We went along the lake to Camp 9, a very much pleasanter place than Camp 8, with a fine dining room and kitchen. We had another cup of coffee while we were waiting for the speeder. On the radio in the Time Keeper’s shack we heard the news of the American landings in the south of France. Before the news was over the driver of the speeder announced his line was clear and we started on the next lap of our trip. The fire at Buttle Lake was still burning quietly at high levels. We saw some deer. At the end of the line we walked to the lake. The forestry people were occupying the old building and the cook gave us another cup of coffee. At 11:20 Harry Rogers picked us up in his outboard. Thousands of white butterflies were flying above the lake, hundreds dropping on the water. One would have thought the trout would have been ravenous for them but only an occasional fish rose. The sun was warm for about half way but there was a chill wind. At the head of the lake Harry Rogers rode us a little way up Thelwood Creek to where there was a cabin. He said there was a horse trail to Great Central Lake. After a meal we started at 3:20, bowed under 45-pound packs. We were able to follow the old trail fairly well though there were plenty of windfalls and tangled bush. we were climbing very gradually. The only thing of note was a magnificent timber, gigantic furs and Cedars. The stream was milky. At 7:00 p.m. we took off our boots and socks and waded to a shingle bar in the creek, quite a pleasant spot and a safe place for a campfire. We dined magnificently on chicken soup, roast beef stew, bread and butter, peaches, coffee, and cake. We rose at six and were away by 8:30. Thelwood Creek had branched away from us and we were following Price Creek. We had trouble finding the trail. It always disappeared when we struck a gully and there were plenty of them filled with alder and devil’s club. The good timber still stayed with us as we were not very high. Innumerable white butterflies fluttered around the treetops. We descended to the creek for lunch at 12:30, taking an hour. At length, exhausted by constant periodic struggles with salmonberry, alder, and devil’s club filled gullies, we stopped to camp 6:15 in a fairly decent spot on clear ground and a big trees. We were rewarded with a magnificent glimpse of the soaring peak of Mount Septimus. Signs of game were numerous – deer, bear, and elk. We broke camp at 8:15 and for a time had good going. At 10 we ran into acres of alder reaching across the valley of Price Creek, which here turned east. The trail had entirely disappeared. Without a contour map we had to make a decision. The valley of Price Creek was the only gap in the mountains; there was no visible pass. Directly south lay Mount Septimus. We decided to go south as it was the direction we wanted to go. We dived into the bush, crossed the creek, and started the ascent. At 11 we had a snack by the side of a little creek. The going was hard and steep around bluffs, never knowing if we should find an impossible one. At 1:45 we struck a wide valley of stones and flowers but no trees or running stream. There was a single patch of snow. We lit a fire and melted enough snow for a hot cup of tea. At 2:30 we started up the stony, wide valley the slopes becoming easier. At 3:20 we looked down upon a fairly large lake of unbelievable light green colour; Cream Lake according to the map. The water was not clear like all the other lakes in this country, presumably due to limestone formation. We saw that the lake was at the only spot from which we could safely reach the ridge, a spur of magnificent Mount Septimus. A little to our left, the mountain’s dark peaks soared above our heads. It took us half an hour to make our way along the shortest east side of the lake to the open, stony level at the south end. Here numerous tiny streams, some glacial coloured, some clear, twisted to the lake. Three majestic peaks, one of them looking unclimbable, rose above us. A small glacier nestled on a connecting slope. We found the remains of a large campsite and, presuming it to have been left by the survey party, spent some time trying to find their route in. Finally, no spot looking any easier than any other we started to descend to the valley south of us at 4:45. The going looked uncomfortably precipitous but well covered with bush. We were to discover that the thick bush had the many sheer bluffs. We swung down, using our hands and arms as much as our legs. Once there was a traverse over 20 feet so thick with tangled cedar that we had to take off our packs to get through. Often it was so precipitous we had to let the packs down by rope. It rained for a short time but in our preoccupation, we hardly noticed it. At last we reached the precipitate, noisy creek at the bottom as we made our way down its huge boulder strewn bed, seeking a comfortable camping spot, we looked back in disbelief at where we had come from. We were very thankful to make camp at 8:25. We picked a rocky bit covered with grass in a bleak valley of masses of monster rocks, tumbled from the mountains around. After our ration of whiskey, Ted went off to get water while I got a fire going. Waking to a