No Rush to Run Rady | Unexpectedly Wet #3

In all my exploring, there are few places that I've returned to for a third time. Off the top of my head, I can list only a few: a special little spot in the California Sierra where my Dad and I meet each year, the Alvord Playa in southeast Oregon, and Butte Valley in my favorite National Park.

I first visited Rady back in September of 2021 after hearing about it from Mike @POSTacoMike and watching a video that Shaun put together about the deactivation of the road that climbed high into the Kootenays of British Columbia. At the time, a petition (you can still sign) was put together to keep the road open, and while it never received the desired 10,000 votes, it got very close and the deactivation was postponed until 2022.

I visited again in 2022 when Mike @Digiratus and I Climbed into the Kootenays. Like me, Mike wanted to see the trail before it became inaccessible, and we were delighted to find that it was still runnable.

And so, now three years after my first visit, I was very much looking forward to showing this slice of paradise to @mrs.turbodb, and adding another spot to that short list of special places. But first of course, we had to get there.

We had 81 miles of road between us and the trailhead, a distance just short enough that we refrained from airing up as we departed Reco Pass.

BC-31 - the highway that connects Galena Bay to Balfour - is one of the most beautiful I've driven, and even better, a big chunk of it is dirt!

As we crossed the southern tip of ▮▮▮▮▮  Lake, I could feel the anticipation building.

Despite a bit of haze from nearby wildfires, the brilliant teal of the water as it wound its way up the valley was breathtaking.

Made it!

The road starts out like so many other British Columbia FSRs (Forest Service Roads). Headed up the hillside, evergreens and alders crowd the trail, allowing only those who prefer a pinstriped paint job to forge their way forward. Views - in this section of the trail - are non-existent, completely obscured by the dense vegetation. Where some trails have road-based obstacles that act as a gatekeeper, the complete lack of interest serves as the best misdirection at in a place like this.

On previous trips, I've never been able to see over the trees. Oh, what I've been missing!

As we popped out of the thickest of the alder and begin to climb in earnest, the deactivation notice remains posted, but faded, above the trail.

Now climbing through one of the steepest sections of trail, I pointed out several segments that'd worried me on my first visit. Then, not knowing how winter weather affected the hillside, I'd worried that several spots would collapse, and that others would succumb to rock or tree fall as time marched on. Three years later, those things no longer worry me. The trail - perhaps because of those who love it - has become rougher, but not dramatically. Trees have fallen, but were quickly cleared. Erosion has occurred, but the road has held up remarkably well. While this is no declaration that it will remain open indefinitely, it is reassuring to know that for now, the trail is remains runnable.

Still, while there's no rush to run Rady, it is still a place worth getting to sooner, if only to allow additional visits later. This was a point that @mrs.turbodb understood instantly as we ascended the final grade and broke through the tree line below Silvercup Ridge.

When you find the pot of gold at the end of the rainbow.

Up here, it feels like you can touch the clouds.

We were out of the Tacoma immediately to admire - and get just a little bit closer to - our surroundings. "This view is cool, ehh?" I suggested as I noticed a smile on my companion's face, "Just wait until we get to campsite amazing."

Unbeknownst to me, she'd already taken note of the "campsite amazing" waypoint, and knew that it was a designation I assign only rarely to very special places we discover in our adventures. Still, she humored me - even as I assured her that I'd refrain from stopping for photos - as I continued to position the truck along the trail for "one more shot."

I think I've taken this photo every time I've visited. No reason to stop now.

Into the bowl.

Usually, by the time I've visited a place twice, I've explored most of what it has to offer. Here, has been a different story. Naturally, I've driven all the (drivable) roads, but there are a few hiking trails that I've eyed on each of my previous visits but haven't ever had time to enjoy. So, with three hours until sunset, I suggested that we follow one - an old mining road - to its terminus, which appeared from below to be at a saddle along the ridge.

Cooped up in the Tacoma for the better part of two days, a little leg stretching was sweet relief to @mrs.turbodb, and soon we were on our way up. Campsite amazing would have to wait a few more minutes. Or an hour.

This old mining road peters out as it crosses the scree field, so we left the Tacoma behind and set out on foot.

Passing through a brilliant pink stand of fireweed, the view to the west grew in the distance.

Up we go.

It was less than a mile to the saddle. To our surprise, a couple hundred feet before reaching the saddle, the old mining road turned, the switchback so faint that it was impossible to see from below. Knowing now that we had two destinations to discover, we pushed on, curious to see what lay beyond the ridge.

Beyond the ridge.

Up here, it was hard to find the best view, and we spent several minutes enjoying them all.

After enjoying the saddle, we headed back to the road and climbed the single switchback as it cut its way across the scree field towards the top of the mountain. It carried on this way for another quarter mile, finally petering out at a series of shafts that were completely collapsed. We had no idea what they'd been mining - or at the very least searching - for up here in the crumbling stone, but whatever it was, the view was surely the most rewarding part of the job.

