It's been almost a year since we last found ourselves north of the border, in the land of lakes and glaciers. Then, our final night necessitated a painful retreat as thunder and lightning exploded overhead and gale force winds whipped down off the glacial ridge. We were high in the Kootenays, beyond the deteriorating old bridge at Farnham, hoping the tent would remain attached to the Tacoma.
Now, we're headed back. We'll work our way along the same road system, to similar elevations, and to the base of some familiar - and some new - glaciers. This time, we'll add a new activity to the mix, hiking high into the Bugaboos and to the Lake of the Hanging Glacier. We'll visit silver mines long forgotten on roads rarely travelled.
We began as we always do on a trip like this - working our way north across the Canadian border. Perhaps we've just been lucky, but it seems that the more we cross this line, the easier the crossings become, perhaps a note popping up on the display of the border agents that we are upstanding citizens, devoid of the firearms, mace, and gobs of cash that constitute the bulk of the questioning we receive.
It may not be the Stars and Stripes, but this one looks fantastic too.
Unlike the last time, when we'd found ourselves in the Kootenays - along the western edge of the Canadian Rockies - at the tail end of our adventure, this time we'd spend our first three days on Forest Service Roads (FSRs) BC-93 and BC-95, climbing from valley floor to more than 7,500 feet a handful of times, both on foot and under Tacoma power.
Our first destination was one that I'd found by accident as I'd worked out our route for the main reason we were in the area. The draw of Skookumchuck Lookout - only a few miles off the highway - was too good to pass up when I discovered it on Google Earth, and a couple hours after crossing the border, we were airing down as we hit dirt and began to climb.
British Columbia views - even from pavement - are hard to beat.
First dirt.
On the way up.
The road to Skookumchuck was less interesting than the name, and within half an hour we were pulling up to the base of the lookout. This was great news, as I hadn't been sure if the lookout even existed anymore - fires taking out many of these once-important structures in the last several years.
"Fort" Skookumchuck.
Most of the fire lookout structures we've visited in Canada have been constructed entirely of wood, or placed atop a metal-frame tower. Not so with Skookumchuck, where a cinderblock base towered above the trees. This meant that we couldn't see any stairs to access the lookout itself, so we were hopeful that a set would present themselves as we approached the door leading to the interior.
Breaching the entrance, nearly every horizontal surface was covered in rat droppings. There were two levels inside the structure, with wooden treads leading from one to the next. At the second, another door led to the exterior of the tower. A final flight of stairs continued - on the exterior - to the platform above. It was an interesting configuration, perhaps an attempt to keep bears and other wildlife from accessing the tasty inhabitants.
Fire lookouts always seem to have the best views.
Constructed and staffed during the mid-20th century - a period when British Columbia’s forest service relied heavily on mountaintop towers for wildfire detection - the Skookumchuck Fire Lookout was part of a vast network designed to protect timber resources and rural communities. At 1918 meters above sea level, the Skookumchuck lookout offered commanding views over the Kootenay River valley and surrounding forested ridges. Its placement was ideal for spotting lightning strikes and smoke columns during peak fire season.
By the 1970s and 1980s, aerial surveillance, satellite imaging, and automated detection systems began replacing manual observation. Many lookouts, including Skookumchuck, were decommissioned and left to the elements. Today, the lookout is maintained only by those who visit.
Entering the lookout was like stepping into an entirely different world. Where the approach had been smelly and gross, the interior was clean and tidy. Had it been recently painted?
Looking out.
And then, I opened the visitor log. Brand new, it'd been placed less than a week before our visit, the entry from Rosa shedding light on the inside-outside paradox we'd encountered.
July 26th, 2025
Well after 4 days of cleaning and repainting this fire lookout, I am finally done. It didn't turn out as good as I had hoped but I did my best. Hopefully the rats stay out and this place stays nice. All the lovely people I met while doing this, thank you. You guys made me feel like all the work was worth it. I hope this place brings you as much happiness as it did for me. I saw two double rainbows while renovating and the prettiest sunset. Enjoy the lookout, drink some beer, and have fun.Always, Rosa ♥
Rosa's entry.
Well, that was both super cool and totally impressive. These days, it seems that so many take public land in the U.S. and Crown land in Canada for granted that it's heartwarming to experience the generosity that folks like Rosa gift to us all.
Rosa's view.
Parting shot.
With plenty left to do before calling it a day - and given that we'd left home at 3:30am, so were already running on minimal sleep - we didn't spend long at the lookout, opting instead to push on toward camp a little further north near the town of Canal Flats.
Idyllic bridge.
As had been the case at Skookumchuck - and would be the case with almost every FSR we'd travel - a mill sat at the entrance to Doctor Creek FSR. Navigating our way around the gates, views up into the higher elevations were ephemeral, but as I hopped out for a photo, the blood suckers descended, hasting my retreat to the protection of the cab.
So green and lush. Just the way the mosquitoes like it.
As we had at the lookout, we made good time as we gained elevation. Spring here - so far north - was still young and everywhere we went, our own personal carpet of wildflowers would line the roads.
Spring in the mountains.
Purple fireweed (left), Pearly Everlasting (Anaphalis) (top right), and wild raspberries (bottom right) were a nice treat as well.
Glacial runoff.
