Canyon Creek was one of the first hikes I did after moving from Ontario to the BC Rockies. The locals had welcomed me and my family with open arms, and several people had offered to take me into the mountains. They loved the mountains, and a willing hiking candidate meant that they had a reason not to have to trek alone.

A fellow named Tim arranged to be my Canyon Creek guide. He carried a rifle for protection from bears and cougars. I packed my camera gear.

After going over the bridge across the Columbia River, we reached the trail head. The trail had a steep start – a considerable grunt up a steep incline. We both were breathing heavily when we got to the part of the trail where it levelled off a bit.

Continuing on, the trail followed the north side of the canyon. We passed the remains of the old trappers cabin.

The walls of the canyon rose higher as we made our way upstream. Eventually the cliff walls reached a thousand feet. We noticed mountain goats on the sheer cliffs. No doubt they appreciated the safety – being in a place that no other creature could venture. The north side of the canyon, with it’s south-facing shale cliffs, was an ideal place for the junipers and tamarack to enjoy the sunshine and warmth that radiated and rose from the canyon walls.

We reached the place where we could see a wooden sluice box down below on the canyon floor beside the creek. It was evidence of a gold miner’s claim. Just past that, we could see the tunnel that had been blasted through a bend in the south wall. This had been done by miners in the old days in an attempt to redirect the stream in order to access a potentially gold-rich portion of the stream.

Then we came to the waterfall, which marked the end of the trail.

After this point, my hiking buddy didn’t seem very sure of where we should go. He decided not to back-track, but instead headed into the forest. I followed. We went on and on, making our way through heavy forest and some logging cuts. I got the impression that my guide might have had an ulterior motive for going off-route: scouting for future hunting possibilities. My pack full of camera gear was feeling heavier and my legs were telling me that I was not yet a mountain man. My hiking partner was tiring too. He was a smoker, and whenever he needed to smoke, he’d give me his heavy gun and I’d have to carry that too. I guess he needed both hands in order to smoke.

The beginning of our hike was spectacular, but now, most of our hiking was through dense forest and along logging roads. My buddy’s plan was to follow the roads and hoped that they brought us in the right direction. We walked much of the day, and finally we did make it back to our vehicle. But, I was spent. My legs had been done long ago already.

I wonder how Tim is doing. I lost touch with him soon after this.

Photos from that hike: