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Jasper to Hamber (EPIC) |
It all began where most day hikes or weekend camping trips end, at the southern tip of the 2nd Geraldine Lake and the campground there. As usual I really had no idea what I was getting into except that it would be wild and trackless. Some people at the campground said I was in for a great trip and they don't know how right they were. Cairns and bits of trail led the way to the 3rd and 4th Geraldine Lakes, absolute gems of turquoise, bordered on all sides by meadows. The giant toothlike shape of Mt. Fryatt loomed ahead as a stunning and vast meadowland was reached. I call the high gap above the lakes Fryatt Pass, purely as a point of reference. The views all around were jaw droppingly unbelievable. At once the scope of the ordeal became apparent, and looking out across a timeless landscape I began my quest for Hamber.
An incredibly dense tangle of coniferous growth impeded my progress down to the next lake(Green Lake). It was like going through a car wash minus the water and the car. What kind of descriptions have I thought up. My next goal was to reach the valley containing Divergence Creek(a tributary to the Whirlpool River) and it lay just ahead. Well not exactly. Punishing scree slopes mixed with deadfall, big rocks, and densities of something or other I'd rather not go into detail about got in the way. But what could one expect as there was no ruddy trail.
Extreme moonscape hiking
for hours and hours finally led to the final approach over solid snowfields,
little suncups covering the entire snow surface. Also, a long track
mark, as if something had dragged itself, or maybe it was just a trail
where some animals had come through and melting snow had altered its
appearance. Anyway, it was strange. Now an 80 degree snowface presented
itself. Oops. I'd never chopped steps into hard snow before, but I learned
quickly, climbing up like on a ladder as the ice axe did its job. The
first time it was really needed and glad to have brought it along. The col was only about 3 metres wide and the descent into Jasper on snow with wet moraine and slush underneath began after one last look back into Hamber.I'm sure it was the very remote Clemenceau Icefield Group off in the far distance, and the peaks which cradled the unseen Fortress Lake at the extreme far end of the Alnus Creek valley. I made camp on a flat moraine area just below the col and contemplated the return to civilization. The weather remained glorious throughout the remainder of the trip, remarkably the tent fly hadn't even got wet. The next day's trudge over more talus and scree was more bearable as it was all downhill, the return to treeline a welcome change from the drudgery of the rockfields. A sinking stream ended at a moraine dammed lake, and then a sound.... It was a chopper, perhaps carrying some climbers or fishermen to Fortress Lake. I'm sure they saw me, probably thinking..what in the name of... The sinking stream reappeared deep in the slopes of the bush, roaring out of a hole. Caves in the making no doubt. It was going to be a hot day, and I was a little bit concerned about the creek and river levels.
The Whirlpool Valley trail then stretched away into the distance. And now I had to go back and do it again. Oh brother. The next day was even warmer, 30C on my thermometer.And yes the water was even higher. Instead of hugging the cliffband with the pack on, I opted to ford the branch of the Whirlpool outright, and very nearly got swept away. Stupidly, I grabbed a crossing stick which shattered into pieces half-way across, leaving me afraid to move one foot so was the force of the stream. Hastily I lunged for the gravel covered river bank, which was waist high, and was soon dragged a short distance downstream until my elbows and forearms were used to haul my butt out of the torrent. This was serious stuff and my camera bag had been dunked. Cripes! Numb and shaking, Scott Creek was all that separated me from the trail, and it was much worse than anticipated, but the hasty bug had me and in I went, nearly getting bowled over a short distance from the bank. Midway across, the water boiling up to my hips, it was do or die, and once again I lunged myself forward into the shallows, landing full force on one knee, but feeling nothing. My legs were like slabs of dead meat and once on the trail it became apparent that it would be a slow hobble. My knee would hardly bend in either direction, obviously inflammed from the fall. The final forced march to Moab Lake was a painful 27 km. slog using a branch for a crutch, and luckily a couple of nice people at the Moab Lake parking lot ferried me into Jasper. After a week or so of ice and beer, I was out on another trip. Unforgettable!
Story and Photos submitted by: John Boehm |
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I'm not exaggerating with the title I've given this, most likely the
most awesome off trail adventure in my hiking history....So far anyway.Its
hard to know where to begin but all I can say is that this is one of
those treks which grabs hold of your senses and never ever lets go.
Be it the sheer challenges in the unknown depths of wilderness, or those
quiet reflective moments high in some desolate pass with the night winds
howling around your own protective cocoon. I'm going to try to take
you where I went, or most likely give you an idea of the struggle. And
that's just what it was, 10 days of it. .jpg)
Hamber
Provincial Park is a remote park tucked away on the B.C. side of the
continental divide, bordering Jasper National Park. Scrubby, low plants
with rocks underneath which rolled under my feet were all the rage during
the descent to a pale blue lake(Aqua Lake). It seemed to take forever
to get down there and at its far end an inquisitive group of marmots
looked and looked as if they'd never seen anything like it. Maybe they
hadn't. Soon I would be nothing they'd ever smelled either. Yeah. 