bright morning we set off at 8:30. Part of the time we travelled over the boulders and huge rocks of the creek bottom, part of the time through the thick bushes of a bluff to cut off a bend of the dry creek. We reached a flat, stony area, easy walking for a short distance, and ran into a surveyor’s stake. Our minds always on the trail marked on the map, something made us turn to the right into the trees and we found the gold mine I had heard of for years prior to the war. There were rotting fire hoses, numerous brass valves, a pair of scales, a drill press, hydraulic machinery, and the lines of the old aerial tramway. Down the trail was a rotting hut full of four-gallon gasoline tins. P. Burns’s name was on a galvanized 60-gallon tank. We ate the last of our oranges and continuing now on the trail, shortly came to a large cabin in good condition, which showed evidence of being in use with two new lunch kits and snowshoes on the wall. Altogether there were three very long and steep descents, though the trial had been zig-zagged. We had to cross the river on a log and later re-cross on a bridge in fair condition just below a waterfall. We began to breathe the air of the lower levels; the firs reappeared. At 12:45 we had three slices of bread and jam and hot tea on the bank of the now quiet wide stream, presumably the Drinkwater River. We kept plunging along. At 2:25 we reached the beginning of logged off land. We had a quarter of a mile of rough going through the logging remains and at 2:45 we hit the start of the logging grade. Rails had been taken up but the ties were left. We figured we had six miles to go to Great Central Lake where we had arranged to meet Paddy Burke. The country had not been thoroughly logged; there were patches of timber in all directions. The Drinkwater flowed to the right of us, quietly in the now more level country. We were getting tired. At 4:45 we glimpsed the lake. Shortly before we reached it we saw a boat cruising about, which we hoped was ours. At 5:30 exactly we stepped into Paddy Burke’s boat, capable of 25 miles an hour. The lake is 24 miles long. Storm clouds gathered and there was a shower of rain as we lolled comfortably. We reached the foot of the lake at 6:45. Paddy Burke gave us a small cabin belonging to Joe Drinkwater for the night. The legs of the table and bed were in small tins which we hoped did not mean bed bugs. We used the old chaps wood and stove to make supper. The surroundings were not very prepossessing, a few shacks on floats on the water, a few company houses just above, at a short distance Bloedel, Stewart, and Welch’s big sawmill. We saw long lines of booms on the lake, supposed to be 50 million board feet of timber. We were ready for the stage at 8:15 a.m. The day was sunny and pleasant, with mist over the lake, and the drive into Port Alberni was enjoyable. After a three hour wait at Parksville and Nanaimo stage came along about 3 o’clock. The day continued sunny but not hot; heavy cumulus clouds hung over the mountain tops. Ted got off at Royston. The bus let me off at my gate.
The Second Ascent of Elkhorn Mountain
September 2 – 6, 1949.
Charley Nash picked me up in Courtenay at 5 p.m. Friday. We proceeded up the highway through Campbell River to Camp 8 of the Elk River Timber Company where we waited for Phil Wolstenholmes from Campbell River and Bill Lash and his son Mallory Lash from Victoria. When the others arrived Charley and I drove to Upper Campbell Lake to arrange with Sutherland to have a boat to Camp 9 at 7 p.m. Tuesday for three of us (the Lash’s were staying till Thursday). That done we waited for the speeder from Camp 8, which came bringing the rest and pushing a flat car bearing the Lash’s car. Charley and I piled on. At Camp 9, where we got off, there was a station wagon belonging to an American family who had started up the road to Drum Lakes for fishing. Seven miles up the road the piles under a bridge had collapsed and their car had suffered serious damage. Their bad luck saved us from this catastrophe. Camp 9 was deserted but most of the doors were open. As it was too dark to go on we each got a cot and a mattress and slept very comfortably in our sleeping bags. The weather was superb as we set off next morning up the road in Lash’ overloaded car, five men with five packs. We carried two narrow planks eight feet long and with these we were able to get across the broken gap at the beginning of the bridge. Driving on 13 miles to beyond the logged off area, we parked the car on a wide bridge over the Elk River. It was 9:50 a.m, groaning, we lifted our packs weighing variously from 48 to 58 lbs. Proceeding through the woods we climbed steadily, the going not too bad. We rested frequently. At two we reached the only accessible water on this route. The mountain is steeper here but we made good progress. We rested at our campsite of a year ago, when fog finished our trip. We were all getting tired as we made our way up steep bluff after steep bluff, the rhododendron bushes helping us in the steeper spots. At last we reached the top of the ridge where the heather grew and could walk in the open. At 6:20 we found a fairly level camping spot above a small bank