My Wilmore Moment - now with pictures

Many years ago,  decades in fact, Nan and I did a lot of pack packing the majority of our hiking was in the national parks though to a lesser degree, provincial parks around the national parks. One such hike, our first outside of Jasper or Banff parks, was to Wilmore Wilderness Area. Even the name makes it sound exotic and remote and in large part, it is, at least, by Edmonton standards.

Our trip plan was to be out five days and do a loop. On the third day, it poured rain all day; it was raining buckets and we were soaked. As we hiked down the valley, we were enveloped by clouds and the lightning was all around us - not OVER us. It was also our longest day planned as we had a long walk down to the valley floor where we would cross two creeks and then make a side trip to get a view of the spectacular Snake Indian Falls inside Jasper Park.

When we got to the first creek, it was engorged with rainwater and a torrent of flood waters crashing down the valley. We were 60% into the trip and couldn't head back up the valley, so we scoured the creek side looking for some way across. Eventually, we found a tree that had fallen over the creek because the flood waters had washed away the bank under the tree and the top of the tree extended far enough across the creek that if we could get a long way out, we would be able to jump into shallow water and get across.

I went across first and carefully maneuvered around the branches, trying not to look at the water below racing by, which would  certainly carry me to a grim fate if I fell off the tree. I threw my pack to shore, then went back and took Nan's pack across. Then it was Nan's turn and she was very scared but she did get across. I am not going to say who, but SOMEONE cried on the other side of the creek - cried out of relief, and out of joy for overcoming such a daunting obstacle.

This trip was my Wilmore Moment. My riding confidence went way up over the course of the week and, while I didn't cry, I was certainly scared. Fortunately, I had the help of my friends to coach me and get me through it. There is no way I would have been able to do anything like a trip like this without their help but because of them, I am a better rider.

Sadly, Tom was only on a fraction of that journey. What I didn't share earlier was one other loss that occurred the day of the crash: Tom's fine sipping whiskey, which got used to sterilize my hands and his wounds when I dressed his injuries. The good news is that Tom was not seriously injured, which could easily have been the outcome. He was well enough to drive himself home two days later, then drive back to Invermere Saturday to pick up Phil and me.

At one point on the trip, Phil asked me why I bought a KLR. Certainly, my other bike is my primary ride but I explained to him it was because it was the bike that Stan was selling. If Stan had been selling a Shriner's mini-bike, that very well could have been my first. Fortunately, that was not the case. Since I had bought the KLR, I had never really used it for its intended purpose, which is true "dual sport" riding; it is an everyman bike, not doing any one thing extremely well or extremely poorly but perhaps it's longest suit being that it does a multitude of things reasonably well. I thought a lot about Stan on this trip because I was finally using his former bike in the manner in which it was intended, which was back country adventure riding.

As scared as I was at times, I still had an extraordinary amount of fun. Phil has the straight man's sense of humour so half the time I wasn't sure if I was in on the joke or part of the joke. We found humour in just about everything around us (eventually referring to the codger, out of deference, as Mr. Codger) and even when it would have been my inclination to be stressed about the situation, Phil was always so non-plussed that it was obvious that he was doing what he loved, and it wore off on me.

After one week riding gravel roads, I will admit that the dust started to wear on me. We were both silently disappointed when we heard from Tom that he was unable to get a camp site when he came to pick us up and we would have to stay in a hotel. However, despite losing the coin toss and having to wait for Phil to take a shower, I had one of the best showers of my life. Phil wanted to ride another week but the dust had permeated every single thing I took on the trip so that I could not even work the zippers on my paniers or my clothes. It all needs to be pressure washed. I just couldn't go a other week. Sorry, Phil.

Lastly, I'll just make a brief comment about blogging on my phone. It was a logistical challenge and had I had a 14 year old along, I probably would have struggled less because I would not have needed to figure stuff out. I realize I had a ton of typos but I elected from the beginning that I wouldn't worry, trusting in the slack you would grant me. Sometimes, I couldn't even see what l was typing. Up until this point, everything has been done on my phone even though I could have finished the blog on my computer. The hardest part was that we were out there LIVING. Each day, all day was consumed by either riding or chores around the campsite, like finding firewood, setting up or tearing down, preparing or cleaning up our food. There was virtually no time that we just sat around the campfire relaxing, wondering what we could be doing. The odd time, after bed I would make notes on my phone but could not post them unless I was stopped and off my bike in an area with cell service, which happened only about three times.

On that note, I think it's a wrap. Thanks for following the blog; notwithstanding I only offered it up to a select few, there was a generous number of page views.

The next trip is this September when Nan and I will be reuniting in part with the UTAH ON MOTORCYCLES crew when we ride around Lake Superior.

Since all the photos in the blog were done with my phone, I am going to go through the pictures on my camera and if there is anything worthwhile and does not duplicate what I have already posted, then that follows this text, so that will be done from my computer.

Oh, and incidentally, after Nan and I crossed that first creek in Wilmore, high-fiving each other and congratulating each other on our bravery, we walked 100 meters to the the next creek. It was far more swollen, flowing much faster than the first creek and we ended up retracing the entire hike.

Howi

Our first night, not in the back country.

Hard to believe that we were all clean at one point.

Wild lily at our first lunch stop.

Bridge over the creek at our first lunch stop. 

And this is the creek.

View from the bridge, White River FSR.

This was the day after Tom's crash. You can see he is in good spirits; I had to use duct tape to hold his bandage in place.

This is the tree that saved Tom's life. We will go back every year to pay homage.

We took a little side road from the "main" road looking for a place fill our water bottles from the nearby creek. We discovered this trapper's cabin; we actually came across a few on the trip.

This was the "main" road, which ultimately led to Gilnockie Ecological Reserve.

Gilnockie Creek.

There was a good camping setup at Gilnockie; there were two or three tent sites plus an outhouse. 

This was Gilnockie Creek again, just downstream from where I swam.

A panorama view from the pass when we went from the Gilnockie area over to the Yahk side.

This is our Hart Creek campsite.

Morning sun on Hart Creek.

Phil tried to convince me that this was a fashion statement. I didn't agree. 

This was overlooking the Goat River, from which we had climbed on logging roads. We were not far from Creston here. From the river level, we climbed over 800 vertical metres.

This had been our intended route, or so we thought. We were all ready to try to get around the far trees by cutting them or dragging them out of the way but then we decided that we were not in the proper place. I still thing we could have gone places!

This was on the other side of the downed trees. It looks like clear sailing!

Roads on the other side of the valley calling to us.

Sasquatch Lake camp ground, where we received the gifts of chopped, split wood from the people from Lloydminster.

Grizzly Creek. As hot as we were and as tempting it was to jump in the creek, it was too fast and too much volume to safely swim.

This was my first look at the powerline road.

This was after the first time I fell over. 

You can get some sense of the steepness. It got worse.

Lots of loose rocks, and big ones at that.

After another time of Phil helping me upright my bike.

We did actually pass snow on the side of the trail, once we got near the top.

This was looking back on the trail; for me, the summit was within striking distance.

This was very close to the top; the spot I waited for Phil.

Arrow Lake, from our beach at Taite Creek.

It doesn't get much better than this!

Hard to believe that these snapdragons would be wild, but they were a few growing on the beach near where we camped.

This was our last night of camping, near Redding Creek as we approached St Mary's Road. It ended up being a good camp spot. The tall conifer to the right in the background (the dark one) is the tree where we put our food.

Some mountain goats, near where we camped.

This brown bear watched us for a few minutes... until she smelled us.

Overlooking Kimberley.

I thought this was an appropriate sign. It was the first ski run that I saw.

The "it's not skiing" post pictures.

I posted those pictures when I had a brief moment of WiFi, but didn't have time to put any text into the blog. Careful observers will note that we are on top of a ski mountain.  Kimberley, in fact. I am going to talk about that in  a minute but when the time comes, you can go back to that post and examine the evidence.

You will have to trust me that there are mountain goats in this picture. 

We were travelling late when we came over Gray Creek Pass. Plus, we lost an hour in the time zone change and we're subsequently saddled with "bike lag" (it is like "jet lag" only, on motorcycles). Since the campgrounds are a big distance apart, we look for a place to free camp along Redding Creek or St Mary's River. But it is past 9:30 pm. We are tired and hungry and sweaty and dirty. We are riding all over at the point where Redding Creek joins St Mary's River and are struggling to find something suitable but it is either too far from water, lumpy, scary or mosquito-infested. In fact, we finally settled on a spot and while we would  normally set up tents first we elect to throw a rope over a tree to hang the food first so that we will  be able to see what we are doing.  However, the mosquitoes are so bad we are both suffering blood loss and may need transfusions so we bail out and camp in an area that has been cleared in the not-too-distant past. It's not smooth so we end up pitching our tents directly on a road where it IS smooth. We built a fire on the road too but to give you an idea about the lateness, we start to pitch our tents at 11:00 pm. We almost bailed on the notion of a fire because it was so late and we were so tired but there was a lot of good wood around and I knew we would feel better having something to eat even if we had a small fire.

