Attempt on Ingram

Mount Ingram, when viewed from a certain angle, looks like a mean, nasty mountain. From its north face - the angle from which most people see it - the mountain is brutally steep, strewn with long slides of loose, sharp rock.

Of course, I wanted to climb it.

There isn't much in the local hiking guide books about getting to the top of Mount Ingram. There are suggestions about using a base camp, but little else. If I've learned anything about the Yukon, though, is that there is always an old trail somewhere that will get you close to where you want to go - you just need to know Who To Ask.

I called Who To Ask, but Who To Ask wasn't in. Fortunately, Maybe I Can Help returned my call and Maybe I Can Help was a huge help. She was well acquainted with a trail that led up to alpine and told me how to find it. It helped that I already had some familiarity with the area, but her directions were so good I would have found the trail otherwise.

I didn't know what state the trail would be in or how much snow I would need to pack with my snowshoes to get there. One thing was certain: In order to make my attempt on the mountain, I would need to overnight somewhere.

I was excited, but also felt a little trepidation. It had been far too long since my last winter camping trip. You see, I already travel so much for work that I'm wracked with guilt any time I think about wanting to do an overnighter just because I want to. It's so much work for Fawn and it's already so much time away from the kids. I love my family and want to be with them, but at the same time, out in the bush is where I decompress. It's where I centre myself and I always come back a better person for it. If I don't get out there, I get cranky. I'd love to take my family with me, but they're not ready for it. So which is better? Spending less time with my family but being a more pleasant father, or staying with my family in a crankier state?

Fortunately and thankfully, Fawn's parents came to town for the Christmas holidays and provided me with the opportunity to go - so I took it.

A couple of friends were poised to join me, but had to back out for various legitimate reasons. It was just going to be me and Nanuq on this trip. Having a somewhat flexible schedule, I pushed the trip back, hoping to take advantage of some warmer weather that Environment Canada had been predicting.

Packed and ready to go, armed with local knowledge of the best way up the mountain, Nanuq and I set off up the Ibex Valley with our gear in tow.

A glimpse of Ingram.

Gear in tow.

The going was easier than I expected. A local trapper was using the main trail up the valley and the trail was well-packed by his snow machine as he frequently checks his traps.

Looking up the Ibex Valley. I'm goin' that-a-way!

Before long, I reached the landmarks that Maybe I Can Help told me to look for. I donned my snowshoes, turned off the main trail, and started making my way up the mountain, looking for a good place to make camp.

It wasn't long before I found it. With a couple of hours of daylight left, I started piling snow to make a snow hut. Dusk had arrived by the time I finished building my pile. Wanting to give the snow a chance to set, I started collecting firewood to cook my supper. As I did so, Nanuq and I were startled by a sound not far up the mountain. It was a wretched short howl, not unlike how a wolf with emphysema might sound. Nanuq and I looked at each other, puzzled. He didn't seem too concerned, so we went back to our respective duties (me cooking my supper and he eating his).

It was dark by the time I began hollowing the pile of snow out, but I could still see well enough that I was able to make a perfect winter shelter before my supper had finished cooking over the fire.

A lit candle inside the snow hut gave my campsite a cheery, warm glow. The sky had cleared and the stars were bright overhead. I wished that my photography skills were good enough to capture the scene before me. I was at complete and total peace as I scarfed down a delicious pot of soup.

After inhaling my evening meal, I decided to retire early. It's an amazing feeling to have absolutely nothing to do but relax.







It was a very pleasant night. I had packed my sleeping gear for -35^oC weather and, during the night, the temperature had climbed to about -5^oC. I slept like a log, waking only to shed a couple of sleeping layers and to take a little stroll outside the shelter to melt some snow.

Because we're still so near the Winter Solstice, morning came late. I ate a hot breakfast in the dark and waited for the sun to rise so I would have enough light to pack my day bag for the trip up the mountain. It was only when I was finished my breakfast that I realised it was so warm that I was wearing only two long-sleeved t-shirts and a hooded sweatshirt on my upper body and still wasn't chilled. It was going to be a warm day, indeed!

The sky was overcast, but the clouds were high enough that visibility at the top of the mountain was still good. I began the long march up the mountain, breaking trail as I went. The warm air temperature, lack of wind, heavy snow pants, and hard work added up and I had to stop every few hundred meters to catch my breath. The going was hard.

There are some curses that eventually reveal themselves as blessings and some blessings that eventually reveal themselves as curses. As I huffed and puffed and sweated my way up the mountain, I was beginning to curse the warm weather. I just couldn't stay cool enough to work efficiently.

On the bright side, the birds were out in force, playing in the warm air and singing their happy songs. Whiskey jacks came to investigate and finches and chickadees hopped about on the trees around me. Ravens gargled and cooed off in the distance.






Now well up the mountain, the trail looked like it branched, then thinned, and there was a moment when I thought I might have gone the wrong way, but a blaze on a tree showed me that I had it right. I continued on up, eventually clearing the tree line.









I had been hoping it would be cooler above the treeline, but it wasn't. There was scarcely a breath of wind and, when there was, it was brief and warm. I pushed ever upwards, roasting in my snow pants and feeling the burn in my muscles. One of the minor peaks loomed tantalizingly ahead.




I was torn. On one hand, I wanted to push on and reach the peak. On the other, I knew that I had given my legs a heavy, thorough, work-out and still had to haul my gear back to the car.









In the end, time was the deciding factor. It was New Year's Eve and I didn't want to get hom too late. Reluctantly - but still satisfied with my attempt - I turned around to head back down the mountain.





