Bougie's blog

SPOC

Bougie — Tue, 23 Sep 2008 00:50:42 -0400

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WHISTLER SPOC TO VANCOUVER

The final days of summer of 2008 would see the finest of trip under the finest of means go down in the personal chronicles of two Whistler spocers. S.P.O.C stands for self-propelled outdoor club. The group founded its self after being disenchanted with the incongruencies between the use of fossil fuel combusting transportation and the pristine wilderness they sought. To take action the group has made a web site as a forum to inspire others to demonstrate actually self-propelled trips.

On September 18 Marcus Waring and myself departed Creekside by bicycle bound for our respective homes of childhood thus forever linking our past with the present. Our means of travel would include a bike, hike and packraft. Along the way of our 4-day journey we would encounter wolves, bears, glaciers, eagles, osprey, seals, salmon, hot springs and hill billies. How does one encounter all of this along the sea to sky highway you may ask? Well one simply has to not take the sea to sky to see all of these wonders. Our route instead, took us through the bowels of Garibaldi Park traversing the McBride mountain range and exiting through the legendary Pitt River Drainage.

We dismounted our bicycles at Garibaldi Lake Trailhead and quickly ran up the trail to launch into our Packrafts bound for the Varsity Outdoor Club shelter at Sphinx Bay. Fires in the area provided a truly magical sunset and nearly full moon rise. Wake up call on Friday came early as we now had a mountain range to get across. Heading straight out of the hut and up the Sphinx glacier led us to a group Nunataks collectively known as the Bookworms. From here we got a good look at the crux of our mountainous route just below the mountain known as Luxor. By lunch time we found ourselves on top of this mountain for which it’s namesake holds great meaning for me on a personal level. We could now see clearly into our future and what lay ahead into the Pitt. Thanks in large part to Google Earth we found a ramp that would deliver us from the alpine to our river. Bypassing Hour peak we negotiated this ramp with little difficulty passing through the thickest stand of blueberries either of us had ever come across. A.Y.C.E stands for all you can eat, and so we did on the plumpness that surrounded us. We made our second camp at the confluence of the Pitt River and the drainage coming from Drop Pass. Upon waking up we noticed that we had slept out beside quite a large pile of scat. This was only a foreshadowing for what lay ahead for this is wolf country. Launching back into our Packrafts we descended the upper headwaters of the Pitt floating directly under and around the Mamquam massif. A few class 4 and 5 portages were in order, bypassing what is know as the 3rd canyon on the eastern side of the valley. By lunchtime we found ourselves floating through the 2nd canyon and directly into one of Southern B.C’s most seldom visited hot springs. Warming our bodies and rejuvenating our spirits we happened to meet some of the Pitt locals who also came by for a soak. After asking the usual questions they decided we were novel enough to invite over for Taco Night. We graciously accepted their kind offer. We departed the springs immediately in order to be in time for our dinner date. The once bussilying town of Alvin B.C lies roughly 10 km up from the head of Pitt Lake. Now the area is home to but 4 permanent couples and a smattering of transient loggers and fisherman. Great company was shared over many beers and an endless supply of Taco’s. A late night to early morning saw us off on our final day with several cups of coffee under our drysuits. Something we couldn’t have planned for was the fact that this was to be the hardest mental and physical day of the trip. We had around a dozen power boaters stop by us on the lake to ask if we needed a ride whilst we fought at times a moderate head wind. “No thank you was our response” with a “please don’t be offended by us turning down your act of generosity” at the end of the response. Fact is, I simply can’t bring myself to preach the reasons why I spoc even in this self derived writing. Explaining to people over the buzz of there engines was even more futile so we accepted our fate of being viewed as a couple of crazy’s in “Canadian tire rafts” and continued our voyage. The world’s largest tidal Lake Pitt, really did feel like it by the time we reached the end of it by dusk. The original plan of floating down the lower river to the confluence with the Fraser was scrapped for compounding factors so here is where the rafts were deflated and our final march overland was to commence. We arrived at my parents Port Coquitlam home on a light jog, riding high on the rush of seeing a dream woven into reality. Early the next morning on the first day of fall I saw Marcus off on my childhood bike as he had a short ride back to North Vancouver, and the site of his upbringing. Having just squeaked this last trip into a summer that will forever be remembered I have an overwhelming sense of elation as I tune into the news only to find out that there has been yet another rockslide on the 99 cutting off Whistler once again.

