Kootenay FSR Ride: My Wilmore Moment

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.