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Tonasket to Snoqualmie Pass
Story and photos by Kasey Bell
After turning 59, I began thinking that I should celebrate turning 60 by spending 60 days in the wilderness. I decided to break free from my usual linear and circular styles of hiking and try to do more of a freestyle meander between resupply points. My general plan was to start on the east side of the Pasayten Wilderness, head west to the Pasayten River, then south with resupplies at Mazama, Stehekin, Stevens and Snoqualmie passes. I wanted to immerse myself in my home mountains for a longer and introspective journey, try to go on trails off the Pacific Crest Trail (PCT), and try to get a sense of the current wellbeing of the North Cascades ecosystem.
Looking back, a little trail research ahead of time would have been helpful. I knew that parts of the Pasayten Wilderness and other eastside trails had burned. I had no idea how extensive it was and how badly the burns had affected trail conditions.
Things started out fine on the first 12-day leg, on which my 17-year-old son, Finley, joined me. We started from the Iron Gate Trailhead through a mix of burned and unburned forest for the first three days, culminating with a spectacular stretch from the larch forest on Apex Pass, angling north to Cathedral Pass, and down to Cathedral Lake. Here we had our only rain on this section with a thunderstorm that flattened our tent early the next morning. The skies cleared and we had a vista-filled scramble up the shoulder of Cathedral Peak that morning. The view made us feel like we were in the center of a vast wilderness, with the exception of the border swath running with relentless straightness on the 49th parallel just to the north.
That afternoon we began a descent into what began to feel like the edge of Mordor. We had started on the solstice, and now, even at 7,000 feet, the temperature started to ratchet up as the 2021 heat dome pushed its way into the Northwest. On top of this, the forest for the next six days turned out to be almost all burned, with just small patches of alpine trees left living. The only bright point we had forest-wise was after a particularly grim descent to the Ashnola River. We found a patch of green from the 12-foot living shoots of aspen trees, sprouting up from their roots. Up on Sheep Mountain even some of the high-altitude heather had burned.
The last of the alpine on this stretch of the Boundary Trail was on Bunker Hill, where we took refuge in the shade of some alpine firs and cooled ourselves with snow packed under our hats. This is where I wanted to head off the Border Trail and go south toward Hidden Lakes, but luckily we ran into a trail crew that advised against this as that trail had not been maintained in years and was 100 percent burned.
The next morning found us descending along a faint ash-coated trail, crawling under or climbing over blowdowns the whole way to the Pasayten River crossing. This we reached at midday with the temperature already in the 90s. I followed Finley, who boldly headed into the high and swift ford. The water gradually deepened until it was nearing the top of my thighs. I imagined a scenario of my foot giving way on a slippery stone, the fast current pulling me into the freezing water, having to wriggle free of my pack and then watching it get swept to Canada as I struggled not to drown. Luckily, we both emerged safely into, yes, more burned forest on the opposite bank. Trudging south in punishing sun we searched for shade and finally found a 15-foot live pine tree to huddle under for the afternoon as the heat hovered in the high 90s.
The following morning was more of the same: Extreme burnt blowdown challenge. This went on for five miles until the trail junction to Frosty Pass, and we saw living forest on the other side.
We crossed the old airfield and U.S. Forest Service camp and continued south through intact, beautiful forest. We camped that night at the Upper Pasayten River crossing, where we met some PCT southbound thru-hikers, “Bunkhouse” and “Spud,” who were detouring around some dangerous snow on the regular route. These were the first hikers we’d seen other than the trail crew in five days. The next few days took us up over Robinson Pass and down the trail to Mazama and the comforts of the Mazama Store.
Part two of my hike started that same afternoon with my wife, Marjie, my sister Natasha and our friend Andrea joining me for the nine-day trek from there to Stehekin.
Our route took us up the Cedar Creek trail, five miles up the highway from Mazama, which offered good trail, shade and a couple of nice creek-side campsites on the way up to Abernathy Pass. Tragically, this whole valley burned a week later.
On the other side we camped at a buggy North Lake, and then wrapped our way over to Twisp Pass, camping at a lovely view site a couple of miles below the pass. A calmly foraging black bear kept us company.
Highlights of the rest of this section include a day trip up to Stiletto Lake, some rainy and cool weather at Dagger Lake, and getting into beautiful old-growth on the trails down toward the PCT and back up to McAlester Lake. Then down to Stehekin, with the scenic Rainbow Creek trail putting us just a mile from the famous bakery.
