Ski Mountaineering Traverse of Canadian Rockies’ Wapta Icefield

by Keith Daellenbach

In the February 2016, I found myself drawing short straw as the company I had worked at for nearly eight years continued on a path of downsizing and contraction and I was let go. Leaving an employer not on one’s own terms is not ideal but, as it was, it was a relief to move on and pursue new paths in my engineering career. While balancing my obligation to look for employment, my wife, Amy, encouraged me to not miss this opportunity to “get out there” and find ways to reconnect with friends in the outdoors where I’ve always found peace and a connection to a Creation much bigger than myself. My first foray was to the southern Oregon coast exploring the Coquille River and floating the wild and beautiful Sixes River. The winter steelhead run was at its peak and I met up with local Jim Clausen who over decades, and this is no put down – rather the opposite, has developed the brain of a steelhead. With Jim’s “happy meal” creation, I hooked, fought, and released a native buck steelhead in the pre-dawn light on a quiet stretch of solitude on the Coquille. I put other steelhead on the bank and if anything could clear my head and make me happy to be alive, that was it. Ski mountaineering would fit the bill too.

During this interregnum, my other main foray afield was with Chris Haagen, of Oakland, one of my favorite climbing and backcountry friends. Chris, a fellow engineer, is always a cheerful guy ready for an adventure, remarkably available on short notice. Without much discussion, we quickly settled upon a ski mountaineering traverse of the Wapta Icefield in the Canadian Rockies north of Lake Louise. Through a division of labor – Chris took on establishing GPS way-points for the route and I reserved hostel lodging in Lake Louise, Alpine Club of Canada (AAC) huts along the route, and van shuttle – we made quick work of the logistics. Two weeks later, Chris flew into PDX and we were underway driving north with nighttime departure. In a one 13-hour, 710-mile shot, we drove up through eastern Washington, crossing the border at Eastport, and made our way to our night’s lodging at Lake Louise. The hostel there is inexpensive and comfortable with skiers from all over North America. We sorted gear and settled in for the night.

After a hearty breakfast at the hostel the next morning, we made our last avalanche check (www.avalanche.ca), which indicated “High” danger so we carefully examined our route for likely steep, avalanche-prone slopes that would receive direct sun. There was no fresh snow to contend with. After this analysis, we convinced ourselves we could make the tour in relative safety with bail options from the Peyto and Bow huts.

We drove 10 miles to the Great Divide Lodge just east of Kicking Horse Pass on the Trans Canada Highway 1 where we met Jean, our shuttle van driver with Mountain Park Transportation. I left my Honda Civic there and she drove us up Highway 93, 45-minutes away to just north of Bow Summit. We departed in the blazing sunshine, saying “thank you” to Jean, and skied (well I hiked and skied) down a steep, switchback trail about 350 feet through the trees to the edge of Peyto Lake. When Amy and I explored the Canadian Rockies las summer with our son, Micah, we stopped at Bow Summit and gazed at this aquamarine lake from above; now we were skiing across its frozen surface in the frigid air. Having brought many layers suitable for ski mountaineering in the Cascades, I was somewhat concerned that my 32-pound pack would not contain the heavy duty warm weather clothing needed for the cold continental climate in the Rockies. In spite of this, the gear I brought was plenty adequate.

Chris and I skied across the frozen lake towards the far side, where the wall of the Canadian Rockies rose up. We worked up Peyto Creek, at one time jumping rock-to-rock across its low flow, and avoiding a steep-walled, skier’s-left gully, gained an old medial moraine on the right. Eventually, we topped over the moraine and skied above a small glaciology/meteorology field station and gained the northern lobe of the Peyto Glacier. We gave wide berth to the steep east flank of Peyto Peak upon which were small avalanches being triggered in the mid-day sun. We gained 2,200 feet from the Lake. Skiing up the Peyto Glacier was a dream of great snow and towering peaks all around. We reached the blue Peyto Hut (a.k.a., Peter and Catharine Whyte Hut) perched on a lower satellite ridge. We were greeted at the hut by a contingent of guided skiers including many from Portland. The hut sleeps 16 in winter, and like the other three huts on our traverse, are fully stocked with propane, stoves, pots, pans, cooking utensils, sleeping pads, and an outhouse. I knew some of the skiers and Chris and I talked to the guide long into the night by lantern light about other more remote ski mountaineering adventures in the Rockies we could pursue after this introductory traverse.

