Pure Outside » Trip Reports

Snow Cave at Century Sam Lake

Lorne — Tue, 06 Oct 2009 00:06:59 +0000

If you like this post make sure you check out Island Adventurer as well. Island Adventurer will be promote the best of Vancouver Island’s trails and events. Pureoutside will be focusing on the rest of the world!

I’m an hour and a half into a 2 hour ascent to Century Sam Lake near the Comox Glacier.

A bead of sweat runs off my forehead and down my nose. I’m doubled over leaning on my hiking poles. My heart is hammering and my lungs are wheezing like an old vacuum. I’m thinking “Holy Crap, this is a steep hike”. I check my GPS, more to give myself a few more seconds rest than anything, but it’s given up the ghost claiming ‘no satellite reception’. Looking around at the steep and towering mountains surrounding me I guess I’m not surprised it can’t get a signal.

Glancing up the trail I see the smiling face of my dog, Chase. He loves this sort of thing and seems to draw a special smug satisfaction in staring down on me from up the trail silently saying “come on….lets go…what’s the hold up?” Ya, ya, ya…I’m coming. If I had his power to weight ratio, 4 wheel drive and built in crampons I’d be way up there too. If the smug little bugger comes any closer I’m going to grab his tail and make him haul me up the mountain!

For the 10th time I wonder how I managed to be here, in my own personal 9 km of vertical pain. It didn’t look this ugly on Google Earth!

The idea for this trip started several days ago. Reading a blog on the Vancouver Island Spine trail lead me to their website. There I saw a photo of some people hiking up near Forbidden Plateau. Thinking this looked like a very pleasant way to spend a day I did a little research on Google which lead me to post about the Century Sam Lake trail with some gorgeous photos. Making this destination even more intriguing was talk of snow caves in a small glacier at the end of the lake…how could I pass that up? A bit work on Google Earth and Fugawi Navigator and I had some tracks laid into the GPS. I was up early on Sunday morning and off to adventure.

A quick hour drive brought me off the Island Highway near Courtenay and onto the North side of Comox Lake. I was half expecting to be turned away by the guard at the gate but there was no sign of anyone. After a 20 minute teeth-rattling-bone-jarring-kick-the-crap-out-of-my-truck- haven’t-you-guys-ever-heard-of-a-Grader-stupid-rough-ride, the road turned away from the lake up Cruickshank Canyon and got smoother. Another half hour and I was at the trailhead. Most of the road would be fine in a 2wd but the last km was deactivated and heavily ditched so it was pretty well 4wd territory only.

By this time I was almost an hour into the bush and had only passed one other vehicle, heading out (not a good sign). Parking the truck and strapping on my hiking and photography gear I was feeling a little alone, wondering perhaps if it was such a good idea to be so far in by myself. The feeling was short lived, however, when I walked over a rise in the road and discover a number of other trucks at the trail head.

After my painful 2 hour ascent through mostly dense bush, I emerged out on rock outcropping near the lake….wow! The place was drop dead gorgeous! Towering peaks under a clear blue sky enclosed a beautiful aqua-marine lake fed by a small glacier. Fall colors provided contrast to the predominantly blue and green scene. Ascent pain forgotten, all I could think of is how lucky I was to have such a unique and beautiful place available on a day hike.

I made my way past the lake to reach my true destination…the snow cave. The glacier sits in a pocket of the surrounding mountains. It was high noon and yet I was standing in shadow at the mouth of the cave. Could it be true…had I finally found that most mythical of places…‘where the sun don’t shine’…funny, this wasn’t how I’d pictured it.

The glacier has a large cave hollowed out in it, presumably made by snow melt. As I entered the cave I heard a large, heavy sounding ‘thunk’. A small warning to keep an eye overhead perhaps? A couple of quick pictures and I got out of there. I had no desire to be some future anthropologists ‘20th Century Man’ a few centuries from now. On my way back out I couldn’t resist the temptation to walk on the glacier….bad idea. I hadn’t gone 4 steps before I was on my arse sliding back down. Momma, your boy’s going to be sore tomorrow!

A glance at my watch let me know that it was time to head back down. An hour later my shaky legs finally brought me back to my truck and the trip home. From front door to glacier and home again in time for dinner….you have to love Vancouver Island!

Gear for this trip:

GPS: nice to have but not essential. The trail is well marked but the GPS was very useful in sorting out which logging roads to take in.