Part three started with a boat trip down the lake from Stehekin to Lucerne. There I waved goodbye to my trail mates and started solo with 13 days of provisions, up toward Emerald Park Pass over, yes, more burned forest and blowdowns. Luckily, I ran into another trail crew, who were clearing the route to Domke Lake, who told me that the trail to the pass is mile after mile of burns and blowdowns, with much the same in the Entiat River Valley on the other side. Disheartened, I spent the night up at Domke Lake, where I met Sid, the 71-year-old owner of the now burnedout Domke Lake resort, a casualty of the 2015 fire here. He reminisced about the days when the lake was a popular summer camping destination.
The next day I retreated to Lucerne and caught the shuttle up to Holden Village, with the idea I would abandon my previous plan to go around the east side of Glacier Peak. Instead, I would head west out of Holden and connect with the PCT. I spent my first night at Heart Lake, then did a side trip up to the glaciated valley of upper Lyman Lakes. I ran into several groups coming over Spider Gap, everyone doing a loop that picks up the PCT and then heads back down over Buck Creek Pass. I rested in my camp for the afternoon, watching with slack-jawed horror at one point as a rockfall came down from the cliffs above me and passed about 50 yards from my tent.
I connected up with the PCT the next day, staying on it for a few miles before taking a detour over to the famous Image Lake. I remember stories from my youth of this scenic spot
overrun with campers but after an amazing alpine meadow traverse, with marmot accompaniment, I was astounded to find that I had the campground all to myself. I spent some meditative time with the salamanders by the lake and then met a few other hikers, Scott and Erica, forest rangers on vacation from the Darrington Ranger District who generously gave me the detailed map I needed to go around the west side of Glacier Peak with confidence. I also met Russ, volunteer ranger at the Miners Ridge Lookout. He invited me to visit the next morning. It’s an amazing lookout with a lot of history.
He shared the experience of surviving a lighting strike in the lookout, which caused the knife his wife was chopping vegetables with to fly across the room. He also filled me in on the history of the Kennecott Copper Corporation mine, a proposal in the 1960s that would have put an open pit copper mine just a few miles up the ridge, thankfully thwarted.
My experience with the folks I met at Image Lake reflected one of the main takeaways I have from the trip: Mountain people are super friendly. I think this is our natural state, but civilization makes us edgy.
On the PCT this theory was frequently validated. I met a series of extremely kind and nice people, like “Hammer,” my first northbound thru-hiker, and southbound thru-hikers like Robert, Mary Ellen and “Calzone” along with various happy groups and solos out for shorter trips.
The way west around Glacier Peak was epic with the mountain revealing its various sublime faces with each ridge, incredible old growth down in the Suiattle River basin, and ethereal alpine campsites. It was nice to hike on some rare snow around Mica Lake and Fire Creek Pass. Views to the west of Sloan Peak made me nostalgic for a climb I did there 40 years ago.
The hike from Glacier Peak to Stevens was notable for a series of classic crest ridge walks and intact and healthy upper montane forest of what looked like pure mountain hemlock. I had a refreshingly cool and breezy camp at Lake Sally Ann and a camp with record clouds of mosquitos at Pear Lake. Views of Mt. Rainier became stronger as views of Glacier Peak diminished.
The last piece of my wilderness sojourn began, after rest and resupply, with my friends, Pat and Julie, and my sister, Natasha, joining me as we climbed, in what used to be typical cascade drizzle, up through the Stevens Pass Ski Area. Thus, began day 35 of my quest, heading south on a classic part of the PCT from Stevens to Snoqualmie, a beautiful section with an assortment of lovely lakes. We camped and swam at Glacier Lake, which had schools of fish feeding on the surface; Waptus Lake, windy and warm, and Spectacle Lake, set in a valley of smooth boulders that reminded me of the High Sierras. We met more great people, such as “Sandstorm” who sat with us for dinner while sharing tales of his thru-hike north so far. Our wildlife highlight was a marmot with two pups taking turns nursing and playing in a boulder patch just off the trail. The last few days had us in smoke from a fire south of Snoqualmie Pass. This didn’t diminish the coolness of the Kendall Catwalk.
In the end, I didn’t make my goal of 60 days. This was partly a logistics error, partly missing home and family, and partly appreciating hiking with company more than hiking alone. I headed home on day 41, rich in trail lore and with a greatly deepened appreciation of these mountains, with their precious forests, glaciers and snowfields, rivers, lakes and wildlife, that have been the backdrop of my life. x
Guests arrive at Mount Baker Lodge as Sunrise Lake melts behind. Galen Biery Collection, Bert Huntoon photo, #849, Center for Pacific Northwest Studies. (below) A woman feeds one of the many black bears in the area. Bert Huntoon photo, Whatcom Museum, Bellingham, WA.
The Old Lady of Mount Baker
Mount Baker Lodge stood for 4 years in Heather Meadows
By Ian Haupt
The Mount Baker Lodge opened to guests in 1927.
Near the front entrance of the lodge was a fountain with spring water piped from the bottom of Table Mountain. Furnished with dozens of chairs, lounges and writing tables with stationary bearing the local scenery, the lobby was 130 feet long and 50 feet wide with a large stone fireplace, big enough to accommodate a 10-foot log. Windows on one side looked north across the Nooksack River upon the Cascades. On another side, windows unveiled a panoramic view of Mt. Shuksan across Sunrise Lake.
The lodge’s color scheme was accented with signs of the American Indian, and fur pillars supported its ceiling. Offices, checking rooms and enclosures with candy, drinks, cards and photographs for purchase were adjoined to the lobby.
“God, I wish I could’ve walked into that,” Mike Impero said, looking at a photo of the lodge’s lobby. He continued clicking through photos on his home computer as his eyes slowly watered. Many of the photos he used in his book, “The Grand Lady of Mount Baker: A History of the Mount Baker Lodge from 1927-1931.”
As he sifts through, he offers a story, detail, factoid. There are hundreds, and duplicates.
“The building was not built cheap!” he said, as he points out that the electrical wiring in the lodge was drilled into the wood rather than surface mounted. Then he jumped to the Native American artifacts that decorated the room, and then to the fireplace. He said he gets sidetracked.
Impero was raised in Kendall in the 1950s and grew up hunting, fishing, climbing and hiking in the mountains surrounding Mt. Baker. He spent years as a kid traveling up to Heather Meadows with his family. His dad used to say if they were lucky they would see a bunch of black bears.
“I love the alpine country,” Impero said.
He’s climbed Mt. Shuksan three times. At 81, he continues to return to the area today.
He said as a kid he was meant to go into the lumber business, as it was what most did who lived in the area. But when his brother was killed in an accident, he said his father forbid it. So he became a general contractor and moved to Bellingham where he’s lived since.
He started researching and interviewing people about the history of the Baker area in the early 2000s. While caring for his late wife, Impero had extra time at home and began writing what has become six published books.
His background as a general contractor made him interested in the history of the lodge and early development of the area. He said in the 1980s he was contracted to build the Alaska Marine Highway System’s terminal in Bellingham, now known as the Bellingham Cruise Terminal, and saw similarities in both projects.
“It had an unbelievable schedule to get done,” Impero said. “That ferry was coming and there was no way to change it. It was coming on a certain date, and the problem was the time element to build the building was unbelievably short. Well these people building the lodge went through the same thing.” …
In 1922, Frank Sefrit, managing editor of Bellingham’s The American Reveille newspaper, had recently returned from visiting Heather Meadows when he met with longtime friend and Pacific American Fisheries president Everett Deming at his office in Fairhaven. He proposed the idea of building a lodge in the meadows, what he called the most beautiful spot on Earth that he had ever been.
The meeting would start a five-year effort to open an overnight lodge in the undeveloped area. The land was leased for $150 annually from the U.S. Forest Service and discussions about constructing a road to the site began. The Mount Baker Lodge Development Company intended to provide suitable accommodations for the traveling public once the road was finished.
Project manager Bert Huntoon and site supervisor Charlie Hunley commenced work on the project in summer of 1923.
The abandoned gold rush town of Shuksan, 8 miles down from Heather Meadows on the North Fork of the Nooksack River, was used to store materials and supplies and as a sawmill. The first supply trips up to the area were made on foot before a pack trail was established. In the first summer, water pipelines, restrooms and miles of trails were built.
