Sometimes inspiration comes from a place you once were, but can never go back to.

I gave Logan a fresh skate deck for Christmas last year, however Logan still had those little kid qualities about him so I constantly reminded him, if I ever found that deck sitting in the rain or left uncared for, I would break it. Fortunately, it never came to that as the deck sat in the corner of his living room unused for the next eight months. Then one day this past summer, his mom asked me what she needed to get the board rolling.

Logan took his new deck and hasn’t looked back. He’s showed genuine interest in learning how to skate and at the same time leaving the art of sitting on a skateboard and riding down a hill behind. Don’t get me wrong, sitting on a skateboard and blasting down the driveway has its attributes, but in my eyes learning how to skateboard is much more than that. It’s like a graduation process, you know, like training wheels on a bike. Logan went step by step at the skate park. First he started on the smallest transition and by the end of the summer Logan was dropping into transitions, which shook him to his core in previous attempts.

Recently, my little buddy came down to Victoria for the weekend. He’s grown taller and cockier since the last time we hung out, however it’s to be expected from a 12 year old. Logan’s main goal for this visit is skateboarding as much as possible. The weather cooperates on Friday afternoon and Logan continues to excel, learning new trick after new trick and not being happy with landing a trick once. The trick must be landed again and again before moving on. He wants to bomb the hill one more time before the sunsets and I’m not going to argue with that.

The following morning the rain falls with no chance of drying up. Logan is growing restless but knows I won’t let him ride his board in the rain, so the carport becomes his new training ground. Believe me, when you’re just starting to skate, landing a trick anywhere is rewarding. I’ve spent many hours in a small carport practicing tricks waiting for the rain to stop.

The following day is Sunday, which means Logan is heading home, but the weather doesn’t cooperate leading me to break all my rules of keeping a skateboard solid. Logan is dying to skate, so we hit a school even though the ground is wet, Logan blasts a couple of ollies over the laid out obstacle, a line in this case. The first time Logan actually gets the whole board off the ground and clears the line, his whole face if not body lights up. After letting him ride his beautiful skateboard in the rain for an hour it’s time to move on.

Logan hits the road and I head home as well. After flipping through a few pictures I took over the weekend, I begin to think of the way I felt landing my first ollie or bombing a hill standing up. I realize I can’t go back, however I know exactly where Logan’s heart is right now. Skateboarding brought me great joy and great friends along the way. I cherish every day I have skated and every day I will skate. It’s a sport with no barriers. One day I’d go session with Kyle, Morgan and Johnny and the next it’s Rick, Dan and Sean. The relationships are the same. We were there to skate and that was the common interest. Unlike organized sports your “teammates” are different every day. I can only hope Logan will allow my old bones to skate with him as the years go by.

Story and Photos Greg Miller

 

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As winter approaches on Vancouver Island there are options to cope with the sense of impending doom and darkness brought on by seasonal affective disorder, lack of sunlight, rain and cloudy gloom. One can drink heavily, plan a trip to Mexico or Hawaii, or less expensively, reflect back on past Island trips and plan adventures for the distant summer of 2010.

If one is inclined to possibilities for the coming summer, my suggestion is a sea-kayaking jaunt through the Trincomali Channel to the stunning Wallace Island Provincial Park and (in the summer at least) the seemingly tropical Blackberry Point on Valdes.

I was fortunate enough to take this trip with my girlfriend Roxanne over a long weekend last June as the first warm-days of the sweltering summer of 2009 set in. After four days climbing in Squamish we hopped the ferry from Horseshoe Bay and headed for the Island. Once we landed in Departure Bay we drove south, stopping only for groceries and liquor, and made the mad dash for Cowichan and the ferry to Thetis Island.

Island hopping sea kayaking through Trincomali Channel is accessible form numerous points. Conceivably, one could start from Cowichan on Vancouver Island, from the northwest tip of Salt Spring Island, or half a dozen other possible launch points. We chose Thetis for pragmatic reasons: our good friends (thanks Tina and Malcolm) had offered us their small but spectacular waterfront cabin as a staging area and our kayaks were there. After an evening of sipping wine and a few beers and staring at the sunset over the water until it was pitch dark we awoke groggy but eager to set out on the water.

