ELK LAKE TO WALT HILL HUT 

This section is pretty much the most isolated section of the trail.  With the exception of one "easy access" route to Elk Lake off of Old Alaska Pine Road that involves a 2.5 kilometer hike uphill, there is no easy access to this section for extraction or re-supply. Having said that, this is pretty much my favorite part of the trail: the views from the ridgeline between the Walt Hilton and Walt Hill Hut at least rival the vista of Tin Hat. 

It will be no secret that the ridge between the Walt Hilton ( an ironic name as the reader will see) and the Walt Hut is my favorite part of the trail. The number of pictures I have taken from that meandering ridge-walk shows my bias.   

I still don't have it quite right, but, again, to get it right I need to camp out, preferably on Penstemon Bluffs so I can get sunset golden hours, sunrise golden hours and, of course, the night sky.  That would mean camping.  

Camping? No shower? No soft bed? No home-brewed coffee?

Hmmm....maybe those pictures are just not that critical to me. But, seriously, folks: all the hikers out on those trails and so few really great shots and practically no shots of the night sky from one of those rare spots in the world without human light pollution.  Too much sitting around the campfire burning out your retinas.

We left off with our intrepid hiker wandering along the shores of Elk Lake, the sweat from the steep climb up from March Lake drying on their back and anticipating at least some break in the hike.  Maybe even a brisk swim off the dock and an overnight stay at the campsite or even the hut (if COVID ever abates). 

 The swim will be, ah, um, invigorating?  That water is cold.  Full grown men will enter old and emerge as little boys again.  At least parts of them will.

Elk Lake in summer: the north end, log choked and the home of ducks and the south end where the trail is destined.

Elk Lake in late spring: the fog rolls off the lake as the cool air hits the relatively warmer water. Relative being the operative word there.

The hut itself is a fairly basic shelter.  A real-estate agent might promote it as a "quaint net-zero lake-side open concept cottage", the net-zero open concept being no doors, few windows, no heating and no electricity. This is real hiking for everybody, not concierge style luxury trekking. 

The SCT does not take reservations; it's all FCFS. On the other hand, there are no fees charged.  Donations are appreciated; the huts, outhouses and trail don't just magically appear.

I wish I could say the hiker will have wonderful wildlife encounters, but, after spending at least one day a week out on those trails for the last three years, I can confidently say none of the wildlife want to encounter humans.  The bears, oft maligned, will generally just run like hell when they see you...even if you are carrying a picnic basket (the key is making sure the bear senses your approach in time to run like hell).  The elk? They are out there, but the only time I have seen any it's been at an insulting hour of the morning and both the elk and I were shocked to run into each other.  They never pose for pictures under any circumstances.

That leaves us with frogs (LOTS of frogs), insects (hence the numerous frogs) and some nervous ducks.  The relative absence of other mammals leaves me to wonder what the mosquitos feed on when there are no defenseless hikers to parasitize.  The frogs present a bit of a challenge because they appear to like sunning themselves in the middle of the trail.  Watch your step.

And, yes, there are snakes. Harmless Garter snakes. The snakes also like sunning themselves on the trails, so step carefully.  

Leaving the Elk Lake Hut, the trail follows a well beaten ATV access track.  In the fall and spring the hiker may have to dodge the odd noisy ATV beast, but those guys are usually polite and will slow down and let the hiker get off the track.  The hiker shouldn't get their back up about yielding: it's a lot easier to step off a narrow trail than drive off. 

Not too far down the way, at the far end of Elk Lake, the trail takes a fork. To the right goes the "Inside Route", or more properly the SCT access, to the left goes the SCT proper.  The access trail is really just an old logging road rutted from the passage of many ATV enthusiasts and replete with blast rock.  I hiked it on my first trip to Elk Lake: it's just an easy way to cover ground with no views or vistas of any interest.

At the forks, the SCT proper heads South by Southeast and becomes a true trail.  Watch for the sign for Elk Hill Vista; the views are well worth the diversion and, if I can convince a few more people to trample that trail I won't get lost going up there again (the trail is underused and getting a bit shaggy).

Wide for a hiker, not so much on an ATV.  I personally hate loud noises but those little gas-guzzling monsters really can cover country fast.

The "inside route", more properly called the SCT access. Not a hiker's paradise, just a quick and easy passage.

