An Open Circuit; Canadian wilderness & an Argentine Christmas

The days of summer that were punctuated by days of rain began to switch to a mask of clouds bringing in seemingly endless rain that was punctuated by the odd day where the sun made his appearance. A shift in seasons. Summer to fall. The earth replenishes all that was lost in the heat and prepares to settle into its long rest.

The majestic Silky Slab & Lone Wolf. Eldred River Valley

I remember days in September, as the end of summer became undeniable, the mornings were long, crackling fires brewed many cups of coffee, sketches of mountains were drawn, and the pitter patter of rain hypnotically led the day under the tarp in the CAD Memorial Climbers Camp to pass in a smooth blur. Although mainly uneventful, life was certainly peaceful and comfortable after a summer scaling the peaks of the surrounding river valley. The rain made it that we were slightly antsy since we couldn't climb much but the familiarity and connection to the valley that became our home made it difficult to know when it was time to move on. Hope of drier weather in Skaha pulled us towards the Okanagan and quickly our flights to Chile that seemed like a distant dream to happen one day in the future were a reality we had to prepare for. The sling shot popped us off in Santiago, Chile- a somewhat less than smooth transition as the term sling shot tends to suggest. Jolted. Abrupt. Shot into another climbers' circuit of energy in a latitude opposite of our beloved Coast Mountains. Our first stop on the circuit- Los Arenales- a 2700 metre high canyon towered by a orange pink white ish granite spires that strikingly define the boundaries of this canyon. 5000 metre mountains loom higher up the canyon south feeding the valley bottom with a surge of glacial water giving life to this beautiful landscape. Situated next to the river is the Refugio where climbers meet, share matté, and set up base camp to climb the surrounding spires. Since the climbing area is somewhat out of the tourist's eye and a few buses and dirt roads too far to get to, the amount of climbers here at any given time is small and the community is tight. All levels of Spanish are spoken and the spirit of adventure is high.

​ It seems as though when ever I leave my home in the Coast Mountains more ideas arise in my mind that resonate with home than ideas about the place I travel to. The connections, however subtle, become loud and obvious in my mind shaking my thoughts and feelings and giving way to realizations about where I come from and perhaps what my place in the ecosystem is. Unlike the Eldred River Valley, which only has a few dozen routes. Los Arenales boasts hundreds on the surrounding alpine spires. The quantity is enough the draw any climber's attention. Flashing back to the Eldred I wonder why more people haven't ventured to put up routes there? Excuses from climbers that it is too far to get too. Potential on the oceans of granite in our coastal oasis is seemingly untapped. Too far to be worth the trip?! In Argentina instead of the classic thanksgiving long weekend to jump start the Christmas season there is an entire long weekend scheduled into early December for the sole purpose of giving time for the family to set up the Christmas tree. A three day long weekend seems enough time to drive a few hours to climb somewhere, but insufficient to go anywhere too far away. Lo and behold with a bleak forecast of rain and snow our close knit community of the Los Arenales Rufugio nearly multiplied by a factor of five in size that long weekend. Surprisingly, most of the climbers who opted out to set up their Christmas trees to climb in Los Arenales were from Buenos Aires-"only" a 20 hour drive away. It surely was impressive to see that neither the drive nor the weather forecast seemed to sway these eager climbers plans. The small volunteer-made Refugio began to feel smaller and smaller as climbers came up party after party to experience a piece of this alpine winter wonderland on the long weekend. Huddled together around the tables the night before almost guaranteed weather was sure to arrive, you could hear them excitedly discussing what route they would get on and their weekend climbing plans.

When the weather arrived the next day the high winds and hailing sky concentrated all of the climbers into the Refugio, which is decent at wind protection but proves to not be an entirely water tight hut. The water streaks grew inside and the weather seemed to be progressively getting worse. After having an entire river valley to myself on many splitter weather many weekends in Canada I found myself baffled at the sight of more eager weekend warriors making the trek up from their car to the Refugio as snow and sleet began to accumulate on the ground. The Refugio turned from a small group of friends chatting around the table to some sort of apocalyptic standing room only scenario in which all rules of personal space, privacy, and cleanliness were abandoned for the sake of preserving warmth and dryness during those days. The climbers who had been staying at Los Arenales, including myself, for quite some time left for the city to come back after this whole debacle was over. I truly couldn't understand the motivation to stay- blessed with vast wilderness in every direction at home I feel that there is an unquantifiable amount of space. The excuses people make of the rain or "long journey" to the Eldred seemed laughably insignificant compared to the hurdles of suffering the eager climbers of Buenos Aires experienced in their mountain getaway.

Charles Webis, Los Arenales. Pre-snow storm.​ I am not trying to say that it is admirable for the Canadian mountain culture to pack themselves into a hut a twenty hour drive away and sit out a storm in uncomfortably close quarters, but rather trying to mildly suggest through the outrageous humor of the Christmas tree long weekend scenario that maybe going a little further off the beaten path and adding a greater sense of adventure into our wilderness culture doesn't seem too ridiculous. Comparatively to the Argentines who braved out long drives to sit through a weekend of snow, the five hour trip to the Eldred River Valley from the greater Vancouver area doesn't appear that far at all. Conversely, you are guaranteed to see no one in the Eldred if it is raining, which now seems downright silly. I think perhaps we are blessed with so many outdoor recreation areas so close to home that hopping in the car to witness an area a little out of the popular radar seems tiresome and unnecessary. "What if the climbs are grubby because they see little traffic?" "What if I could get in more pitches somewhere closer?" Although the sea to sky offers numerous five star quality climbing and "backcountry" experiences isn't there something to be said for venturing a little further and trying something new? It sure doesn't seem to matter in Argentina. The something "new" I am suggesting isn't even that new or far away. These walls have been waiting in our beautiful coastal river valleys for ever. The town of Powell River has a climbing history that goes back quite a few decades and begins with kindred spirited kids climbing in their jungle gym of sea cliffs, who didn't even know what a first ascent was or what it meant to climb a classic five star route on the Chief at the time. They were in nature, doing what they loved, unaware that they were laying down the roots for a climbing community that has now become my home.

MP cruising the stacks traverse & the Beach. Powell River, BC.

An after note- 5 climbers spent 2 days digging out a cave below high the altitude spires of Los Arenales during the snow storm. They made a snow man and decorated him with nuts and cams.