It’s a 1,750 foot nearly vertical climb to The Trapper’s
Cabin, or what’s left of it.
.jpg)
For the most part, the trail consists of ascending a mountainside following orange
ribbons tied to stumps and branches. It was with
relief that every so often we would come across something of a plateau giving
our muscles a much needed break from the tortuous climb. With our hearts pounding and our breathing labored
we would find ourselves in a quasi-meadow scene of dappled sunlight in the
midst of this dense forest of vibrant colors issuing from the reds of the rotting cedars
and the brilliant green of new, young foliage, and we would rest a few minutes
in the deafening silence of our breathing.
There was no wind in the trees. No birds. Not a creature. Not a sound.
We crossed streams in
which we tantalized our fingers and splashed our faces and necks with the
clear, cool water. Just when we thought
we were at the tree line, just when we thought that we could go no further, we
heard the roar of the falls, felt the cool, moist air and saw the remains of the
cabin. We ate our lunch sitting on the
hand-hewn log walls, wondering how the mattress frames and the piece of fabric
that remained had been delivered, how the trapper had shaved the logs to make the floor and
reflected on his life in such an isolated place.
We walked down a path of meadow greens and onto a plateau of
slippery boulders, wetted by curtains
of mist as the falls tumbled and roared down the mountain. It was a clear day and the view to Malibu Rapids at
the entrance to Princess Louisa Inlet was extraordinary. A bird’s eye view of the inlet is humbling to
say the least.
The hike down was cooler, but harder on the knees. The trail looked entirely different, more
colorful, greener, more dense, the perspective broader. Our hike took five hours and was worth every
minute of it. To cool off, a quick dip off
of the stern ladder of our boat into the fresh glacier water sealed the deal. It was an extraordinary day.
No comments:
Post a Comment