The Bugaboo Peaks, a trio of distinctive spires, emerge from below with absolute confidence. These volcanic intrusions are comprised of magma that never reached the earth’s surface. It slowly cooled and solidified over 135 million years, much later becoming exposed by erosion, and shaped by glaciation. The highest, Howser peak (above) captivates viewers as it extends to a jagged crown at over 3,400 metres. These towering spires of granite are magnificent up close, showing a balanced mosaic, mixture of lighter shades of quartz and feldspar, with black flecks of mica. The Howser peak is renowned as tough to climb, being incredibly steep sided and vulnerably exposed to fierce, changeable weather.
I’ve come to the high-altitude alpine of western Canada, to a world of sky, rock, and meadow. These viewpoints are so spectacular and inspirational, combined with being surrounded by peaceful calming sounds and fresh mountain air it all synergistically rejuvenates life forces.
Starting west of Banff, we drive over the Rocky Mountain Continental Divide of Alberta, then into British Columbia, following the Kootenay River Valley south, to Radium. We fly from a discreet Helipad just north of town, and fifteen minutes later we see the Bugaboos, part of the Purcell mountains. The scenery we pass is incredible and when we arrive at the remote lodge we’re staring right at the majestic Bugaboo peaks.
Before boarding each time, we kneel directly beside the helicopter, gathering in a group huddle, with our arms on each other’s shoulders, to stabilize us from the rush of wind from the whirling propeller above. The revolving blades stir up lots of dirt, so we keep our heads down with eyes closed. It’s thrilling to lift off in a large drone and dash away, ascending high above the ground as we pass swiftly over millions of treetops. The undulating topography involves dramatic changes that go from flying close to walls of rock, to sudden wide open drop offs into nothingness, where solid land abruptly expands, to plunging depths, thousands of metres below. It’s impossible to appreciate relationships of size here in the high alpine as peaks tower up and into infinity above, with distant hidden valleys of immense bedrock below.
The flight is exhilarating and humbling, realizing how insignificant I am, just a tiny speck on this expansive landscape. A surprising discovery with mountain tops like the Purcell’s, is that their highest elevations (3,500 metres) are safer to wander about on as they are much lower than the Himalayas (6,000 metres) which can cause altitude related sicknesses.
The grand foyer inside Bugaboo Lodge (CMH Heli-Hiking) has huge windows overlooking the mountains on both sides, and it continues with a comfortable laidback atmosphere for guests, including rooms being given names. Mine is Houndstooth, the nickname of the middle peak of the Bugaboo spires, which I see straight outside my bedroom window. Meals are extraordinary, served family style at the group table, and packed lunches for hiking also include fresh healthy choices.
Our short two-minute flights for hiking, take us up to mountaintop destinations so quickly, that upon arrival we are spellbound. When the helicopter flies away, about fifteen seconds later, there’s only silence, as the group huddle unfolds to behold a new panorama of spectacular views and shapes.
Our first hike, from the top of Powder Pig Peak at 2,693 metres, is a ridge covered in loose shale. There’s a visual contrast of simplicities all around us, overlooking dozens of dark pointed peaks protruding out of white glaciers. What challenges my understanding is the colossal enormity of size and the incomprehensible length of time, over 135 million years, that it has taken throughout geological history for these mountains to become eroded and shaped by glaciation. Our pathway down has a 15% slope through continuous broken rock pieces. The Scree is sharp edged and quite unstable at steep inclines, causing it to shift easily and slide in large sections if circumstances are right. The dry climate at this altitude makes the broken stone pieces sound like hollow glass underfoot. I tread slowly, gently absorbing the ground at each step, confirming first that it will hold my impact before I commit my full weight. The guide shows us how to efficiently reach our poles, arm to opposite foot, then descend heal first, bending the knee slightly towards the toes with each step.
Brilliant colours are rare in early September as the main mountain flower season is summer. Most flora have gone to seed, leaving textural dimensions and earthy shades of gold, ochre, beige and brown. The Western Anemone flowers, show as fluffy white tufts. Walking across a depression meadow the ground underfoot is incredibly soft and spongy, with tiny flowers of Heath and Heather dispersed throughout. We are careful not to step on the Heather with its tight green fronds, looking like a cedar sprig, as the delicate roots will break underfoot resulting in the death of stepped-on branches. The green growth of Heath sprouts as a low clump like Heather, however it s slightly bushier like a miniature fir tree.