Oh! How much easier (and faster) it was going down the broken trail! A gnawing hunger in my belly reminded me of how much energy I had burned on the way up, so when I got back to my campsite I cooked up a hot lunch to fuel me for the last leg home.

The sun was setting quickly and the passing clouds made for dark, dramatic skies. I was feeling the efforts of the day as I pulled my sled along the main trail, grateful that most of it was now downhill.





Before long it was dark, but I knew the way back to the car so it didn't matter.

As I walked, I reflected. It had been a good trip. The entire time, whether I had nothing to do or a dozen things to do, no matter how much I exerted myself, no matter comfortable or uncomfortable I had felt, no matter what I had accomplished and no matter what I didn't accomplish, I had felt a tremendously deep sense of peace.

I smiled.

I didn't reach the summit of Mount Ingram and it didn't matter. I had reached the place I was really hoping for.

Ingram can wait for another day.

The Cure for Cabin Fever

Way back when, in my high school days, I used to get this cooped-up feeling where every fibre of my being just wanted to be outside. One spring, in a math class out in the school's portable-farm, I just had to sit near the open door or I wouldn't have been able to learn anything. My teacher was an understanding soul and she let me step outside once-in-a-while to take in some of the fresher air.

I didn't realize it at the time, but I had cabin fever.

With Halia's birth and everything we've been through with Jade's epilepsy, I didn't notice it creeping up on me over the past couple of months, either. I was becoming unbearably ornery.

Finally, I figured it out. I let Fawn know that I needed to get out and do some exploring. She was more than happy to grant her blessing.

We've had a pretty cushy winter thus far, and today was no exception. There's a bit of snow on the ground, but not enough for any real snowshoeing. Cross-country skiing was an option, as was hiking, but with my neighbour's dog, Kodiak, available, I decided that some kicksledding was in order.

With the temperature hovering around 0^oC, we struck out for the Ibex Valley. I chose Ibex Mountain via the Scout Lake Road as our destination, though I knew it was unlikely we'd cover 40 to 50kms needed to make a round-trip from where I would park the car.

Reaching the destination was not the objective; getting out and exploring a new area was the objective.

I parked the car on the side of the road, a couple of kilometers past the turnoff for the Ibex Valley bouldering area. I attached my pack to the kicksled, harness Kodiak and Nanuq, and we set off down the nicely packed road.

They were eager to run and it wasn't long before we were near the "Cabin of the Naked Man" (which sounds like a reject title for a Hardy Boys mystery...) and the turnoff for the trail that would take us further up the Ibex River Valley, toward Ibex Mountain.

Once we were off the road and on the trail, the going got tough. The snow wasn't deep, but the little runners on the kicksled did not like plowing through the grainy snow. I was surprised that Whitehorse's legions of snow machine riders hadn't packed the trail. Other than some old canine, moose, and mouse tracks, the trail seemed untouched. The dogs, to their credit, pulled determinedly while I pushed the sled and jogged along behind.

Nanuq (L) and Kodiak (R) pull uphill.

There was a bit of up and down at the start of the trail before it leveled out.

Taking a quick break at the top of a rise.

It was warm out and the dogs were getting hot. So was I. I had shed my hat, mitts and sweater. I was down to a long-sleeved t-shirt with a short-sleeved t-shirt over that. Even when stopped, it was comfortably warm.

Stopping for a tea and snack break.

Looking up the Ibex Valley.

We'd only gone a couple of kilometers down the trail but I knew that going any further could exhaust us on the return trip. Instead, we enjoyed a little snack and I decided to do some hiking. A trail cut up a south-facing slope and I figured, rightly, that the view of the valley would be good further up.

Walking up a south-facing slope.

Further up the south-facing slope.

Still further up the south-facing slope. Kodiak and Nanuq are camoflauged by the snow and grass.

There wasn't much sunshine to speak of. Although the sky seemed clear in most directions, the sun was continually shrouded by a system of low-lying clouds.

Mid-afternoon sun.

Looking across the valley, behind Mount Ingram.

Ibex Ridge.

Nice hiking.

A rockier mountain. Fun hiking.

Looking across the valley.

More of the mid-afternoon sun.

Sunlight on the mountains way across the Takhini River Valley.

The skies begin to clear.

Aspen epidermis.

Ibex Ridge. Ah, it was such a great hike.

Weird sun effects. It always looked like the sun shot upwards.

Clouds come and go.

If we had kept going upwards and crested the ridge, we would have been looking over the Bonneville Lakes. Standing on the Fish Lake side of the Bonneville Lakes, I'd often wondered what it looked like on the other side of those mountains. Now I know.

Going back down into the valley was much faster than it was going up. The sound of trickling water was loud where I left the kicksled and I assumed it was the Ibex River. I went to investigate, but found it was only a little creek running out of the side valley I'd just hiked up. Well, we weren't going to get across that without getting our paws wet, so we turned around and made our way back to the car.

A creek runs over the trail.

It was slightly easier going out than it was going in. For one thing, the trail had been somewhat broken. For another, it was mostly downhill. When we got back on the road, the dogs started pulling like they hadn't worked all day. I started to wonder if we shouldn't have found a way across that creek and kept going up the valley.

Well, there's always next time.

Ibex Ridge from the road.

Ibex Ridge.

Oh, and my cabin fever? It has been taken care of for now. When cabin fever strikes, there's really only one cure: Get outside and go somewhere!