The fist night’s destination was Wallace Island Marine Park, located roughly seven kilometers from our put-in. To get to Wallace from Thetis one must weave through numerous lesser-known gulf islands in Trincomali Channel. We head south and slightly east, crossing Clam Bay that separates Thetis from Kuper Island. We make a brief stop on the north shore of Kuper where we find a nice warm beach. Kuper is a First Nations reserve and access is granted by permission only. We are careful to respect the rules of the island and never go above the high-tide line and onto Kuper proper.
The wind blew hard out of the south onto the bows of our kayaks. The persistent headwinds slow our progress and force us to paddle through choppy white caps. We find shelter by working in and out of the chain of islands that eventually lead to Wallace. First was Norway and then on to the miniscule Mowgli Island. We traverse the western shores of the Secretary Islands, pass Jackscrew and finally, after hours of battling the breeze and at moments wishing we were in a powerboat, we arrive at the northern tip of Wallace Island.

The entirety of Wallace Island is a Provincial Park. Chivers Point is on the northern tip and provides luxurious camping, complete with outhouses and picnic tables. If one is brave enough to swim in the icy water, Chivers has some nice inlets and beaches. There is a trail system that connects the length of the island. A highly recommended outing is to hike the island from the Chivers point all the way to Panther Point at the southern tip.
There are also multiple trails that shoot off from the main trail with undoubtedly provide limitless adventures.
The next morning, after cooking and swilling coffee, we head back to our kayaks for a run to Blackberry point on Valdes. Fortunately the wind has decided not to switch directions over night and we made steady progress. We cover the ten kilometers with the wind at our backs, a welcome relief from the wind battling paddling of the first day.

We traverse between the eastern side of the Secretarys and the western shores of Galiano and head past Hall and Reid Islands. The currents of Portier Pass, the channel separating Galiano form Valdes, are known to be unpredictable and hazardous to paddlers so we were careful to stay clear.
The western shore of Valdes is largely undeveloped with a remote and rustic feel. Eagles perch in the trees along the rocky shore, thick forest and steep crumbly cliffs stand guard as you paddle past. Seals poke their heads up suspiciously and loons bob for bites to eat.

We arrive tired but satisfied at Blackberry Point. We carry our kayaks above the tide line and soon the stove is humming, the tent is up and dinner is close at hand. After dinner we wander north around the point and find white sand beaches. The tide is coming in and the heat from the sand has warmed the water, which is, relative to the northern aspect of Chivers Point, nearing bathtub temperature.  We plunge in and momentarily think we are in Bermuda or Costa Rica. The temperature extremes of the Gulf Islands are perplexing. In winter it’s inconceivable to swim in these waters without a drysuit. In the summer, with the sun and tide cooperating, it’s easy to forget you are north of the 49th parallel.
The next morning we awake, pack our camp into our kayaks and head out for the long crossing between Valdes to Thetis. Open water stretches evoke a sense of low-level fear and I paddle methodically, with infrequent rests until the east shores of Thetis are comfortably close. The anti-climax of hitting the beach, back at our starting point, tells us not only that our kayak adventure is over but so too is our vacation.

Story and Photography by Matt Kelley

 

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Fishing in and around Gold River in the fall is always fun no matter if fish are caught or not. However, camping can be a chilling experience.
A friend and I had planned to go up to Muchalat Lake for some fly-fishing and river scouting ever since the beginning of this past summer. With conflicting schedules throughout the summer a date was set for the last weekend of September as the time to go. Muchalat Lake is 19km up the Woss highway out of Gold River. The road is dirt with logging trucks and locals bouncing through potholes and dodging rocks that would leave a juicy hole in any vehicles under carriage. Once we set the date for our little fishing escape, other friends caught wind and decided to join us. In the end, seven of us made the journey.

Muchalat Lake is a recreation site with plenty of free camping spots along with a boat launch and trees to block campers from the wind if it picks up over the lake. The best think about the lake is no one is ever there.

After everyone arrived and the site was set for the weekend ahead, we all headed down to the dock for a little afternoon fishing. Coho jumped consistently throughout the afternoon and consistently didn’t touch any of our flies/lures. But, we already knew this was what would happen. Our goal was to target the trout following the Coho around looking for food scraps. Three of us decided to go for a walk to locate the Oktwanch River, which flows into the lake and provides a great place for anglers to fish from shore, fly or casting.

After a drive up the road for about a km or two, we located a place to drop down onto the shores of the lake and walk to the mouth of the river. Fresh bear and elk prints dotted the shoreline all the way to the river. Right where the Oktwantch meets the lake a massive ball of Coho salmon held in the current waiting to make the run upstream. If this wasn’t a good sign for fishing then what is? We headed back to camp for dinner and a couple of drinks, all the while talking about the river we would hit for some fishing in the morning.

As usual, I was way under prepared for camping. I have to say I’m the worst when it comes to bringing camping equipment. A tent, blanket, beer, some carbs and I’m good to go. Down side, its freezing cold around Gold River in the fall. Luckily, everybody else had all the good things for camping like coffee, egg, bacon, stoves and such.

