Tin Hat: The Big Kahuna

When it comes to the SCT, I'm pretty sure that this one section generates more anxiety and more questions than any other section. The two answers: yes (it's challenging) and no (water that is)

I kind of think of Tin Hat as a real life version of Erebor, the Lonely Mountain (from Tolkien). The massive pluton stands alone, not really part of any mountain chain, a great round gumdrop standing sentinel at the end of Haslam Lake AND the chain of lakes that comprise the Canoe Route. Two valleys flank Tin Hat, but no other mountains stand near. On a clear day the hiker is guaranteed to have views in every direction.  Too bad a person usually has to deal with "relatively clear".

When I first thought about documenting the entire length of the SCT in photographs, I kind of envisioned carrying all my cameras and gear as I hiked the trail end to end.  I researched getting a back-pack with a solar array to charge all my many batteries as I labored from hut to hut. I started looking at all the access points to the trail where my support team (also know as a long-suffering wife) could bring supplies and I wondered how little food I could survive on for 14 days, prioritizing cameras over eating.

Then I remembered: I don't do camping.  I loath camping.  I like my shower every morning, I live for my first cup of coffee and flush toilets are not a modern luxury: they are an absolute necessity.  In my youth I survived some pretty brutal bunk-houses while working at various ranches and I promised myself I would never rough it again.  One should never work any place where a major point of discussion is the appropriate caliber of handgun for rat control in the bunkhouse.

This is to explain why the first time I climbed Tin Hat, I actually hitched a ride with a friend to within 45 minutes of the top.

Yup...that's right....if you think Tin Hat will break you, you too can cheat and drive most of the way to the hut.

BUT, for the purist, which I have slowly morphed into since that first cheater-hike, climbing to the top from the very bottom is the only truly satisfying way to summit Tin Hat.  AND don't kid yourself : of course you can do it.  If this old man with his bulging vertebral disks and wheezy lungs can do both the western route and the eastern route from rock bottom, then anybody can conquer this hill. Ditch the anxiety and remember that the trick is to put one foot in front of the other and just repeat until you run out of mountain.

This is the actual GPS trace of my climb from Fiddlehead. The most important points are the little water drops for potable water (heavily filtered or boiled first). Note the absence of any droplets near the summit.

 

The inauspicious beginning of the trail at the road that was Giavanno Main. There is no sign, so watch for the ubiquitous orange tags.  This trail-head can be a little tricky to find (not really)

In the dog-days of summer, my strongest suggestion to the hiker is get your butt up and hiking in the early morning.  The heat and humidity can be oppressive while climbing out of Fiddlehead Farm and you don't want to be fighting heat as well as full pack while doing the tortoise walk up that trail.  I was well on my way by 7 am and I truly felt sorry for the young couple I met on my way down at 2 pm.  They were already looking worn and they had not even met the real climb yet. It was going to be a long day for them.

An inviting old lane-way with the remains of  an old page-wire fence still left from farming days.  This is all just to lull the hiker into complacency so it is more satisfying to crush their ego later.

A blow-down had crushed the old bridge like balsa-wood.  The newer crossing was not very fancy, but plenty sturdy

The skeleton is a hint: this really is the last assured, all season water.  You probably will find water above, but the upcoming brooks, creeks and rivulets are NOT dependable.  Do not count on any water above this point; you just might be disappointed....and really thirsty by the time you find more water.

Along this long trail, with steep grades and multiple switch backs ,this was my sticking point.  I was lucky to get across this mud pack on the way up: I hopped from slippery log to lone stone, then across to a mud pack that looked dry (it wasn't) then across to the dry bank. Coming back I misjudged the jump, slipped off the stone and managed to end up slogging through mud up to my ankles: but I saved the camera, the important point.

The hidden gems: the ruins of the old log bridges.  The lower left bridge, with a tree rooted on the rotting logs, was spotted below the trail on my way down.  I was tempted to leave the trail and get some close up shots....then common sense kicked in and I realized that I would be a statistic if I fell through the ailing bridge deck.

The big rock along the lower trail with the cave tucked away inside.  I was very sad to not find even one wild animal using the cavity as a den.  Of course, it might have been a bear and then we would have found out if the old man could still run like hell.

 

Soon after the "Big Rock" the real climb begins.  I don't have much in the way of photos of that switch-back hell, but that would be because I was pretty busy breathing and keeping one shaky leg stepping ahead of the other as I climbed.  The truly steep section is not very long and, really, it's only moderately steep...just enough to make a full 60 pound pack seem like one of the anchors from the Titanic.  If I had passed out, I probably would have just bounced a few times and still ended up on the trail regardless (just a few traverses lower)

Along the trail: a hiker gets a glimpse here, a view there.

The Hut: put a fancy name on it and add a heated underground parking space and you have a multimillion dollar condo for the urban elite of Vancouver.  They would be paying for just the view and would have to supply their own wood pellets for the stove.  The realtor would just gloss over the problem of ten or more feet of snow each winter.