Hiking Poles: almost essential. This trail has only 2 states: up or down.

Camera: essential. How could you not take pictures of a place this gorgeous? For this trip I carried an SLR body, 10-22mm, 24-105mm and 70-200mm lenses but ended up only using the 10-22mm. A tripod would be nice since many photo ops in the bush and in the snow cave have low lighting.

Hiking Boots: nice but not essential for when I went (Oct 4). The trail was pretty dry reflecting the recent weather so there was only a couple of muddy places. However, if the weather has been wet I could envision this trail being very muddy.

Travel Times:
Nanaimo to Trail Head: 2 hrs
Ascent to Century Sam Lake: 2 hrs (less if you are fit)
Descent from lake: 1 hr

Links of Interest:
Other photos by Tim Penney
Directions to the trail head. This links describes how to get the the Comox Glacier Trail but the trail heads are the same.

My Flickr site.

Cumberland MOMAR 2009

Erik — Thu, 01 Oct 2009 18:56:46 +0000

If you’re familiar with my work at the Squamish MOMAR you’ll know that while I vowed to always participate in the MOMAR’s from then on, I had a lot to learn about training, strategy and racing in general. It was therefore with great trepidation that I made the trip to the Comox Valley to participate in the 2009 Cumberland MOMAR last weekend. This particular race commands a large amount of respect; I’ve never spoken with a past competitor who hasn’t raved about the killer mountain biking, beautiful kayaking, lung destroying ascents or crazy afterparty. I’d been hoping to experience this course first hand for many years now and finally ran out of excuses not to. I had competed in the Squamish race, had the offer of a partner and my knee was feeling good. This is my story:

My friend Helen and I spent about a month going on bi-weekly training rides and even went for a run before we registered for the race. We had the intention of ramping up the training for the final couple weeks prior to the race. Then, continuing on the tradition of the FUBAR Squamish race, immediately after I officially registered I hurt my knee. Ironically, the very reason I felt as though I could do the race was that I hadn’t re-injured my knee in quite some time. Initially, I wasn’t worried; this had happened before and I recovered quickly. I figured I could lay off the high impact training for a while, get on the road bike to keep up strength and fitness then walk into the Cumby race all rested and ready, fit as a fiddle.

While this plan worked out well in theory, my knee injury coincided perfectly with my birthday which meant lots of beers and lots of cakes. Yes, cakes with an s; I ate several of them over the course of the next week. I didn’t get on the bike once. Despite this total lack of physical activity and knee functionality I continued to plan for the race and made an agreement with my boss to borrow a demo kayak from the store. I booked a room in a beautiful hostel on Comox Lake and examined maps from past races to hone my navigational skills. My still painful knee (and excessive birthday-related caloric intake) was weighing heavily on my mind. I was troubled with the decision I knew lay ahead: do I do the smart thing and cancel in order to save my knee or do I race, not knowing what kind of damage I risked. I booked appointments with my doctor, physio and athletic therapist hoping that they would make the decision easy by making it for me. Unfortunately for me, my knee injury isn’t serious or complete enough to justify special treatment (it’s a compression injury, nothing is torn, simply compressed and therefore painful) but it’s not minor enough to ignore. They left the decision up to me but worded it in such a way that I felt kind of guilty when I decided to race irregardless.

I finally got on my road bike and discovered that riding in the saddle was fine, but for some reason as soon as I left the saddle going up a hill or sprinting my knee began to hurt. Luckily there’s no hills in MOMAR’s hey…

About this time I went into work to discover a ‘SOLD’ sign on my kayak. The one I was to race in later that week…

As I lifted my leg out of the kayak my mind flashed back to the last adventure race I had competed in with a kayak stage: My leg had fallen asleep during the paddle and as soon as I stood up my leg collapsed and I fell face first into 4 feet of water; I went the entire race sopping wet. As much as it had helped cool me down it simply wasn’t comfortable and I wasn’t prepared to race for an entire day in soggy clothing then or now. I had managed to wrangle a kayak and we had just finished the 10km paddle on Comox Lake in slightly over an hour. The sun was out and everyone had a big smile on their face. We had finished the kayak in the middle of the pack which was pleasing as paddling is not a strong point for Helen or I. The transition to the run was simple and we were soon climbing some steep single track. We had been warned of a funny switchback that would confuse us at the top of the first hill and when we got there we were greeted by about 12 teams standing around looking at their maps. Some had compasses, some were trying to guess positions based on the sun, some were splitting up and others were simply standing there waiting to follow the most confident looking team.