of snow with a tiny pool of running water. Soup and hot tea was the favoured menu. It was a breezy dawn but the sky was clear. We got away at 8:30 and traversed around King’s Peak, continually climbing over a series of terraces. The views were superb under a cloudless sky. Mount. Waddington was visible, its terrific mass rising above the other mountains of the Coast Mountains. In the other direction we could see the Pacific. At lunch cups of snow, which we hoped would melt in the sun, had to suffice for drink. Elkhorn was now in view but the route to it was still not clear. From here we descended over long, gentle slopes. At last, at 2 o’clock we were able to gaze at the majesty of Elkhorn, rising from a circular basin 1500 feet below. We could see a fair-sized creek running to one side of a beautiful campsite. Our ridge was at an end, blocked by a mass of rock we named The Thumb. The Lash’s plan was clear; below lay the camping spot for the advance on Elkhorn. To Phil, Charley, and me the issue was clear too; we could not climb Elkhorn and return to the boat rendezvous by 7 o’clock Tuesday evening. It was a bitter disappointment to have carried 50-pound packs over miles of tough country to no avail, and this the second attempt. Persuaded however, by the attractiveness of the scene below, we decided to go down with the Lash’s to the camp. It was not an enjoyable descent. For about 1000 feet we slid down heavy and light scree, then into gulches. At last we struck the remains of a snow slide and at the bottom flung down our packs. We could go no further had we wanted. This basin was the end of the valley blocked by Elkhorn. We contemplated the mountain. It was a tough looking climb but did not seem to be more than 3000 feet. We just wondered; normally one descends a mountain faster than one ascends. Could we possibly make the climb tomorrow and start on our return after getting down? My own calculation was that we could do the climb and be back by 3:00. The decision was changed; the five of us would attempt the climb. Now there was nothing to do but rest, a glorious feeling! I walked down to a small pool, bathed, and sunned on a rock. We woke to another day of superb weather. The climb started with a walk up rock slabs to a snowfield. It was not difficult up the snow to the col. At this point we could see something of our route and it did not look like an easy walk. In fact, from here on, except for one spot near the top, there is no place one could say is easy climbing. The mountain is composed of loose rock and we had to watch our handholds. Phil soon decided it would be better if he did not accompany us; he had not had much experience. The rest of us went on. There were no lack of hand and foot holds but one had to be continually watchful about knocking rocks down on the man below. Mallory led the party magnificently. The Lash’s had luckily brought a 60-foot rope; a longer one would have been better. We could not have made the climb without it. There was no way we could see to by-pass our first real difficulty, a 25-foot chimney with practically no holds and the two walls at a wide angle. Mallory got up and belayed each of us separately. Just above was a nasty spot, about 100 feet of sloping rock with no handholds. The slope was not excessive but it was covered with a thin layer of light, slippery scree. Mallory got up and belayed the others. I managed to find a little safe going, more to the right. This brought us to the base of the gendarme. Around a buttress of this, where one could not see, was another tricky spot. It was only a few feet but there were no hand or footholds on either the buttress or the sloping rock on which we stood. We belayed each other around. We had arrived at a steep snow slope. We roped up, four of us on a 60-foot rope. The two Lash’s had ice axes. The snow was very firm and it was not difficult cutting steps. The top of the snowfield brought us to the bigger area of flat space on the mountain. The final peak was now ahead of us. The ice axes were left here. The climbing continued to be very steep, in some spots very exposed, but there was only one more spot where the rope was used. We had a breather before tackling what looked to be the last of the worst of the climb; another chimney, though not as bad as the lower one. While being belayed a small stone hit Bill on the head. One trouble with this mountain is that when belaying there are hardly any spots where one can get out of the way. Once up the chimney the slope grew less steep. Near the top of the mountain about six small grey-coloured birds flew past, they looked something like swallows. A bee was buzzing around. We reached the summit at 1 p.m. (I had estimated noon). An hour on top taking photos and admiring the view passed very quickly. We roped down the chimney near the summit; Mallory coming last, rappelled. On the rope down the snow slope the two Lash’s, having ice axes, brought up the rear. We belayed each other around the buttress. Then came the tricky part over the light scree on the sloping rock. Mallory belayed us down this. At the bottom there was a space to dodge rocks. Bill and I, waiting there, were lucky that a big rock that