Hunley, with one or two other men, stayed at the site during winter. His wife and three children would occasionally journey up to visit. In the meantime, he made friends with a local packrat, Bimbo, and a large male black bear, Bozo. Hunley’s job during the winter was to measure the water level of the weir in Bagley Creek and the snowpack. With
Cars parked at the Annex as the area grew more popular for its winter activities, years after the lodge burnt down. Bert Huntoon photo, Whatcom Museum, Bellingham, WA.
tents and cabins built, construction on the lodge began in July 1925.
By September 1925, the road was finished and the first wagonload of lumber made it to the site. But progress stalled as the bad fall weather set in.
While neither the development company nor the Washington State Highway Department publicized the road’s completion, people began coming up to Heather Meadows with skis, sleds and ice skates until the road was blocked for winter.
The original investors, the Mount Baker Development Company, saw the lodge as a summertime retreat. Tourists could stay at the lodge, cabins or tents on the complex and enjoy the area. The lodge was supposed to be for wealthy, upper-class people while the cabins were for middle-class families.
The company planned for the grand opening of the lodge on June 15, 1927. Crews worked all winter to have the lodge built in time. With the lodge not yet finished and an average of 11 feet of snow at Heather Meadows in late May, they knew it would have to be delayed. Snow on the road prevented vehicles from reaching the lodge. The road wasn’t fully cleared until July 9.
After five years of planning, building and securing funding, the lodge opened June 30. While not the grand opening, the hotel had over 120 guests staying overnight in a couple of days. The board of directors and stockholders were relieved to see the lodge become a reality and begin generating revenue. A letter sent to shareholders said $500,000 was invested to build the lodge, its surrounding complex and camp at Shuksan. By the grand opening July 14, Heather Meadows was still blanketed with snow 3 to 5 feet deep.
“This man-made Lodge is in the place as nature planned it ages ago when she turned the mountains up with lakes between Baker and Shuksan and spread Heather Meadows out like a great Persian rug to place the Lodge on,” one visitor commented during the first year of opening.
One of the main complaints the first year was the lack of a view of Mt. Baker. The only way to see it was by hiking a mile or two out on the ridge or to Artist Point. The development company began pushing the forest service and highway department for a road up to Austin Pass and Artist Point.
The beautiful Mount Baker Lodge lobby with oak floor and handcrafted western American Indian decor. G. Byeman photo.
Mount Baker Lodge during construction. Fresh snow on Mt. Shuksan; winter is coming. Bert Huntoon photo, Whatcom Museum, Bellingham, WA
Pinto the horse and a hand-carved Native American canoe, which came from either the Lummi or Nooksack Indian tribes. Bert Huntoon photo, Whatcom Museum, Bellingham, WA
A typical bedroom in the Mount Baker Lodge. Bert Huntoon photo, Whatcom Museum, Bellingham, WA
For the next couple of years, the lodge opened in July and closed in September. Hundreds of people from Whatcom County and across the nation flocked to the area for a summer stay in the North Cascades. Movie productions began using the area for its natural beauty.
The Annex was built in 1928 next to the lodge and connected by a covered walkway. By 1930, the Washington State Commission was calling for bids to complete construction of the Mount Baker Highway to Artist Point.
Then on August 5, 1931, the lodge burned down. Huntoon was out in the meadows to catch the sunrise and take photos of the lodge when he saw smoke coming from the building. The reported cause was defective wiring or electrical supply. The Annex, Heather Inn and all of the cabins were unscathed, but the lodge was a total loss. Rumors spread that a disgruntled stockholder started the fire after not receiving dividends on his investment. Newspapers reported the lodge’s direct current power system was responsible for the fire.
The Mount Baker Development Company continued to welcome visitors in the summer, housing them in the Annex and cabins and using the Heather Inn as a lobby.
The extension of Mount Baker Highway to Artist Point was completed in October 1931.
A skiing escalator that went up to the Panorama Dome was installed in Heather Meadows in early winter 1935. It was the first convenience of its kind in the Pacific Northwest, and cost 15 cents to ride. The Northwest Ski Association held its first slalom race at the Panorama Dome in May 1936. One hundred thirty skiers competed in the two-day event and over 2,000 spectated. The U.S. Forest Service deemed it a total success and began developing the area into a wintertime playground.
The area continued to host competitions over the years and in 1939 the Mount Baker Ski Patrol was organized. As winter activities grew in popularity, the Mount Baker Development Company looked for ways to continue operation and profit off the new visitors.
With profits dwindling, the company sold the Heather Inn, which had been closed for two seasons, to the forest service in July 1941 for $1,100.
During the winter of 1942/1943, the Washington State Highway Department cut back operations to keep the highway open due to the wartime shortage of gasoline. The Mount Baker Development Company disbanded shortly after. …
There were many reasons for the failure. Impero said and wrote some were acts of nature and others were poor business judgment. They didn’t anticipate the tremendous snowfall that would add stress on facilities and make for a short season. Without snow removal operations, the area was only accessible from July to mid-September most years.
Based on financial statements he acquired during research, the lodge showed profitability the first two years it was open, then visitation slowed and the Great Depression hit. He said the project was doomed from the beginning.
“They didn’t realize the magnitude of what they were building.” x
Tumbling Bikes
Mountain bike first aid with Backcountry Medical Guides
Story and photos by Nick Belcaster
So who here is part of the busted collar bone club? Up go more hands than I expected. Certainly more than the general population. Mountain bikers are that way: Perpetually roughed up, pinballing off old growth or introducing their knees to the gravel. One in the group produces her surgical scars for the rest of us to consider.
She’s broken both collar bones — twice.
Courses like wilderness first aid (WFA) and wilderness first responder (WFR) were made for these people. It’s first aid instruction for those who are as likely to come across someone on trail in need of some medical help as they are being that person. The issue, John Taussig realized, was that most wilderness medical courses dealt in broad generalities to almost the disservice of those on the receiving end. Try hammering home best practices for treatment of high altitude cerebral edema to the casual sailor. Eye glaze, ahoy.
Today Taussig operates Backcountry Medical Guides (BMG), a wilderness medicine educational nonprofit that offers unique sport-specific courses that are truly dialed in terms of what outdoor recreators might encounter in their discipline. Instruction is offered through the lenses of hiking, mountain biking, trail running, skiing or sailing, and aren’t shy about tailoring the curriculum to different user groups. “It’s also the hardest possible way to teach these classes,” Taussig says.
Instructors aren’t just instructors, they’re guides as well, managing the risk that comes along with leading outdoor excursions. But the tradeoff, BMG proposes, is a far more applicable education for their students.
“You can take skills learned in a mountain biking medical course and take them anywhere. They apply to the front country or the back country, but by focusing on specific populations you build a community in the process, and it allows people to extract what is most important to them,” Taussig says.
This helps explain why the instructors of the mountain biking WFA course I find myself in late April set aside more time to explain slinging a broken collar bone. Based on the stories being traded, I could tell that more than likely, everyone here was going to need it sooner than later. Our classroom was the world-class trails of Galbraith mountain, and our instructors were Drew Trimakas, an 18-year veteran paramedic with the Bellingham Fire Department, and Adam Cosner, 25-year paramedic and resident of Santa Cruz, California. I should also mention, they both rip on a bike.
Our instruction had begun with online course materials to prepare us for our two days on the bike. Most all of the BMG course offerings utilize little to no classroom space so after a brief lesson on CPR under cover of a picnic shelter, we’re out pedaling uphill into a spring rain. It’s this live-fire environment that really makes the education come to life, Taussig says.
“Imagine a rescue on Galbraith — it might be an hour and a half, two hours, which doesn’t seem like that long. But 30 minutes in the pouring rain, on the ground in a mud puddle, when you’re feeling that and you’re being assessed, you get that sense of importance from that weather,” Taussig says. “We don’t necessarily welcome it, but we shoulder it just fine.”
Our soggy ascent is rewarded by a cloud break just as we dive into the first of many scenarios, where our abilities in managing a patient are put to the test. The mechanism of injury ranges from the general to the mountain bike specific (Uh oh, looks like your buddy cased that last kicker!), and Trimakas and Cosner keep us fresh with stories from both their time as paramedics, as well as their time riding trails.
Interspersed throughout the day are moments of mountain bike MacGyverism: A bike inner tube can be used as a tourniquet in a pinch, bike bottles are excellent at providing the high pressure needed to irrigate a dirty wound, and knee pads are almost ready-made splints. It’s these nuggets of wisdom that are rattling around in my brain as the sun finally makes an appearance while we wrap up and blast down Bob’s Trail toward the cars.
Taussig has always had the itch to teach. In college he began instructing CPR for the American Heart Association, and at age 22 he constructed a curriculum to get ski patrollers in Montana up to speed and on the hill. By the time he was working as a flight paramedic in Santa Cruz in 2010, he had enough coworkers and friends who needed recertifications that it made sense to plant stakes — and BMG began.