Quartet of lakes.

Looking back down to the saddle, evening light playing across the orange rock.

As we investigated the collapse at the head of a shaft, its caretaker popped out to say hello. (American pika)

By now it was nearly 7:00pm. Having eaten lunch at noon, we were both ready for a repeat of the previous night's dinner - a smattering of fresh veggies, cheeses, fruits, and hummus. This meant - of course - that we'd need to achieve campsite amazing, and to do that, we need to get back down to the Tacoma.

Gasp, he is real!

This unusually small, dual-flowered fireweed caught my eye.

With only a few more turns and a bit of elevation, we came over a rise to our first view of the neighboring valley. To a chorus of oohhs and aahhs, I perched the truck on the edge of the road and popped out for my usual photo.

Oohh. Aahh.

"This is pretty nice," @mrs.turbodb mentioned as I climbed back into the truck, expecting that we'd carry on to the small lake at the base of the mountain. I turned on the tablet. She glanced at our position. And then she saw it, "This is campsite amazing!" she exclaimed.

"It is."

After levelling the truck as best we could, I deployed the tent while dinner fixings were gathered up into a bag for transport into the tent. The mosquitoes weren't bad, but we'd somehow attracted a swarm of gnats and decided that it'd be much more pleasant to eat - albeit very carefully - a picnic-style dinner in the tent.

Delightful dinner.

Dinner here was just as delicious - and sported a much nicer view - as it had been at Halfway River Hot Springs, and as @mrs.turbdob took care of the few dishes that needed rinsing, I set up the camera for what I hoped would be some jaw-dropping night shots of the Kootenays at night.

Knowing that the moon would be out, but not knowing what time it would rise over the horizon, I ended up setting my alarm for 9:30 and 10:44pm, and 12:30, 2:25, and 4:00am. My idea - to capture a photo or two that would combine an illuminated foreground with a stary sky - would preclude any sort of real sleep, but I hoped it'd be worth it in the end.

And in the end, it was. But mostly because I slept through my alarms at 9:30, 10:44,12:30, and 2:25, waking only when the final alarm of the night - or really, morning - roused me from my sleep.

Starry night.

After taking the first shot and being reasonably satisfied with it - even if I could already see the sun on the horizon - I wondered if I could capture the ephemeral movement of the clouds and stars by trying out a feature of my camera I'd only used once before: the Bulb Timer.

With my Canon R6, it's easy to set up shots with exposures up to 30 seconds, and in most cases that is more than enough time to capture a scene. The bulb timer allows for much longer exposures - on the order of minutes or even hours. Of course, with longer exposure, I'd need to ensure that I had the correct aperture and ISO values to get a correctly exposed result, so I did what I think anyone in my position would do at 4:14am in the morning: attempted a bit of math based on the starry night photo I'd exposed for 30 seconds, and then spun some dials, pushed some buttons, and mostly just hoped for the best.

I'd only get one shot at my 22½ minute shot at f/16 and ISO 100. I wasn't sure if it'd be long enough, but with the sun already making itself known on the horizon - and a strong desire to go back to sleep - I figured that it would, at least, be a learning experience.

My longest exposure. Could have benefited from some more math and another 60 minutes, I think.

I don't recall exactly whether I was able to fall back asleep, but before I knew it, the sun was up and I realized I'd forgotten to go to the bathroom when I'd been wandering around outside just a couple hours earlier. "Way to go me," I thought, as I pulled on my pants and worked my way down the ladder.

I do love the sun streaming through the valley and onto the opposing mountain.

I wanted to let @mrs.turbodb sleep, but the beautiful light was more than I could take and within about seven minutes, I was whistling our family whistle to rouse her from the warm covers. From there, we set about our morning routine, breaking down camp, prepping breakfast, and getting ready for what looked to be another spectacular day in the Koots.

Out of camp at 7:00am sharp.

Most folks who camp in this area - as far as I can tell - hang out at the trio of lakes that sit below what was once a glacier. They've always been a bit buggy for me, but before heading down the hill, we popped over for a quick look. As we did, I realized that this might be the perfect spot to get photo of the snowy peaks on the opposite shore of the larger lake below, so I popped out of the Tacoma to a knowing grin from my companion.

Turned out to be one of my favorite shots.

And then, we were off. Sort of. I mean, I had to stop for a few more photos before we hit the tree line, but before long we were at the bottom of the trail and airing up for our roundabout route to another place I've been wanting to show @mrs.turbodb ever since I visited it for the first time, several years prior.

Through lush greens.

Into the trees.

It'd be a couple hours before we boarded an inland ferry and several more after that before we aired down again for the climb to a campsite even more dramatic than the one we'd just left behind. But the real excitement wouldn't begin until a few hours later, when everything was fine, until it wasn't.

 

 

The Whole Story

 

Filed Under