Hiking to Snake Indian Falls, part one

A week ago we set out on this year's backpacking trip that would lead us from Rock Lake campground via Willow Creek trail and a short part of the North Boundary trail to Snake Indian Falls. 

Johann and I drive as far as Obed Lake campground, about 30 km east of Hinton, where we spend the first night. We wake up on Monday morning to a strange mix of sounds: trains rumbling through across the highway and the eerie call of loons from the lake.

Again it is hazy: the smoke of extensive forest fires in northern BC has been with us for days now. This, of course, makes for spectacular sunrises and sunsets. I watch a blood red sun slowly detach itself from the horizon, pouring a narrow trail of liquid gold across the water, creeping ever closer to a small duck that has been bobbing on the almost still water, obviously fast asleep, its body perfectly mirrored. 

When the light has almost arrived at its resting spot it starts to stir a little, fluffing the feathers on wings and head. Thrilled, I watch its morning ritual. It preens the feathers on chest and wings, dips its beak in the water, spray of droplets glittering in the sun, then turns so far on its side that I’m afraid it will keel over. The exposed white feathers of its belly are given thorough attention before, with one more shake of the head, it slowly paddles away just when the light has reached it, uttering content little quacks.

For us it is time to pack up and leave, too: we are meeting up with the rest of our little hiking group at the trailhead at Rock Lake, about an hour and a half away. It will be another hot day, and we best be on our way before the sun has climbed too high. 

A few kilometres west of Hinton we turn north onto Hwy 40 leading to Grand Cache. Our hiking guide tells us to turn west onto a ‘rough gravel road’ leading to Rock Lake after about forty kilometres. After that, the description becomes somewhat vague. We are to turn left at the first ‘T’ and follow the ‘most defined’ road at every consecutive intersection, keeping right, until we reach Rock Lake campground.

It is a beautiful area, and the road not as bad as we had anticipated, which might be in part because it has been dry this last while. We could easily have taken the Corolla, but decided to follow the advice in the book and use the pickup, in case four-wheel drive is needed. 

We have passed the entrance to the sprawling campground without noticing and suddenly find ourselves well in its reaches already. Obviously we have missed the right turnoff: we are supposed to ‘climb up and around the lake’ for about 4.5 km to reach the trailhead. After some searching we are becoming more confident that we finally are on the right way: the road is definitely climbing now, although we still haven’t caught a glimpse of the lake yet, nor have we encountered a single soul we could have asked for directions. 

We pass a group of pickups with horse trailers parked in a group camp, a couple of horses in a corral: we must be close. The trailhead is also the starting point for trails into the Willmore Wilderness, a favourite with horse people. We will be sharing the trail with them for a while. It’s a good thing that it is so dry; our previous experience with shared trails (on the Tonquin Valley trail) was a bit trying at times, especially in boggy areas. 

And there it is, the parking lot, almost empty of cars, with Walter, Marj and Mariia waiting for us already. The first thing I notice when I climb out of the car is the strong scent of clover. Red and white clover and bluebells are all growing in abundance around here, and Mariia, the Ukrainian student staying with Walter and Marj, has been passing the waiting time by making them into a wreath.

At a quarter to ten we have shouldered our packs and are on our way. We are a much smaller group than usual, and we are aware that this means we are making less noise naturally – not so good in areas frequented by bears. We don’t know yet that this will be the case here, but there is a good chance, and we fasten our newly acquired bear bells to our backpacks. At first we find the constant chiming a bit annoying and keep them wrapped in their little nets to muffle the sound, but of course that defies the purpose. 

The first two kilometres of the trail follow a roadbed - climbing at first, then descending - with rocks so big that walking is rather uncomfortable. Once we have turned left onto Willow Creek trail, however, the path narrows and becomes a regular forest trail, with roots and some rocks, of course, but much nicer to walk on.

Gradually the trail descends from its starting point of 1495m. Lodgepole pine with their dark slender trunks are the predominant tree here, grown up after some long-ago fire, remnants of old, bigger trees – stumps, parts of trunks - still visible here and there, slowly disintegrating and feeding the new growth. Thick moss and little creeping plants – mountain heathers, the delicate bells of the twin flower, bear berries – have long hidden the scars left by the fire. Lungworts nod their pale blue and pink heads, elegant accents in the white carpet of bunchberry flowers, and in moister areas the waxy leaves and round little bells of wintergreens are abundant. I am thrilled to find different kinds of bog orchids – what a great time for wildflowers!

 

 

After about five kilometres we are entering Jasper National Park. We have more or less adjusted to the weight of the packs on our backs, but it is getting quite warm now.It won’t be long until we have to cross two forks of Willow Creek, something Marj and I have been slightly apprehensive about since we have never encountered this particular obstacle when backpacking. The description said ‘ankle deep’ water, but who knows at what time of year? The heat is making the prospect of wading through a cold stream more enticing by the minute, and we do have strong men to help us through, after all. 

The first of the two channels is definitely deeper than my ankle, and I’m glad Johann has taken my pack and I can hang on to him. By the time I’m through I’m wet up to my thighs, but I think without a pack I would have managed on my own. The second channel, while wider, is not so deep, and the cold water is wonderfully refreshing. It's good to try something new once in a while! We use the drying-out time to have some lunch in a shady spot. Horseflies and mosquitoes have been our constant companions from the beginning, and as soon as we sit down somewhere they attack without mercy. As dry as it is, it obviously isn’t dry enough yet to affect the bug population.