was dislodged stopped before reaching us. The most difficult part of the whole descent came last. This was the first chimney we had tackled. Mallory had only one place he could stand from which to belay us; he kept his head down as low as he could behind a boulder while each man lowered himself to where he could tie on the rope. This chimney took a lot of time. I was down first and got the full benefit of the sun shining against me and the mountain behind. It was a beautiful sight to see the Pacific shimmering miles away in the sunlight. After Mallory had rappelled down, we did not use the rope again. We followed the rocks to a scree slope which took us down easily t the snowfield below. Phil was waiting for as at the col. According to taste we proceeded down the rocks or the snow. We reached camp at 6:40 p.m. There was no argument; it was impossible to pull out that evening. I wakened Phil and Charley at 6:10 a.m. It was barely light. I glanced back at Elkhorn and in a notch half way up the summit gleamed a blue morning star. We breakfasted, packed up, and the three of us were away at 7:20. Another wonderful day. We were able to travel mostly in the shade up the 1500-foot rise. The route picked was good but it took two and a quarter hours before we began the descent. First, we quickly disposed of a tin of tomato juice leaving the tin on a rock to guide the Lash’s. We hit our previous camp right on the nose at 11:35, had a good lunch of bacon, sausages, and tea and, starting again at 12:50 were soon on the steep bluffs. We made good progress hanging on to the bushes. We were lucky and struck the only pool of water at 2:15, drank quite a lot of it, ate some chocolate, took off our boots and socks, and bathed our feet. For the rest of the way we kept to the open bluffs as far as possible. Twice we had difficulty finding our way down and had to retrace our steps. The last hour was the worst, we thought the land was never going to flatten; it was an effort to put one foot before the other. Just before we reached the road we came upon a garter snake, 24 to 30 inches long, crawling backwards, the hind end of a huge toad in its jaws; the toad appeared dead. A long conveniently felled tree at last took us to the road, within 100 yards of the car at 5:10. After cooling off in the river we drove to Upper Campbell Lake. We left Phil there to arrange our transportation with Sutherland while Charley and I took the car back for the Lash’s. I went as far as the broken bridge to guide Charley across then started the seven-mile return walk. Charley drove on the other three miles; it was decided he would walk back quicker than I. I tried to make three miles an hour. It was 6:40 p.m. Although the sun was behind the mountains the still air felt very close. Occasionally from the open logged off land a delicious perfume was wafted on the air. At this time of day there should have been deer, elk, and bear, but I saw only signs along the road. Through the low-lying wooded area near Camp 9 the mosquitoes were bad. A deer fly buzzed around my head for a mile. I reached Camp 9 at 8:50 p.m. and saw smoke coming from one of the buildings. Phil and Walter Sutherland were waiting. They had soup and tea ready. Charley came along half an hour later. We had trouble with the outboard motor but at last proceeded down the lake, a full moon lighting up the landscape. It was after 11 when we got into the car. We left Phil at his place in Campbell River. Going down the highway we noticed a bush fire blazing near Cumberland. We reached Courtenay at 1 a.m.
The Golden Hinde Area
August 6 – 15, 1950.
Pilot Phil Langdon looked at our packs, Ted Greig’s and mine, and gazed at the mountains hidden by the clouds. He had thought our destination was Philip’s Arm, not Phillip’s Creek on Buttle Lake. He said if he could get off the water it would be all right and that he would chance the ceiling. We became airborne over the waves of Comox Harbour in the small piper plane at 3:45 p.m., followed the power line to about Quinsam Lake, turned west, and came over the lower end of Buttle Lake through a gap in the mountains. Following straight up the lake, we landed at Phillips Creek. At 4:50 we shouldered our packs, keeping on the south side of the creek, crossed the flats and soon climbed high up the ridge which we followed up and down until we reached a draw. We skirted the adjoining ridge, ascending to a flat place under the trees, and made camp at 7:25. We put our cooking fire on a large rock. We broke camp at 8:15, found two convenient logs to cross Phillips Creek and, climbing onto a more or less bare ridge, reached the creek entering from the north at 8:50, crossing it on another log. Then began hours of climbing a steep mountain through the timber, luckily with little underbrush. This mountain is an exception; not a drop of water. At 10:10 we stopped for a rest. We had managed to follow the odd blaze made by Ted and Bill Bell eleven months ago. At 12:40 we scrambled up a dangerous gully from which we moved on to the bluffs, still going up. I had promised to observe birds for Theed Pearse. At about 3000 feet we saw three chickadees. Later we observed some birds about three inches