Everyone woke around the same time the following morning and I took a walk down to lake, where I was met with a wall of freezing wind and fog burning off the water. After a touch of breakfast and a couple hot coffees everybody was ready to get over to the river mouth. Some drove while most walked. It’s only about a 10-minute walk from the campground to a place where one can drop down to the waters edge. The sun was at full steam now and it warmed up the day considerably.

Right away, Tom hooked into a Coho, which tore back and forth before getting off. Good sign though. Over the next couple of hours 4 or 5 nice looking Rainbow Trout were brought in and released making the morning a success.

Next up was a trip to the Muchalat river bridge, which is about a ten-minute drive back towards Gold River. Only two made this trip and the first site from atop the bridge was a school of huge Chinooks holding in the river. Adam and I continuously drifted our lines down over top of the Chinook hoping for trout hanging around the monsters. Adam landed two smaller rainbows and the day began to close with the sun dropping behind the hills.

The following morning was leaving day, but Adam and I decided to go for one more quest through the wilderness surrounding Muchalat Lake. At 7am we hopped in the car and drove about 5 km up the road towards Woss. We found a spot on the far side of the Oktwantch River where a person can access the river about 2km upstream before it runs into the lake. Icy cold logs provided make shift bridges to the banks of the river. Once out in the middle one can fly cast into any pool or rip. Wonderfully clear water exposed large schools of Coho and our hopes were high for trout fishing. After walking around and sharing the riverbank with a nice sized black bear, we decided to head back. It was Sunday and that means football to me, so a buddy’s house in Gold River was my destination for the next 24 hours.

Muchalat Lake is a must for any fisherman, camper or couch potato. Just make sure to pack good food and prepare for fridged temperatures once the sun drops.

By Greg Miller

 

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Late summer is the ideal time for family adventuring on Vancouver Island. The summer heat has diminished but the consistent rain, shortening daylight and clouds of fall have yet to intrude. The local wildlife is also busily preparing for a fast approaching winter. Salmon swim methodically upstream, making their final journey from the Pacific and into the San Juan to spawn and die. Black bear dot the banks of the river, fattening themselves on blackberries and salmon stranded in the shallows. Heron watch it all from the sky or a perch on a tree near the banks looking for an opportunistic meal. Unseen to us, thankfully, cougars stalk their prey in this wild habitat, ideal for Vancouver Islands top predator.

Any trip into the outdoors is logistically difficult, but when you involve kids under ten those difficulties are magnified ten-fold. We knew things would be forgotten, the hope was these items would be things we could live without. We ended up only forgetting one paddle and a cooking pot. We could live without these, of course, but that meant one canoe, powered by a single paddler was much slower and we would be forced to cook hot-dogs in our tea kettle.

The West Coast Road (Highway 14) to Port Renfrew was familiar territory. Waves were picking up at Jordan River and surfers flocked there after a summer starved of consistent surf. The road is rife with bears and most times driving this stretch we are lucky enough to see them foraging on the side of the road. No luck this time. Once in Renfrew we headed east up Harris Creek Main, a mix of pavement and mountainous, bouncy gravel logging roads that will challenge your transmission and eventually dump you out on the east slopes of Vancouver Island near Lake Cowichan. Take the Old Port Renfrew Road off of Harris Creek Main Line and follow that to the campground and access to the river.

The put-in for the river trip is about 15 kilometers up the Harris Creek Main. There are campsites right at the put-in spot and it’s a great staging ground to sort gear and pack canoes. A lone, massive spruce, standing majestically in the campground tells the story of what this landscape looked like before widespread logging reduced the old-growth to minimal stands. Second and third growth dominates the forests now. But this one towering spruce informs us of the magnitude of what used to be here.

The adults pack canoes and shuttle cars to the final destination at Fairy Lake. The kids entertain themselves by skipping rocks on the calm river and collecting the abundant, tiny frogs that congregate along the banks. Before long we are off and paddling making good time on a slow but steadily moving river.

That is until the portages start. Late summer means low water, which makes a river trip with kids safer but forces the adults to often abandon ship and drag the canoes through the ubiquitous shallow sections. At first the portages seem oppressive and all too frequent, but as we make our way into the journey the river deepens and we get better at picking lines to avoid the shallows. And besides once our feet are wet the portages seem less arduous.

As we paddle on we see a bear on the banks off in the distance. The bears scamper into the brush on the banks as we approach. The only mom on our trip, responsible for two of the three kids in our midst, is sure we will all be eaten alive. She’s originally from Iceland where if bears do appear they are of the Polar variety and yes will probably eat you. But Vancouver Island black bear are, if not provoked, harmless, and we pass without incident.