Thinking back to following a team 4km off course in Squamish I decided to get out my own map and compass to figure out exactly where to go. My study sessions had apparently worked as I quickly led us down the correct trail right to the checkpoint. We took off downhill towards the transition zone which was another 6km or so away. My basic knowledge of the local trails helped out near the bottom as we quickly found our way from the Dodge City Down Hill course out to the main trail. At one point I looked back to see a horde of racers coming at us out of the bush, like an angry mob chasing an outlaw out of town. It struck me as a particularly funny moment and even though I could see the time advantage we held I stopped to take a photo.

I had been secretly hoping that my knee would be in great pain and that I could blame any poor results on it. Unfortunately for me, it felt just fine throughout the paddle, the run and the start of the bike stage. I could however feel my quads and lungs beginning to hate me; several weeks with no activity but lots of beer and cake seems to have ruined any conditioning these important areas had. Helen easily beat me to the top of every hill and would stand there looking at me with an expectant expression as I huffed my way up towards her. Much of our biking was done alone with no other teams to be seen. This gave a calming feeling and provided us a chance to enjoy the best XC Cumberland has to offer. The trails are fast, flow well and were obviously built with mountain biking in mind – in short – a pleasure to ride. With no end in sight to this wonderful riding my legs seemed to move faster under me.

While Bucket of Blood is certainly worth the climb up, I think I’d prefer it when I wasn’t trying to get up as fast as possible. My calves were close to cramping as we finally crested the longest hill of the race. The trail down got pretty steep and rather technical in some parts which suited me just fine. Many people were walking their bikes down sections that I had no problem ripping down. We jumped off the bikes for a quick ‘urban’ run through the village of Cumberland. We were told to say hi to the locals so we did our best to talk to everyone we passed. Many people had no clue that the event was on and looked rather startled at the sweaty, muddy people running along their street.

Back on our bikes, we made our way back to Comox Lake Park where the race began and was set to end. Knowing how close we were to the finish line made me feel good; presumably we would finish in time, would be ranked and would have collected all the checkpoints. The orienteering had been the most difficult part of the Squamish race for Steph and I as we had basically tried to stumble our way through, asking questions and taking measurments later. In Cumberland, most of the orienteering course was on rough, uneven groud with a lot of bushwacking. The dull ache in my knee slowly grew as we went for the first two control points. I told Helen I would prefer to walk through as fast as possible and that running was out of the question for me. This was a good move as it gave me time to focus on the wonderfully accurate orienteering map. We would get close to a CP, I’d tell Helen exactly where I expected the flag to be and she would run up to it and mark the passport, giving me a few brief seconds to rest my knee. This system worked awesome and we quickly had all 10 points.

The big inflatable finish line was wonderful to cross under – it had been packed up by the time we finished in Squamish. We had also missed the chili in Squamish so I made sure to eat my fair share. Our official time was just under 7 hours and our categorical ranking was 10/20, right in the middle which is where I had expected to be; we were about dead center overall as well. I’m pleased at how well we navigated and how well my knee held up but am rather dissapointed with my conditioning level. I suppose it’s just more motivation for next year. As I mentioned I was hoping that my knee would be my limiting factor but sadly I’m just a bit out of shape. On the days leading up to the race I had visualized myself sitting in front of my computer with my leg in a cast, wrapped up in a cozy plaid blanket, body covered in cuts and bruises writing a race recap about how I became the first person to break my knee while paddling a kayak or some other whimsical injury.

We drove up to Mt Washington for the afterparty but got there early so we busted out some camp chairs and bevvies I had in my trunk and had an impromptu little tailgate party. By the time we’d eaten the delicious dinner the dreaded one beer syndrome had kicked in and I was ready for bed. We had already decided to leave after the awards to get back to Nanaimo so we quickly said our goodbyes and left to jump in the adventuremobile for the drive back to Nanaimo. Knowing how tired I was on the drive home I don’t regret skipping the infamous party but can imagine how much fun it was!

I can now join the ranks of adventure racers raving about the Cumberland race and will do so at every opportunity. Once again, MOMAR didn’t dissapoint.