long with white lines along each side and white on top of head; the upper part of the body was black, the underpart reddish brown; they ran up and down the tree trunks. At 4000 feet we glimpsed a bird that called “chip, chip, chip”. By now we were at the level of occasional snowfields and at 3:30 melted snow for a cup of mountaineer’s nectar, hot tea. It was unusual to find snowfields and snow banks with no melting water. We started again at 4:50 and in half an hour we reached the summit, about 5000 feet. We were on an open ridge, surrounded by a ring of mountains. A short descent took us to a very beautiful and named lake (since named Greig Lake). On one side of the lake was a small island; 3/4 of the lake was covered with last winter’s snow. At 5:40 we found a lovely camping spot just above the stream that drains the lake. The sun shined brilliantly. We took a quick dip in the ice-cold water and came out exhilarated. A little nip of Rye Whiskey preceded supper of Lipton’s Alphabet soup, Kraft macaroni and cheese dinner, and jello, jelled in a snowbank. We turned in almost immediately. We got up at 6:30 the open water of the lake was a sheet of ice. We breakfast on prunes, cereal with Klem for milk, bacon and powdered egg omelet, and coffee. At 9:00 we started up a fairly steep bit, over bare rock and snow. The views all around were magnificent – Mount McBride and Marble Peak to the north; the Golden Hinde and others to the west; Mount Myra, Mount Septimus and Mount Thelwood to the south. We saw a bird about as big as a thrush at about 5000 feet; it flew in dips. We travelled alternately over bare rocks and big snowfields, the snow hard and easy to walk on. The ridge was anything but level, constantly dropping 100 feet or so and rising again. I saw the Silver Leaf Lupin for the first time; large patches were in full bloom. Bear signs were numerous and we saw a large number of deer in splendid condition. There were two bucks together, each with a wonderful set of antlers. We came across other bucks, one spikes, and does; sometimes in pairs, in threes, and occasionally in groups of four; and lots of singles. We noticed a curious rock formation on Marble Peak across the valley east of us. A wide, long, parallel band stretched diagonally up the mountain, as if cut by a giant machine. At 11:45 we stopped for lunch, tried the orange sherbert mixed with water; it was good but required some of our strictly rationed sugar. Continuing, we passed a family of time again. At 3:00, after a long descent, we paused for a look around and a cup of hot tea. Heavy clouds were forming on the mountain tops. We had a long, state pole after that to the summit of the ridge at 5748 feet, really a mountain peak [today unofficially called Mount Judy], unnamed, which we reached at 4:45. We gazed down on a steep descent of about 1700 feet to a lake [Schjelderup Lake] where we proposed to make a base camp. Some parts of the descent were easy; in other parts we had to search for a route. Toward the bottom we came on a rock bluff about 15 feet high which we got around after lowering our packs by rope. We at last emerged onto level going through bush. There must have been a terrific storm because everywhere there were small wrecked trees and scattered branches. At 6:30 we reached the lake, source of the Wolf River, elevation about 4200 feet, half covered with last winter’s snow. We crossed at the end on ancient logs drifted to the outlet, found a suitable campsite with a perfect fireplace and boards for a seat and a table, and for supper that our usual alphabet soup, followed by sausages with powdered instant potato, which we found excellent. We got into our sleeping bag soon after. The sky was cloudy when we got up so we spent an hour or so making a wood framework shelter covered with Ted’s plastic cloth. We set off without heavy packs at 10:45, travelling west up the ridge overlooking Burman Lake, skirting the lower ends of steep snowfields as we went. On the ridge towards the north the Golden Hinde. We tried to catch a ptarmigan but it eluded us. We had a little trouble finding a route in one place on the long descent to Burman Lake, which we reached at 1:05. We began climbing again up bluffs and through steep wooded areas. At 1:30 we were on the bare ridge once more and had lunch at a small pool, then continued upwards in large steps until at 3:10 we reached the last ridge, from which the Golden Hinde rose another 2000 feet. It was a bleak wintry scene, a vast snowfield filling the basin, the peak shrouded in clouds. Visibility was about 500 feet. There were patches of very red snow. A smooth, massive rock of peculiar formation stood by itself, looking as if put together in pieces by a stone mason. We found the remains of the surveyor’s camp from which we had climbed the mountain in 1937. Close by small stream flowed from a little lake which had thawed to the extent of a small pond of light blue water. We reached the level of the screen where a rare planted being accidentally discovered in 1937. Ted was anxious to get a specimen. He faced quite a task as a lot of scree which was bare then was now covered in snow. Ted searched and searched, climbing