Home in the Bugs

Near the border with Alberta, in the eastern most part of British Columbia, lies a well known wonderland of granite whose spires scratch the sky. When the first explorer to reach the summit of one of the grandest spires, Conrad Kain, was stymied by a large gendarme high on the south ridge of spire No. 2, the feeling he had is what stuck as this spire's name: Bugaboo. It was from this first Ascent in 1916, that the area and eventually the Provincial Park received it's namesake. Known by climbers as, "The Bugs", it is one of the world's most premier alpine rock climbing venues, and I'm lucky enough to live only a 12 hours drive away from it.

A few years back, I was stumbling around at REI looking for books and maps wondering what I could get myself into. I had read about the Bugaboo's in some climbing rags a few times and realized that it was about the same distance driving as Yosemite. I thought for a few seconds about what I would rather do; fight my way through crowds of telescope touting tour-ons in Sub-Saharan heat, or linger with fellow climbers in a high camp away from the poodle pandering pompouses. Without much more thought, I bought "Bugaboo Rock", one of the first guidebooks for the area and started to daydream.

So, fast forward a few years and I still had not done anything other then stare at the pages and wonder what it would be like to climb some of the Clean granite cracks that infest the cirques of the Bugaboos. Until early this year, at a Jim Donini seminar, I was told that the hardest thing about going climbing in the world's greatest ranges is committing yourself to go. I took that to heart and made a commitment to myself that this would be the year, even if I drove up there all by myself. Fortunately, that was not going to have to happen.

I had spent most of the winter and spring, working out at the Gym and climbing at the local crags, getting ready for this trip that I considered, once in a lifetime. After meeting new people, and getting out many times on the local crags and mountains near Seattle, mentally I finally felt prepared. The only thing left to do was to make that commitment to go, not to mention find a partner to go with. Although, finding a partner nowadays always seems to be the easiest part. While climbing up in Canada with a new friend, I mentioned my plans for late July and his eyes lit up with anticipation.

"I have always wanted to go there, and was making plans with a friend who now can't go," he said with some disappointment in his eyes.

"How about the last week in July, that's supposed to be the time with the best weather and the snow should still be pretty good by then," I prodded.

Emails and conversations flew back and forth for the next few months as I made the necessary work arrangements and set our final departure date. I met some other people on line who also were going to be in the area at the same time and we also discussed possible routes. After all was said and done, it would be three of us; Brain, Rob, and I. The last obstacle in our way was only the drive up from Seattle.

SnoCompton

Toiling away the hours through Eastern Washington has never been my favorite way to spend my time. Watching dust devils spit dust in swirling tornado like fits, hundreds of feet up into the air, helped to pass the time but boredom always seems to sit in anyway. After a quick dinner at A&W in Spokane, and a few road sodas to go we were on our way North to Canada. Of course, crossing the border always presents it's own problems for us long haired hippie types.

We pulled in behind a few other cars at the Eastgate border crossing, North of Sandpoint, ID. After a few questions and quizzical stares from the patrolling agent, once again we were asked to come inside for a background check. This was the second time in a row for me, and the third time in a row for Brian where we had to go inside for half an hour and succumb to a detailed background check. Maybe it's time for that haircut after all.

After clearing all their checks, we were back on the road where only a few miles up a Semi-Truck obviously had a few problems crossing the railroad tracks. A smashed up trailer sat ominously across the rails with several people standing around obviously chatting about the event. It was probably the most spectacular thing to happen in this small town of Yahk, and you better believe that no one was going to miss it.

The drive to Radium Hot Springs is actually quite nice, once you are North of the border and away from the expansive farmland of Eastern Washington and the Idaho Panhandle. Having grown up in central Kansas myself, you can bet that I have had my due share of square mile upon square mile of farmland travel. There is really nothing more tiring than watching the dizzying rows of corn flash by at sixty miles an hour, so it was to some relief when the Rockies began to appear as we approached Cranbrook.