BMG’s first office was the Breezy, a small sailboat docked in Santa Cruz harbor, which Taussig would sail to Monterey to host WFA and WFR courses on. Today BMG is still a scrappy grassroots affair (just with a bigger boat — the Lucia), and has assembled an impressive contingent of MDs, PAs and EMTs to instruct their courses.
Taussig is incredibly proud of the curriculum that BMG has put together, noting that it is “100 percent uniquely Backcountry Medical Guides.” While there are standard bearers in the wilderness medical scene, there isn’t any standard curriculum, which means that BMG has been able to lean on their medical advisory board and craft an education that tunes in exactly to the frequency of whatever outdoor user group they’re working with that week. It’s custom-crafted wilderness medicine for what you’re into. …
Day two of our course began far drier than the first, and a hearty pedal up the north side of Galbraith deposits us at an overlook where we would spend much of our morning. In the span of a few hours I’d stabilized a diabetic, assisted in
the evacuation of a stroke victim and splinted an open femur fracture.
By lunch we had migrated to Blue Steel, a pro level jump line carved into a cut on the flanks of Galbraith, which was a fitting location for a discussion on trauma. Every story that Trimakas and Cosner shared weren’t so much a retelling of their greatest saves, but rather when they had learned something on the job or had encountered a situation on the trail and how they managed it.
After a few more scenarios (with copious fake blood involved) we pack up and make one final run of the day on a trail that Trimakas knows well: He cut it in. We queue up and finally burn off the elevation we’ve been holding in reserve all day, hooting and hollering our way down. It’s a perfect dirt sort of run, a loan finally being paid off for enduring the rain of the previous day. We fire our way back to the cars in good style, with no one kissing the turf this go.
A wilderness first aid or first responder course can be an invaluable experience for anyone who spends appreciable time recreating outdoors. The hard skills learned can be applied to a number of different situations, but almost more important is learning how to approach a scene with a level head and working through a system. “It’s hard to take an office setting cardiac arrest and apply it to a boat, but it’s really easy to take all the stressors and apply it to land,” Taussig says.
My weekend on the bike was an excellent refresher of the wilderness medical skills I had learned on my first rodeo with a WFR course, and seeing them through the perspective of a mountain biker added a different dimension and depth to my understanding. These are all skills that might make the difference on trail, whether it’s you who takes the spill, or someone you come across.
More so maybe, it just made me grateful for my intact collarbones. x
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Family hikes in Canada’s North Cascades
Story and photos by Stephen Hui
Gorgeous scenery abounds in the North Cascades on both sides of the border. However, some epic trails may be a tad ambitious for parents with little ones.
Fortunately, we also have trails that are easy on effort and big on reward. Here are three delightfully kid-friendly hikes in Canada’s North Cascades.
Reminders: Check trail reports, bring the essentials, leave a trip plan with a responsible person and leave no trace.
MT. THOM
Distance: 4.3 miles
Access: On Trans-Canada Highway 1 in Chilliwack, take Exit 123. Head south on Prest Road. Continue onto Teskey Way. Turn left on Jinkerson Road. Go right on Thom Creek Drive. Turn right on Sylvan Drive and find parking near the upper trailhead.
Trail: Mt. Thom is an enjoyable outing in any season. Our lollipop hike climbs the foothill from Chilliwack’s Promontory neighbourhood.
From the kiosk on Sylvan Drive, enter Mt. Thom Park and climb 130 numbered steps. The viewpoint atop the stairs overlooks a suburban housing tract, the Fraser Valley and Chilliwack Mountain. Follow the Thom Creek Trail into the mixed woods. A path from MacFarlane Place joins from the right.
Go left at the Walker Creek Trail junction. Zigzag steadily uphill on the wide gravel path. Watch out for Pacific banana slugs and sideband snails underfoot. Lose some elevation.
At the Summit Bypass Trail junction, go right. The trail dips again. Climb 22 unnumbered steps. A bench offers a rest and a partial viewpoint. Keep right at signposts for Karver’s Trail, Churchill Parkway and the Ridgeline Trail, joining the Lookout Loop. Pass a bench viewpoint and follow a wire fence.
Finally, head up an eroded path to the satisfying summit viewpoint. Gaze southwest through the fireweed to Cultus Lake, Vedder Mountain and the Vedder River. However, the daring ravens are indubitably the stars of the show.