another 700 feet almost to the base of the clouds. I helped. The scree slope was a garden of flowers – masses of phloxs, red, white, and pink; and blue and yellow violets. We were unsuccessful. The air darkened, some rain fell, and at 4:25 we decided to pull out. We ate a section of chocolate and started off. Instead of following the ridge we decided to try another route and we’re sorry as we ran into a tough going. Wearily we reached camp at 8:05. There was fresh ice on the lake in the morning. We settled for an easy day and moved off leisurely in the sun at 9:45. We followed much the same route as yesterday until we were up on Burman Lake ridge. Then instead of going north we climbed a snowfield and edged south around the base of Mount Burman. We watched a ptarmigan with seven chicks, then continued angling up. We reached the top of this end of the ridge at 12:15 and lunched by a little pool. Then the question came as to whether to climb Mount Burman. Ted decided no. It took some time for me to make up my mind as there was first a 300-foot descent which was discouraging. The peak looked about a mile away. At last I told Ted that I would try it and be back by four, whether I had climbed the peak or not. I started at 12:40 it’s the descent to the snow field, then began climbing. The top part of the snow was very steep for a few feet and never wished for an ice axe but the snow was in excellent condition. From then on it was mostly snowfields of easy grade, with patches of rock. At last I reached the base of the peak but when I looked for a route up found myself gazing at a fair high peak, 500 to 1000 feet to the south. The real peak had been hidden by the one I was on. It would have to be approached from another direction, for before me was a sheer drop of 100 feet. This led to a flat floor of rock, blocked on the far side by an enormous snow bank. The wall of this tremendous arete of snow perhaps 20 feet thick at its highest point, was absolutely vertical, as if cut by a giant knife. I descended to the right onto a large snowfield, up which I climbed in a half right direction. Stuck for a few minutes trying to climb a wall only a few feet high, I circumnavigated it by climbing some steep snow. There were some 200 or 300 feet to go, alternate patches of snow and rock. It was interesting climbing and I think I found the only possible route. I emerged onto a short ridge and reached the summit, 5760 feet, at 1:45. The top was quite small. The surveyors had built a three-foot four-sided cairn; I could find no names in it and did not put mine in. I stayed only 10 minutes, time to enjoy a smoke and the view, then managed to follow exactly the route down by which I had come up and, making good time, was back at our lunch spot at 2:40. We had some difficulty getting down as we missed the way we had come up. A series of gullies filled with snow, too steep to walk on without ice axes and rope, kept driving us to the left, away from where we wanted to go. At last we got down to where the ridge turned north. We reached camp at 4:05. After an invigorating dip, followed by a lengthy and luxurious supper, we took a leisurely walk in the dusk. A grouse hooted all evening. We left our pleasant camp at 9:10 a.m. Once again laden with heavy packs we followed the west side of the lake, going partly through woods and partly over the steep snow, in one place having to kick steps. We reached the south end of the lake at 10:55; stopped to admire the view of the Golden Hinde and the colours in the brilliant sunshine. Continuing we climbed the ridge separating the lake from one immediately south. It was 11:40 when we descended to the second lake [Carter Lake]. Making our way along this lake, partly in bush, partly over rocks, we reached the lower end at 12:10. After lunch we faced east for a deep 800-foot climb. We saw two grouse. Reaching the top of the ridge at 3:05, we had a long rest, and picked our way down 1500 feet, hoping to hit the 13 year old surveyor’s trail to Phillips Creek. We did find it once but not to stay with. The bush was thick on the damp mountainside. The going was a misery, countless bluffs covered with slide alder frequently forcing us to climb back. Our objective was a big snowfield below. We finally got down to find it steep and slippery. Another obstacle. Thirteen years ago the whole basin had been cut covered by an avalanche. Now, through the tangled remains of the trees swept down by the snow, grew the inevitable alder. It was like going through a barbed wire entanglement, minus the barbs. It took us a long, long time to go less than half a mile to noisy Phillip’s Creek. We crossed the creek to find thick bush. At last we found a clear spot under a tree, put our sleeping bags on soft earth, and made our cooking fire on the stones of a narrow creek. The time was 7:35. We broke camp at 8:40, estimating it was 12 miles to Buttle Lake. For the next two hours it was up and down gullies, under and over many windfalls. We made barely a mile in just over two hours. At 10:55 we had a rest and after that the going improved. At 12:10 we lunched beside Phillip’s Creek. Here we saw a spike, a buck and a doe. The travelling continued to be