Watch for the sign.  The trail starts off well, but gets a bit sketchy not too far up the trail. More people need to climb up to see the sights rather than just plod onward to tag the next hut.

The trail meanders along the top of the Smith Range, passing over to the eastern face as it heads south to the Coyote Lake Junction. Not too far after Elk Hill Vista, it cuts across a rock bluff with views looking down the valley of the Powell River Canoe Route.  If you know where to look you can see Mount Freda (also known as Mount Doom for me after my last escapade) and the Knuckleheads (probably named after one of my cousins).

The problem with trails through young forests is that they get a lot of sunlight through the canopy and the canopy is mostly fast growing deciduous trees.  Those trails need more maintenance and suffer from heavy bushy overgrowth in the late spring and early summer. The "outside" route on the SCT can be extremely bushy; my hike over it was more like blind-man's bluff than actual hiking.  I took more than a few tumbles as I found hidden rocks and sudden drops.  Still: the overgrown area comprises less than a kilometer of trail and what worthwhile hike does not have a few sketchy passes?  Just pretend you are the legendary Dr. Livingstone in the darkest jungles of Africa.

And don't get me wrong: the volunteers do maintain that section faithfully BUT some of those plants are basically vegetarian Borg: resistance is futile.

From a "forever view" up on the bluffs to "can't see my feet" just on the east side of the range, 200 meters away.

Funny story about hiking with no maps and just a vague idea gleaned from the ever present GPS (I have another less funny story about GPS; suffice to say, don't go climbing mountains with just GPS as your guide). 

 One steamy July 1st, when pretty much everyone in town was flaked out in the shade or floating on the lake trying to stay cool, I decided I would hike on up to Granite Lake, starting at the bottom of the Sweetwater.  It's an easy and picturesque climb up along the Sweetwater creek that drains Granite Lake. 

Just above the Green Road/ Edge's Way I ran into a couple of hikers. The lead hiker was packing a pretty nice Canon camera, so of course I had to stop and chat.  I noted a unique lilt to the lad's speech and had to ask where they hailed from. They were from Liverpool England,  the original stomping ground of the Beatles.

Real live Liverpudlians in my area. 

I know, not all that exciting, but I just had to use the word "liverpudlian". 

I asked what they were doing down here along the Sweetwater. "Well, we're hiking the Sunshine Coast Trail..."

"Not right now you aren't" was my reply.

"We will eventually get there though...right".  

"No. No hope of doing that. You are heading directly West and the SCT is heading South along the base of the Smith Range."  

I turned them around and hiked up the trail all the way past Granite Lake to the Coyote Lake Junction.  I guess they had vaguely remembered Granite Lake from a brief glance at a map and thought it was along the SCT rather than a nice side trip for a tired hiker wanting to overnight before tackling the hill up to Coyote Lake.

The message here apparently is "Don't miss Coyote Lake Junction".

Coyote Lake Junction.  Big sign, hard to miss, but apparently it can be missed.  The trail climbs quite steeply from the junction through a maturing forest, then finally feeds out onto an old logging trail that courses straight and flat above Coyote Lake.  The campsite access is well marked.

 

The photos of Coyote Lake turned out quite muddy, but that is because the sky WAS muddy that day. Apparently the new normal is 5 seasons with the new festive season being named "Wildfire".  It's a bit apocalyptic or maybe like a storm out of Mordor, when you wake up and realize that, indeed, the sun will not rise today.

Variations on a theme: Granite Lake, a handy camp site for the tired hiker.

From Coyote Lake, the SCT follows the general path of some old logging roads. The hiker will have to excuse my ignorance of this small section of the SCT: it's not all that accessible and I have not had the opportunity to stumble up Branch 22 to cover it.  Branch 22 is an especially odious little chunk of blast rock laden left-over logging road that is an invitation to sprained ankles (or at least a lot of swearing).  

Since I originally published this section, I have had the opportunity to follow the trail from Coyote Lake on up to the junction at Branch 22. This represents my actual completion of the SCT (with the exception of a few side branches that have fallen into disuse).  Kudos to me; if the crazy Frenchman set a speed record of just under 29 hours, I set a turtle record of almost 3 years.  

The section from Coyote Lake to Branch 22 proved to be well worth the hike. It's actually quite great, but the hiker needs to open their minds up to following the hidden side branches to enjoy the entire experience.

Just past the entrance to the Coyote Campground, about 200 meters, the hiker will find an outhouse.  OUTHOUSE!! Stop using the campground as an open-air mung hut; you can be civilized.  