Continue left, turning right at a kiosk just downhill from the summit. Stroll among big old-growth Douglas firs. Go left on the quiet Ridgeline Trail. Skip the signed, but overgrown, viewpoint off to the right. Meet the Lookout Loop, closing the counter-clockwise summit loop; turn right and retrace your steps to Sylvan Drive.
Distance: 3 miles
Access: Eastbound on Trans-Canada Highway 1, take Exit 170 in Hope. From the off-ramp, turn left. Go right on Old Hope Princeton Way. Make a left on 6th Avenue, followed by a right on Kawkawa Lake Road. Turn left on Union Bar Road, then make a sharp left on Thacker Mountain Road. Park by the end of the paved road.
Trail: Thacker Mountain stands east of the confluence of the Coquihalla River and Fraser River in Hope. A pleasant lollipop hike takes in the views from all sides of this forested hill.
From the cul-de-sac, start up the gravel service road. Keep left at a three-way junction under a rock wall and pass a yellow gate. Where a log lies by the roadside, a mossy bluff off to the left offers benches from which to admire the lovely view of little Landstrom Ridge and bigger Dog Mountain behind Hope and the Coquihalla-Fraser confluence. Keep kids back from the edge.
Continue up the road, which enters Thacker Regional Park and land owned by the University of British Columbia. After the road curves right, go left on a trail that rounds a wetland with a bridge over its outflow. Stay on the main trail as it bends right.
Go left at a three-way junction to begin a clockwise loop. Detour left for a near-summit viewpoint, with an outcrop for sitting and snacking, which affords another grand perspective of Hope, the Fraser Valley and the Skagit Range. For a brief outing, turn around here.
Continuing the loop, pass a big Douglas fir, gradually descend and merge with an old road coming from the right. Walk the planks over the outlet of a wetland. Go left and up a side path, for a partial viewpoint overlooking Kawkawa Lake. Ogilvie Peak, Macleod Peak and Mt. Outram provide the backdrop.
The side path quickly rejoins the main trail. Hit the gravel road. Turn left and head up to the antenna tower. Go around the fence to score a big view of Hope Mountain from the cliff top. Kawkawa Creek, home to kokanee salmon runs, empties into the Coquihalla River below.
Head back down the gravel road, passing your previous path on the right and a gate on the left, and turning right on another path. By a pond, encounter the oddity locals call the bear tree. Kids will be drawn to the little cave underneath the pair of seemingly conjoined trees. Turn left at a junction from earlier to close the clockwise loop. Retrace your steps to the gravel road and down to the trailhead.
LIGHTNING LAKE
Distance: 5.6 miles
Access: From Hope, head east on Crowsnest Highway 3. At the Manning Park Resort, turn right on Gibson Pass Road. Turn left in 1.9 miles to reach the Lightning Lake day-use area.
Trail: It’s no mystery why outdoor enthusiasts flock to Lightning Lake in E.C. Manning Provincial Park every summer. The large campground is perfect for families, the lake holds rainbow trout, and the chilly bluish-green water makes for invigorating swimming. Another reason to visit is the rodents, namely the squirrels, chipmunks and beavers.
The whistled calls and burrows of Columbian ground squirrels welcome you to the day-use area. (Don’t approach or feed wildlife.) Start at the kiosk by the beach. Head east on the paved path and cross the dam at the end of the lake. The Frosty Mountain Trail quickly strikes off to the left. Stick with the easy Lightning Lake Trail to reach Rainbow Bridge, a postcard-worthy span over the lake’s narrows.
Don’t cross if you plan to circumnavigate the lake. Take a bridge over Lightning Creek immediately downstream of a beaver dam at the lake outlet. Turn right to stick with the loop trail. As you near Rainbow Bridge, scan for beaver-chewed trees along the shore and a beaver lodge across the water.
Follow the loop trail by Spruce Bay, the Lightning Lake campground, and around Lone Duck Bay to return to the dayuse area. Sightings of black bears and mule deer are common.
Stephen Hui is the author of “Best Hikes and Nature Walks With Kids In and Around Southwestern British Columbia,” a new guide to 55 family-friendly trails in B.C. and Washington. His first two books, “105 Hikes and Destination Hikes,” were #1 B.C. bestsellers. Learn more: 105hikes.com x