During
the pauses between exhausting bouts of exercise(there's got to be a
better word) darned if I wasn't having a good time. Clouds of bugs,
mainly mosquitoes had formed a permanent cloud about my head, which
felt like it had been in an oven on grill. Little wonder as I'd just
bushwhacked around the side of a mountain, diagonally. The trees began
to thin and around one more ridge lay ...heaven.... Unobscured views
of peak after peak, untrodden meadows stretched every which way, and
a small gurgling creek flowing down from somewhere below Mt. Lapensee,
the dominant castle-like mountain in this area. Lapensee, Belanger?
and Franchere were three guys who went through Athabasca Pass in 1814.
This I know, and so each had a peak named after them, Belanger being
nearby, but Franchere in the Astoria River valley of Jasper I believe.
Can't recall who they were, but anyway it was long ago.
I
stayed in the meadows for a couple of days , studying the way ahead
with the zoom lens on my camera. The pass(Divergence Pass) which would
lead into Hamber loomed above me across the valley at the headwaters
of Divergence Creek and the brilliant green lake of the same name. Please
remember I'm making up the names of the lakes and passes as they are
in reality officially nameless. Surprisingly, and with a great deal
of joy, I found the way to the pass much easier than the previous absurdities
encountered, the forests were open with lots of meadowfilled corridors
amongst the trees. I was truly happy, not a worry in the world. The
backpack itself had become a part of me, not weightless, but unnoticed
as the paradise was an all consuming feast for the eyes, ears, scent.
Another treeless meadowland, simply sprawling,filled the scene below
Mts. Lapensee, Belanger, Parnassus. 
To
the west I then began the ascent towards Divergence Pass and Hamber
Park, a remarkable scramble up talus slopes set beneath a hanging glacier.
Chunks of ice from the glacier lay in piles here and there so I didn't
linger here too long, just in case. Well packed snowfields led the rest
of the way to.....almost the pass. An extremely steep slope of downshelving
slabs of rock and scree. It couldn't be done standing or even crouching,
so on my butt it was, the bottom of the pack dragging along as the feet
probed for holds. More snowfields after this, and then...the moon. It
might as well have been, and only one small spot to pitch my tent amongst
chaotic heaps of geologic jumbles. I'm not kidding! Piles of rocks just
don't describe the scene, I'm sorry. I knew I wasn't at Edith Cavell
below the Angel Glacier that's for sure, no cairns! 
The
weather had remained uncannily good and rainfree so far, and I had been
taking it for granted. What a different experience it might have been.
Next morning began the absolutely monotonous ascent up to the pass proper,
an endless sea of rocks most of which were quite large and teetered
under my weight. It was sooooooooo..... quiet, quiet. If I stood still
there was just the sound of the pulse in my ears. How long had silence
reigned here until this two-legged traveller stumbled through? I wondered
about alot of things...out here... and there was time to wonder, and
think and wander. All the time in the world. Green, green meadows ,
ice clad peaks and a small subalpine tarn entered my field of vision
at once. I was in Hamber. 
Simply
absorbed and overwhelmed with this fairytale land odyssey, it wasn't
until the movement out of the corner of my left eye reminded me to be
on the lookout for wildlife. It was a grizzly, not so big, but still
a grizzly, and it ambled along the other side of Alnus creek, maybe
10 metres away if that. My heart pounded with an intensity I'd never
known, but I kept calm and walked slowly past as if I were just some
other mountain animal or something. Oh hey, how you going grizz. Out
for a walk huh. Yup. Me too. The bear was behind me now and out of sight,
until a splash caused my head to look back suddenly and in time to see
it raise its nose a little and then run away faster than I've ever seen
anything move. Like a film, on high speed. It must have just caught
my ....smell. I saw it staring down at me through a gap in some trees,
and then it was gone. 
So
now all the dug up meadows became more visible all of a sudden. A couple
of days of relative ease followed, camping at both the North and South
Alnus Glacier outwash plains. I studied the maps, rested, studied some
more, especially on how I was to proceed from here. A group of peaks
in the area were named after Capt. Scott, the Antarctic explorer and
some of his associates. I could hardly imagine the scale of their hardships.
Mine was a pleasure cruise.According to the maps, a high col on the
divide could permit access back into JNP, but who was to be certain.
I had to go to find out. 
The
Whirlpool River was finally reached and I'd come down a tributary just
to the northeast of Ross Cox Creek after a glance at the map. Wide windy
and beautiful is how I'd describe the dryas flats which stretched as
far as the eye could see, however a curious cliff-like area ahead raised
some worries. It was time for a scouting trip. Leaving camp behind it
soon became apparent that one branch of the Whirlpool flowed right next
to the cliffband, cutting off my progress. The cliff formed the base
of a ridge which I first climbed to check out if there was another way.
SCOTTY!!! ENERGIZE! It was a very steep scree covered sheet of rock
without benefit of any trees to hang on to. Just when I'd thought it
would be all clear sailing, then this. The river's current was slowed
by outcrops of rock which jutted out into the main stream, so facing
the cliff I inched my way along probing for holes and the like. It was
hip deep at its worst, but no current to speak of. Was it cold? Not
as bad as the ice water in Scott Creek, which was the next ford to cross.
It was raging and very very fast, the Scott Glacier visible in the distance.
I knew things would be much more difficult with the pack on but I tried
to choose the shallowest place to cross. Hard when you can't see the
bottom due to the glacial silt present. I stomped and slapped my legs
on the far side to try to get some feeling back into them, and then
the bridge! I'd read about the existence of a footbridge across a gorge
containing the Whirlpool River and here it was. 
