Once upon a time, I lived in British Columbia, Canada. It was there that I learned to climb mountains, and I’ve gotta tell you that, if you’re prepared to schedule your life around the vagaries of the weather, it’s a climber’s paradise. The mountaineering challenges are endless. I climbed an awful lot of peaks while there, but of course there were some that eluded me. One of them was a glacier-clad beauty named Mamquam Mountain. At 8,491′ elevation, it is the highest point in the Mamquam Icefield and sits at the southern end of the spectacular Garibaldi Provincial Park. Although it is only 35 air miles north of Vancouver, it is a world apart, as you’re about to see.
http://bivouac.com/MtnPg.asp?MtnId=29
Back in the mid-1970s, I made an attempt to drive the logging roads into the Mamquam area. Motoring along in my Volvo station wagon, I was making good progress, and stopped to pee. Outside the car, there was a strong smell of gasoline. Looking under it, I saw gas leaking out at a goodly rate. I’m one of those guys who knows less than nothing about auto mechanics, so I immediately panicked. Miraculously, don’t ask me how I did it, I managed to set the gas line aright and stopped the leak. Unwilling to push my luck, I beat a hasty retreat back to the nearest repair shop. There were plenty of other things to climb, so Mamquam was put way on the back burner.
Fast-forward to 1989. I was going to be back in BC for a while, so with some spare time on my hands, in early August I borrowed a beater 1973 International pick-up with no spare tire from my sister’s friend. It was a real piece of crap, and barely ran, but hey – beggars can’t be choosers. I could see through the rusted floorboards to the ground below! Keeping my fingers crossed, I drove the 80-or-so miles of pavement and turned on to the logging roads. I continued driving, following the dirt roads up the Stawamus and Mamquam Rivers, then up Skookum Creek. In years past, there had been issues with access and road conditions, but this time I was in luck. My whole plan revolved around being able to drive as far as possible up those roads – if I fell short, I was ready to abort the entire trip. The roads were in good condition and there were no locked gates. Hallelujah! I finally parked by a bridge, at 2,900′ elevation, which spanned the east fork of Skookum Creek.
http://www.peakbagger.com/peak.aspx?pid=37215
By the time I shouldered my full pack, it was around noon. I started walking up the road, first north, then northeast, for 1 1/4 miles to its end on the east fork of Skookum Creek at around 3,400′. What I really wanted to do was to cross over to the east side of the creek into the open, mature forest where I knew it’d be good going. But there was no way I could get across – it was too wide. Also, because it was dropping quickly, it was wall-to-wall whitewater and full of treachery. I didn’t dare risk it – a slip could have been fatal. There was no choice but to stay on the west side of the creek and do a fierce, ugly bushwhack. It was indeed nasty, especially with my large pack. Mercifully, the bush eased up at around 4,200′ and going became easier. My first snow was encountered at 4,500′, and I finally stopped for the night at 4,900′. I had a great view of Mt. Garibaldi to the northwest.
Unfortunately, the mosquitoes were so horrific that I couldn’t enjoy it. Attacking relentlessly, they forced me to take cover. I hadn’t brought a tent – rather, I had a bivi bag, a Cyclops, which I had to climb into at 5:00 pm and stay put. Hordes of mosquitoes buzzed non-stop an inch from my face on the other side of the netting and pinned me down. They were so fierce, I couldn’t leave my bag until morning.
By 5:00 am, I was up and moving. Twelve hours spent cowering from the mosquitoes had made me a bit stir-crazy, so I blasted out of there in a big hurry. It was a perfect clear morning, and, as far as I was concerned, nothing was going to stop me from standing atop Mamquam. Historically, though, the odds might be against me. In the past, this mountain had stymied climbers that were better than I. “Many parties routinely fail to climb this summit” says Canadian climber Anders Ourom in Bruce Fairley’s excellent Climber’s Guide to the Mountains of Southwest BC. So, I was hoping I wouldn’t be one of them.
At 5,200′ I dropped my sleeping bag and other un-necessaries by the creek. Continuing up through an open area, I arrived at a small lake at 6,000′.
From that point on, I was often on snow slopes. Up above, I could see the lower edge of the icefield.
At about 6,500′ I had a good view over to Darling Peak at 8,100′.
Finally, at about 6,700′, I stepped on to the Mamquam Icefield proper. There shouldn’t be too much of a problem from this point on, I figured.
It was about 2.3 miles of walking on the ice. The views were breath-taking in every direction.
Before long, I could see the summit ahead.
I passed Illusion Peak (8,200′) on its northeast side. The final bit up Mamquam was on steep snow, and that took me to rock again, only 100 feet west of the true summit.
The views were amazing. Some of the highlights visible from the top were: Mt. Baker, the Lillooet Range, Wedge Mountain, Mt. Garibaldi, the Tantalus Range, the town of Squamish, the Sunshine Coast, Pitt River, Pitt Lake and the Misty Icefields.
I had arrived on the summit after five hours of climbing, to a perfect 55-degree F. temperature. As I sat there, two other guys finished crossing the icefield and joined me on the summit. We visited for an hour. There was a register, which had only six prior entries. No doubt there had been others, but they hadn’t signed in to our book.
Finally, I figured I’d better start down. My Foot-Fangs were great on the descent of the steep part below the summit. The march back out across the icefield was highly enjoyable, and I savored every minute. It was only a matter of time before I finally stepped off the ice and back on to the snow, then after that into the meadow.
I was nearly back at my sleeping bag when my luck ran out. My stuff was sitting there on the other side of the creek – all I had to do was cross. There were two rocks I had in mind – I’d jump from one to the other and it’d be done. Because the hillside was steep, the creek was all whitewater and you couldn’t see the bottom. I stood on one rock, screwed up my courage and took the leap of faith to the other rock. Sadly, even my vibram soles didn’t help me on the smooth wet surface that awaited me, and down I went. Face-first into the creek, I put out both hands to brace my fall. It was probably a foot deep, and my right hand hit a rock on the bottom. My thumb, actually – it jammed hard. Spluttering, I quickly stood up and crawled on to the bank. The water was ice-cold, having just exited the glacier a short while ago, and I was totally drenched from head to foot. My thumb hurt like hell, and I must have hit something sharp on the bottom, because I was bleeding like a stuck pig from a deep gash. I hate the sight of blood, especially my own, and I felt a bit woozy as I sat there on the heather bandaging my thumb. Well, I was soaked to the arse but at least I was back with all my stuff.
The day was wearing on, so I loaded my pack and set off down the mountain in a south-westerly direction. Up and over a ridge, I descended into a mature forest. Getting cliffed out several times cost me a bunch of time. I remember standing at the top of one cliff, maybe 40 feet high, and deciding that since there were tall trees everywhere, maybe I could use one to solve my problem. Picking a good one right up close to the cliff face, full pack on my back, I jumped over to a tree trunk and, full-length, plastered myself against it, wrapping arms and legs around it. It worked like a charm. I then climbed down the branches to the ground, and continued down through the bush. It was hot as hell, and bug-infested, but after a while I made it out to an old road, which eventually led me back to my truck.
It was done. Mamquam had let down its guard just long enough to let me summit, but had beat me up a bit while doing so. Here’s the epilogue to this tale – my thumb was jammed so hard that day that it took a full year to regain a normal range of motion. Hey, a small price to pay for finally having climbed this beauty.
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