the south chek years, part 1: the yellow gate

In the beginning was the yellow gate. Or to be more accurate: the mysterious absence beyond it, where there had always been a wall of trees. Piecing facts together later I would discover that two events had coincided that spring: BC hydro had clear cut the forest beyond the gate and a phone company had built a spur road to put an antenna on a hydro tower at its end. But all I knew on that April day in 2015 at Chek was that something had changed and it deserved further investigation.

Between the yellow gate and the Sea to Sky Highway was a small parking lot, sometimes used by climbers heading to some cliffs to the west. I parked there and instead wandered south up the spur road. After a few minutes I passed an intriguingly steep but small cliff at a bend in the road then a few metres further found a much grander feature: a short canyon where the road ended, flanked on both sides by mossy but tall slabs at various angles. A perfect candidate for route development, except for the steel building at its centre, surrounded by fencing and security cameras.

A few months later I showed the small cliff to my friend Chris Hecimovic, who deemed it worth developing. I christened it the “Shit Show” in homage to Chek’s similar angle but infinitely more impressive Big Show cliff on the other side of the hill. Over the next year I developed six routes there, from low 5.10 to 5.12d, then distributed a one page topo under a gentler name: “The Substation”. To my surprise it proved popular for a short while.

More significant in that period were two other events. During one bolting session, a convoy of trucks passed me then later returned with the dismantled remains of the building in the canyon. Later I was able to talk to one of the contractors who confirmed that the cell phone company had ended its tenure. Within a few weeks I had fixed my first scrubbing line there, on an aesthetic low angle rib feature relatively free of moss, and tentatively named the canyon “Electric Avenue”.

Drone shot of Electric Avenue after the first few routes were scrubbed.
The Substation is just visible overhanging the dirt road back toward the highway

On every occasion that I drove from Squamish to Chek around that time, I was struck by the faux-alpine nature of the hill that rose two hundred metres above the Substation. It had a pointy summit and a large expanse of bare rock forming a ridge on its west side. Intriguingly a very steep cliff was just visible east of the summit. I once tried scrambling direct to the summit through the second-growth forest above the Substation but got lost in a maze of vegetated slabs.

Aerial view of "Mt Chek" from the south

In December 2015, Chris and I tried a different approach, contouring south of the hill beyond Electric Avenue and bushwhacking up an interminable steep gully. Our efforts were rewarded when we emerged from the dense trees at a col with views eastwards. A few metres beyond we found the steep cliff just visible from the 99. It was as impressive as we had hoped but we were clearly not the first people to find it: bleached old ropes hung there like rigging on a ghost ship. Unused bolts and hangers were scattered all over the talus from a torn bag still clipped to a claim bolt but gnawed by rodents. When I got home I emailed Tyrone Brett, once the most active developer at Chek but by then submerged in work for MEC. He confirmed that he had been there ten years before and named it “The Monastery".

In March the next year I returned alone, flagging a tentative trail to the Monastery, and finding an easy scramble from there to the summit, a surprising flat area with stunning views to Sky Pilot and The Chief to the south, the Tantalus range to the west and Tricouni to the north. Around that time, neither of my two sons, Leo (sixteen at that time) or James (eight years younger), had any interest in climbing. However James would try anything if encouraged. It struck me that the summit might be a fun place to adopt as a family camping spot, especially as there was no evidence that anyone else ever went up there.

James on the summit, view south to Squamish behind him

Drone view of "our" campsite 

Higher altitude drone view

James breakfasting, Tantalus range behind him

James breakfasting, Tricouni and Cloudburst behind him

Dawn view of the Tantalus range from the tent

Over spring and summer 2016 we did exactly that, enjoying having a small but very special slice of the Sea to Sky to ourselves, encountering only grouse and the occasional bear. Meanwhile we began developing Electric Avenue slowly. James climbed the rib for the area’s inaugural route: “Taiga Face”, 5.7 - his first lead. He would go on to lead several more moderates nearby. 

James making the first ascent of Taiga Face in light rain, 2016

Meanwhile we regularly hiked past the still-virgin and still-secret Monastery, which I fully intended to develop when the time seemed right. One line in particular interested me: a sinuous overhanging groove at the right end of the cliff.In fall 2016 my friend Luc Martin and his family came to Electric Avenue to help clear alders. He made a critical discovery: that the yellow gate was no longer locked and cars could be driven up to Electric Avenue, reducing the hike to the Monastery. Coincidentally, for reasons I never fully understood, knowledge of the Monastery expanded to a couple of other route developers and suddenly there was an unseemly gold rush up there for the obvious lines. I dropped a rope down my groove to claim it for the spring.