Reflections on an Injured Knee

Erik — Sun, 13 Sep 2009 08:02:52 +0000

On Tuesday last week I re-injured my knee pretty badly playing ultimate. It has happened a few times over the past couple years and this time has given me cause to think back to all the times I’ve hurt it to see if there’s some kind of avoidable pattern. While I haven’t come up with any pattern yet, I did think of the time I first injured it:

Four friends and I had gone to Fernie during reading break to ski; I mean study. We definitely went there to study. Anyways, we caught the first ferry and drove into town at 10pm after a full day of driving. I had borrowed my parents car for the huge backseat and trunkspace so I drove the entire way there, V6 purring. As soon as we arrived we rolled into our room at Lizard Creek Lodge and slept on the first flat area we could find.

The next morning the girls drove into town to scope out potential study spots – they actually did have school on their minds. My friend Senden and I however, were focussed on one thing, SNOW! It had been 4 years since I’d been skiing and twice that for Senden. We had spent the entire drive trying to one up each other and impress the girls with stories of shredding gnarly pow. They should have realized when we used the words ‘gnarly’ and ‘pow’ that we really had no idea what we were doing. Looking back, I think they did and were just trying to coax more ridiculous stories out of us.

Whatever we had said, we seemed convinced that we didn’t need to pay for lift tickets. We had this hairbrained idea that we would be able to snowshoe to the top with our skis on our backpacks, ski down, check out some ski bunnies, then lather rinse repeat. Well, we had probably walked a total of 400 meters before we looked at each other and simultaneously said “I’m thinking I’m just gonna go grab a ticket…”

Having been humbled before we even put our skis on, we decided to be a little more realistic about what we were about to do so we hit the bunny hill once before heading to the top. While it was obvious that neither of us had skied in a while, glimpses of brilliance could be seen under our rust. Keen to hit the powder up top before midday we took every lift we could find that would take us higher till we were standing as high as one can possibly go, at the top of the White Pass Quad. Visibility was decent and there was 8 inches of fluffy powder hiding our boots. We decided to take the longest possible run, giving us the best chance to piece together technique without breaking for a lift ride.

While we weren’t Bodie or Hermann, we were improving dramatically and were becoming more and more comfortable. I had taken lessons when I was a child (back when I lived in Fernie) and curiously, Senden had skied a fair amount as a boy, despite being from Australia. We had almost achieved a flow state when I decided to try hockey stopping to my bad side (stopping by quickly moving your skis perpendicular to your direction of travel). It seemed simple then, and it still does but for whatever reason I ended up jamming my left leg pretty bad and ragdolling down the hill. Full yard sale style; skis, poles, goggles and toque flying. The first thing I remember after looking up is the intense pain in my left knee. I think that my ski must have hit an ice ball or something; I can’t think of anything else that would put that much force into my leg. It was several minutes before I was able to stand up and many more before I was able to put any weight on it. Senden was looking pretty concerned so I was eager to start moving again to relax him a bit.

Because I couldn’t put any weight on my leg Senden took my left ski and I skied for several minutes on my right ski, holding my left knee bent. When we reached the lower part of the run I put the left ski back on and hummed along like one of those little kids in a one piece snowsuit who look like frozen starfish – arms and legs locked in position, flying down the center of the run. The last kilometer or so was more or less flat and joined up with many other runs; success on this part was dependant on having built up a fair amount of speed above. Since I was going so slow, I had to pole myself the whole way along. Awesome. Little starfish kids, old ladies on 200cm skis and tourists wearing jeans riding rental skis are flying past me. Everytime someone passed I tried to go a little faster which only ended up aggravating my knee more.

I finally got back to the lodge to sit on the couch and put some ice on my knee. I would stay there for the next 4 days, switching between TV (seasons 1 and 2 of Greys Anatomy) and staring blankly out the window to the base of the Elk Quad, which was right outside our window. Senden kept adventuring and the girls kept studying; Meredith, Derek and Mr. Kokanee kept me company. Back at home, the doctors and physios told me that my knee wasn’t hurt seriously enough to justify a strict rehab plan, but that it was hurt enough that I should watch what I do to it.

Ever since then I’ve lived in fear and periodically re-aggravate it. It usually takes 2 or 3 weeks before I’m comfortable on it again but it makes me envy those without any joint problems. Always the same story, never serious enough to really work at it, but not minor enough to forget about it.