The river teems with Salmon, which despite their imminent demise seem to be darting around the river and energetically flopping up the rapids to spawn with vigor. They have lost their silver color and are turning shades of red and purple, a sure sign that the end is near.

We begin to realize time may not be on our side. As the sun approaches the western horizon casting a golden hue on the river we start to conjure the nightmare scenario of getting benighted and not making our campsite by dark. We naively left all our camping gear with the car we dropped at the Fairy Lake campground. So here we are, it’s getting dark and cold, we have no clue how far we still have to paddle, and if it gets dark there is no use in continuing. We dig our paddles into the river and pull back hard fueled by worry and the desire to avoid camping out with no sleeping bags and three cold kids.

And then far downstream, as dusk settles in, we see the salmon gate that marks the entrance to the lake. We’ve made it. We paddle across the lake and hit the shores of the campground just as darkness pervades. Soon we have a fire built, the hotdogs are in the tea kettle and marshmallows bounce on sticks over the flames.

Story by Matt Kelley

Photography: Snorri Gunnarsson - Greg Miller - Matt Kelley

 

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Sometimes I convince myself other places in British Columbia can’t compare to the west coast of the province. Big cliffs, massive trees and awesome outdoor adventures are always just outside my door, so why would I go inland anyway?

When I was a kid, my aunt and uncle got a cabin on a lake just outside of Merrit, B.C. I remember rowing around the lake for hours, dragging two fishing poles out the back of the boat and catching endless trout. Twenty years later, I decided to go back and see what the interior has to offer. I’ve been to the interior lots in the past 20 years. However it was for visiting people in Vernon or just blasting through on my way to Alberta or Saskatchewan. I really hadn’t enjoyed the interior for what it has to offer.

Whenever I’m driving east, I use Hope, B.C. as kind of a marker for the beginning of the end of large trees and big canyons with heavy rushing water. Once a person starts dropping down into places like Merrit or Kamloops, the trees get smaller and the landscape turns dry and desert like. It really is shocking going from a place like Tofino on Vancouver Island to a place like Merrit. The contrast between the two is massive, but they really aren’t that far from each other.

It took about four hours to reach our destination after catching the ferry from Victoria to Tsawassen. Of course the four hours includes wrong turns and wasted time. However we arrived just in time for dinner with the family. Immediately, I began to feel the interior love.

The following morning, I was the first one up. A boat tied to the dock sitting in a bath of the rising sun, called for me to jump in. I placed a fly rod with a dry line out the back of the boat and began exploring the lake I once knew. Loons called out across the water to each other, while a family of ducks swam in and out of the tall grass avoiding me at every turn. These were the only sounds echoing across the lake surface. An hour passed, and my rod continued to strike out on the fish front, so I went in for breakfast.

My aunt could not have made a better breakfast: blueberry and banana pancakes, moose sausage, eggs, a fruit platter and fresh coffee all put together on a little propane stove–a real kind of down-to-the-roots meal. Everything about it was so rewarding. Food made with love and family around to enjoy it is a perfect way to get ready for the day.

My cousin and I decided to drive into Logan Lake for 9 holes of golf. My uncle, who wasn’t interested in playing, joined us as our ball finder and cart driver. The course itself was great; my game was not. My younger cousin continuously hit 300 yard drives straight as an arrow while I continued to have a good hole followed by a bad one, and it eventually led to a five stroke loss. A wee bit of pride hit. However the kid is good, and I would get a bit of revenge later in the day.

Just like breakfast, my aunt did it again for dinner: barbequed moose steaks, corn on the cob, potatoes, chicken kabobs, wine and beer–perfect fuel for the evening’s events.

With dinner over and cleaned up, my uncle, cousin and his wife along with myself decided to bring in some classic family competition with a best of three horseshoe match.
After exchanging barbs for about an hour and a half, my uncle and I came out with a two games to one win, and I gained a bit of revenge from the earlier loss in golf. We enjoyed the moonrise and a few fruit cocktails before calling it a night.

The following morning it was time to move on. There were no 12-foot rollers crashing on the shore next to a lighthouse or seals barking while sun bathing on some rocks. However, there was plenty of quiet mixed with a landscape reminiscent of the wildest. I can honestly say, it was the most relaxing weekend I’ve had in years and I will make an effort to spend more time in the outdoors of British Columbia’s interior.

Fresh fruit stands became dots on the horizon as trees began to grow into green giants. I knew we were back on the coast, and I really enjoyed every minute spent in the interior over the weekend, but nothing beats the west coast of British Columbia.