In 2017 I spent 110 days at Chek, almost all of which working on new routes. Development at the Monastery was a frenetic scene in which I sometimes felt marginalised despite having (literally) laid the path for the other participants. On the positive side, about thirty good quality routes between 5.11 and 5.13 were established very quickly; a net gain for the whole community. My groove line (“Puzzle Box”, 5.12b) would eventually find recognition in the Top 100 list of the Squamish Select guidebook (thanks Marc!) and most of my other lines are also popular.

Monastery development crew, 2017

Development at Electric Avenue progressed at a more relaxed pace, perhaps because there were no big lines there that might stand out in an ambitious person’s resume. Some other developers joined the party - Krissy MacKay, Tess Egan and Jay Robinson, Jack Fieldhouse - but we had no trouble dividing up the available terrain between us.

A surprise event that year was Leo taking up climbing, after a decade of almost non-stop soccer. The initial reason was his school’s Duke of Edinburgh’s award scheme, which required a physical activity in which he could measurably progress. A guide friend, Emilisa, assessed Leo in the Smoke Bluffs and established that he could barely climb 5.7 - there was certainly scope for rapid improvement. As I had had some success throwing James in at the deep end by leading climbs at an early stage, I challenged Leo to make the first ascent of a cool-looking face route at Electric Avenue which I had just cleaned. Impressively he learned how to work moves, take lead falls and make redpoint attempts then succeeded on the first ascent within five weeks of the Bluffs assessment. The route “Torii Gate” (named for a Japanese shinto symbol often placed at the base of steps to a shrine; the Monastery trail begins right by the climb) is in the guidebook at 5.10c but many suggest it could be 5.11.

Leo after sending "Torii Gate"

In the fall, Chris Hecimovic and I went exploring again, hoping to confirm my hunch that another cliff lay beneath the Monastery. We came away with “The Hermitage”, an elegant cliff of very smooth compact stone, unfortunately rather distant from everywhere. A couple of days later I went on a solo hike from the established cliffs at the Circus area of Chek along the eastside canyon beyond then contouring around the whole hill to Electric Avenue and completing a loop. I did not find a better way to the Hermitage but did find many giant Douglas Firs and a lot of bear scat.

2018 brought more of the same (75 days at Chek), with the addition of some furtive work at the Hermitage. The highlight was a new style of project which had been on my mind since the summit camping sessions in 2016: a multi-pitch connecting large slabs on the west ridge of “Mt Chek” (as I had begun to call the hill). For this monstrous task I needed help and recruited Tess and Jay. We split the estimated ten pitches in half and got to work separately, right through a hot June and July. I took the upper half, leaving home at 5am every day to maximise time in the shade. We combined forces with James and their son Kye for the first ascent. The route “Frontside 180”, 5.8 (named for the views and a reference to the easiest park trick in snowboarding) became an instant Squamish classic, receiving multiple ascents on most dry days ever since. In 2019, the route won a “Golden Scrub Brush Award” for best new moderate multi-pitch. At the award event, we sent James and Kye up on stage to collect it.

Frontside 180 team, before the first ascent
Tess, Kye, Jay, James, me

James on the FA, pitch 5

Chaotic post-FA selfie

Meanwhile Leo and his school friend Nic were almost constantly at Electric Avenue working through the grades. By the end of the summer they had climbed all the 5.11's there and had relocated to “old” Chek to try the classic 5.11d “Rug Munchers”. My ambitions had narrowed down to a first ascent project at the Monastery which I had pre-named “Pain Box”, after the seminal training essay by the patron saint of ageing climbers, Bill Ramsey. In late August I put in some determined attempts that ended with me touching but latching the hold beyond the last crux. On my next attempt I blew a pulley on the opening move, effectively ending my climbing for the year.

One project that did not need functional fingers was an alternative approach to the Monastery. At a meeting of most of the Monastery and Electric Avenue developers it had been agreed that parking was getting overwhelmed by the 99 and at Electric Avenue itself, and there would be advantages in finding a way to the Monastery from the upper parking lot at Chek. James and I found a way to link exposed ledges through the complex steep terrain above the eastside canyon to eventually reach the Big Show. Over the next few months I flagged this trail sporadically and eventually posted a map for it on the yellow gate. The first few users were not very impressed. One labelled the trail a “deathtrap” - a name which then stuck.