http://www.selfpropelledoutdoorclub.com/

In Fear

Bougie — Wed, 30 Jul 2008 01:44:00 -0400

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In-Fear:

It is someone we all know. It is that inner voice that guides our thoughts, decisions, ambitions and relationships. Fear is someone I speak of, for that someone is different among us as individuals. Some say you can smell it, others know it as a taste and yet we all agree that it is just a feeling. I use the term someone because we all create this being we call ourselves. Taking in outside influences and deciding what we should hold dear to our own we create our reality based on and around our fears. I believe fear is the driving force of humanity, a remnant from our evolutionary track of survival. Weather you shun fear or thrive on it we all feel it deep within us. My subsets of people, "the thrill seekers" have learned to harness this our deepest emotion. In our daily lives of complacency we go beyond to create challenges or obstacles that will in-fear us, harnessing this force for the derivative of joy and happiness. In the act of overcoming a great sense of accomplishment is felt, until of course the next hurdle is seen in the distance, this is when the cycle begin anew.

The Gnardelhorn

Bougie — Thu, 26 Jun 2008 09:53:59 -0400

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Route guide and description.

Take hwy north until you see the sign to exit here. Proceed down road until you reach a fork in the road. Take the right path (indicated by its lesser-traveled nature). Proceed until your vehicular means will take you no further. Park here. Ascend through forests and all forms that wish to impede your mortal progress until reaching the alpine. From here you will have your first glimpse of the task at hand. Proceed onwards passing by the hills of Inhibition. Soon you will see clutter creek. Cross this obstacle at the first opportune moment (Note: the sooner you by-pass this obstacle the better off you will be.) Loosing your perception of impossibility will allow you passage through the crux section of your chosen path. Boldly continue upwards rejoicing in the past but looking at the future. Upon reaching the summit ridge continue upwards until climaxing at the pinnacle of your wildest dreams. You may wish to go further, but you should click in here. The descent route will make itself apparent by its abundance of steepness, deepness and all around epicness. Enjoy your Gnardelhorn.

Mounting Sanford

Bougie — Sat, 21 Jun 2008 18:08:54 -0400

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Driving the Alaska Highway one will find themselves in the small town of Glenallen. Ahead lies the road leading to the Alaskan Metropolis of Anchorage. To your left the Richardson highway will wisk one into the realm of skiers, sledders, and oil pipeline workers by the shores of Valdez. If one has any inkling to look back even for a moment there it will be, Mt. Sanford. All 16 thousand ft of the dissected strata-volcano will be there, lying at the north western edge of the largest park on the continent, Wrangell St Elias. Again it was to be myself and comrade Marcus Waring on yet another instalment on our Alaskan Crusade of 2008.

Halfway through the month of May some phone calls were placed to some local pilots of Glenallen looking for some interest in leaving some skiers out to their own devices in their natural habitat. One contact was made with only somewhat of a half interest maybe later in the week if the weather ever was to clear. This sitting and waiting was a hard sell for us two skiers who only days earlier had some of the best conditions of the entire spring ski trip. Warm temps however were now upon us so we put an end to the powder hunt, it was now Volcano Season.

Sometimes the hardest part of a journey is that first step. This couldn’t have been more true for this trip, for that first step would have sent you plummeting into the ice filled Copper River, which is one of the biggest in this, the land of BIG. Packrafts to the rescue we were past the first hurdle very shortly. Now all that lay before us was 30 miles and 14,000 feet of mountain protected by a sea of Alder and Poplar, sprinkled with smatterings of Devils Club. Being from B.C I often pride myself on my bushwhacking prowess. That pride was to be crushed over the ensuing 3 days of approach up Boulder Creek to a mountain that lurked amongst the clouds in our dreams. The motivation for such an endeavour came from the over 12,000 ft of skiable that we surmised was possible from the summit.