Story and Photography Greg Miller

 

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Two tidal races, sea stacks and breaking seas. That pretty much sums up the infamous run between Soldiers Point and North Stack, eight miles of adrenalin kicks and euphoria on the west coast of Wales. This run is one of the most popular sea kayak route in Wales and is the training ground for many of the best paddlers in the world.

Soldiers Point is a small beach covered in round rock pellets sculpted by the sea. It is beside the Holyhead breakwater and as a result, here the ocean never sleeps. There is always surf, so launching takes some maneuvering. The best trick is to push the kayak out through the first breakers and dive after it, hoping that your chest will hit the deck and that your butt will be in a good position to drop into the seat. There are skerries scattered outside Soldiers Point and they can be avoided or used as a play spot all depending on your mindset.

When I looked out to the sea at Soldiers Point I thought to myself, no way, I’m not going through this mess. But I soon forgot all about my anxieties as I took on the first breaker, clearing the skerries and seeing what lay beyond. Fresh wind in my face and the taste of salt on my lips I was ready for what ever the sea would throw my way, or so I thought.
When outside the surf zone I saw the high cliffs leading to North Stack. The sea is always lumpy in this part, clapotis forms as the swell hits the sea cliffs, rebounding them back and lifting the kayak as on top of a pyramid of waves. It is two miles of these bouldering seas until North Stack rises out of the ocean.

What lies beneath North Stack is a race, no everyday tidal race but the races of races. I knew I was close to it, I did not see it, I heard it. It was like a big roar, deep like a thunder. Then after a minute or two I saw the first whitecaps and all of a sudden I was in the whitecaps and the race just popped up. Big standing waves, like a surf zone but no shore.
The North Stack tidal race is formed by an underwater ledge; when the tides pick up they race past these ledges and form big standing waves. The size of the waves differs depending on the size of the tide, and this time I was visiting on a big spring tide.

Penrhyn Mawr Tidal Race

There are two ways through the North Stack race, the safe one is just beside the cliffs and leads straight to an eddie at the end of the race. It is no picnic as the clapotis is very big,  a result of the race hitting the sea-wall. The route for the more adventurous souls is straight through the middle. Here the waves are the biggest and the most fun to ride, if you capsize and come out of your kayak, be prepared to ride out the race before getting back in your cockpit.

Penrhyn Mawr Tidal race

I did not know any of this when I paddled into the race right smack in the middle. I did not go for the middle because of courage, rather it was blissful ignorance. When I hit the first waves my heart went thumping like never before, I remember it like a car crash, glimpses and cuts like in a movie. The second wave caught me off guard and capsized me, skidding sideways down a wave in a seakayak is the ultimate test and on that spring day I was not ready. I felt my body pulling back, until I lay flat against the deck of the kayak. At that moment everything in my body screamed, get out, get out and out I went. Somehow the race did not look as big from being in the water, I held on with one hand to the lines of my kayak and the other hand clenched the paddle. After a short while my friend came by and pulled me out of the race and I was able to reenter the kayak.

Safe haven

A little shell-shocked, I paused for while getting some rest, not for my body but for my mind. I had to tell myself that this was fun, better than working - after all its just water. After a moment of pep talk and serious commands to my soul I went on.
After the North Stack Race the seas are much calmer. The paddling takes you through narrow passages and along high sea cliffs with seabird colonies and rock climbers that come to these parts from all over the world for the spectacular climbing.
After all the excitement of the race and the overwhelming beauty of the rest of the route, it was a relief to paddle in to Treardur Bay, a beautiful, sheltered, white beach, a safe haven.

Story Snorri Gunnarsson
Photography Ari Benediktsson

Some links to awesome photography from Holyhead kayaking
Jonathan Walpole
Axel Schoevers

 

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All of a sudden the gondola began to vibrate and the floor pounded. I wondered if this was proper practice for a gondola.

Snorri and I had arrived in Whistler the night before, at about 1:00am. We were there to check out NESTEA’s Chill On The Hill. It had been a long haul from Victoria, so we were ready to call it a night.

At 10:00am the next morning, after some breakfast and a quick walk around the village, we hopped on the gondola to the top of Whistler. The temperature began to rise and the gondola acted like a sauna, but the vast and amazing views were well worth the free spa treatment. The gondola pulled into the station at about 10:20am and we stepped on to the mountaintop. The event featured a snowboard/skier best trick competition, volleyball courts, a meet and greet with Olympic snowboarders and live bands featuring Protest The Hero and The Stills.