Electric Avenue in its final form, fall 2018
Climber on Railton Road, 5.10a

I released a topo for Electric Avenue and Frontside 180 just before the 2018 Labor day long weekend, documenting forty routes. The crowds duly turned out to climb there. However, some prankster thought it would be funny to lock the yellow gate at midday on the holiday Monday. In the subsequent panic, people who had driven to the cliff managed to break the gate off at its hinges so they could extricate their vehicles. On my next visit I was shocked to see that familiar metal object of four years acquaintance tossed aside in the bushes - a clear message that the place was changing and wasn't "mine" any more.

decker, whirlwind, failures, teapot, redacted!

As in most years I bagged a few summits during 2020. None quite as notable as the 2017-2019 collection (Wedge, Garibaldi, Bugaboos, etc) but perhaps still worth documenting. 

Since climbing to, and riding down from, the very top of Mt Garibaldi on a splitboard in 2018 I have been keen to repeat the trick on other mountains in the Coast Range. The (comparatively) laziest options are the peaks accessible from the Whistler Blackcomb lift system, sometimes referred to as the side- or slack-country. In January Bob found time to join me on a tour up and over Decker Mountain starting from the Blackcomb lifts. I had actually attempted this with him about five years before but my woeful lack of fitness, combined with deteriorating visibility, forced us to abort before venturing on to Decker itself. This time I was pleased to find that I wasn't slowing Bob down too much (or, if I was, he was not concerned about it). The peak itself did not quite fit the strap-in-at-the-summit-and-ride-down ideal as the highest point is in the middle of a flat'ish plateau, but it is close enough.

The highlight of the day was dropping into the 9th Hole  bowl just north of the summit. Apparently it is normal to sneak around its large cornices but the features had formed differently this year and some kind of proper jump. or improper fall, was mandatory. On the positive side, this meant that the bowl was almost untracked. Fortunately another team hucked the cornice just before us and were able to suggest a slightly-safer variant on their line where there was deep snow below the steepness. We cut out a launch platform on the lip from which Bob was somehow able to ski vertical snow diagonally across to the easier terrain. I opted for a quasi-downclimb method, lowering off my ice axe while attempting to kick a board edge into the cornice. Surprisingly this worked. We enjoyed a long powder run down from there before an easy contouring skin over to Disease Ridge and another steep but fun drop into Bodybag Bowl before re-entering the resort. 

flat-topped Decker from the Spearhead col

me skinning up Decker

Bob on Decker summit

above the 9th Hole cornice

A few weeks later I persuaded Colin to join me on a similar tour, this time on the Whistler side of the valley. From the top of the Whistler lifts the two closest "real" (glaciated) mountains are the pointy Fissile and more rounded Whirlwind. The former requires a bootpack ascent and only has "extreme" descent options from the summit (the entry to the classic moderate Banana chute is at a lower elevation). So we headed for Whirlwind. It was a perfect bluebird day but the distances we had to travel were intimidating. In an ideal scenario I would have taken two days over this itinerary, overnighting at the newly-opened Kees and Clair hut, but Colin had just become a dad and was significantly time-constrained. 

Fortunately I had toured as far as the start of the Whirlwind Glacier a few years before with Leo, so knew approximately which of the many skin tracks over the "Musical Bumps" (a 5km ridge of non-glaciated peaks just east of the resort boundary) to follow and we made pretty good time over this section. The final ascent up Whirlwind was long but uncomplicated and we were able to keep our skins on all the way without any boot-packing. The summit had great views over Fissile, to the north, and deeper into the Fitzsimmons range to the east. It is also sharper and more impressive than it looks from a distance and, unlike Decker, can be skied right from the very top.

Whirlwind (just left of centre) and Fissile (further left) from the resort boundary

Colin on the Whirlwind glacier, summit centre skyline

Colin on the summit

looking west from the summit toward the resort

looking north from the summit toward Fissile

looking east from the summit toward Overlord

Colin below the Kees and Clair hut after our descent from Whirlwind

The descent was excellent fun, especially on the upper slopes of the mountain. Thanks to some ruthless use of the skin track to keep my speed up on the shallower angle lower reaches of the glacier I managed to ride all the way to the slope below the hut without a transition. The slog back to the resort boundary was less fun. Skiers need only make one uphill from here, up on to Cowboy Ridge and can then exit back to Whistler village on the Singing Pass trail. However this is hell on a snowboard as the trail's gradient is frequently too shallow for continuous riding and the narrowness of the trail requires staying on the same edge for the whole distance (heel side for regular stance riders). Colin - on skis - acquiesced to us instead reversing our route in the morning, which is two more hills (Oboe and Flute) and then a final bootpack within the resort to the Burnt Stew trail. 