Camped at 5000ft with the slog behind us we were relegated to waiting in our tent eating what little precious food we brought with us for the siege. Miraculously after 2 days we were given the break we needed to make our summit bid in the alpine style to which we are so fond. Climbing through the night waiting out a few patches of zero visibility, morning dawned a golden glow washing away the -30C temps and reminding us why we had come so far to such a strange place. Cresting the summit plateau at 16000 ft after 15hours of travel we could see the true summit 300 ft higher and a crushing mile further in distance. Whether it was the affects altitude or reasons father from the obvious we clicked into our skis just shy of our ambitious goal and made the descent down the flanks of the mountain eventually, days later finding ourselves back at the highway, hungry and asking more questions than we had starting off the journey. Whether a success or a failure only we as participants have the right to question. A overwhelming feeling of dis-satisfaction hung over our heads from the self admitted failure of our trip. Much self reflection was needed to solve the mysteries that Sanford had veiled us with.

``Altitude skiing is fun” is the most common mis-understanding of this pursuit that even I find myself hiding behind sometimes. Instead I have come to know the pursuit as the chasing of goal or certain satisfaction from achieving a goal that fuels my stoke. In this case we set our goal of skiing a run over 10,000ft and summiting one of the continents biggest mountains unsupported by any other means. Was the concept ambitious? Yes. Did we do everything we could to reach our goal? Yes. Did we meet our original goal? No. Are you the reader ever going to summit Sanford in this style? Definitely No! Strangely this is where I find my solace, that fact that few others will ever ponder such an obscure endeavour. The sense of knowing that there are endless challenges out there, and that know one else will have any bearing on what I have faced in my darkest moments. The conflict of Man vs. Nature was never that at all, for nature is the constant, myself being the antagonist.

With Mount Sanford behind I am one step closer in trying to find and define the mountain of my dreams. Physically I was rendered weak. Mentally I have come out stronger than ever before, hungrier still for what that next mountain has for me to try and digest, even if fun isn’t on the menu. Thank you to Marcus for sharing this complicated journey and to the beautiful Mount Sanford for being.

ode de Blackburn

Bougie — Thu, 12 Jun 2008 13:38:31 -0400

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Once upon a time, in a sacred land that will forever be,

Sat two young climbers from western BC

High in the Wrangles, so far from the coast

The boys would need skills but, patience the most

For lurking in the mist, a true blessing to see

Was a mountain called Blackburn, which they hoped to ski

Approaching this monster with must lust and vigour

They chose alpine style, which they thought to be quicker

But waiting at seven the ceiling refused to budge,

So they cashed so gear up high, only bearing the slightest grudge

With alpinism abandoned

They descended low to home base

It wasn’t all bad

They got to shred an east face

But waiting at seven four it became apparent

They would need to camp high

The thought of which, they could hardly bear it,

So they hauled their tent, their food, fuel and bags

To the base of the North West ridge, which they hoped to tag

Sleeping near ten thousand feet, one night the weather popped

So they went for a reccy, to gain vantage of the ridge top

After scouting the route, the left a single wand

Then skied back to camp, to eagerly wait dawn

Then to both their surprise, and utter delight

The sky was blue next morning

Suit up boys, take flight

They gained the ridge quickly, but it was not a straight shot

They had to get out their sharps, weather they liked it or not

Weaving through the serrac garden, near vertical they got

On the route proper the route began to make sence

They connected skiable terrain, without getting too tense

Then once again their journey postponed, they were forced to turn back

The storm had come in, plus they needed to dial in the down track

So from thirteen three

They tentatively

Dropped the ridge to the North side

But cracks in a white out spooked them, before they even really tried

Waiting in their nylon dome the wondered what the storm would bring

After all it was June; they were well in to spring

But the snow came down steady, piling up feet upon feet

The youngest yelled out in famished vain,

“Black Bitch, you will be beat!”

The mountain sat in humble silence, immune to their cry,

She was comfortable wrapped in cloud, for the next two days gone by

Then some afternoon clearing revealed the lowers

So groceries from the low cache, were defiantly their orders

Their food barrel now full, their enthusiasm returning

They would not let turbulent skies, extinguish their yearning

Yet again the two wait, at nine thousand eight

Hopping sometime soon the weather would break

So with a line fixed at the crux above

And the luxuries at the camp they love

They lost between,

In their mountain purgatory

It turns out their route

Was only a small part of life on Black Butte

All that time to think brought on thoughts of great revelation

Perhaps within that realization, lies their true emancipation

Written by: Marcus Waring

No Road, AK

Bougie — Thu, 12 Jun 2008 13:35:43 -0400

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On the “No Road to Cordova Alaska”

Nearing the final days of April myself and accomplis Marcus warring spent an afternoon waiting out the rain scheming how we could get out of Valdez. The epitomized holy land of every skier and we wanted out. Like a disease we were done feasting on the peaks and glaciers surrounding Thompson pass, now the time was upon to move onto the next host. In the last 3 seasons I’ve been migrating up to Alaska, Cordova always had an allure to me but the hardships of getting there made it a hard reality on a dirt bag skitour-ist’s budget.

