–submitted by Matthew Lettington
Steamboat Mountain falls inside the Tla-o-qui-aht Tribal Parks. A donation was made to the Tribal Park Guardians as a Responsible Users Fee.
I approached this trail with some trepidation. Recent online trail reports described the route as being in horrible condition, with several reports mentioning extensive windfall and a trail that was nearly impossible to follow. But I’m stubborn, and I had a few friends who had yet to make it to the summit of this gorgeous mountain. Seven of us, including Hemingway, set our intention: summit or bust!
Arriving at the trailhead, we did indeed find that there were trees down. They weren’t windblown, however. The bridges had been removed, and a machine had knocked down dozens of smaller trees, making the road impossible to drive. I’m sure this is nothing more than a liability issue. It barely slowed our approach, but I had hosted this as a Pace 2 trip because we planned to camp at the higher lake. For those who know, they know. With such a steep route to the lake, who would dare carry overnight bags up there?
Us.
Progress wasn’t speedy, but the coolness of the day allowed us to make continuous progress, and ultimately we arrived in a very respectable time. I’m sure I’ve pushed harder in other conditions and hardly made it there any quicker.
Amongst ourselves, we marvelled at the trail conditions. The air was cool, the sky overcast, the bush was dry, and the ground was just a little moist. It was probably the best combination of conditions we could have hoped for. Any drier and the dead leaves, needles, dirt and gravel would have made the ascent miserable. Any wetter and it would have been a veritable slip-and-slide over wet roots and logs.
Overall, between the road and the lake, we found the route suitably bushy. It’s not the worst condition I’ve ever seen it in, but it’s also not the best. It was bushy-casual.
I love this hike because you have to go into, through, over and under the forest! We took breaks as needed and, once we reached the lake, took an extended lunch break while setting up our tents around the shoreline.
Beyond the lake, we wandered along the circuitous route through the bush and into the watercourse. The dryish conditions meant the water was flowing but not raging, and overall I think we all managed to make it up without slipping into the creek.
Once we deviated into the gully that reaches the upper massif, we took our time, placing our feet carefully and demonstrating good foot placements to those behind us. This not only made for a safer climb, but also showed just how easily we could downclimb the route.
We reached the alpine around 3 o’clock, and I was starting to get worried about the timing. I knew we had at least another hour to the summit, but having already climbed 1,200 metres of elevation, the final 300 metres was asking a lot of all our bodies.
I tried to say a few motivating words, but they likely came out more like drill-sergeant drivel. Regardless, with those words ringing in our ears, we all made the final push: a long zig to the right, a long zag to the left, then into the gully and a light scramble to the summit.
We made it—with just a few moments to spare before I started feeling the time crunch again!
Given that no one wanted to spend any time on the route in the dark, we all moved into position and snaked our way back down to camp.
The lake sits nestled well in the shadow of the mountain, and it felt as though dusk arrived a good 90 minutes before it truly set. But even with the diminishing light and the hunger of our bodies, several folks took the time for a dip in the lake before cooking their food.
Even if a few of them ended up eating their meals by headlamp at the expense of their swim, they had the benefit of witnessing the emergence of the rough-skinned newts. Dozens of them emerged from under the rocks and swam along the shoreline, hunting for caddisfly larvae.
It was a really fantastic day.
I’m still amazed at how well Hemingway participates in these events. Like everyone, he was tired, but also like everyone, I didn’t hear any complaining. In fact, he later told me that he had a “great day hiking” with us.
But our adventure wasn’t over; Night brought something mysterious.
A few—not everyone, mind you, but some of our group—had a most disruptive sleep. Throughout the night, several creatures roamed amongst the tents, twanging the taut guylines like guitar strings. The soft thumps that followed lent themselves to the imagination: some tiny yet enormously large-footed creatures roaming amongst the tents.
Presumably, they were warning us that we were not invited to stay long. Don’t get too comfortable, their actions seemed to project.
By morning, we were all eager to pack, eat, and make an exit back to the car. What were these creatures?
We never did see them, but our best guess is that they were a long-distant relative of Bigfoot—creatures that have evolved to lose most of their size while maintaining their giant feet. And assuredly, they were riding giant rough-skinned newts as their steeds.
Let those who dare go to Steamboat be warned!
Stay away. It’s horrible.