Am I doomed to a life of knee pain? Of fearing how long I can run for and what surfaces are safe for me to play on? I take solace in the fact that I always work through it and everytime I come back I’m stronger than before. I only wonder how long this cycle will last for. If I baby it now then maybe it will be stable when I’m old; but if I baby it now it means I can’t do many of the things I love doing!

For the time being I’m going to keep on it. Dr. Pat Ross, a good friend and mentor of mine always closes his speeches with a Bill McKenna quote which was always poignant but never especially relevant to me till now:

“Life is not a journey to the grave with the intention of arriving safely in a pretty and well preserved body, but rather to skid in broadside, thoroughly used up, totally worn out, and loudly proclaiming – Wow! – What a ride!”

Hornby Island

Erik — Sat, 29 Aug 2009 08:21:07 +0000

Hornby Island is one of of those places that everyone knows and loves to visit. The island is primarily known for its beautiful sandy beaches, warm ocean water, beautifully maintained mountain biking trails, outdoor education centre and the laissez-faire attitude most locals seem to have. This year round population is drastically different than the influx of visitors who come for the beaches every spring and summer. Despite this there seems to be little, if any, localism (check Jordan River if that’s what you’re into) and most locals are decidedly happy to show off their island home, providing you treat it with the respect and love it deserves.

For me Hornby holds a special appeal, partially becase of the many memories I have of my time there but mostly because of the potential for adventure it holds. Even with a well planned itinerary Hornby always finds a way to suprise and delight. You never know who you’re going to meet or what’s going on on the island.

Several weeks ago I was thrilled when a good friend invited me to her cabin there for the weekend. Even though I was in the middle of renovating my kitchen, I knew my girlfriend and I needed a break and we packed up and left our kitchen in ruins – no drywall, flooring or anything, really. Everything that used to be in the kitchen had been unceremoniously dumped anywhere there was free space. Nevertheless, the adventuremobile made it’s way north with three bikes balanced on top and the back seat and trunk packed with food, clothing and gear. We got over to the island after dark and slowly made our way to the cabin then climbed straight into bed to rest before a day of riding.

I got up the next morning rested and excited; Hornby’s Mt. Geoffrey is home to my all time favourite bike trail – No Horses. I decided to go for a hard solo ride in the morning and then for a more leisurely group ride after lunch and a beach trip. Both rides were stellar, 3 hours in the morning, slightly less in the afternoon. Both included a lot of climbing, a characteristic I’m trying to introduce into all my sessions; the training effect is undeniably positive but the pain is immediate and frequently brutal. Anyone wanna go for a ride?

No Horses was of course the standout trail; it flows down along an old creek bed, sending you swooping down one side then spitting you back up to the top – over and over. It mimics a mutant halfpipe, only steeper and more aggressive in its mission to throw you out over the buffed berms. The ever present imaginary soundtrack in my head was loudly playing ‘Two Shoes,’ by The Cat Empire; my mind transferred up into the trees above and I could see myself there, smoothly streaming around the high corners then violently accelerating back down towards the old creek before once again soaring up and around. Over and over, faster and faster until..

It’s flat all over and the trail is finished with you. Bummer.

Thoroughly used up, we enjoyed a fresh salmon dinner surrounded by more friends who had made their way over for the rest of weekend. The drinks and the stories continued past a characteristically beautiful Hornby Island sunset and late into the night.

Trying to keep the bicycling theme of the weekend alive, I brought my road bike to ride home on, assuming it would only be 60km or so. After feeling slightly tired from riding across Hornby and Denman Island I was shocked when the first road sign indicated I was still more than 80km from Nanaimo. Uh oh. I stopped at several gas stations along the way home to fill up on electrolytes and arrived home about 3 hours later, ready to fight the kitchen.

Sea to Summit

Erik — Thu, 16 Apr 2009 06:26:24 +0000

In 1990 Tim Macartney-Snape made a 4 month solo journey on foot that began in the waters of India’s Bay of Bengal and finished on the peak of Mt Everest; he became the first man to truly climb the mountain from ‘sea to summit.’ Taking a cue from this adventurer we decided to host our own Nanaimoized version – from Maffeo Sutton Park to the top of Mt Benson.

And so, the date was set, provisions procured, routes mapped and the team hand picked. Weeks of preparation climaxed on April 5th; a day that would prove to be unforgettable for the 6 companions.