We pass a couple of large freshly dug holes, up to three metres in size. Grizzly ‘dig-outs’ are where huge chunks of ground have been torn away, up to a metre deep, by hungry bears, with dinner plate sized paws, while hunting for burrowing pica and ground squirrels. Human survival in Grizzly country is one of avoidance. Speak so your presence is known, and don’t blow whistles, which are similar sounds that picas and ground squirrels make. Bells are a bear annoyance and dogs a definite attractant. Stay in groups of minimum four or five people so the bears can hear you and don’t carry smelly food. If you happen a chance meeting, continue to speak to the bear. If surprised, it may warn you of its presence with a woof, often with their ears lying backward. Bears can stage a fast bluff charge towards you, against which you can try standing your ground. Never run away. If you continue to see the same bear, it could be tracking you, especially if its ears are forward or perky. If so, calmly, and slowly walk away and leave the area. Never hike in the backcountry alpine alone or with a dog.
Our hike along Rocky Point Ridge at 2,800 metres, goes into the Rocky Point Basin and takes us down a gentle slope near the tree line at 2,286 metres. Sounds in the alpine meadows magnify, allowing us to hear birds, that we don’t see, and to hear streams of water which may be hundreds of meters across the valley.
Our ridge top drop near Dead Elk Lake at 2,658 metres, has a series of hidden alpine lakes that cascade down into the Septet Basin, a more protected area that is good for viewing alpine Arnica, Fleabane, Wolf bane and Red Paintbrush, all of which are still in bloom. At the height of the summer, these tiny flowers grow by the millions in the mountains. The picturesque alpine lakes, edged in trees, are perfect for catching mountain reflections in behind. We pass through open meadows, bordered by stands of Larch trees and then we discover more surprises; a huge boulder of sedimentary makeup, brought here from far away and long ago by glaciers, and then a spine of rock with large veins of snow-white quartz. Today’s alpine paradise has included everything, barren rock, open meadow, adorable tarns, brilliant flowers, geological surprises, and mature sloping forest. Our helicopter pick up is ideal too, at a section open in two directions, allowing for a clear landing and departure, facing into the wind.
The Easy Roll hike starts at 2,500 meters, trekking us along comfortably rolling undulations to a dramatic thousand plus foot drop-off beside us. It’s a bit scary first viewing the steep drop off exposure on either side of us, but I muster courage to enjoy the outlook. I’m relieved as we continue down into a valley to the adorable Eva Lake, with its visible spine of white rock running down the middle. Our guide puts soft Moleskin pads on both insteps of my sore feet, which gives me relief and comfort for the rest of the day’s hike.
After breakfast, we helicopter up to Kick Off Meadow, in behind the Bugaboo Peaks. We land at an extraordinary location, an extremely exposed section of granite outcrop on the edge of the mountain, where there is hardly any rock between us and the drop-off going into the valley below. We are awe-struck, here on the backside of the Bugaboo Peaks as we stare at the immense spikes of the Cross Fish Peak, directly behind the Houndstooth, and the ever-captivating Howser Peak, which is so massive and vertical, reaching straight up to the heavens.
It’s magical walking through a moist alpine meadow in early morning light, with spongy mosses softly caressing your feet. At 2,800 meters, breathing can become challenging, but we don’t feel tired as our guide cunningly paces us, slowing our steps to one every two seconds. We pass several waterfalls, plus clumps of fur trees, then push upwards towards the foot of the glacier, at 3,069 meters. It’s steadily melting, receding uphill at three to four metres every year. Nearing the glacier, we manoeuvre around and over huge moraine boulders, being careful not to slide on smooth sections covered in crumbly rock dust, which is slippery at this dry altitude. Glaciers are curiously awe-inspiring, being tens of thousands of years old and with crevasses, narrow cut valleys that drop down into the deep blue ice. Deceiving snow-bridges, from recent winter seasons, cross crevasse gaps, but these cannot be trusted for walking on. We also keep a respectful distance from the Moulin, the main river of melt water, which spirals into the caverns of the lower older ice. If you slide into a Moulin, you will never be seen alive again.
The summit is an impressive location, with expansive hollowed out sections of mountain that form a colossal amphitheatre of rock cirques around us. Restoring our energy over lunch, we hear occasional rock falls that resonate with amplified echoes in the surrounding rock walls. I’m absorbed in silent reflection, considering how miniscule and vulnerable I am in this landscape.
The helicopter ride off the glacier is spectacular, moving swiftly away like a flying bird, from ice, close to rock wall, then dropping into a wide-open valley. We fly near to the Cross Fish Peak, then over to Silver Tip Basin, where a grizzly bear is grazing in the lush rolling mountain meadowland there.
Our final hike is a steep climb up to alpine tarns, the Hourglass Lakes, where I bravely take a quick dip in clear frigid water to cool off on this warm sunny afternoon. I’m exceedingly grateful for these memorable experiences and my photos will always take me back to this fabulous mountain environment that I’ll be dreaming about for a long time.
WILDERNESS WRITER & PHOTOGRAPHER CYNTHIA PERCIVAL
