Yellowstone and Grand Teton: "Moose-hunting, bear-avoiding and geyser-gazing"

Sniff, sniff

Canadian colleagues were already concerned that our 19 year old many-patched Jeep wouldn't make it 5000 miles through the US deserts in summer. She might have heard them or, more likely, she was concerned for our welfare and knew she wouldn't make it in the real heat so on day 2 she bowed out gracefully.  As the extremely kind Montanan mechanic explained, we could invest hundreds of dollars fixing the radiator to see if the engine was okay but, with sterner tests to come, we bid her farewell on a parking lot in Missoula.  So with just a day lost, we headed off in our new (bizarrely Hawaiian plated) hire car, to Yellowstone.

They know they own the road

Keen readers, or just my mum, will remember we visited the snowy expanses of the USA's first national park at New Year. Trying to catch up our schedule to our achieved-with-blood-sweat-and-tears campground reservations, it wasn't such a leisurely affair this time.  A 4.30am start (don't worry, it won't be our earliest) ensured we didn't miss some magical wolf howling, traffic jams caused  by 2 ton bison and the usual array of speedy antelopes and trotting coyotes. 

Stinky stink

The park is actually the caldera of a huge exploded super volcano and so is one of the most geothermally active places on the planet.  This results in a good stink in some places, yellow stone (geddit?) and some awesome erupting geysers.  We just had time for the main show of 'old faithful' and some bubbling mud before we headed on to our park number 2...

Classic Tetons shot

The Grand Tetons range is still pushing up, while the area around it sinks (into 'Jackson Hole') meaning you get a rare view of an entire range rising from the plains.  We were lucky to have a day of good visibility as all summer humongous forest fires have raged across this part of the States.  But it wasn't all about the peaks, we had one clear objective; to see a moose.  You might think living in Canada would have sorted this already but my constant questioning always resulted in "oh moose, well, they're just everywhere".  Yep, everywhere and NOWHERE!  It was allegedly impossible not to see a moose in GT so the hunt was on....

No. 1 recommended spot (yummy willow trees); no moose.  Second choice (delicious boggy weeds); no moose. Place where nice visitor centre man saw three on his way to work; no moose.  Place fellow moose hunter saw one an hour ago; no moose.  My spirits were sinking. Our last chance was our overnight trip high up the mountainside... 

He owns the forest and he knows it

Armed with specific ranger taught brush observation techniques we set off with some trepidation.  But it turned out the moose gods knew it was my birthday. A polite cough/grunt/neigh sound to our left revealed a set of palmate antlers... success!  And then we couldn't stop seeing them: we followed a lady moose as she travelled amazingly quickly through dense undergrowth; watched a bull moose reclining in meadows and; as we ate our lunch, another bull walked straight across our path (a bit too close for comfort).  So moose panic over.

We camped at a lakeside wilderness site (which means no north American staples like a picnic table, fire ring and pit toilets (in case you're wondering, you go in a hole and pack out the tissue, nice)).  All very tranquil until at 8pm a large black bear nonchalantly approached the camp.  Unlike BC bears he was undeterred by talking, shouting and clapping and only backed off after we banged rocks on the bear cache and Mark made a special, new poltergeist like bear scaring wail (our 6 neighbours seemed slightly perturbed by this development).  But he didn't go far, just circled the camp until he disappeared into the dark trees...

Bit grainy, but you get the idea...

Needless to say, little sleep was had by all, not helped by gale like winds which would have masked his approach (though huge padded feet make them pretty silent).  But we survived the night and then bumped right into him sitting on the path as we left...  When we later made our bear report to the rangers we discovered a hiker had his pack ripped apart by a bear in the same area that day so were lucky (more for not losing our dinner, black bears are rarely too dangerous).  But then that's the challenge of spending time in prime bear habitat.

We left the next day, saying goodbye to the familiar mountains and forests of the north to the deserts and canyons of the south...

Whirlwind tour of the Western States - the intro

Its hard to know where to start with blogging about our 3 week road trip to ten of the most iconic national parks in the US.   We went from 46 degrees centigrade to below freezing in one day.  We walked on the lowest point in the US, and on snow near one of the highest.  And, obviously my fave part, saw wildlife from a 1 ton bison to 20gram hummingbird, and a bear with a very keen interest in our dinner.  Oh, and we wrote off our car (turns out temperature gauges ARE really important after all...)

Instead of one epic post, I'll divide the trip into posts on each park, check out the sub title if the park names don't mean too much...  WARNING:  I've written some of it as much for us to remember all the good, bad and ugly bits: so some of it is pretty long, feel free to skim and just look at the piccies!

The most scenic ultra race in Canada...