Now we had a plan, our escape was imenent. We would need to enlist the help of our friend Wane-O for a drop off at the mile 13 post leaving Valdez. Our intended route up Browns creek would take us right by somewhat of a local icon of a mountain by the name of Meteorite. It has a NE facing spine ramp that runs for 6000ft down to the valley bottom. After waiting at the base for a day, visibility came around enough for us to climb to ski the boot top POW that lay upon the mountain’s side. Thus allowing us to continue forth on our quest for Cordova.

Thirty kilometres later our highline route of ice and snow ended at the toe of the Cordova glacier. From there we had a involving bushwhack through a sea of alder in steep canyon country. On par with any of B.C’s best bush-whacks, it took 5 hours to make it less than 1 km down river. As the saying goes all good things come to an end and before long we were allowed access to the river, to start our float down the Rude River. After 17 Km of mellow floating and some portaging through shallow braided sections we were at Prince William Sound. This was the unknown segment of the trip for us two trippers. The marine environment is somewhat of a foreign one to us two refuges of the high grounds.

Camped in the trees we were privy to witness the highest tide of the month come splashing into our dreams at 2 A.M. After some perfectly executed panic we managed to salvage our camp with no damage to any of our gear and seek refuge on nearby high ground. That starry night I had plenty of time to reflect on the value of a tide chart as the exact same event happened last year at this time concluding a ski trip on Cape Fairweather. Humbled by the experiences had on the no road to Cordova, we cruised the 20km into the tiny fishing port beside some grazing whales under sunny calm skies.

After 7 days of no human contact we were lucky to meet the Ski Area manager Dave right off the bat. Marcus who had previously lived in Valdez for a year had never even heard of this little pearl off the shores of Prince William Sound. Mt Eyak is the one thousand vertical foot home to North Americas oldest running chairlift. Originally out of Sun Valley Idaho it was incredible to see the history of our sport right before our eyes, still giving goods to those who ride the original single seater. We were offered to stay up at the day lodge if we could just look after the place and help out with any chores. We gratefully accepted the offer and immediately saw to looking after there mountain with our new rental clicker snowboards. That is how our bold yet humble natured ski journey into Terra Incognita would come to a finale.

Ride Clicker Forever.

Photo credit: Google Earth

Vulcan Glisse

Bougie — Wed, 01 Aug 2007 01:55:26 -0400

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Last Week saw some great weather and some fantastic corn down south on the volcanoes. Rainer's Emmons and The Colmeman Deming were our route's of choice. We ski'd 7000 vert on rainer with only a 100ft boot pack interupting the entire descent. Both mountains had but 2 hour approaches before snow. More true un-altered photographs at http://community.webshots.com/user/ryanbougie

Dengnarli

Bougie — Wed, 18 Jul 2007 01:32:43 -0400

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DEEN’ALI SKI

Known by many different names Denali is what it is, the biggest mountain in North America. Its enormity and title attracting some of the best and worst climbers from all over the world. June of 2007 I was to join up with friends Marcus Waring and Jared Brooks to attempt to ski the Messner Couloir.

Residing in the quaint mountain hamlet of Whistler, B.C I got the call to join the two implant Alaskan’s on their planned expedition. In the end I couldn’t refuse the invitation to come join the crew for some summer turns even though it meant giving up my subsistence job of tree planting. Oh well what good is money anyway.

After completing the planning stage of our trip by filling out our Park Permit more than 60 days prior to our climb we were pretty much ready to go. Shralpers Party of 3. Permit for 2007/15/06 – 2007/15/07 West Buttress. Jared our fearless and all knowing leader (on the permit) had been to the mountain several times in the past as a babysitter, I mean guide so we never had to look far to answer our quandaries. We warmed up as a team by putting our hands on some shovels and taking a landscaping job for a week, while contributing to the immigrant worker problem in the states as Marcus and I are both Canadians. Jared made it perfectly clear in that dusty week that he had no intentions of going to the summit. "I have already been there and I don’t want to go back". "Put simply the whole buddy up mantra goes out the window up there". "Besides if anything happens in the Couloir your gonna end up at 14 camp anyway". What form you’d be in leaves something to the imagination. So it was, we had a plan.