After a perilous trek through the depths of Nanaimo the original 4 were joined by 2 more at Westwood Lake for the final summit bid. The mountain was angry that day, my friends – like an old man trying to send soup back at a deli. We got past the Ridges and suddenly the great eminence appeared before us. I tell you it was a thousand meters high if it was a foot. As if sensing our presence the sky opened with a great bellow of wind. From where we were standing we could gaze directly at the distant snow covered apex.

From out of nowhere, a great burst of energy sent our team at a breakneck pace up the steep slopes of Benson until we found ourselves right on top of it. Freezing winds lashed our faces and frost crept into our fingers and toes as we surveyed the city before us. We gazed in curiosity as the lillipution scene unfolded; thousands below living their lives unaware of their keen observers. The cold seemed to loosen its grip and time slowed around us as birds gambolled in the powerful drafts and the clouds flowed overhead.

Minutes blended together and thoughts of work, school and other mundanities of life sank from our minds as our personal goals and dreams seemed infinitely closer. Mt Benson is comparitively small yet right there and then it represented so much more; our drive to follow through on dreams, our ability to endure pain and difficulty in the pursuit of a goal and our love of beautiful things.

Temperature shocked us back to reality and we set off on our slippery descent. Packed snow prooved to be an effecient and quick medium and we made incredible time off the mountain with no injuries but several bruised butts.

Bonnell Creek Falls in Nanoose

Ross — Sat, 21 Feb 2009 20:40:53 +0000

So my girlfriend and I wanted to go for an adventure of the hiking type on Valentine’s Day. More specifically, we wanted to go find a waterfall. My dad mentioned some waterfalls by the Arlington Pub by Nanoose that he had been to a couple weeks ago. He said they weren’t quite as large as Ammonite Falls, but were quite pretty. I asked how long it took to get there and he said only about 20 minutes in from the Pub. Easy enough. Off we go in search of waterfalls.

Where’s the gate?

I had been dirt biking by the Arlington years before and assumed it was quite easy to get back to. The Pub is on the highway, but the gate was not where I remembered it being. The road to the left of the pub is called Sea Blush Drive and it carries on a lot further into the bush than I thought. We drove right to the end of road thinking it was the obvious place for a gate to be. There was an entrance to some trails, but not the gate I was looking for.

Not able to find the gate, we started walking along the power lines at the end of Sea Blush Drive, taking every turn we could find, exploring the trails there.

Hiking along all the trails we could find in the direction we thought was suitable for waterfalls to be in, we hit Sundew Main, the main logging road in the area. We followed that to the start of the road and eureka, we found the gate. It just so happened to be at the end of Sundew Place, one of the side roads off Sea Blush Drive.

Armed with the knowledge that the trail to the waterfalls would be just 10 minutes up this road, we took a couple pictures, turned around, and started walking.

Almost a kilometre up Sundew Main we found the double track trail that branches off the main on the right-hand side. We followed this trail straight down to the waterfalls.

Taking another right turn 5 minutes down this trail will lead you to a pretty view off the entire chain of waterfalls. There are a few sections, which are separated by large pools. The tallest level of these waterfalls is at the bottom. We headed back to the main trail and carried on (continuing straight if you didn’t take this detour), and then descended a very steep section with a long rope. It was fairly muddy here the day we went and I imagine it always is. Don’t slip here, it’s very steep.

Once at the bottom of the steep section, we were right beside one of the pools. To the left were two smaller falls and one larger set to the left. Overhead was something that is still a mystery to me. A net about 3 meters by 3 meters was suspended 5 metres above the water. It hangs lower now since one of the trees it is tied to had fallen some time ago. I’ve come up with a few theories for what this net is for but none have made a lot of sense.

To the right of the ledge we stood on was another rope leading down a drop, which was steeper but shorter. To the left was a very steep, rocky section that didn’t really go anywhere. But I got curious and crossed this part. Then promptly decided there was nothing to see and got stuck trying to get back. After some awkward footwork and finding some mossy, almost nonexistent finger holds I pulled myself back to the other side.

We had lunch here, right beside the waterfalls, and washed it down with some almost-hot hot chocolate (apparently my stove fuel canister was getting low).

Right after lunch, we headed straight back up the rope and jogged a bit on the dirt road and trails back to the car.

All in all, it was a pleasant day trip and highly recommended for those seeking some picture opportunities or a short trip around in the bush. Careful with younger and older folks as the descent down to the falls is very steep!

-Ross