The Team Sherpa Blog

  The sun had just crept out by the time we’d had breakfast. Everybody was fairly stiff from our scramble up Sunwapta the day before, but we were all still keen to go up again. Today we would attempt Wilcox peak- a more technically demanding objective than Sunwapta, but with less elevation gain and a much shorter climb. Rowan was almost humming with energy, Guillaume was wondering which end of his helmet faced forward and Carmen was grimly selecting a hiking pole.

We drove to the Icefields center, some 4km up the highway from our campsite. There was a route that somebody had told me about that went straight up from behind the building to the broad expanse of Wilcox pass- cutting about 4km off the long approach trail from the Columbia Icefields campsite. We couldn’t find a viable way up, and didn’t feel like bushwacking so we piled back into the car and decided that 4km of trail would be a better warm up anyways.

Wilcox pass lies just above the highway 93, hidden from the eyes of motorists by the ridges that abut its western edge. It is a massive alpine pass, serene meadows and rolling hills that sits just above 2000m. At one end, Nigel peak dominates the sloping walls of Tangle Ridge. About two thirds the way down the long pass lays Wilcox peak, a blade of limestone that tops out at a few meters below 3000m. The approach from the campsite goes straight up and follows a water course and the edge of a deep gorge until you connect with the popular “Wilcox Pass” trail some 200m above.

It is well worth the hike. Taking a shortcut up to Wilcox peak would be short changing yourself- the pass must be about 1km across at some points, sealed in by the soaring flanks of Nigel peak and Tangle ridge. Verdant grass cushions the walkers feet as the path rolls and rocks its way over major and minor lumps in the terrain. The slopes on the west side are slighter, affording huge vistas of the icefields and glaciers directly across- A world of Ice and snaggle-toothed rock only a few km away from this soft and lush oasis.

As we came over a large rise, Wilcox peak came into view. It looked imposing from down on the pass. Imposing, steep, and forbidding is perhaps better. Small clouds were ripping past its’ jagged edged ridge line. We picked out a simple line of ascent up the dwindling alpine meadow and onto the lower slopes then headed out onto the stable scree of the south east face.

It was a steady slog up to a notch in the ridge we were using as a guide. Near the top, the wind howled down on us, but the skies were still clear. At the notch, we headed along just below the ridgeline. Eventually, we traded our hiking poles for hand holds and donned our helmets. I was leading, but from second in line. Guillaume was going first, following my directions as we shimmied and groped around a bit along the ridge boulders and blades. We were slow moving, and it quickly became clear that our group confidence was narrowing. After a short break we pressed further on.

I chose a route that followed the ridge, and within minutes it was clear I’d chosen the wrong way. A huge projecting rock tower barred our further progression northwards, a huge drop directly down onto the highway some 1000m below made inching around the tower impossible. We retreated back down to our break spot slowly and carefully, and decided that Wilcox peak would have to wait for another day. We were only 15 minutes from the summit but it was just not feasible with tired bodies.

We sat for about half an hour, struck into silence by the stunning scenery around us. Mount Athabasca dazzles us with its sheath of ice and snow. Athabasca Glacier snakes its way down from the invisible icefields above- a finger of living ice that inches its way forward (to it’s own destruction) at a rate of up to 6 feet a day. Snowdome towered like a giant piece of carrot cake; instead of icing it is toped with the thick slab of the icefields’ edge. We can here the deep rumbling and crashes from the glaciers and icefields as the ice moves and shears. To the other side and far below is the plush floor of the pass, with a silver rivulet of a stream intertwining with a worn path.

Rowan and Carmen start out a few minutes before Guillaume and I. I watch them disappear as they retrace the precarious moves back to the notch. I pick out a different line down, and we quickly get down into a softer scree channel and plunge step quickly, losing altitude much faster than the other two. Back on the pass, just at the base of the mountain we are greeted by a herd of big horn sheep. They are large, intense looking animal, and seem in their element up here.

It is still early in the day, and we are at a loss as to what we should do. I’m feeling a bit down, as we didn’t make it all the way to the summit of Wilcox but my spirits pick up quickly when Rowan suggests exploring the gorge we saw on the way up- we had spied some great looking bathing pools from above. We scramble down steep brambly banks to the creek bed then backtrack back up towards a waterfall. Just below the 20m falls is a lovely looking deep, clear pool that would easily fit four. Without much further ado, we bare it all and jump into the freezing water- bliss! In my opinion, no outdoor adventure is complete without a good bath in natural surroundings.

It is late afternoon by the time we get off the mountain, and back to the car. We have one last stop before we head back home- Edith Cavell. Neither Carmen, nor Guillaume have been there, so we decide that enough is enough and a visit to is necessary. We drive up the long switchbacks to the parking lot, and walk in towards one of the most spectacular sights (in my humble opinion!) in the world.

Angel Glacier is a mess of ice that is shaped exactly as its namesake indicates, draped dramatically over a sort of col on Mt. Edith Cavell. Directly beside it is the 1000m high vertical face of the mountains North side. Below the glacier is a lake the colour of pistachio pudding. Every time I visit here, I have the feeling I’m on another world, or I’m visiting a place that’s not quite real. It’s a place where rock and ice have been dueling for eons. I also have a melancholic feeling as well- with each visit the glacier has receded a bit, and within my lifetime it is possible it will no longer exist.

The drive back to Edmonton is long, and we stop in Hinton for milkshakes. It was a great adventure- most of the pleasure was found in the company of others facing a challenge. Carmen is very quiet in the back seat, and I look back to see her flipping through the pages of a scrambling guidebook. “What about this for next time?” she says, holding up the book and pointing excitedly at an interesting looking route. “We’re not even home yet, and you’re talking about next time? I’m not sure whether this is a good thing or a bad thing.” I respond. Apparently I’m not then only one with mountains on my mind.