Behind the outhouse the observant hiker can see a sign pointing to the Coyote Vista. The trail is getting a bit shaggy now, but a little diligence will get you through the windfall and eventually put you on top of a bluff with a huge southern vista; on a clear day you can probably see the smog of Vancouver (and smile that you are in a forested haven).

Continuing down the trail, at this point a very well established greensward over the old logging road and you will pass a picnic bench at the south end of Coyote Lake and then head downhill at a very sharp pace on the very easy trail.  Eventually the hiker comes to a junction where the SCT departs the old road and heads hard up-hill toward Branch 22. The first 500 meters is a bit rough, obviously an old logging trail that has become a watercourse filled with rocks and detritus.  On the other hand, not too far along, the SCT morphs into a real trail, climbing steeply in a series of switch backs up a forested bluff. Eventually the hiker will step out onto an open bluff and the entire Salish Sea will open up before them, Texada Island in near foreground, Vancouver Island beyond and the northern islands in full view.  The trail is highly worthwhile; the sudden end of the climb onto the stony and slightly overgrown (this year) Branch 22 is a bit of a disappointment.

Coyote Lake in 2021

At the south end of Coyote Lake: lunch in paradise.

Southwest from Coyote Vista

Due South from Coyote Vista

West from Coyote Vista

The trail goes ever on

From the bluffs just below Branch 22

Northwest from the bluffs: look for Scout Hill and that's Savary Island in the background

Eventually the trail burps out onto an upper section of Branch 22, also known as the SCT winter access.  If you turn left (north) you will eventually arc uphill and onto the ridge leading to Walt Hill. If you turn right, south, you will find yourself wandering through a shallow valley, and, not too far along, you will come across a trail dropping off the road that is actually a short-cut to the Walt Hill Hut (that trail is often under water, so be prepared to get a little wet).

The hut, just visible from Branch 22 below. This glimpse is not too far from the "short cut" to the hut...through the swamp and up the steep hill, devoid of great views or old growth trees.

The remains of what has been called "The Bridge of Death" at the base of the "short cut".  I have yet to climb that trail; my hiking boots are not water proof.

I always follow the trail up to the ridge: the section between the Walt Hilton and the hut is my absolute favorite part of the trail.

Obviously the name "Walt Hilton" is extremely ironic... but if you are caught in a torrential summer rainstorm, it will look pretty luxurious.  DO NOT forget to step behind the shack and find the lookout there. Fantastic views north, east and west.

Peering North, Northeast and Northwest from the lookout at the Walt Hilton.  Upper right is the venerable Tin Hat with the Rainbow Range as a backdrop. Lower right: Savary Island, which sits just across from Lund.  The ridge across to Walt Hut is a bit of time travel machine: from one end you see the last few days of hiking, from the other end you can see the next few days of hiking.

The trail winds up through an old forest, traversing a ridge and passing through a few draws that represent fault lines in the original geological pluton formation. There is a deep beauty here: ancient trees, hanging moss and lichen and mist filling the hollows many days. 

My buddy the Sasquatch just loves this hill.  He may be just a big guy with really bad personal hygiene, but he self-identifies as a Sasquatch.

The old forest as one leaves the Walt Hilton

Denizens of the old forest. The woodpecker shot is horribly overworked but that was one angry bird; she wouldn't give me time to reset the camera, so it was "catch as catch can".  I love bees and, well, slugs are just cool.

Coming down the hill into the last draw before the climb to the hut. The leaning giant has now fallen, but when I first saw it hanging over the trail the implied threat of imminent collapse caught my eye. 

As the hiker walks along the ridgeline the trail will emerge from the forest and a "forever vista" will present.  Directly East, if a person knows where to look, is Juarez and, sitting kitty-corner across the valley will be Freda towering over Freda Lake and the long road in. Southeast can be seen The Knuckleheads and Lois Lake. Far across, appearing to sit at the eastern end of Lois Lake, is the Marlborough Range (actually across Jervis Inlet, but so much taller than all the surrounding mountains that they seem to be contiguous).

South, if a hiker looks closely, they will see the viewing platform on Penstemon Bluffs, right behind the hut. The hiker is almost there, just a deep draw and a sharp climb into camp.  Farther South, after the sharp drop off of Walt Hill lays the last section of the trail leading to the climb over Troubridge and down to Saltery Bay. 