 

Siesta in the forest

We soon leave the forest for a while and enter an open meadow, the narrow trail meandering through low willow, birch and cinquefoil brush. I can see that this might be not so pleasant to hike in a rainy season: we’d soon be totally wet, and the path would be muddy. Now, however, we can enjoy the view of distant mountains, the aromatic scent the vegetation releases when our legs brush it, and yet another array of wildflowers. Yellow arnica, the sky-coloured stars of blue-eyed grass and bright splashes of purple vetch, little clusters of pink pussy-toes and woolly everlasting are prominent here, but the most surprising, to me, are the taller spikes of a plant I thought I had left behind in my garden – could it be possible to find delphiniums blooming in the wild? Indeed, the tall larkspur with its dark purplish blossoms must be a close relative of the domestic plant, according not only to its appearance but also to its Latin name, delphinium glaucum. 

Somewhere on this plateau – at kilometre 8.5 - we pass a sign indicating a trail branching off to Wolf Pass, but hard as we look we cannot see any sign of a trail. When I read about it later it becomes clear why: it is hardly used, terribly boggy and mosquito infested and almost exclusively used by wardens patrolling the boundary between Willow Creek and the Moosehorn Valley. By now we are all longing for shade since the sun burns down from straight above and it is really hot. We are grateful when we reach the forest again, the trail skirting a low hill overlooking wetlands that are obviously home to beavers, quite likely moose and deer as well. 

We have long since unwrapped our bear bells, because there is no doubt that there are lots of bears around. Early on we found scratch marks on trees, big swatches of bark peeled away, and time and again we have to step around bear scat right in the middle of the trail. In the open areas especially we come by fresh traces of digging, the soil scored, roots exposed, mounds thrown up. Yet as much as we look around we see only the traces, not the animals themselves, and this is probably better – much as I’d love to see a bear as long as it was safe to do so.

When we come to a gate opening onto an idyllic pasture with a few outbuildings we know we have only a few more kilometres to go. This is the Willow Creek warden station, obviously unoccupied right at this moment. After a brief rest we shoulder our packs once again and soon enter a more recent burn area. Here, blackened trunks are still rising from unbelievably lush green vegetation: grass and clover, mainly, with some fireweed adding colour. The trees are unstable and pose enough of a danger that the park administration has found it necessary to post a warning sign.

After a short descent through this danger zone we again come to an open area. Here a sign confirms that we have reached the intersection with the North Boundary trail, leading about 180 km from north of Jasper to Mount Robson’s Berg Lake trail. After some hesitation – the arrows on the sign seem to have missed the trails they are supposed to indicate – we turn left towards Horseshoe Meadows campground and Snake Indian Falls. 

The trail skirts the open meadow (lots of bear scat and signs of digging again!) before leading back into the forest. Soon the light blue, silty waters of the Snake Indian River run below to our right: we must be getting close. 

When we finally reach Horseshoe Meadows campground we almost walk by, so well does it fit into its forest surroundings. Tall spruce shelter a spacious clearing with a view of the river that makes a sharp bend here. Four metal fire pits are a welcome sight: it will be nice to make a fire to keep the bugs at bay, and we can cook our noodle soup, coffee and tea. 

According to a sign there should be a toilet, but Mariia who goes for a quick survey shrugs her shoulders when she comes back. Once the tent is set up I set out to find it, soon pass a sign saying ‘Privy’ and a few steps further arrive at a true wilderness bathroom: two pieces of trunk supporting a lichen-encrusted, rough-hewn board with a half-moon opening at the back and a water-filled hole underneath, wildflowers and trees providing all the décor that’s needed. This trail is quite obviously not for the luxury seeking crowd. 

What concerns us a little is the fact that while we do find a bear pole eventually there are no ropes to pull up our packs, and, unprepared because they have been present in every other campsite we ever used, we didn’t bring any ourselves. We try to come up with an alternate solution, looking for belts and other means to make a rope, but whatever we could string together would by far not reach up to the height of the crossbeam. This is a somewhat uncomfortable feeling, but we finally decide to put all the food in a smaller bag, cover it tightly with a plastic bag and hang it as high as we can reach on a branch on one of the spruce trees, as far away from the nearest tent as we can. Our now empty packs we hang up on other trees. We will trust in the fact that so few people come through here that the bears will hopefully not actively seek out the campsite. They obviously have lots to eat and shouldn’t have to rely on scavenging. 

We haven’t paid much attention to the sky: all day it was slightly hazy from the smoke, so we are used to a lack of brightness. Now, however, it seems to take on a different quality, and we realize that clouds have moved in. Soon we hear the first rumble of thunder. We have time enough to eat our wonderfully satisfying meal of soup, bread, cheese and sausage before the first big drops fall. Quickly we find shelter for everything that we don’t want to get wet, just in time, as it turns out: what starts as a downpour soon turns into hail. We huddle together under a group of tall spruce and wait it out, the brief episode of hail soon over, the rain and thunder lasting longer. The fire starts to smoke vigorously but doesn’t go out, and once the rain slows down we soon have it roaring again. We sip our tea, listen to the receding thunder, glad that it’s over and we can stay warm by the fire. Suddenly a deafening crack of thunder: those of us with a view of the river saw the bolt of lightning only a short distance away. Once again we are reminded how vulnerable we are out here, at the mercy of nature. Yet how good it feels to be here in this wilderness where we haven’t encountered a single soul all day! 

The sky has cleared and remnants of light still linger when we crawl into our tents, happy to stretch out our limbs.

Tomorrow we can leave our heavy packs here at the campsite and hike with just a daypack to what is supposed to be the highlight of the trip, Snake Indian Falls.