Day two of our ski traverse was a short 3.7-mile section that gains 770 feet and loses 1,100 feet. As the weather was perfect and the ski leg short, we added to that distance by climbing two Mt. Olive—North, roping up for a short section low on the ridge in an abundance of caution. And then Mt. Gordon across the south lobe of the Bow Glacier. From that summit, we had a 3,300 foot descent over a few miles to the Bow Hut. As we schussed the last section to the hut, the weather took a turn for the worse, as the leading edge of a storm overtook us. We entered the hut with snow trailing in behind us. This hut, ca. 1989, is the largest on the icefield (30 person capacity) with a hallway separating the dining area from the sleeping area complete with wood stoves in both. There we met an all-ladies crew guided by two women AAC guides. They had ascended to the hut via the Bow Lake start (Num-Ti-Jah Lodge) and we enjoyed their enthusiasm and sense of adventure.

We awoke to the third ski day with the storm in full throttle. We departed the hut and pushed up the Bow Glacier using our GPS track and compass, slowly working waypoint-to-waypoint in a near whiteout. Eventually we gained the col (9,520 feet) between Saint Nicholas Peak and Mt. Olive—North in the teeth of a full howling whiteout. From there we launched down the Vulture Glacier, being careful not to approach the crevassed and wind-scoured margins on either side. I led, snowplowing down the glacier, carefully consulting the GPS and compass as Chris kept an eye out for crevasses. At one point, concentrating so hard on progress with no visible landmark in the snow storm, I looked past my GPS and compass at my skis and noted I was not even moving even though it felt like I was! The whiteout was disorienting. Eventually, we made it down glacier and popped out below the cloud deck at about 8,500 feet recovering some visibility of the snow-covered landscape. We kept an eye out for crevasses and large wind scour traps as we headed made our way to the Balfour Hut (a.k.a. Rob J. Ritchie Hut).

We knew the next day would be the crux of the traverse, with a long ascending route up the Balfour Glacier to the Balfour High Col at 9,788 feet. From the hut, the route crosses some moraines near a large pass over the Rockies and then up what becomes essentially a ramp perched below steep slopes prone to avalanche with hanging glaciers on the east side of Mt. Balfour (10,735 feet) and a crevassed icefall below. In one section, the safe route snakes through a section maybe 40 yards wide. As we had studied the route carefully on Google Earth and examined the pictures in the Balfour Hut, we knew that having visibility in this crux would be imperative rather than relying solely on our GPS waypoints. Amazingly on the fourth day, in spite of poor predicted weather, the storm broke to a cold and clear blue bird day. We were up early and off like a shot heading for the col. We made steady progress and I led up through the crux to where the slope eases off above. The views were amazing with a sea of peaks, ridges, arêtes, glaciers, alpine faces surrounding us in the brilliant sunshine. Before arriving to the col, we broke off the route and climbed the east flank of the lower southeast ridge of Mt. Balfour. It got steep near the crest but I gained it and looked down the equally steep western flank. Above, the ridge was seemingly blocked by impenetrable rime ice-covered towers. We bailed on our feeble exploratory attempt at a climb of this citadel, returned to our skis, and made it to the col.

From the col is a long, sweeping ski out onto to the Daly Glacier, a section named the Waputik Icefield. We took care to make an arc down glacier staying near the spine of the Continental Divide rather than making a straight line to the Scott Duncan Hut. A straight-line ski to the hut from the col puts one at peril crossing through crevasse fields, whereas, the arc is essentially safe save for one small crevassed section that is easily negotiated.

The small hut itself is situated on a rock outcrop promontory below Mt. Daly and is perched above the glacier with fine views of the southern section of the traverse and we had it all to ourselves. With the relief of having the crux behind us, Chris lent me his DeLorme inReach SE satellite tracking device to send a short note back to Amy and Micah to let them know the coast was (well, essentially) clear. We arose again in twilight, packed gear, and headed out into falling snow with limited visibility expecting a long day. We skied off the southern lobe of the Daly Glacier, snuck across the east face of Mt. Niles and stayed above Niles Creek until we could drop down into Sherbrooke Creek. There were steep sections back-and-forth down the gully of the creek like a bobsled run but it eventually dropped out onto the frozen surface of Sherbrooke Lake. We skied the final stretch through the woods, following a trail that leads to Highway 1 and the Great Divide Lodge. The traverse was now complete.

We drove out and made a stop to see the beautiful Chateau Lake Louise and snowy winter scene with people enjoying themselves out ice skating on the frozen lake below stunning Mt. Victoria. I picked up a silver and aquamarine pendant for Amy in the village below and then we busted out of the Canadian Rockies and made the long drive home back to the States.

Postlog: A month and a half later, I was sitting at my desk starting a new job managing a group of talented engineers enjoying new engineering challenges and opportunity. I reveled in the traverse and the ski mountaineering adventure with friend Chris and with Amy who said “Go.” The tour is straightforward, accessible, and relatively inexpensive. It does require a combination of basic mountaineering and skiing skills, glacier navigation and crevasse rescue, and land navigation with map, compass, and GPS. It crosses the spectacular spine of the continent and should not be missed!