To the East and Southeast 

Directly South are Penstemon Bluffs and the hut. South and southwest are "the peninsula", the the end of the Malaspina Strait between the mainland and Texada Island. South by Southeast, standing alone, stands the 1300 meter Troubridge, the last barrier before the terminus of the trail.

The number one question asked by hikers after they have figured out transportation to and from trail heads, is about water. Does a hut have water?

Walt Hill Hut has water within a short, sharp hike of the camp.  North of the hut by less than 300 meters is a well marked trail heading relatively sharply down hill. It's a bit of a mini-hike all on it's own, but the creek is pretty dependable. I have no idea where the water comes from; aqua from heaven as far as I'm concerned.

The next dependable water source is far down the southward trail at the beginning of the Suicide Pass.  There is a seasonal creek right at the bottom of the steep descent from the top of Walt Hill, but I have only seen water there once over numerous hikes up that hill.

Proof of existence.

Finally we reach the climax of our tale: the Penstemon Bluffs and the Walt Hill Hut.  

The hut is pretty impressive: all season, all weather, well insulated and situated high enough to be above the snow pack (the same can't be said of other winterized cabins: the first job of any winter hiker at Emma Lake is finding and digging out the hut there.  The second job is finding the outhouse).

Personally  I'm not a hut guy.  If I had to camp up there it would be down near the bluffs where the stars shine and the first rays of the rising sun will touch.  It's almost impossible to beat the view from the bluffs. 

Enough jabber and on with the show.

The Walt Hill Hut.

The east end of Lois Lake with the distant Marlborough Range dominant.

An assortment of Penstemon Views.

To the south Troubridge, to the East the Knuckleheads, and, to the north there sits the very tip of Freda, the great stone mammoth.

Troubridge: the last barrier before the long climb down to Saltery Bay

From the hut looking west to Texada with it's mine and Vancouver Island beyond.

And sometimes you get up at an unHoly hour, bust your butt up a steep hill and get skunked on any views.  You then see the magic in the clouds below.

I would like to share my philosophy of photography here.  I rarely attain what I am trying to achieve, but at least I am trying.  

When one photographs something or somebody, you are trying to evince an emotion in the viewer. Hopefully the artist will trigger a specific, desired reaction in the viewer: awe, love, lust, grief or conflict.  Most importantly, you never want to leave the viewer unmoved or, worse, bored.  The photographer wants to give one of two things: an image nobody has ever seen before or an old image from a new or novel perspective.  

That is what I am always trying for. It's unlikely that I will ever happen upon something completely new in this world, but I sure as hell am going to try to see things differently than anyone else.

The montage below is a great example.  The waterfall shown is found on the Sweetwater Creek, a few hundred meters above Edge's Way on the Green Road. The falls drop off a flat, granite shelf, pouring precipitously over the edge and plummeting perhaps 25 meters before finding ground again.  

When I first saw those falls, I was taken by two ideas: they were quite beautiful and they were quite inaccessible.   There was just no easy way down to the bottom of those falls where a photographer could capture their impact point.  It became a cause for me.  I was a modern day Ponce de Leon in search of the fountain of youth.

At first I looked at climbing down the rock wall at the edge of the trail to the bottom of the gorge.  Then I banged my head against a wall and knocked that stupid idea clear out of my brain.

Then I hiked up the north side of the Sweetwater until I came even with the waterfall.  The particular day I hiked there happened to be a day of particularly heavy run-off and the waterfall was more of a water-canon, a terrifying roaring monster that precluded any further safe exploration.

Finally, in the middle of the summer, when the water flow is at full ebb in the Sweetwater canyon, I walked up the mostly dry river bed, climbed up the dry face of a couple of small waterfalls and finally found myself at the base of my waterfall.  

The idyllic little isolated pool I had envisioned was not there. Instead, the waterfall fell into a tight slot channel and then headed in a rapid downhill flow into the course of the waterfalls I had just climbed. 

I took my pictures with a mixture of happiness and chagrin.  I finally had found my fountain and realized that the anticipation of discovery was quite a bit better than the actual discovery.

I present you "Waterfall on the Sweetwater"

Addaw y mor a'r mynydd ;  To promise the sea and mountain.  Something indeed to think about while sitting upon Penstemon Bluffs: for indeed the mountain ahead and the sea beyond are clearly in view.