Both of us became quite fatigued through this section. Colin was convinced that I was fitter than him and would abandon me at the transitions to skinning on the assumption that I could catch up. This worked especially badly at the Oboe-Flute col where I split my snowboard, unpacked and attached my skins and then absent-mindedly removed and packed them away again, before attempting to follow. It took me a while to understand why my split-skis weren't working. Some shouting then ensued as I tried to communicate to Colin that I really wouldn't be catching up with him.

A week or so after this, I spotted a possible weather window suitable for the Tantalus range near Sqamish, where I was keen to attempt the North Face of Serratus. I became aware of this line during Leo and I's frustrating trip into the Tantalus at Easter 2018, and had since realised that it could be attempted in a daytrip from Squamish using a helicopter drop and pickup. Colin agreed to join me and also recruited Another Colin, who usefully is a ski patroller at Whistler. By this time COVID-19 concerns were starting to shut down travel and we were lucky to be able to book the heli. Had we waited another week or longer it would probably not have been possible. 

The most notable event on this tour was my splitboard making an escape attempt. At the heli drop site, the saddle on the Tantalus ridge by the Jim Haberl hut, Colin was assigned by the pilot to unpack the skis and splitboard. Unintentionally (I think!) he placed my splitboard onto the snow flat side down without any restraint. The gusts from the rotor blades almost immediately set it in motion. He and I both chased after it but were unable to catch up before it launched vigorously down the west face of the saddle. I assumed that was the end of my day, but the pilot and Another Colin took off in the heli in pursuit. Remarkably they found it, about 1000m lower below, and even more remarkably it was almost wholly undamaged once a few bolts were retightened.

After overcoming this obstacle it would be nice to record that we achieved our objective. Sadly: not entirely. When we flew in we asked the pilot to detour over Serratus so we could inspect the upper part of the face from the air. Due to some communication failures - my mic wasn't working and neither of the Colins knew the Tantalus range well enough to direct the pilot - the flight path was not optimal for this but we had a good enough view to see extensive rime ice around Serratus' summit. Optimistically we ignored this detail and skied down to the base of the north face to attempt it anyway. 

The north face is an AD mountaineering route in summer conditions when I assume the face is mostly exposed ice. For us in winter conditions it was a fairly reasonable bootpack though it got quite steep at an obvious roll around half height. We stopped at a shelf at about two-thirds height. Above there the face was significantly wind-affected and did not look at all ski-able. We left our packs and made an unenthusiastic attempt to bootpack to the summit but gave up quite rapidly after encountering steeper unconsolidated snow. I was told later by a guide that this terrain is straightforward in good conditions; looking at photos I also suspect that we were slightly too far west of the correct line to the summit. Anyway, skiing (riding, in my case) back down the face was good entertainment. There is a sketchy steep section down to a mandatory skier's right turn at the roll which would be fairly disastrous to screw up, as the skier's left side of the face is a sizeable cliff. 

Back at the glacier we enjoyed a mellow long run down to a flagged shelf just above the tree line on Alpha mountain where the heli was scheduled to collect us. As we had another hour or so to kill, we did a quick yo-yo of the face below the Alpha-Serratus col. A fun, eventful and educational day. I need to go back.

the whole Serratus ridge and northern flanks from the heli, evening light

Serratus in morning light with the unhelpful summit snow formations clearly visible
The ascent and descent line is to climbers' left of the obvious cliffs just left of centre

booting up the north face

just below the crux on the north face descent 

transition spot at the base of the Serratus glacier.
I triggered the small wet snow slide in the background shortly before - not large enough to be of concern

The Colins making the last skin up to the pickup site; Tantalus and the Rumbling glacier behind

waiting for our pickup, Serratus in the background

The ski season came to an abrupt halt not long after that as the province locked down to beat the virus. Well, almost. Whistler shut the resort but for a brief period allowed "uphill skiing" on the groomers. Bob and I tried to summit Blackcomb Peak from the valley floor, a daunting 1500m altitude gain. He would have made it without me, for sure, but I ground to a halt about halfway up Bodybag bowl, with maybe 200-300m remaining to climb. The snow there was iron hard from wind scouring. Crampons would have made a difference but I did not have them. Regardless it was a surreal experience to see the resort infrastructure with no people. 

