the lost mitten

Looking across the valley from where we were ice climbing in Tumbler Ridge last week, Philippe noticed a beautiful alpine route up a steep gulley on the other side of the valley. It was the first mountain that he had seen in the area, and he was convinced that a more aesthetic line could not exist. He had to climb it. Not being one to turn down an adventure and having dreamed about 'real mountaineering' for years, I quickly caught on to his enthusiasm and a couple days later, we were hiking into the fiercest wind I've ever expericed with huge packs on our backs. We didn't make it far the first day, but decided to camp about an hours hike from the base of the climb. The wind howled so loudly all night that I hardly slept a wink.

The climb the next day was beautiful but easy, but greatly intensified by the raging wind that blew snow and dust in our faces all day. Twenty-five mountain goats looked on as we climbed and hiked, no doubt wondering what on earth we were doing in their turf in the middle of winter.

We made it to the top of Bullmoose Mountain by 2:30 and started the trek down, which turned out to be far more eventful than the ascent. I tumbled end over end for a good chunk of the way, leaving me badly bruised and more than a little shaken.

It turns out that the route has never been climbed before and so we christened it "the lost mitten" after my poor little mitt that got blown off the top while I was fiddling with the rope.