Though we'd begun our route along the banks of Doctor Creek, we soon turned up a steeper spur toward a series of lakes - and mines - that we'd call home for the night. Now, we really started to gain elevation, climbing from 3,600 to more than 8,100 feet in a matter of minutes. As we did, temperatures - in the mid-90s °F at the bottom - dropped to a much more pleasant 70°F as the views expanded toward the horizon.
The higher we went, the better the view.
Only a few steep switchbacks provided any excitement along the way.
Pulling to the grassy edge of the lake, we contemplated a waterfront camp as I launched the flying camera into the sky above, concerned only that it might be a bit damp in the morning as a result of the dew that would surely find its way onto our gear. Panning around, I discovered a rocky outcropping - above an adjacent body of water - that seemed to offer a drier option, and with our fingers crossed that we'd also be far enough from the water to avoid the pesky mosquitoes, we made the move.
Private lakefront.
Our views were blocked by the ridge, but were easily revealed with a twiddle of the thumbs.
The final rocky climb - to the place we'd call camp - up onto an old mining platform.
Unfortunately though, the mosquitoes still seemed happy to see us. Dozens of those little bastards swarmed around the truck as I set up the tent and @mrs.turbodb gathered dinner from the fridge. Luckily, she'd prepped all of our meals before leaving home, so it was a simple matter of finding the chicken pesto pasta salad in the stack of tupperware, and then retreating to the safety of the cab in order to enjoy the tasty fare.
Stealth clouds.
All to ourselves.
Last light on the Rockies.
It was 10:00pm - some 19 hours, mostly driving since we'd left home - when we finally climbed up into the tent and relaxed in the safety of our mosquito netting for some well-deserved shut eye.
The following morning...
Too early sunrise.
Still in the throws of summer, late sunsets and early sunrises were a double-edged sword. On the one hand, they offered plenty of time to explore the Kootenays; on the other, they offered little sleep for those - like us - would allow them to determine the beginning and end of the day.
Morning over the Koots.
Camp in the rocks.
Climbing down the ladder, temperatures were only slightly cooler than the previous evening, and within 15 minutes we were once again fighting the mosquitoes for ownership of our insides. In fact, it was bad enough that we opted to skip breakfast for the time being, hopeful that we'd find a spot a little more hospitable to consume the Wheat Chex and Honey Bunches of Oats that we'd use to start our day.
Headed back down to Doctor Creek.
While our main attraction for the day - a hike to the Conrad Kain Hut in the Bugaboo Mountains - was an hour north, our first order of business was to travel the remainder of Doctor Creek FSR in search of a remote cabin nestled into the woods at the end of the trail. I didn't know much about this cabin - but for the fact that it was likely used by hunters and snowmobilers - but it's always fun to find these treasures, and a good excuse to see where the road leads.
In this case, my understanding was that the road led to a spot a kilometer or so below the cabin, with a foot trail continuing the rest of the way. I'd gleaned this information from the few reviews I'd found online, so we were surprised - but not disappointed - when the foot trail appeared to be passable by the Tacoma!
Final approach.
Even more surprising, on reaching the point I'd marked for the cabin, the road appeared to continue further up the mountain! Still, given that we'd left Real Time - and crossed into the Mountain Time Zone - at this point it was after 8:00am, so we opted to take a break for breakfast while we poked around the cabin.
Doctor Creek Cabin Recreation Site.
A cozy place to call home in the winter.
We found this crazy golf-ball mushroom near the road as we ate breakfast.
Breakfast complete - and the cabin not offering much in the way of views or even a logbook to sign - I wandered further up the road as @mrs.turbodb set about repacking the truck with the plethora of boxes, jerry cans, and chainsaws that are hauled along on our more forested adventures. Not knowing the state of the road, I figured that this was a good way to determine whether we'd continue up in the Tacoma, or turn back in favor of heading north to our next activity.
Once again, Doctor Creek had a surprise up its sleeve. Only a quarter mile past the cabin - after a couple of switchbacks and nestled into the side of the mountain - a large waste rock pile marked the entrance to an old adit of the Silver Key Mine! Suddenly, the road made a lot more sense! I returned to retrieve @mrs.turbodb, and before long I was wandering past the icy opening and into the damp interior of the old mine.
This was a reasonably large mine, but - as usual there was essentially no production between 1926 and 1940 - how it could have warranted so much roadwork is beyond me.
As was likely the case with the miners who once worked these hills, their old truck had a crooked grill.
Inside, water dripped from the ceiling and old wooden track - laid across matching wooden ties - reached into the dark depths of the mountain. Having left my flashlight and tripod back at the truck - and not wanting to brave the ice at the entrance more than necessary - I kicked myself for my lack of preparedness as I sheepishly related my findings to my companion after exiting into the sunlight only a few minutes after my initial disappearance.
Surely, more mines are sprinkled further up the mountain.
The old mining road continued up along the hillside, but for us, this was the end of the road. As I got the Tacoma turned around, our talk turned to the had places we had to be, the grueling hike we were about to endure, and whether we should stop in Radium Hot Springs for ice cream.
Of course, the answer to that question was a definite "yes."
The Whole Story
Wonderful photos of beautiful places! Make my Sunday afternoon after working all morning outside in the heat on a project. Read the story, watched the photos and enjoyed with some wine. Thanks for sharing another memorable journey.