uphill skiers, or possibly zombies, Blackcomb lower piste

Seventh Heaven lift - rare to see this spot so desolate at mid-day in March

Bob with signage just beyond Seventh Heaven

oh, the irony

I forget exactly when lockdown restrictions started to ease but by mid-summer life in Squamish had somewhat normalised, though without the usual foreign visitors. On two occasions in late June James and I hiked up to the lake and bowl on the east side of Tricouni Peak, which still held a reasonable amount of snow. On the second trip James brought his snowboard. The plan was that we would build a kicker so he could practise his jumps. This failed for two reasons. First, the snow was terrible. Second, we met a grizzly bear! More accurately, we watched a very thin grizzly walk the length of the (frozen) lake about 200-300m horizontally and below us. It was heading to some bare screes at the far end of the lake in search of marmots and did not seem interested in us, but after observing it for a while it seemed prudent to leave.

James watching the grizzly

grizzly crossing Tricouni East lake 

zoom into previous image

Two summers previously, Kris W and I had an adventurous day climbing a couple of the tottering Touch and Go towers, across the river from Squamish downtown. During that trip we had a look at the notorious Teapot tower which is reputed to have only been climbed once, by Dick Culbert in 1958, despite several repeat attempts. We examined what we believed to be the original ascent route and thought it looked pretty dangerous. Elsewhere the tower appeared to overhang on all sides. Kris, however, noted the possibility of a sneaky safer route to the summit, making use of a giant cedar growing just behind the tower on its uphill side. 

In July this year we crossed the river again, in Kris' sturdy aluminum kayak, with this project in mind. It was a hot and buggy day and the hike to the base of the tower, on very overgrown trails, was made extra gruelling by packs full of multiple ropes, aid and SRT gear. At the base of the "line" it looked as if the cedar would take us to a height from which a terrifying branch traverse might gain some chossy but moderate ground ten or more metres below the summit. I was relieved when Kris took the lead - it was, anyway, his idea, I rationalised. 

The first part of the climb actually turned out retrospectively to be the crux, getting a climbable rope established in the lowest substantial branches of the tree about ten metres up. Arborists carry small bean bags attached to fishing line for this purpose. We only had the fishing line and had to improvise a toss-able weight. Once this was achieved and Kris had ascended to the first branches while I pretended to spot him, the rest of the "climb" was revealed to be trivial. Kris discovered that the top of the tree was actually higher than the top of the tower and had to execute just one actual climbing move to gain the summit, stepping out of the tree to grab the summit and mantle-shelving up onto it. I followed without even having to climb the tree, as Kris fixed a static rope to his highpoint. We then explored other aspects of the tower on rappel, finding a variety of volcanic rock from Smith Rock'esque tuff to sideways basalt columns, before heading back to the river and the sting-in-the-tail of any Squamish river crossing: paddling against the current to regain our put-in spot. I was delighted that Kris had a couple of beers stashed in his truck.

Teapot tower from its uphill side, almost obscured by trees.
the "spout" can be seen just right of centre

Kris starting the "route"

And looking down triumphant from the summit

Downtown Squamish and the Chief from the summit

The Castle from the Teapot

exploratory rappel on the south side

sideways basalt columns

And then there were a couple of more conventional summer alpine trips, both to the same general area about 3-4 hours drive from Squamish, though ascending different peaks. The popularity of many alpine zones in the Coast Mountains fluctuates according to two main factors: changes in the ease of access, such as new or restored logging roads, and the intensity of social media attention. This area has become a little more popular due to the first factor but hasn't featured much on InstaTwitBook as far as I know. In that spirit, as this is a beautiful and relatively unspoilt place, I will just offer some photos but no geographic precision. The first trip was with James and Chris H. We camped in our vehicles at the trailhead then did a nice scramble the next day along a ridge linking three peaks up to about 2600m, of which the middle summit was quite impressively pointy. The second trip was with Shoko. We hiked in the evening to camp by a small alpine lake on a full moon night then climbed the peak above our tent early the next morning.

trip #1: pretty alpine lake

classic ridge scramble to pointy peak

James ridge-scrambling

Chris and James, summit of pointy peak

James glissading - the only time his ice axe came out all day

trip #2 - pointy peak in the moonlight, long exposure

several pretty alpine lakes

Shoko and my puffy in the alpine