After the challenging climb (and you will be sweaty, tired and foot sore, the mark of any worthwhile hike), the trail unceremoniously pops the hiker out onto a old logging road with little to recommend it.  Strewn with blast rock and still climbing at a brisk rate, the end of this trail is best tolerated with the knowledge of the big payback to come.  There is, indeed, one short and steep trail section leading up to the hut itself, but the hiker need not worry: the exposure to falling would only apply to clumsy people like myself.  I have developed a preternatural ability to grab hold of nearby trees and bushes to check my fall. Who needs ropes and harnesses when they can mimic a monkey?

The view.  

What really can one say?  Early in the morning of a clear day one gets the feeling that they could see forever up there....in any direction.  Astronauts in orbit have little over the view from Tin Hat: miles and miles in just about any direction.  To the west you have the Mahoney massif and you can see the tip of Confederation Lake if you know where to look.  To the Northeast there are glimpses up Goat lake and the Eldred Valley (where crazy people who climb cliffs secured by ridiculously thin ropes hang out), to the Northwest a person can see the shoulder of Goat Island and the arm of Powell Lake reaching far North toward the pyramid of Mount Denman (also known as a "sexy summit" by an avid rock climber I know). To the East the oh-so-close summits of Skwm and Freda (among others) beckon to be climbed another day. Almost directly South you have the chain of lakes that comprise the Powell River Canoe Route, anchored by Lois Lake which sits in the shadow of the southern and final challenge of the SCT, Mount Troubridge. That glistening expanse to the Southwest is the Salish Sea.

I have yet to make it to the top of Tin Hat on a completely uncloudy day.  In truth, one would need to ascend the mountain in the late fall when the ozone haze from the summer heat did not obscure the distance to really enjoy the view.  I guess, if I was desperate, I could camp out overnight to catch the golden hour of the very early morning, before the heat turned everything muddy.

I will probably do that very thing some day soon: pick a clear day and drive up to the high parking lot and then suffer the blast-rock road while packing all my camera gear to the summit.   I would have to skip the hut though: the summit is where the view really pops.  I plan to hunker down, layered with warm clothing, and catch both the late golden hours and the early golden hours. It wouldn't really be camping since it's unlikely I would sleep at all. Because...

 Of course, I would have to capture the stars as well: in a world polluted in every possible way mankind can imagine, light pollution is about the most ubiquitous. I lived in cities for most of my life and it was only at the bottom of a Saskatchewan coulee, freezing in the depth of a prairie winter, that I remembered the glory of the stars above. The steep coulee walls blocked the ugly glow of Regina and the Milky Way lit up like Broadway.

I never really got a chance to take my daughter out to that coulee to show her that Earth is not alone in the universe.  Just one of many things that I failed to get around to. Time is the one truly precious commodity we all waste.

Each one of us should spend at least one clear night atop a distant mountain just to marvel at the universe. Looking out into the abyss of the cosmos one can literally see forever.  Alpha Centauri, our closest visible neighbor, is just over 4 light years away. Seeing the light of that star is actually a form of time travel: four long years have passed since those protons left that star. 

In fact, in theory, photons carrying images of everything that has happened everywhere are out there, travelling to distant galaxies.  Scientists have caught images of stars shining from 14 billion light years away; basically from the edge of time itself.

Think about it: if one could travel to a planet several light years away, you could see the Earth as it was 5, 10 or 15 years ago. If you had a powerful enough telescope you might catch live images of a loved one that has passed.  Theoretically you could "see" them again.  But then, if I taped wings on a pig, that pig would still not truly fly. ( "It does not do to dwell on dreams and forget to live" a quote from Harry Potter that was tattooed on the forearm of my daughter.)

As we look out on the Milky Way, we need to understand that we are just one insignificant chunk of rock (the third rock from our very average Sun) on the edge of a very average galaxy filled with billions of stars and untold numbers of planets, surrounded by billions of other galaxies stretching out to the end of time and space itself.  We may indeed be all there is or we may be just one infinitesimal demographic of all the sentient beings existing: either way, unless Kirk's  Enterprise appears suddenly on our horizon, us Earthlings are a lifetime away from an unspoiled planet.  We really need to stop soiling our own bed. 

Tin Hat on my first visit, a blustery day in September that was reasonably clear.  Unfortunately I had dropped my polarizing filter on the trail up and all the unfiltered photographs ended up with lots of haze.  I found the filter on my way down.  I have had to find that filter twice more while hiking. I think it's trying to escape the madness.

On my climb from the west: the fog came and went, so I just waited it out.  Unfortunately, I should have waited longer since the fog had burned off by the time I had climbed half way down the trail on the return journey.

Peering down upon Lewis Lake (our next destination) from just behind the hut.  That road one sees snaking up from below on the right hand corner is the cheater-hike drive-in. A 4x4 with decent clearance is probably a good idea.

Did you really think I would finish any post without any pictures of flowers or wildlife? Here I get two for the price of one: flowers and wildlife (if bees qualify as wildlife)

A star designated STARAPP4KDLTNS-39982056 at right ascension 13h16min0.9s and declination +7 degrees 8'42.9" is forever named "Calista in the Sky with Diamonds".  Not my doing and I have no idea what all that means.  I just look up and smile, point to any star and call it hers.  The story of "Le Petit Prince" comes to mind.

Haw dywedyd "mynydd" na myned drosto"  It is easier to say mountain than climb one.