Tenquille to Owl Redux

Preamble:

It really is amazing what you can forget. Apparently, I've done 22 different ski traverses, 23 if you count the one I am writing about now; and at least 28 if you count my multiple trips along the Bonnington Range. And yet, I always seem to forget how painful the access, and often egress, can be.

Looking out over the Valhalla Mountains from the Bonnington Range

Among the most notable for suffering must be our attempted Southern Purcells traverse when our entire food cache for the second half of the trip sank into a lake leaving us with no food or fuel as a Pineapple Express pushed out the fiercely cold Artic outflow conditions with consequent extreme avalanche hazard. The snow changed to rain and we skied for days soaking wet with no food. On a smaller scale, was the three day traverse I did with the redoubtable Rick Collier in the Rockies in February in freezing conditions with a snow pack that ranged from 0 cm to 100 cm of facetted rubbish. We walked almost the entire distance carrying our useless skis. The effort was so intense my dog almost died.

Brian desperately trying to save himself from 

Rockies isothermal snowpack

On the Bonnet Icefields traverse, also in the Rockies, the snowpack fell apart half-way through the trip and our speed of travel deteriorated to less than a kilometre per hour as climax avalanches roared down around us. Then, there was the McBride traverse, stunning and terrifying at the same time. Or, the MistyIcefields when it was so misty we couldn't actually find the Misty Icefields and had to retrace our steps, or perhaps the Hurley Horseshoe when we walked 14 kilometres at the start because there was no snow. Let's not even talk about the Cariboos when in one day, the bridges across the capacious crevasses of the Gilmour Glacier collapsed.

Robin enroute to the Misty Icefield 

before it all fell apart

There have been broken skis and broken feet, ripped tents, and shredded clothing. But there have also been stunning mountain vistas, sunrises and sunsets, mountain tops and alpine lakes bathed in alpenglow, cosy camps shared with good friends, powder runs and corn snow descents, and above all the wonderful sense of adventuring in Canada's stunning wilderness.

Ski traverse feet

A decade previously, Robin Tivy, Betsy Waddington, Doug Brown and I had attempted the Owl-Tenquille traverse accessing the main divide from the north via tiny Opal Lake. We got as far as Tenquille Lake before one of my skis snapped in half and we had to abort the trip and exit via the usual Tenquille Lake summer track. My recollection of the exit is that, with two decent skis instead of a ski and a half, the egress would not have been too bad.

What spring ski trips are really like

So here we were back for round two, only this time we packed 5 days of food, brought an old friend from Golden along, and planned to ski in and out via the normal summer access routes. Although we were all ten years older, we thought we would have loads of time for climbing peaks along the way and enjoying endless corn snow ski runs.

Skiing corn snow on the Hurley River horseshoe

Day 1: In Search Of The Tenquille Trail

The car shuttle complete, we drove up the Hurley Road to Branch 12. As usual, a small patch of snow near the start blocked the rest of the road which was almost entirely snow free. So we walked Branch 12, about 5.5 kilometres to the trail-head where there is a map and signage attempting to discourage mudders and sundry other low-lifes from destroying the environment.

Meadow full of glacier lillies beside Branch 12

Not a good sign if you are out skiing

The trail is hard to follow with snow cover, but, if you can find it, the foot-bed helps immensely as the track basically contours while climbing gently around the hillside until it enters the Wolverine drainage where the terrain and forest open out.

"Might" be causing environmental damage, WTF?

Despite trying hard to follow the track, we lost it several times, each time necessitating either a steep ascent or steep descent - frequently both - through thick trees, into and out of creek gullies, dipping around melted out tree-wells and climbing over downed trees. Travel was slow.

Not sure if this is a smile or a grimace

Eventually, near Mowich Creek, which is in a deep canyon, we found the track again. As we were skiing into Mowich Creek to cross on a snow-bridge, Robin slipped off the track, went down and immediately began sliding, slowly but inexorably towards the depths of Mowich Creek. It wasn't funny, but, you know, it was funny, as Robin's eyes kind of rolled back in his head the way my old dog's did one day when he got caught in a small slab avalanche.

Robin tangled in a tree, Marvin comes to the rescue

In any event, Robin came to rest, somewhat precariously stuck by his skis in a small fir tree above a minor cliff. His hat sailed off the bluff and I am not sure what caused him more consternation sliding off the trail or losing his hat. Eventually, with Marvin's help, Robin was extricated and the hat retrieved. We continued on crossing Mowich Creek and finding a good sized level spot not much further on for camp.

