Along the Redline | Kootenays 5

Unlike the previous day when we'd returned from our hike at 6:00pm, we were back in the parking lot for The Lake of the Hanging Glacier a little after 2:00pm. That gave us plenty of time for a quick scrub-down with washcloths before climbing into the Tacoma for what would turn out to be the highlight of our entire trip!

After a sunny morning, clouds were rolling in, but the sun still fought its way through to highlight Mt. Scarlett O'Hara from time to time.

Our destination wasn't far away - less than ten miles, or however many kilometers that is - and was one that we'd unknowingly passed on several previous trips to the Canadian Koots. In fact, we'd have passed it up again this time if it hadn't been for Canada Mike @POSTacoMike suggesting it to me when I reached out for a few suggestions of "trails with nice views and surroundings" a few weeks before our departure.

Boy, did he outdo himself this time!

Before long, we'd turned off the main road and were headed up a fork that - if I'd noticed it before - seemed very unassuming and was seemingly labeled as to imply that it was largely private land and an active mine. Whatever the case, I've seen the places Mike goes and we pushed onward.

Now and then we'd get a peek at greatness.

Our little flying buddy always seemed to have better views.

At first, there were very few breaks in the trees. This is similar to many Forest Service Roads (FSRs) that we've travelled in Canada, and - as with those trails - more areas seemed to open up as we continued to gain elevation. As well, the higher we got, the wetter the ground became. Clearly those ominous clouds overhead had been dousing this area for a good while before we'd arrived, mostly a good thing as it cooled the area down a bit and eliminated any dust that might otherwise get kicked up as we drove through.

 Looks like rain, but we never saw a drop (as we climbed).

A promising start.

There were a few forks in the road, but we ignored most of them until we arrived at what was - I think - the last one. There, Mike's suggestion had been to take the right fork, but I couldn't help but turn left when we saw the sign that guarded its entrance.

It was an official looking sign. One that matched the one we'd seen at the beginning of the trail.

Stop. No unauthorized vehicles beyond this point. Trespassers will be held accountable. Security on site at all times.

But then, scrawled in with Sharpie, a few simple words that made everything wonderful.

"Company Bankrupt 2015. Public Access OPEN."

Of course, we had no idea, really, what the situation was, but if the miners were still up there, we felt like we had a reasonable excuse for our appearance, so we headed up!

We came upon the first Silver Mountain Mines building as we rounded a corner at the top of some switchbacks. At first, we thought it was just an unfinished cabin out in the woods - and it probably was - but as I got out to take a few photos and admire the amazing views that the would-be-wall-of-window would have provided upon completion, I happened to notice several more structures just a few hundred feet away. I got so excited that I never even took a photo of the first cabin!

It turned out to be a trio of structures that looked great on the outside - at least, at first glance - but were utterly repulsive upon opening the doors. Inside, everything was destroyed by and shit on my hundreds of mice, the stench emanating from within terrible enough to warrant immediate closure of the door. It was so bad, I didn't even see a reason to take a photo of the outside, which - on further inspection - was poorly built and offered any number of entrances for those shitty little mice.

There was a cool stack of core sample boxes out in front of the cabins, but they were empty.

Wanting to put as much distance between our noses, eyes, and the puke-inducing cabins, we wasted no time spinning the wheels on the Tacoma as we pushed further up the mountain. Less than a mile later, we hit the tree line.

Oh. My. Goodness! Seriously, this place was amazing.

Oh. My.

Goodness.

I may have suggested - which means I definitely did - to @mrsturbodb that we could find a few rocks to level the truck and camp right here.

To my dismay - but completely understandably given the near-vertical drop only a few feet from the driver side of the Tacoma - the look my suggestion got from my companion was unmistakable and soon we were headed back down the mountain to explore the other fork.

Surely it would be less interesting. I mean, did you see that view of Mt. Farnham? Incredible.

Back into the trees, our views were still nothing to scoff at.

We weren't in the trees for long...though, then we were in the river. Or the road was the river. Or the river was the road.

It was about this point that we ran into a UTV that'd we'd heard race up this fork as we'd gone to investigate the first. We'd thanked our lucky stars at the time - we wouldn't have to share our road with the mini-menace - and we did so again as we crossed paths on their way down. The occupants were nice enough however, and let us know that we'd have no trouble making it to the top when I inquired as to the condition of the road.

Higher and higher.

What's that up there? An adit collar? Yes, please!

Switchback after switchback, the road got steeper. Not only that, but looking up the mountainside, it seemed impossible that the road could keep going, or that if it did, that there would be anywhere to turn around.

Not keen to find ourselves on a narrow shelf with our only option a long descent in reverse, I hopped out of truck and hobbled my way - remember, we'd just completed a 10-mile hike with 3000-feet of elevation gain - another half mile up the road. Actually, the up bit wasn't so bad, it was the bit where I had to come back down when my knees really let me know that they hated me.

