Mount Bowman

A few weeks after I returned to Canada, the mountains beckoned. Early one Saturday, I packed up my truck and drove out to the small mining town of Logan Lake to meet up with Jared.

The morning was clear and crisp. A perfect fall day dawned, the sun a fireball of orange rising over the old Lac le Jeune ski hill.

Tucked away in the interior of British Columbia is the village of Clinton. An hours drive north, down gravel roads brought us to Western edge of the Marble Range. We explored some rarely used side roads, some merely hints of trails that once were, before we found the trail head we were searching for.

The mountains here are mostly karst limestone. The passage of time has created caves, sinkholes and underground drainage in the soft rock. Rivers and creeks vanish underground, only to reappear further downstream. Our destination this time however was the summit of Mt. Bowman. We hiked through forests of Douglas Fir in their autumn hues; splashes of red, orange and gold everywhere.

We set up camp below the summit as the sun set and rainclouds appeared. The surrounding mountains became black silhouettes against the darkening blue sky.

Jared cooked dinner over the fire, while I explored around camp taking pictures. It was wet, cold and desolate. And I was happy. We ate dinner and listened to the wind rush between the peaks and down the valley. Music of the mountains. 

We woke up to a thick blanket of fog covering the peaks and valleys the next morning. It had rained intermittently all night. 

By the time we fired up the stove and got some breakfast down, the sun had started to burn through the fog. We discussed our route up the summit as we fueled up.

Fifty minutes later, we'd scrambled up the scree slopes and wound our way through groves of gnarled and stunted pine, hiked above the treeline, around giant sinkholes, and arrived at the summit. 

To the west, just beyond the Edge Hills, a strip of fog covered the Fraser River. 

Beyond the river we could see rainclouds gathering. They were heading in our direction. We spent another hour on and around the summit, before heading back to break camp.

On the hike out we saw caves in the side of Mad Dog Mountain. They remain to be explored on another trip. Exciting!

The mountains hold a strong attraction for me. Their remote ruggedness, their solitude, and the feeling of incredible bliss I get when I'm in their midst induces an all natural high. Returning to the sights and sounds of civilization brings me crashing down from this high. For days afterwards I'm prone to argue more, avoid people, and seek out silence and seclusion. And from this crash arises the idea for my next foray. Seventy five percent of British Columbia is mountainous. Sixty percent is forested, and ninety percent of its population lives within an hours drive of the US-Canada border. That means a lot of wilderness to explore. I think I might go hike the Trophy Mountains tomorrow.

I hope you are all doing well and enjoying life. 

Remember to look for the magic in the everyday!