First, we decided to go get some shots of the snowboarders and skiers warming up. The run built for the riders gave them a choice of hitting a rail or two separate ledges before finishing at a box, which some riders used as a ledge and others made into a quarter pipe. After spending a half hour checking out the riders, we went over to The Chill On The Hill tent for a meet and greet with professional snowboarders, Canadian Justin Lamoureux and American Seth Wescott, who shook hands and posed for pictures with fans.

Protest The Hero was scheduled to take the stage at 12:00pm, which gave time to jump on the Peak 2 Peak gondola to Blackcomb. It’s only an eleven-minute ride, give or take a few moments, but the daunting thing for me was the height. At the halfway point we were suspended over 1400 feet above the ground. Sure the view was great, however the height still loomed in my mind. We stepped off the gondola and walked around the top of Blackcomb taking pictures of the surrounding mountains, before jumping on a chair lift to get some different views of the area. The clock struck noon and I really wanted to get back to check out Protest The Hero. As the gondola pulled into the station on top Whistler, it began to vibrate as it passed over the stage where Protest The Hero had started their set.

I used to work with a guy who loved this band, playing them non-stop, so I knew they were going to put on a good show. Between songs, lead singer Rody Walker lightened the mood with a bit of comedy, while during songs guitarist Tim Millar walked up and down the neck of his instrument with what looked like such ease. One thing I look for when I go check out a band is the hand of the guitar player. I love watching someone own the guitar and Tim Millar certainly did that. Once PTH shut it down, we headed into the Roundhouse Lodge for a couple of brown pops and some lunch.

While finishing up with lunch, I noticed a chairlift open going to the rocky peak of Whistler. Snorri and I agreed to check it out, but first it was time for the snowboard competition. Hundreds of people surrounded the make shift snowboard park to get a view of the event. One after another snowboarders and skiers took their turns on the obstacles. In my eyes, one man stood out above the rest and of course I don’t have his name, however his number was 29. He consistently rode the kinked ledge from top to bottom and threw in rodeos and stylish stalls on the bottom box. The clock was ticking on our opportunity to check out the peak of Whistler before The Stills took the stage, to close out NESTEA’s Chill On The Hill. We left the trick competition and headed up the chairlift.

Once on top, panoramic views greeted us reinforcing the decision to come to the peak. But like earlier, I felt pressed for time. I’ve been listening to The Stills for the past 4 years, so missing their set wasn’t an option. We jumped back on the chairlift and headed to show.

The Stills took the stage at about 3pm to a crowd sitting on hay bails atop Whistler, while the afternoon sun beat down. There is quiet a contrast between The Stills and P.T.H, but in my opinion, the people who put these bands together made a great choice. Once The Stills were finished, so were we. It had been a long day in the sun and we still had to get back to Victoria.

With Chill On The Hill in the rear view mirror, I would say, NESTEA combined great content with a great venue to put on a fun event. If you’re a fan of good music mixed with winter and summer sports, check out a Chill On The Hill event if you can.

Story Greg Miller
Photography Snorri Gunnarsson & Greg Miller

 

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I peeled my left eyelid open to see the fog sitting on top of us. This could not have turned out any worse for our morning plans.

We were in Cheticamp on Cape Breton Island about to take on the Cabot Trail before heading to Halifax. Our hosts at the B&B were encouraging us to go for a hike along the Skyline Trail at the beginning of the Cabot Trail, if you’re starting out of Cheticamp on the west side entrance to the park. However, with the fog settling in overnight, there was no point in walking a trail for an hour to a viewpoint covered in fog. So here we were at 7:00 am eating breakfast around a table with other visitors to the B&B, who averaged an age of about 55, with a decision to make. Don’t get me wrong about the age thing. It was just funny being so much younger than everybody else. It was also a great comparison to traveling. Abby and I ate an apple and drank cheap beers for dinner the previous night, while the other guests talked about the amazing spreads and wines they enjoyed. Let me tell you, I love roughing it, but I also can’t wait until I can kick it like that.

The fog wasn’t just obstructing with our morning plans. The longer it lingered, the less we would see because of our deadline to be in Halifax that evening. We finished up breakfast and headed for Skyline with hopes of the sky lightening up. No luck! Back in the car, we made the decision to go until nature told us to stop, which wasn’t long.  We noticed another couple sleeking off into the woods on a marked lake trail about 5 kms past Skyline. Naturally, we invaded their private walk together. It wasn’t long before the couple turned around and gave the trail to us. The fog continued to hold, which created an eerie environment to walk in. Abby suddenly noticed a female moose with two babies, camouflaged in the woods as we passed by. What an amazing couple of minutes watching these creatures. I would provide pictures, but I had the wrong lens at the time and I wasn’t going to approach a mom with her children. We continued on the trail until we reached the lake and then turned back for the car. We got really close to a crazy bird that reminded me of a pretty grouse or something, and the moose were gone as we walked back.