But, my recon wasn't wasted. Not only was I able to see that, while the road was steep, it was most definitely passable, but I also spotted - though it was still a quarter mile higher on the hillside - what I was sure was a nice camp site. Or at least a place we should be able to turn around.

So, I hopped back in the truck, pointed it up what felt like a nearly vertical road, and slowly - this is a Tacoma, remember - traversed the last few switchbacks.

Look what we've been missing all of these years!

By this time it was nearly sunset and while @mrs.turbodb wandered off to find a bit of privacy before relaxing with a bit of knitting and getting started on dinner, I excused myself to go investigate the adit that I'd noticed earlier. An adit that was now tantalizingly close to our camp site on the top of the world.

As I wandered along the deteriorating old road, this old can and bit of dynamite box caught my eye.

If I were a miner, I'd work here for the views.

As I neared the entrance, there was no mistaking - based on sound alone - the most prominent feature of this mine: it was now primarily an underground river.

About 8 inches deep in most places, the existence of water here was predictable. After all, the entire area is covered with glaciers and snow for most of the year, and even when it's not, all that water that seeps into the rocky hillside has to go somewhere. In fact, it seemed to me that even the miners had to deal with a lot of water in their mine because just inside the collar was a raised wooden platform, built to keep their work area dry as they carried on about their activities.

Boots required.

After poking around in the adit entrance for way too long, I finally wandered back to the Tacoma as dusk began to envelop our personal paradise for the evening.

Stay away from our wiring harness, Fred.

The clouds that'd been so prominent earlier in the afternoon were largely gone, and it was looking to be a beautiful night. As we dug into dinner - chicken pesto pasta - we reveled in the fact that we'd visited three separate glaciers in a single day.

After dinner and a bit more relaxation, it was time for bed, and boy, were we tired!

During the night...

We went to bed with only one concern - that a marmot would get curious - and have a case of the wiring harness munchies - and find its way to the innards of the Tacoma sometime during the night. The strange thing is that we've camped in locations with marmots for years and never had a problem - ahh, ignorance is bliss - but the fact that we'd seen chicken-wire fences around every vehicle at the various trailheads, and that Pops had left his hood open on our recent trip to the Sierra in order to deter the little destructors - had us on edge.

But it wasn't the marmots that had us scrambling a few hours later. Nope, it was the lightning, thunder, rain, and wind that had us trying to decide whether we should stay in the tent or scramble to put everything away before we ended up in a situation like our last time at Farnham, when Everything Was Fine Until It Wasn’t.

Ultimately, caution won over comfort and while @mrs.turbodb climbed into the passenger seat, I raced to stow the tent as quickly as I could before the 60+ mph winds and sideways rain pummeled us once again high in the Purcells.

Only this time, the wind and rain never really came. I mean, they did, but the winds maxed out around 20mph, and the rain spit for a few minutes before - with the lightning and thunder - moving on to our west.

Thirty minutes later, I was setting up the tent again and we climbed back into bed. It was 2:00am, and - pretty sure we were out of the woods - I was thankful that we still had a good five hours of sleep before getting up for our final day in Canada.

So, when I awoke 90 minutes later to a sound that I was sure was a marmot chomping on something under the truck, I was both upset that my sleep had been interrupted, and terrified that we might not make it off the mountain the next morning. Rushing to get my shoes on, I urgently woke my snoozing companion and told her she "needed to get up so we can find the invader." She was a little disoriented, but was quickly climbing down the ladder as I frantically poked my head into various places around the truck, shown the flashlight into nooks and crannies, and banged with my fists to scare Fred out of our home, trying to find the source of the noise.

In the end - which wasn't for a good 45 minutes - we decided that it wasn't Fred at all who was causing all the ruckus. Rather, it was some mechanical issue with the Tacoma - likely a malfunctioning emissions valve - that was clicking in a way that I could have sworn initially was the chomp-chomp of a marmot mouth. The tell was that it never changed frequency, even with all my banging. Fred - and his entire family - are terrified of banging, and surely would have scrambled back to their holes as I pounded on the sides of the truck.

We were back to bed with less than 2 hours until sunrise.

The following morning...

For the lack of sleep we'd gotten, one look out the screen door of the tent when my alarm went off was enough to set me on the clothing fast track once again.

Pastel panorama.

Good morning Farnham.

First rays on the ridges.

360° of splendor.

As I wandered around camp snapping more photos than I could possibly ever know what to do with, Fred popped out of his hole. His look was unmistakable.

"You guys kept me up all night."

I'm not going to look at you. Leave me alone.

Jerks.

After trying to make nice with Fred for a while - that guy can really hold a grudge - I finally gave up and climbed back into the tent for another hour of shut-eye. Eventually though, we had to get up, since we had a long day of driving ahead of us and one final high-mountain road to explore before pointing the Tacoma south and returning home.

And so, after breakfast, we left one of the most beautiful places I've ever experienced in our rear-view mirror as we headed down the hill towards the unknown.

Down we go.

We had no idea at the time, but we were in for quite the surprise!

 

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