mostly bad, our route varying from near the creek to going along ridges. We stopped for a smoke at 3:10 and at 4:15 had a snack by a large creek going into Phillips. We were on the south side of the main creek. On we went. The travelling did not improve. We began to hit devil’s club as well as windfalls. Up steep ridges, into gullies, on and on. Twice Ted got stung by hornets. At 7:10 we made for a flat spot under the trees near a stony beach and flung down our packs. A dip in the creek revived us. Our rations were getting short, we had soup and butterscotch pudding. It was not long before we were in our sleeping bags. There was a drop or two of rain at breakfast. We set off at 8 with a long pull up. For a while the going was a repetition of yesterday, then we climbed high up on a ridge which we followed for quite a time. At length we descended rapidly, struck the flats, and at 11:30 emerged at the mouth of Phillip’s Creek. A camp of three tents was on the beach but no one around. The pilot had been instructed to call for us at 6:00 p.m. Clouds began covering the mountaintops. About 5:00 a.m. an outboard motor pulled in with the campers, people named Jones from Victoria. They told us the plane had been in for us Friday, Saturday, and this morning; that we were supposed to be lost; also that the plane would not come in again for another two days. In spite of what they said we hoped the plane would come at 6:00, as arranged. We were packed, waiting, when suddenly we heard a plane coming. A Seabee came in and pushed its nose up the beach. It was not ours. Will Reid who owns the old Titus place had come to visit the Jones; he stepped casually out of the plane as if it were a car. He is a Californian, president of an oil company. We laid our sleeping bags under a tree. Suddenly there was the sound of another plane. We hurriedly flung our belongings into the packs but again it wasn’t for us. We waited up till dark then sought our bags. In the morning the low ceiling made it obvious that no plane would land. We had no food but the Jones very kindly fed us. The lake was dead calm; no sign that on the coast a very strong south-easter had grounded all planes. The weather improved next morning. We stayed on the beach all day, ready packed. At 4:15 the plane banked. It was the same Piper plane but a different pilot. He looked doubtfully at our packs and said he didn’t think he could get off the water. We left our heavy boots on the beach, hoping the Jones would take them out for us. We squeezed in and taxied out on the lake. The pilot pumped out the pontoons then we started. It must have taken a mile run to get off, going south. The plane banked, came round. We waved at the Jones on the beach.
Big Interior Mountain
September 4 – 7, 1953
September 4 – Left [Courtenay] at 6:15 p.m. drove to Qualicum, branched off on Hilliers Road on to the main road past Cameron Lake, through the heavy timber in MacMillan Park [Cathedral Grove] over the summit to Alberni, branched off, arriving at Great Central Lake at 8:30. No sign of anyone else so took the car down a bumpy disused road. Then waited on the main road, went back to the car to get my thermos and sandwiches; it was not till after 10:00 that Syd Watts, Connie Bonner, and Dr. Roger Stanier arrived from Duncan; eventually Rex Gibson, Margery Thomas and the more of the party arrived. I was on the wrong road so had to drive back a little way. The four cars had some difficulty turning. Most of the occupants slept on the road side. I slept rather cramped on the back seat of the car.
September 5 – Saturday. Up before dawn, cooked a breakfast by the road side, then made up our packs and went to Great Central Lake. It was 8:45 when 13 of us, Dr. Mark Mitchell had driven from Victoria this morning. Rex Gibson leading the party, Dr. Mitchell, Roger Stanier, Peter Thomas, Derek Hawkins, Nigel Scott Moncrieff. Bob Taylor, Cyril Jones, Connie Bonner, Margery Thomas, Syd Watts, David Francis and myself. It is 25 miles up Great Central Lake. We started up the old logging road and mining trail at 10:45. It was hot, and the leaders went too fast, we did four miles by noon, when we stopped in a pleasant spot for lunch; hot tea was made. We climbed steadily the rest of the day, passing numerous remains of the old mining claims. Cyril Jones’ lunch had upset him, and two of us stayed with him; we caught up with the party the other side of a very rickety bridge, where hot tea was made. Another party of three girls and a man passed us here, they had been given a five-mile lift in the Forestry truck. Afterwards I stayed with Cyril Jones till we reached an old mining camp on the Drinkwater River about 5. Here we decide to camp. A fair-sized log crossed the river; during the trip I had to cross it several times, and did not feel happy about it. Those that had tents pitched on the other side; I put down my sleeping bag, with my light plastic rain coat as a ground sheet. I made my supper, with about three or four others; hot tea and soup being all I actually wanted, though I did manage a sausage. It had been a very hot walk, with our packs, and I for one had sweated a lot. Turned in immediately after supper, before 8:00.