The next morning, we are on the road by 9:15 am, fully two (or more) hours sooner than our usual. And, we have been up since 7 and have not cooked breakfast or made coffee. Not sure who is stealing our time.

So we are hankering for coffee by the time we get to Kimberley. We actually find a nice coffee shop that makes great lattes (!) and Phil has two breakfasts. This morning, being the long weekend, there is a festive atmosphere: people are getting their faces painted, there is a hospital bed race and a rubber ducky race on the creek that goes through town. I can't believe Greenpeace isn't in attendance. I am not accustomed to seeing this much activity here; my last few times through town, I thought it had one foot in.the grave and the other on a banana peel.

The plan is to ride the back roads back to Radium, where we are to be met by Tom, who is driving down from Edmonton to collect us. We get out there and in short order, are challenging many different routes trying to find the one that will take us to Ta Ta Creek, about half way to Skookumchuck. (No, I am NOT using inappropriate language. Those are actual town names.)

We meet this old codger on what could best be described as a scooter, or maybe a mini bike. It looks like a scooter, only smaller and probably has an engine that is 50 or 100 cc. It makes me think of the motorbikes used by the Shriners when they are in parades.  They fellow has a plastic milk carton riding at his feet and it is full of stuff - junk, I think and it is not clear to me if it is stuff he is picking up as he goes or if it is stuff he drags around with him. We can't believe he is riding around on gravel roads; the wheels look like they are about six inches in diameter. He is very excited to talk to us and I wonder if he is lost. Or has lost his marbles but I think he is just interested in company. And he can talk! We should introduce him to Dale, though I think Dale would be shocked at the language. We hear about his school bus where he is camped and later, when we see it, we conclude that it is probably where he keeps his college co-eds locked up because he looks a little like a hoarder.

He is not much help in suggesting a route but when we tell what we are doing, he announces he will follow us. Phil asks him what is the range of his ride but the guy doesn't know because he just bought the bike the day before. We say that it probably wouldn't be much fun following us because we will be going faster and he would end up riding in a cloud of dust. We actually saw him later (since we weren't finding the route) and he indeed looked like he was tailing us. We also found a smattering of items that we presumed fell out of his milk carton, like a rubber glove and a tie strap.

Well, we weren't having much luck this day. On the Spotwalla, it's a gong show but it is not entirely our fault. We stopped one time to re-examine the map and when we rode away, Phil failed to put his reading glasses away. Shortly thereafter, we stopped to admire a grand view overlooking Kimberley. In fact, despite our appearing to be many kilometers away, we actually passed a sign indicating that we were inside the Kimberley city limits and that we should not discharge our firearms. Good thing we saw that warning.

Phil immediately turned around to go retrieve his glasses and I snapped a few pictures before following him, though I think he was secretly worried the codger would find his way up there and hoard them. When I arrived on the scene, Phil was talking with a guy on a yellow quad, Blair, from Cranbrook. I was a little concerned because Blair had a gun case on his quad and I always thought the hunting season was in the fall but I kept my mouth shut for fear of upsetting him, and then learning what the gun was for.

Blair is just riding around, by himself, in the hills. Phil explains that we are in search of the Holy Grail, the lost passage between two points on a map and Blair tells us that it is possible to bypass a gate across one road or that there may even be a key hidden there. The gate is less than fifteen minutes from where we are talking but NO, Blair knows a shortcut and he will take us. So Blair leads us down a trail, which runs out and he just drives right into bushes. I am third in line so I can't tell if Blair is following someone else's tracks or if be is making them up as he goes, but it is rough riding. He also makes sharp, 90 degree turns over ledges and rises which are difficult to negotiate on two wheels, fully loaded. However, this is another one of those spots where I was able to stay upright whereas earlier in the trip, I likely would have gone over.

Blair leads us to two cement dividers, like you would see on the side of the road to prevent you from going over the edge and falling a thousand feet, but they are in the bush.  Alas, it opens up on the other side of the barrier and we are at Kimberley ski resort. It is technical riding but no powerline, so I am OK.  When we get to the top of The Triple Chair, we stop to take in the view and some pictures. It is a strange juxtaposition to be on a ski hill on motorbikes and I could not help but wonder how the operators would feel about it, in particular, as I suspect the barrier was for people like us. Once we have had a look around, we press on but now we are going downhill on what feels like a double black but is probably a solid green. It is clear to us that Blair is driving with a little less confidence because he is stopping more and surveying the terraine,  seemingly trying to pick the best route. After some time of this, I think Blair realizes that he has no idea where to take us and all of a sudden, he can't get rid of us fast enough. We are heading down the slope and it looks an awful lot like we are going to end up right in the business area of the ski hill, in amongst the maintenance crews, administration, lifties who are operating one of the lifts and probably, the police.