19 August has loomed huge on the horizon ever since I clicked 'confirm' on my race entry form for the 30 mile portion of 'the most scenic ultra race in Canada'.  An ultra race is technically anything further than a marathon.  So, if I completed it, I would become part of a growing group of people who love running long distances, normally in the mountains. Pretty much the same group of people I had dismissed as insane when I discovered they even existed last year.

One of the climbs (this one I did remember)

My training went well, really well, for about five months: long runs at weekends on increasingly hilly and technical terrain; speed and hill workouts; and two 25km races on the local North Shore mountains.  Then one of the inevitable endurance injuries set in, Achilles tendonitis and I had to back off training.  Four weeks pre-race, my long run (which still wasn't really long enough) damaged my tibial tendon, which ruled out more more running.  Adding insult (well, I guess injury) to injury, a cycle ride to keep up my endurance pulled out a rib with 7 days to go.

So, many hundreds of dollars on physio later, I was at the start line.  Mark, as always supportive and encouraging, had given me my final pep talk, with varying degrees of accuracy:

• "you're the fittest you've ever been" - this much was true;
• "you know the course backwards" - we had hiked it the month before but I'd conveniently forgotten key elements like there being 7, not 4, brutal climbs; and
• "if you start, you'll finish" - well, this was kind of true, you crossed one road 10 miles in and, if you didn't turn back then it was finish or wait for mountain rescue...

Enough warm-up, what happened in the race?:

The ridge section (on a recce run)

• Adrenaline is a magical substance.  I didn't notice my existing injuries and wasn't in much pain until mile 22 when both knees went on strike. For the final 8 miles, I mastered a stiff legged, arm pumping jog which was surprisingly effective.
• Closest I've been to a cougar/mountain lion - at aid station #1 they (accidentally) told me one had been sighted on the trail I'd just run (as well as two surprised bears).  "Lucky it isn't ahead of me" I thought.  Took me 2 hours to remember that cougars don't respect race leg boundaries and start worrying about every twig snapping.
• I felt incredibly nauseous for about 2.5 hours climbing 1700m.  Meant I couldny eat which slowed me down, but just made the pringles at the 2nd/last aid station even better.
• I performed really quite effective first aid on cuts sustained in a fall, simultaneously providing much needed food aid to passing moquitoes, and didn't beat myself up too much about losing my sunglasses.
• I took an extended nature bathroom break. Traumatic. Mosquito ridden. 'Nuff said.
• I was blown away by the views, the first brutal climb topped out on a magnificent ridge line with the snowy peaks of the Northern Cascade range on one side and acres of alpine meadows on the other. Sufficient encouragement to keep running.
• And, what surprised me most was my totally positive attitude for the whole day.  I saw only three runners, plus aid station volunteers, all day, but I entertained myself with odes to compression socks, the mountains, pringles and a very un-British sense of pride in my achievement.  I had a few tears, but mainly when I thought about the support I'd had from Mark, family, friends and my trail running club.  I only had to give myyself one serious 'marshall your resources' talking to (sometimes my surname is pretty useful).

I was out 10 hours and 15 minutes in the end.  I had wanted to finish under 10 but considering the heat I was pleased to end it running with only a minor limp. I learnt some valuable lessons I'll take forward to future races, took home an abiding love for aid station volunteer heroes and finished with my first Canadian ultra race medal (hopefully not my last, but no plans as yet to enter the 120mile version next year).

Chips are an essential recovery tool

Still in considerable pain as I write this 3 days on (my tibial tendon hasn't quite forgiven me) but immensely satisfied.  We leave Friday for our 3 week Western US States road trip.  I'm off to buy physio tape and walking poles for our descent into the Grand Canyon...

The Journey North, final instalment

Despite my innate capacity for witter, in this instance, pictures really do speak louder than words, so this entry is really all about the photos (in large parts thanks to Kat/Sandy's amazing camera)

Great conditions = Tim getting us very close to the peaks

First up, our amazing 'flight see' over the Monarch mountains:

You don't get more 'BC' than this

Seen from the air, a glacier really is a river of ice

Properly pristine glaciers

I'm loving the fire

Next was our trip back to the 'big smoke' of Vancouver.  Our final camp was by the glacial blue Chilcotin River, with requisite Canadian campfire.  And then we descended from the Chilcotin plateau.  You can see the Fraser river cutting through the dry grassy hills of the Cariboo, very different from our usual mountain forest home...

Reminded me of the African 'veld'

Don't worry, I didn't lose my lower legs

But, gradually, we wound our way back to our 'home range' of the Coast Mountains, past the stunning Duffey Lake, with a late evening drive along our 'home fjord' of Howe Sound unable to resist a final swim in Marble Canyon on the way home).  
A basically pretty amaze-balls trip.  

Wins over our old approach home down the M1

Ridiculously clear water

We then had only 12 working days till our next trip, back to London to check out how well 'spruced' it had been ahead of the 2012 Olympics... 

The journey North, part 2

As a Brit, you feel like you know all about rain (and certainly this year) but, as the West Coast of British Columbia is one of the world's last remaining temperate rainforests, when it rains here, it can be a monsoon-like torrent which has the added bonus of being really quite cold.  This exact combo is what greeted us on our arrival in Bella Coola; undeterred we set off on a 'bear-fari' to see if we could spot any of the large population of black and grizzly bears that inhabit the Bella Coola valley.

BBB

Our second BBB

We struck gold with BBB score of 3 (Bears Before Breakfast) and 1 BAB.  As the road is fairly quiet, and the locals pretty disinterested in bears, the black bears were happily munching dandelions and we got some good snaps.  Then it was time for 'the Hill'; until the 1950s the government proclaimed the mountainsides between Bella Coola and the Chilcotin plateau too steep to build on.  Locals took matters into their own hands and built the last 65km themselves, with up to 18% grades and too steep to tarmac properly it is an exciting gravel drive with unfenced sheer drops to the valley beneath.  Kat and I maintained a calm silence (yes I know, it was a challenge) as Mark honked the horn round every hairpin bend...

No sticking plaster visible

Into the wilds
The Hill conquered we arrived at Nimpo lake to greet our pilot, Tim, sort our gear and board the 1955 Beaver floatplane to Turner Lake, our home for the next two days.  The clouds cleared enough for him to see the lake and drop us off at the small beach, by the three basic log cabins.  As the buzz of his engine faded, it was replaced by the less friendly buzz of mosquitoes, a LOT of mosquitoes.  Mark secured over 50 bites on his left shoulder alone (through his clothes) and went into mild shock for the next hour or so as his body released a ton of histamine. 


George, on the other hand, seemed unconcerned by northern BC's most popular insects.  Sent to 'clear up' the camps and hiking trails of this enormous park every year, George had huge knowledge and affection for the park and immediately bundled us into a canoe to check out the next lake along, the trail replete with moose and bear droppings...

The picture of the trip?

We unwisely chose a meal which required us to be outside cooking for at least 10 minutes, 9 minutes longer than it took the mosquitoes to find us, but were rewarded with the incredible sight of a full moon rising in twilight over the mountains and lake.  Even George said it was a first for him in the park, so I think a total of 57 photos between us was reasonable...

Planes, boats and ...jettys?

Mark steadies the jetty

The rest of our stay was spent zooming around in George's kindly lent motorboat, canoeing and helping George and Tim chainsaw the cables from and move a jetty (for complicated reasons we all ended up 'riding' the jetty as it was towed through the water, not the most aerodynamic of vessels).  The park has had a tough time over the last five years; forest fire, the mountain pine beetle epidemic and floods in 2010 have made the park less accessible (hence the float plane) and made the trails tougher to navigate.  These calamaties have led to a vicious circle of less visitors means less investment in trails and facilities which means less visitors etc.  But if you're lucky enough to be there, it means that you really feel you have the enormity of the park to yourself. 

So a brilliant stay, now for the final flight over the mountains out....

The journey North, part 1

Actually, it wasn't very far North.  When we came, we thought we'd 'explore Canada' - then we realised, actually, it's not just big, it's vast.  So we thought we'd focus on our own province of British Columbia.  But turns out that's pretty big too, about the size of France and Germany combined.  So now we're mainly focussing on southern BC, where people happily drive 2 hours for a nice lunch...  And in that context, although it was an 8 hour drive back to Van from our most northerly point, we still would only have covered the first quarter of the province. 


So the journey.  We planned to copy BC Ferries' vacation route 'the Discovery Coast circle route' pictured left, travelling on two ferries, one float plane and up Western Canada's most notorious road 'the Hill'.  With the ever adventurous Kat game for the challenge (but with an Arbuthnott family gathering to return to at the end) we had an ambitious 6 day timeline...


Leg 1:  Vancouver to Port Hardy

Celebrating no rain, yet...

Ferry number 1 took us across to Vancouver Island with the regular beautiful Friday night sunset on display.  A quick stop at a family campground and we were off up the eastern coast of 'the island' to picnic with my ecologist cousin, E. C. Pielou, who took up sea kayaking at 75 and once woke up in her tent on the arctic tundra to find a wolf gazing in.  Always an inspiration, she updated us on her latest book project and after a bird-filled beach hike, we said our goodbyes to carry on up the coast.  

Our first taste of the remote north was the sign proudly welcoming us to Port Hardy and setting out their priorities underneath 'fishing, logging, mining'.  Our second taste was the panic induced when the BC Ferries port staff asked Kat for her photo ID (passport sensibly left safely in Vancouver) and informed us she couldn't travel without it.  Eventually, in true laid back West Coast style, Kat just signed a declaration that 'I, Katherine Arbuthnott, am Katherine Arbuthnott.  Signed: Katherine Arbuthnott' which served as her passport for the next two days on the 'Queen of Chilliwack ferry'.


Leg 2:  Port Hardy to Bella Coola 

Still no rain!

The last time Kat and I visited a fjord together it was Milford Sound, NZ, and not only could you not see the snow capped mountain peaks surrounding it, you couldn't even see 5 metres in front of your face.  Combined with one of the worst months of June weather in western Canadian history, I was understandably nervous about what the weather gods would bring...

Kat's pretty excited re: no rain

The first night on the ferry was therefore a real treat, incredible views back over to the mainland, the snowy peak of Monarch mountain (see more later) towering over the skyline, and a lacy network of inlets and islands before us.  The night didn't prove so serene; a stern warning over alcohol was delivered; a couple's romantic liasion on the deck resulted in being escorted from the boat the following morning by the Mounties; and the ferry stopped dead at 5am to allow 4 sea kayakers a 'wet launch' into an empty bay.  We slept in the solarium on the floor (no beds provided on the 2 night journey), the stars overhead and the sound of the engines lulling us to sleep (well sort of, mainly just being really noisy).  

Klemtu 'big house'

We spent Sunday cruising up and down the coast line, dropping off people and goods to the tiny and unbelievably remote First Nations communities along the coast.  With no roads to them, no shops and no restaurants, it shouldn't really have surprised us that at our most northerly point, Klemtu, 103 of the 300 inhabitants boarded the ferry as visitors to have their regular Sunday night dinner in the cafe.  Reliant on fishing, some forestry and eco-tourism, most of the communities are trying (actually fairly successfully) to keep their young people from leaving for the big smoke.  But given that if you forget the milk on your monthly  shopping trip to Port Hardy (2 day return journey) I can understand why it might be attractive to leave.  

Yay, our first whale tail!

We, of course, spent a lot of time combing the ocean's surface for whales, although happened to all be dozing when the first humpback whale was announced.  We saw 6 or 7, most very obligingly doing 'the tail thing' just ahead of the ferry.  Bald eagles were a regular, as always on the coast, but our first golden eagle, with juvenile, was a real treat.


The weather turned, later than anticipated luckily, so we spent the second night sleeping in the lounge, waking up at 5.30am to a very rainy Bella Cool, pysching ourselves up for... the Hill...

A tale of two journeys: The South

4000km covered, two mountain ranges crossed and a LOT of big trees. The Jeep has performed admirably on 17 days of travel on two road trips: south along the washington and Oregon coasts to California and north along the misty fjords of British Columbia. 

The South

When Nikki said her only free week was early June, my colleagues' warnings about the potential for  'Juneuary' rang alarm bells. With huge amounts of snow across the western mountains this winter, any kind of hiking was out as many places still had avalanche risks. So with Nikki's Canadian cousin Shelagh on board, we planned a journey along the famous (well, in these parts anyway) Oregon coast; long sandy beaches, rocky bluffs and plenty of wildlife.

A complex visa waiver run in with the US authorities was avoided thanks to my boss's timely warning and Nikki's disarming British chatter.  Torrential rain on night one luckily wasn't represenative of the trip (although the other night of rain did necessitate a retreat from the tent to a yurt) and there were plenty of highlights:

- Incredible long, sandy, undeveloped beaches with tons of picturesque driftwood and rocky out crops. Leftie liberal Oregon decided to keep its 350 miles of beaches public and much is protected as state parks.

- Yet again the vindication of my incessant questioning of locals re wildlife opps: rewarded with immense star filled tide pools, huge colonies of seabirds, seals and sealions and lots of teetering on slippery rocks

- Beer (oregon is the microbrewery capital of N America), ice cream (where else to celebrate Nikki's birthday but with 57 flavours) and everlasting home made cookies

- First encounter with US police in the form of a speeding ticket for Nikki (okay, maybe more of a lowlight for her bank account) in Kurt Cobain's home town - once you've left Eugene as quickly as you can its not hard to see why he was so miserable

- An unexpected sense of remoteness; in crescent city, CA, you're 350km from the nearest big city and cut off from the freeway by the mountains.  They don't follow baseball or ice hockey but the local little league soccer and it felt like the whole town, all generations, attended the trivia night.

- And finally: our first encounter with a real life US marching band, replete with trombones, baton spinning and glitter outfits.

So much fun was had by all in the journey south.  You can check out the photo album here:  Oregon highlights

Next instalment covers the journey north...