We drove on for awhile longer and then, just like out of a movie, we approached a place called Pleasant Bay and that it was. The fog was gone, and I could tell these clouds would not hold. This is what we came for. The road started to lead downhill towards the water and shoreline, and our first major stop came at Neils Harbour — a must stop in my opinion. Neils Harbour is a tiny town with a great beach and wonderful little harbour. Abby and I hopped out of the car and played on the beach for a bit and then went to the local eatery for a tea and coffee. Down the road was a wicked beach that the waitress in Neils Harbor had recommended. It was more like a park setting, and for the first time that day we were amongst groups of tourists, eek!

The day began to fly by, as did the amazing views, beaches and local pit stops. We pulled the car into Ingonish and stopped at an amazing white sand beach, which reached for miles. Time continued to slip, so we knew the stops would be less frequent, but sacrifices would be made.

We drove over hills and along the beach for a couple more hours before stopping in Baddeck for a photo op. Baddeck is also where the realization of the trek to the Halifax airport to pick up Mick and Jessica hit us.

I truly wish I had at least three days to explore the Cabot Trail. However, even on a short clock, I’m thrilled to say I’ve done it, because it truly is amazing. In my opinion, roll the dice on the Cabot Trail even if you have just a sliver of time.

By Greg Miller

 

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As summer weather overtook the cool days of spring, I decided it was time to head out on the bicycle and explore another gem in the Gulf Islands. A quick look at the BC ferries schedule showed a daily 8:35 ferry to Pender Island so I set my alarm for an early morning departure.

Pender Island is actually made up of two islands, the more-developed North Pender, and rugged, under-populated South Pender. Little more than 50 km of biking is needed to explore both islands, but hiking trails and beach access abound to make either a full-day trip, or weekend escape memorable.

Once off the ferry at Otter Bay, I headed off main road of the island to avoid traffic, and headed for Port Washington. On route is the Old Orchard Farm, an old homestead where more than 50 different types of pears, plums and apples once grew. From Port Washington, a quick exit onto Clam Bay road revealed a windy forested road that would continue throughout my day on the island.

Finding a quiet beach accessed off Razor Rd, I enjoyed a relaxing lunch break. The views over the calm Browning Harbour revealed the next destination: South Pender Island’s Mount Newton.
After lunch, I headed around to the bridge that joins the two islands and crossed over onto the deserted South Pender. I locked my bike at the entrance to Mount Newton Park, and stashed my panniers in the trees before beginning the climb. At only 260 m, Mt Newton is the tallest point on the Penders, and the short 40-minute hike reveals breathtaking views over the water.

Back on North Pender, I rode up to Magic Lake, one of two sizable fresh-water lakes on the island. Although the algae-filled lake is not for swimming; turtles, frogs and sizable lilies line the shores, making it a wonderful place to stop and enjoy the afternoon. Deer wandered through the nearby fields, and locals came and went along the roadways, each offering a friendly greeting as they passed.

Late in the afternoon, I rode out to Thieves Bay, the island’s largest marina. The view from the breakwater was simply stunning: sailboats drifted past in the distance, kayakers explored the nearby shore, and birds flew overhead. It was the perfect place for an early dinner, before heading back to the ferry terminal for the 6:45 boat to Swartz bay.

It was simply another perfect day, riding in one of BC’s hidden secrets.

By Jeff Bartlett

 

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“If it weren’t for the rain Squamish would be the best climbing area in the world.” So said my girlfriend Roxanne as I fetched her off a flight from Colorado in the Vancouver airport. Several years ago Roxanne had endured a year and a half working in Seattle and she’d been traumatized by northwest rain. Now that we lived in a nearly rainless Colorado, at least when compared to Squamish, we were convinced our climbing foray to the northwest would be soaked.

We battled through downtown Vancouver, one of the most spectacular cities in the world. My friend Chris from Victoria gave us explicit instructions: “get on Granville, go left on Georgia, over the Lionsgate Bridge and your there, pretty much…” I was convinced we’d end up lost on the lower east side asking junkies for directions. Chris was right though, and we found ourselves blasting up the shiny new, Olympic ready, Sea-To-Sky Highway the evening summer sun dipping towards Bowen Island and the Georgia Strait illuminating crystalline skies with no rain in sight.

