Southern Chilcotins Loop

June 2021

The Chilcotins are a fairly accessible range in Southern British Columbia. I was living in Squamish at the time, and a savage heat wave was coming through town. I thought a retreat to the alpine would provide a welcome refuge from the heat. While it was cooler in the mountains, cooler unfortunately meant it was 95 degrees Fahrenheit instead of 115 degrees Fahrenheit.

Fires were raging through the province at this time, so most of my drive to the trailhead yielded no spectacular views. Once I got high enough though, the smoke abated, and I was treated to spectacularly expansive views of the range. I camped out the night before setting out, and had to sleep in my tent, since the van was to hot, and without the tent I suffered from a barrage of tireless mosquitos.

I started pedaling early the next morning, though it was already quite hot. The route started with fairly undulating terrain, which allowed for quick travel. I was slightly worried about grizzly bears the whole time and sang loudly for much of the weekend to inform them of my presence. I made good progress and made it to a beautiful alpine lake where I broke camp much before sundown. I swam a few times, made some food, read a bit, and killed countless mosquitos before drifting off to sleep. I didn’t bring a tent which was a huge mistake since it was to hot to go into my sleeping bag, but this left me horribly vulnerable to bugs. These pests tortured me all night and I was happy to get moving in the morning after what felt like ages. I topped out on a pass above the lake and then enjoyed a long flowy descent.

Eventually, I came to a series of increasingly severe river crossings. Soon I realized that the reason I saw no other bikers or hikers was likely to do not only with the heat, but also the fact that it was peak melt and the rivers were at their highest levels for the year. I made an extremely dangerous river crossing that was higher than waist deep. Incredibly strong whitewater lashed against my legs, exerting an extraordinary force on me that nearly toppled me over several times. I did not allow my brain to think about what would happen if I lost my footing—it suffices to say that I certainly would be vanquished if I fell.

After making it across, I fell to my knees and let out a scream of relief and fear. Relief of being alive, but fear of how close I just was to death. This is perhaps one of the closest times I have every been to death. I resolved to not cross any more rivers of that magnitude. Since the route zigzagged across the rivers, I theoretically could remain on one side bushwhacking to avoid crossing them unnecessarily. Towards the end of the route, I knew a couple bridges allowed for safe passage. I soon came to the unhappy realization that this crossing had put me into an island in the middle of this river, and that I would either have to cross ahead, or redo my sketchy crossing in the other direction. The crossing ahead of me looked even worse and I struggled to come to terms with my fate. I recorded a short video to my parents on my camera and enclosed it in all the ziplock bags I had, in the event that I did not make the crossing. This perhaps illustrates to the reader the severity of my predicament.

I began making my way across, bike hoisted over my shoulder and a large branch in my left hand for stability. About halfway across a rock shifted from under my right foot. I wavered and thought certainly that I would lose balance. But from deep inside of me a preternatural well of strength emerged. Without consciously willing it I let out a loud, primal scream—a scream that contained a fear of death, a love for life, all my strength, everything I had inside of me, a deep will to live. All my muscles fired with every ounce of strength in them. I planted my right foot as firmly as I could in the shifty bed of rocks at my feet. I leaned against the branch in my left hand, grasping it with all my might. I stepped forward mechanically, with great power, and resisted the onslaught of rapids attempting to topple me. My yelling persisted all the way across the river, until I found myself on the other side. I collapsed and I cried. Looking back I imagine this moment similar to Dostoevsky’s when he found himself on the firing line after being sentenced to death, minutes away from his life being robbed from him. His sentence was communed dramatically only after they had lined him and the other prisoners up with bags over their heads.

After this jarring experience, I bushwhacked along the river until I reached the low country where mellower crossings and bridges allowed for safe travel. The bugs and the heat didn’t bother me anymore. I even welcomed the discomfort as a beautiful part of the life I had just been given back. Eventually, I made it back to the trailhead, after a weekend that provided me with much more than I had bargained for.