A trip to the Anchorage Costco and $150 split three ways later we were ready with all of our gear and one-week’s worth of food and fuel. Wait now just a second Jared. "I thought it takes a week to get up to 14000 ft camp where you then have to acclimatize for several days and then you wait for your weather window". "Yes" Jared answered. "Then you have to get off the mountain and what about the bad weather if the planes aren’t flying and you’re stuck without supplies". "Well it sounds like you’re on to something there Ryan". "Thing is, is that everyone else on the mountain is thinking that way too". "So they take all this time getting up the mountain ferrying loads and then when they do get there window they go for it and if that window comes early well then wvola you have an abundance of food". An abundance of food that takes the same effort to get off the mountain as it did to get up the mountain. "So what does any smart person do"? "They try and get rid of it". "And there we’ll be open arms, helping out our fellow man".

So off we set from 7800ft Base camp after getting dropped off by the amazing Paul Roderick of Talkeetna Air Taxi (T.A.T). We switched to sleeping during the day to avoid crevasse difficulties on the lower glacier and cruised on up to 14000 ft in a very mellow 3 days. Once there we took one day to play some chess and chew on some Diamox while trying to re-adjust to staying awake through the day. Our first ski day provided us with some pleasant powder skiing from the 16000 ft level on what is known as the Riblet a couple hour skin out of camp. We would become very fond of this zone as it is the most sheltered terrain out of camp and the ever powder hungry park rangers were not allowed to ski there. Basically this means is usual freshies. It was also on this day that we heard about some first descents happening on the mountain by some other skiers out towards the rarely visited north summit. I believe that was the final straw, for Marcus and I. Sick and tired of our acclimatization program we wanted to make an attempt tomorrow. But the Messner looked to be in horrible shape with blue ice showing in multiple areas. Plan B. Climb the Riblet to the upper west rib route were we could get into the upper Orient and on up onto the football field which then would lead us to the final 1000ft summit ridge. Then we’d ski all the way back down, face shots and babes the whole way. What a Plan, and that’s pretty much how it went minus the face shots thing. And well come to think of it there was only one babe. Hiking up the Riblet as we ski’d by Lisa (fellow Canuck) turned out to be a really nice babe, so that was better than nothing I guess. Sweet Summit Ski Success, time to celebrate. The following night brought upon a solstice party with 24 people cramming into "The Stronghold". A dome shelter that the N summit ski party had brought up the mountain. Complete with a rocking banjo player, 2 litres of Canadian whiskey and others going round we were the highest people in all of North America. We would wait out the next week with a trend of precip and winds occurring later in the day. Taking the windows when they came one morning we hiked up what is known as rescue gully a variation from the normal route to get to 17000ft. camp. The 3 of us ski’d different lines myself skiing the Sunshine face and Marcus and Jared doing different variations of the Dogleg couloir. All three lines were very icy with high a consequence fall hazard. Upon returning to camp we were asked in a smart manner what we were going to do now that we had ski’d all the icy lines up and all that was left on the mountain was all that "dam powder". The person who asked this question led me into some interesting self-reflection, focussing on my own personal motives for choosing and skiing a line.

When the clouds lifted our thoughts again turned to the Messner, which was now looking very inviting. Unfortunately our teammate Jared had already made his exit plans joining another party to leave the mountain with. Marcus and I saddled up and took off for the Rib. Up we went topping out at the football field in just over 7 hours. Marcus feeling inspired for another summit push went on to the top to deliver a plaque given to us for a fallen climber from earlier in the year. I on the other hand was feeling the altitude headache coming on and just wanted to get it done with so we parted ways. 15 min later I collapsed as I ski’d in front of our tent throwing off my puffy in exhilaration of what had just happened. Not quite 2 hours later we watched Marcus negotiate the crux ice fall at the Messner exit signifying his addition onto the short list of people to have ski’d this beautiful line.