Squamish is a town in transition. The sounds and sights of the old Squamish still pervade the landscape: raw logs stuffed into a corner of Howe Sound, awaiting export, and steam from the pulp mill rising incessantly. But the new Squamish is emerging, girding for the world stage in the winter of 2010 when the long awaited Vancouver-Whistler Olympics finally arrive. Once a purely resource town filled with tough, hard-edged loggers, Squamish now boasts the title “Outdoor Recreation Capital of Canada.”

Kite and wind surfers tear it up on Howe Sound, mountain bikers are seen heading out or coming back form the host of epic rides, skiers flock to the region in the winter for the famed Whistler Blackcomb and for the heralded Coast Range backcountry. But the reason we came to Squamish was for the rock climbing.

Dominating the town is the Chief, a proud mass of bulletproof granite that serves up some of the best crack climbing in the universe. Unfortunately for us we only have three days to get a taste of it. We start on the five-pitch Rock On, a 5.10B classic on the north side of the Apron. After a winter of indoor climbing, it takes a few pitches to get used to placing nuts and cams again, but the solid Squamish granite provides absurdly solid placements that inspire confidence and courage in even the most timid bolt-clipper. Squamish in undoubtedly a traditional area but compared to areas like Eldorado Canyon, our home turf in Colorado, it is far less intimidating. The gear is consistently good and abundant, the rock is as solid as the day it was carved out by retreating glaciers, and the cracks practically suck your hands into sticky jams that are often harder to get out of than into. I love Eldorado but I would trade it in a second for this place.

The penultimate pitch of Rock-On is my welcome to Squamish: a long hand crack, with solid protection all the way to the cozy ledge with stunning views of the town and the surrounding valley. I arrive pumped and satisfied with an empty rack. I wish we had more than just three days.
The next day we wake up at five am and by six we are hiking up to the classic 14-pitch adventure the Angel’s Crest. First climbed in 1964 by Fred Becky and Eric Bjornstad, the route is a time-tested classic. Rising over 1200 feet to the top of the Chief and in the shade most of the day, the route offers everything from superb 5.10 cracks, run-out slabs, arduous chimneys and gritty tromps through forests. There is even a totem pole at mid-height.

The hike to the base is over in 15 minutes and soon Roxanne is racked up and climbing the first 5.8 grunge pitch. We hear voices in the forest heading up to the base and our early strategy is vindicated, as we are the first party on the route. Rox tops out on a luxurious ledge and I follow the pitch, methodically removing her gear. As I approach the belay, views of the classic pitch the Angel Crack, emerge. A perfect 5.10b right arcing finger crack stands before me. The pitch climbs as good as it looks, finger lock follows a bomber hand jam to another trucker nut placement to a perfect cam. Before long I’m at the two-bolt belay sensing an oncoming granite addiction. 5.10B in Eldorado Canyon can be terrifying, in Squamish it’s pure fun.

The adventure continues up the ridge. The climbing ramps up to some airy 5.10c face moves, well protected by ½ inch bolts. Soon we are at the Sasquatch Ledge, which is more like a small forest. We stumble upon the totem pole and wonder at the effort expended to haul it half way up the Chief.

At this point the route finding gets more difficult and our eyes dart back and forth from the route to the topo. The Acrophobe stands before us, a freestanding rock-climb within a rock-climb. Rox handles the run-out 5.7 and we are soon rappelling of the back of the Acrophobe. A few 5.8 grunge pitches take us to a small, exposed ledge under the second to last pitch of the route: a five star 5.10c hand to chimney and back to hands crack that hangs a thousand plus feet over the town of Squamish. The gear is solid and the climbing flows, and despite getting stuck in the Chimney for a moment, a struggle up the final jams and top-out on a palatial ledge. Rox follows and has to remove her helmet in the wide section to get in deep enough too remove my gear. The comedy of it all trumps her annoyances with fat cracks.

Rox grabs the rack for the last pitch and muscles through the awkward and exposed 5.8 chimney. We pose at the top for some photos, take our last sip of water and start the long hike down the back of the chief. We stumble to the car, toss the gear in and head straight to the pub for burgers and beers and plans for another Squamish trip next year. Later that night I re-read the passage in Kevin McLane’s excellent guide about the Angel’s Crest that I had at first ignored. The Angel’s Crest “is longer and more tiring for more climber’s than it may appear.” True indeed.

The irony of it all is that for the entirety of our time in the northwest not a drop of rain fell, while Boulder was pummeled by thunderstorms and BC west coast style rain. We lucked out.

By Matt Kelley

http://www.squamish.ca/

http://www.tourismsquamish.com/

 

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