One of Michael’s skills is developing a Grand Plan.  If you have ever heard him describe how he captured a photo of some special event that only happens with the sun is just right, the earth is spinning at a specific angle, and the skies have just the right amount of clouds, then you have some sense of what I’m referring to.  He’s not as interested in “going for a hike” as he is in developing a Grand Plan that gets us to some unique perspective (usually to photograph, of course).

Let me interrupt myself to say that the last few weeks have been a constant barrage of logistics.  How do we insure Michael’s camera gear when we’re abroad?  What countries do we have to get visas for ahead of time?  How do we maintain health insurance?  What are our plans?  What is our budget?  Where are we sleeping tonight?  What are we doing tomorrow/next week/next month?  WHERE ARE WE GOING?!  It’s enough to make us stick our heads in the sand and assume everything will take care of itself.  But after a few minutes of that, we pull our heads out again and keep checking things off the list.  In this context, we haven’t been able to execute as many of Michael’s Grand Plans in this first part of our trip as we would have liked, but we did have an amazing adventure in Bugaboo Provincial Park in British Columbia, Canada.

Bugaboo Provincial Park is located in the Purcell Mountains in Southeastern BC and is one of the premier alpine rock climbing areas in the world.  Huge granite spires rise steeply above glaciers, creating a jaw-dropping alpine environment.

After a long drive on a dirt road in the middle of Nowhere, BC, you arrive at a parking lot with an astounding number of other people and remember how much this place is “discovered.”  Luckily, that means that there’s a lovely pit toilet at the trailhead and loads of chicken wire and sticks you wrap around your car to prevent porcupines, marmots and other small creatures from eating your tires (luxuries not often provided at trailheads.

From the parking lot, there are two trails into the park: the Trail Everyone Uses and the Other One (the Cobalt Lake trail).  The Grand Plan: enter via the Other One, traverse no less than 4 groups of spires from East to West, tag summits along the way, and exit via the Trail Everyone Uses.  After leaving the parking lot, we didn’t see another soul for 3 days and it was marvelous.

Our first camp, where we stayed for two nights, was in a serene alpine meadow on a ridge overlooking the Eastern Spires with a view of the very remote Vowel Group.  The sunset was spectacular.

Our first full day was a long one.  We kept our glorious camp in the same place and, after much hiking, climbing, scrambling, and general legwork, did a three-kilometer-long ridge traverse from the summit of Brenta Spire to the summit of Northpost Spire.  Most of the traverse was scrambling until the final stretch to Northpost Spire, which had moves classified at 5.6-5.8.  Unfortunately, the guidebook’s description of the crux of the route was absolutely not correct – no way was that only rated 5.8!  Fortunately, Michael is amazing at route-finding and we were able to rappel down the ridge and follow a series of exposed and freaky ledges until we reached an oh-my-god-I’m-going-to-die-from-rockfall-paranoia-inducing gully to the summit.  From there, it was a quick rappel and a long, blistering scramble/hike/scree-slide back to camp.

This day – this whole adventure in general – highlighted a clear change for both of us in our climbing style.  After the accidents we’ve been involved in and witnessed, our sense of invincibility, our assumption that everything will be okay, and our willingness to “just go for it” are markedly diminished.  In the past we’ve been careful and smart with protection, but now we both feel more aware of our own (and each other’s) mortality.  Yet we feel so alive when we’re out in a remote, alpine environment with spectacular views, pushing ourselves physically.  It’s now the aesthetics of an adventure that matter and technical difficulty has been demoted to a secondary goal.  Our enjoyment of these mountain adventures hasn’t changed, but the way we do them has.

With the rise in temperature and the clear, sunny skies (a plus) came a new hatch of mosquitoes (a minus) and our serene alpine meadow became a deet-smelling, clothing-from-head-to-toe-even-though-I’m-not-cold situation.  It was time to move camp.  We donned our embarrassingly heavy packs and headed onward.

We traversed through the Eastern Spires, dropping our packs to climb various spires along the way: Cobalt Lake Spire (horrific rock and a nerve-wracking albeit scenic experience), the Whipping Post (more of a quick jaunt than a climb), Crescent Spire (a wonderfully entertaining scramble), and Eastpost Spire (carefree route-finding and stunning views).

After these four summits, we headed downward to the masses of Applebee Campground, where we were able to find a spot with a view of the second half of the Grand Plan: a snow-and-ice traverse through the Bugaboo Glacier peaks.

However, the second part of the Grand Plan just wasn’t meant to be.  Temperatures had warmed considerably, making glacier travel less safe, especially for a two-person rope team.  The decision was sealed when Michael chucked his ice ax towards his other gear and it somehow managed to fall through a very small crack and clink-clink-clinked downward into oblivion for future species to find.

With much reluctance, we hiked the Trail Everyone Uses back to our car, crammed our stuff into it in record time while being chased by hordes of mosquitoes, and drove the road back to civilization… and back to our logistical check-lists.

After deciding that we simply needed to sit down and hammer out some of the answers to the questions we’ve been avoiding (What are we doing? Where are we going and how do we get there?), we returned to Michael’s parents’ cabin on Kootenay Lake, which is essentially camping with electricity, internet, and a hammock.  Now here we sit, Grand Planning away…

**Scramble: Noun: A difficult or hurried clamber up or over something.  Verb: To make one’s way quickly or awkwardly up a steep slope or over rough ground by using one’s hands as well as one’s feet.  Translation: A climb that is not steep enough to be called “technical” and justify using a rope or rock protection, but often still freaky, exposed, and exhausting, even though it sounds like it should be easy (and some are… just not the ones that make it into the Grand Plan).

The Class Rating System:  Another climber lingo translation here… The Yosemite Decimal System (YDS) is the most common way to rate how difficult or technical a climb is (thank you Sierra Club!).  There are different components to it (classes, grades, and decimals within 5^th Class) but here’s the basic breakdown: Class 1 = A leisurely stroll; Class 2 = Simple scrambling with occasional use of the hands; Class 3 = Scrambling with use of handholds and increased exposure where “falls are not always fatal” (so optimistic…); Class 4 = Simple climbing with exposure where “falls may well be fatal;” Class 5 = Technical climbing involving a rope and protection where un-roped falls result in severe injury or death (luckily not always).