Having "bagged and tagged" what we had come to do on the mountain we could have just packed up and left quite contently. But no, not just yet. With people still giving us food and fuel we thought we’d stick around to see if we could go ski those north summit couloirs that the earlier ski party had pioneered. In the next week’s time our window never really came. Our time being consumed up by assisting in a rescue of an Altitude sick snow blind man. Mr. Kobai-ashi was a member of a nationally sponsored Japanese team who was doing work on a weather station that they maintain on the upper reaches of the mountain. I was impressed with the ranger’s ability to in-act a rescue at altitude having the ability to administer drugs like Nifedipine and Albuterol.

If the rescue wasn’t enough excitement the size 3 avalanches that came out of the Messner and other areas was. It was our time as skiers to get out. Waiting for dusk on July 4 we pulled out getting in the last POW turns for the 06-07 winter. With light packs we easily cruised through the lower glacier and into base camp 4 hours later to re-unite with our case of America’s finest, PBR. A couple hours later there was Paul and Rico from T.A.T to take us through some evasive cloud maneuvers back to civilization. Oh the good times!

Stay Tuned for Fairweather Mountain Photo story

Spring Glisse

Bougie — Sat, 07 Apr 2007 15:53:30 -0400

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Well after being stuck inside with this fever for several days now I have found some relief here in doglotion world dreaming of brighter days to come. As it turns out this year’s theme seems to be going after the biggest. Starting with B.C's biggest peak. No not Mt Waddington and wait wait no it's not Mt Robson both mountains which regularly steal the spotlight for the before mentioned title. Yes for the one's in the know it is the one and only Mt Fairweather. After seeing this mountain last summer while rafting the Alsek river and our subsequent ill-fated attempt to surmount this monster, it's icy flanks have never left the forefront of my thoughts. As luck would have it two good friends Jonas and Duncan have heard my tales of grandeur of the area and together we have taken the leap of faith to research and plan our excursion to this remote land this May. The name Fairweather was bestowed upon the mountain by none other than Captain James Cook after viewing the peak in a brief window of such. The fact of the matter is the mountain is a weather trap attracting weather to it like a mountain-sized vacuum with the average millibars around the mountain being 10% lower than the surrounding area. Rising 15,325 ft above see level just 23km from the sandy beaches of the Alaskan Panhandle this mountain is straight infront of what the mighty gulf of Alaska is capable of. So why? Well I'm sure I'll have lots of time to answer that question whilst lounging in our snow cave at 10,000 ft waiting for our time to climb and perhaps just perhaps descend on ski's it non technical w ridge. And why not keep the planning going. After our Fairweather Soiree I plan to team up with Marcus Waring H20 heli guide and Jared Brooks for another month long escapade into the high and remote regions of our continent. This late season trip taking us well into what most North Americans would call summer. For us however camped on Denali at somewhere around 1400 ft we will have to be prepared for temps dipping to below -30°c. We have hopes of skiing the Messner couloir folowing the tracks of our forefather sylvan saudan to navigate all 5000 ft of this intense line. What will the mountains have to say about our grandeous plans? It only leaves more questions. Until this skier guy has more answers i'll just have to keep on asking. To everyone out there in doglotion world, good-luck and godspeed with all your planning and exsecution of madness in the mountains.

Lost in Translation

Bougie — Sat, 10 Mar 2007 13:58:51 -0500

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Give it 2 minuets to get started but I had some laughs

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Zf1dHcv9DnM

WHISTLER ULLR PARTY

Bougie — Fri, 10 Nov 2006 20:07:15 -0500

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Hey everyone out there in internet land. Just wanted to announce the un-official Ullr Party happening at Riverside Campground this sunday night at 8:00. A little short notice I know but there a bunch of wood to be burned and a few ski's. So if your in the mood to celebrate the coming of snow com'on down to the trailer park for a good old time. Bring your Friends and bring your ski's, boards, blades whatever it is you see fit for the icelandic snow god. You owe it to yourself to ensure an epic season for all. See you there people of the internet.

Ski Smithers

Bougie — Sun, 29 Oct 2006 12:14:23 -0500

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It's on in the BC North. Ski Smithers has over a metre of snow at the base. They managed to plow the road in the late afternoon and we we're able to throw in one top to bottom lap on the soon to be piste. Can't say to much more becasue it's time to go skiing. But the season is hear in the great white north. Ohh yeah