Crossing Mowich Creek

Day 2: Up and Down Again: Tenquille Pass, Mount Macleod, Tenquille Lake

We were about as inefficient as you can be on this section whilst still making forward progress. We had another kilometre of steep contouring in the morning before we arrived at some large avalanche slopes below Goat Peak. Here the trees opened out, the terrain flattened and travel was much easier. After a lunch stop near Tenquille Pass we carried all our gear up through Fossil Pass and onto the summit of Mount McLeod.

Crossing avalanche paths below Goat Peak

The map made it look easy to ski off the east side of Mount McLeod down to a small tarn in a col and this is what we prepared to do. Blithely taking off our skins and storing them away we began skiing down. But, the east side of Mount McLeod is actually all rock bluffs and there was no way down. We looked about for quite some time without finding anything promising.

Turns out the east side of McLeod is not ski terrain

Back up to the top of Mount McLeod but we still wanted to get to the little tarn to camp. I had visions of this glorious scenic camp that got both morning and evening sun. The contours on the north side were quite tight, and the south side had melted so much we were concerned there was very little snow. And distantly, we could all remember that a decade ago, Robin and Betsy had set off to ski around the south side of Mount McLeod without success - we just could not quite remember why.

Copper Mound behind, skiers enroute to Mt McLeod

We discussed and discussed, worked our way down northerly slopes but no matter where we skied to we could not quite see if the route would go all the way. There was always a crucial roll-over or break point in the slope that defied clear vision.

North side of Mount McLeod

Like children, we were all getting a little tired and fractious, and eventually we decided to ski back to Tenquille Lake and camp there. So we set off skiing some very steep northern slopes while trying to remember where the Tenquille hut was. At one particularly sharp roll-over, while following Doug and Marvin down a steep pitch, I kicked off a wet slough that entrained my skis and carried me down. I tried to ski out of it, but my skis were buried too deep. All I could think was "I don't have insurance for this." When I finally toppled over the slough moved past leaving me a metre down below the surface of the snow. None of this inspired confidence in Betsy who was following behind.

My small slide at far left

It took very little thought to decide to sleep in the hut for the night and get drinking water from the lake.

Day 3: Along the Divide to Mount Barbour

Night brought a very light freeze and some real concerns about destabilising snow and rising avalanche conditions. We got back on what is the normal winter route (although none of us knew this at the time) and skied up a narrow valley south of Tenquille Lake to arrive at the col we had tried to access the day before. It became obvious that either route around the summit of Mount McLeod (north or south) would have worked if you followed ramps and benches down.

Skiing up to the pass east of Mount McLeod

The small 6,900 foot peak immediately east of Mount McLeod proved difficult too surmount although it looks easy on the map. This was pretty much the motif of the trip. Anything that looked easy on the map was difficult, and anything that looked difficult was quite possible. We were able to skin about 30 to 40 metres above the col before the angle steepened so much that skinning, even with ski crampons felt precarious. Somehow Marvin teetered all the way. When I asked later how he said "first, pray to God." This is a bit hard for an atheist to stomach.

The slope in shadow was tough to get up while frozen

The rest of us took our skis off, but I managed to slip while trying to get my skis off and was only prevented from sliding to the bottom by getting impaled on a small fir tree. Suddenly, it was not nearly so funny as when Robin slipped. I dare not move for fear of going further, and had to wait for Doug to kick steps down and hand me an ice axe.

Ridge top rest, this is why we do these trips

Betsy did a tremendous job kicking steps up this slope which was either diamond hard or breakable up to the thighs. Half way up, Marvin came down from above and kicked some good steps and we all finally dragged ourselves up to the 6,900 foot contour. In softer conditions this would be a reasonable route.

Overlooking Mount Barbour

The next obstacle on the divide, a 7,100 foot bump went easily and then we were looking at Mount Barbour. The best route appeared to be over an expansive 6,700 foot saddle on Mount Barbour's north ridge. There was some overhead hazard on this route but by staying far to the north we managed to avoid being under the worst of it.

Near Mount Barbour

There is a straightforward, but steep, southeast facing gully that leads down to two small tarns and we spent some considerable time looking at this before deciding that it was too mushy to safely descend.

Easy pass beyond Mount Barbour

Instead, we contoured around a castle like rock feature on Mount Barbour's north ridge and found a series of ramps that led down through light trees to the same location. We skied this carefully, one at a time, and still managed to kick off another wet slough.

Heading out to scope the next days route

We made camp by the lakes. A delightful spot only plagued by cool outflow winds. Doug and I read ahead and skied around steep slopes under Mount Barbour to confirm that the next part of the route would go. We skied in a nice flat track so that even in icy conditions the travel would be easy.