We get an extensive but vague explanation where we should go and then Blair is gone like a shot. I'm thinking, if Phil retained any of those directions, it would be a miracle.

No miracle. I say to Phil that we need to review the plan because CTwe literally spent three hours in the hills above Kimberly only to return to Kimberley, though Phil elects to not stop for one more breakfast. The revised plan is to ride the pavement to Premier Lake, just south of Canal Flats and take Palliser FSR back to Radium.

Gray Creek Pass

First of all, I would like to say that I have finally posted a picture that is within the context of the post! The above picture is taken at Taite Creek Recreational Site on Arrow Lake. Where we met Dale.

We were setting up our tents, feeling a little tentative because we were setting up in front of the camp ground, though not directly in front of somebody's tent site. I learned that we were NOT in front of somebody's tent site because I had to ride through one to find out. With all this skill I was mastering, I rode up a ramp between some cement barriers to discover that I was in somebody's front yard. Lest I be confused with some badass biker, I apologized profusely as I sheepishly worked my way down onto the beach to get away. That is onto the SAND beach. My riding companions will know what I speak but for the uninitiated, riding in sand is only slightly worse than riding on a sheet of ice covered in oil. I am immediately swerving all over the place doing everything I can to keep the bike upright but remain looking "cool" in front of the elderly couple whose tent site I had just invaded and to whom I had apologized profusely. It was all of ten feet to the hard packed but I felt like I had been all over the beach.

I am gathering driftwood for a nice fire and a fellow approaches Phil. I hear, from a distance, "is there a problem?" Oh oh. Phil did tell me somebody might die but I thought he meant on the trail. It's Dale and he wants to know if Phil has a problem because he greeted Phil and Phil didn't respond. Yikes, Dale is a little sensitive! Fortunately, there is  no problem and Phil just says he didn't hear Dale. So they have already made up but it is Dale's cue to tell Phil that HE used to ride and as a result, was hard of hearing. I'm pretty sure it wasn't BS because he certainly knew more about bikes than me, which I realized after about a half hour of Dale talking without taking a breath. We also learned a lot of other things, too, like Dale's girlfriend Laurie works in the hospitality industry and she was there for a few days but had to go back to work and is quite independent and doesn't say much when she has traveled some and Dale has to coax it out of her and that a bear walked through her tent site and Dale is afraid of bears and takes eight levels of protection including ROAD FLARES if has to battle a bear up close. We concluded that Laurie may be Dale's girlfriend but Dale is probably not Laurie's boyfriend. Laurie may not know Dale exists or if she does, that he talks about her that way. She might have a restraining order against him. Oh, we also learned from Dale that a coyote and a wolf bred in New Brunswick and the offspring were killers and had migrated all the way to western Canada.

But Dale is in fact harmless, though he is making it difficult to get our work done. On the other hand, he generously brings down some chopped, split wood for our fire, though I suspect that was so he could ask to join us.

We also met Warren, who turned out to be a sort-of colleague of mine in Nelson. Like a distant cousin from a far-off land. Warren is a wealth of knowledge because he is from the area and spends a lot of time in the back country. He told us that the powerline trail, with one possible exception, is the toughest trail in the area. Not sure how big is The Area, but I'm sure it's MASSIVE. Maybe he meant all of Canada. He also gives us some guidance on another trail on our agenda.

The best thing about the Taite Creek camp site is that it is the first time we swim (in Arrow Lake) in a few days. It's cold and after my riding gear is off, I just go straight in, all clothed. This is the next best thing to washing my clothes.

The next day, we have a lot of riding: around Scalping Knife Mountain, up to Nakusp, over Wilson Creek Road, back across the ferry onto which we were able to defy odds of - and we calculated this - 186,282 to 1 by being the last ones onto the ferry (this time by riding around the closed gate) two times in a row. Then we were going over Gray Creek Pass which

apparently, is quite a well known road and leads to St. Mary's Lake near Kimberley. In fact, Gray Creek Mercantile is about 1 km from the entrance to the road and they post a notice about the road condition on their website as some sort of public service. The road is generally open around July 1st, depending on how much snow is at the pass but two days before the trip I phoned the forestry person responsible for the area who told me that there was a foot of snow at the pass. We take a chance because it has been in the 30s since I talked to him.  Phil is underwhelmed with the road because it has been graded for the season opening. It's too smooth.