September 6 – Sunday. It was dark and about 4:00 when Rex roused us. We got our breakfast in the dark and were on our way before it was very light. We followed the left bank of the Drinkwater, through the fairly open woods, then some fairly hard bush whacking, until we were in an open basin; we soon came to a fairly steep snow field, up which we climbed; David the chap with the low shoes clambered up the cliffs. Above the snow field, we had a short traverse; across which to be on the safe side, we tied a doubled rope to a tree. Peter Thomas held the lower end; there was steep climb through some bush, then above this we started up the main snow field, which edged round to the North; we stopped for lunch on some rocks, then back to the snow field, which we gently, until we approached a small badly crevassed glacier. At that point Rex decided to put four of us on a rope; he leading, Peter Thomas, Margery Thomas, and myself on the end; the snow was steep, but in good condition, though the ice axe would not sink more than six inches. Rex leading, kicking steps, the others following; we had some areas of rock, up one was a fairly difficult pitch. The main peak of two, although both looked about the same height, was of course the farthest away, we got off the snow onto the stoney approach and were on the summit of Big Interior Mountain at 2:20. The sky had become hazy and there were a few drops of rain. The four of us unroped, and in 15 minutes were descending the south side of the mountain towards Della Lake; first over talus then on to snow; and rock patches; at about 5000 some prospectors had blasted into the mountain slope a passage about 10 feet by six feet high and over three feet wide; and just above had started another. We kept fairly high, traversing several long snow fields; I was the last and simply could not keep up with the others, Derek Hawkins stayed with me, until we reached Della Lake about 4:15, then for a while I kept up with the other. There was not trail around the lake; we had to move up and down the bluffy edge, a most uncomfortable part of the trip; when one was forced to stop, the mosquitoes covered one. I dropped my wrist watch, but luckily the chap behind me, picked it up. By the time I reached the easier going at the end of the lake, there were only two chaps nearby. Roger Stanier, and I forgot the other chaps name, we had to cross two creeks to at last reach the very steep trail. Roger Stanier left his axe behind and when we discovered the loss, would not go back. The other two went on, the height of the mountain here is probably at least 1000 feet. Della Falls, the main fall, and two lesser ones were northwards. The trail is so steep in places, that thick wires are attached to trees for packmen to hang on to. I was not too afraid to use them. It rained harder, and the clinging bush, was wet, so that it was not long before I was soaked to the skin; I had no rain jacket. It was a relief to at last reach the flatter ground although the bush covered the trail. I could see the smoke rising from the camp fires and I got in about 7:15, the other two apparently had got off the trail and were not much ahead. All the four fires were on the other side of the river. Hot tea was ready. Later on had some soup, cocoa with some brandy in it. I had to cross the log by flash light. Everybody who had no tents, made shelter, and Dr. Mitchell made room for us in his tent. He was not feeling well, so would not eat. Nobody had any change of clothing; I did have dry socks for the morning; it was after dark when I turned in.
September 7 – Monday. The rained ceased during the night, I had heard on the tent for a time, made a breakfast of bacon and one egg, and tea. It was overcast, but fine. Packed up. I walked down with Margery Thomas and Dr. Mitchell: two others catching us up a long way down. The weather was pleasant. About five minutes from the Lake, the Forestry chap met us; five had left their packs on his big truck and had walked on. Rex arrived and it was decided we should ride the rest of the way, in case the boat got in earlier than arranged. It was the roughest ride I have ever had, the road was rough, the truck travelling over boulders in places; he had to drive carefully over bridges; we had to watch for overhanging branches, we picked up the other five, and reached the Forestry Camp about 10:45. There is a wash house with showers, basins, hot and cold running water, and a big store. We dried our still wet clothes around the store, we had a good wash, one had a shower, and several shared, two went for a swim in the Lake. We also lunched. Paddy Burke arrived about 1:15; and we reached the end of the Lake about 3:15; I had a snooze part of the way. I changed my clothes in the car. We all met again at the Three Sisters Café in Alberni; I had apple pie with ice cream, and tea. Returned via Hilliers and went through Qualicum valley as I missed the turn; by the hotel. The sun came out. Reached home just after 6 p.m.