Day 4: Ogre Lake and Mount Ronayne

Our track from the previous day meant we had easy travel up to the pass southeast of Mount Barbour. Then a gentle ski down that gradually steepened as we neared Ogre Lake and ended in slide paths below Seven O'Clock Mountain. We took the first narrow gully that leads south from Ogre Lake instead of the more easterly one that Baldwin recommends. There is overhead hazard on both these routes.

Easy travel next morning to the pass south of Barbour

This is fabulous country and easier to travel than the more northerly section of the route. There are a multitude of routes to the small tarns south of Mount Ronayne. We went west around a bump in the middle of the valley and up a surprisingly steep slope south of Mount Ronayne (more overhead hazard) but a safer route would be to ski up the southern shoulder of Mount Ronayne.

Camp near Mount Ronayne

We found some flat slabs for a camp kitchen and set up camp in the upper cirque. Next day, we would have the steepest descent of the trip down to upper Fowl Lakes via a steep headwall known as "Fowl Wall." There was some lingering concern about this descent. If there was no freeze avalanches would be a concern, if it froze hard, slipping would be a worry.

Overhead hazard on the route to Mount Ronayne camp

Strangely, despite the fact that we all cumulatively spent hours looking at the map and trying to imagine the slope, we ended up going the wrong way. We went so far as to discuss a series of signals that the first person down would use to communicate with the rest of the people. You know, signals like "don't come, too dangerous," or "wait one more hour for the snow to soften." What we omitted from this was a signal for "we are going the wrong frigging way."

Skiing up Mount Ronayne

But first, Doug, Marvin and I skied up Mount Ronayne. From camp, we curved around a gentle ridge and skinned up to the big flat summit plateau. The very summit was accessible on skis via a narrow ridge which had just enough snow.

The summit ridge of Mount Ronayne

Day 5: The Wrong Col and Owl Lake

There are three small lakes that drain into Owl Lake and we had identified this valley as a possible exit route should Fowl Wall be too hazardous. However, our carefully timed preference was to ski down the normal route around 9 am when the slope should be soft but not mushy. In theory, that sounds good, but in practice, there was no overnight freeze and we all confidently skied down to the wrong descent slope.

Looking down at the wrong descent route

Standing at the top we were all devilishly relieved to see that it was not near as steep as we imagined. There was almost a clamor to go first rather than a carefully choreographed deferment meant to save face. We did not even bother reviewing our signals from the night before.

Heading down the wrong exit

Marvin went first, followed by Robin, while the rest of us thought about how something was just a bit off about the whole thing. There was no large lake below, the slope was not in the sun, and the descent did not seem nearly long enough. Betsy pulled out her mobile phone and it became clear that we were taking the alternative descent.

Back down into the trees

With no signal for "we've f**ked up" we felt committed to go down, so we skied down one at a time to communicate the bad, or good, depending on how you view it, news to the lead team. There is a fair bit of overhead hazard in this valley and a cornice fell while we were there, so we saved looking at the map until we had skied down to a safer area.

Way down the Owl valley

The standard 1:50K topographic map shows only two creeks which merge draining into Owl Lake while in actuality, there are at last half a dozen. Descending became a matter of trying to stay out of gullies and on skis. A couple of places were so slow on skis that I simply walked, and it was devilishly hard to avoid being sucked into steep creek gullies, but we did eventually slide out onto the flats near Owl Lake.

Past difficulties around Owl Lake

It is obvious from the map, which is correct in this instance, that it is easier to ski along the south side of the lake than the north, but that leaves you on the wrong side of Owl Creek. We were forced to take the north side. This was truly bad travel. Very steep, brushy, bushy, cliffy, with added blow-down and alder. Somehow we managed by combining skiing, walking and crawling to arrive at the southeast end of the lake.

Water filled valley

Here we found a cabin under construction and straight forward travel. I might even go so far as to call it easy travel if not for all the creeks that needed to be crossed. Most were manageable on deteriorating snow-bridges but one demanded we remove boots - and even pants for some - and wade across. This whole area is brimming with water. It fills virtually the entire valley bottom.

Stream crossing

Rather than walk out into the night, we made one last camp by a marshy area about 500 metres from the road. It was a pretty and pleasant spot to camp with some waterfowl resting on the lake.

Walking down the Owl Road

Day 6: Owl Creek Road

We were anticipating an easy ski out down the road, and, it was an easy egress, but not on skis. The warm weather had melted all the snow, so we only managed to ski a kilometre or two, almost all it inexplicably uphill before the trip ended the way they always do, walking down a logging road in ski boots.

These are my people