As I peered across the steep slope, the swirling snow obscured the view ahead. I looked back toward my partners following my tracks, skis strapped to their packs, wallowing thigh deep in soft snow. We were trying to find our way around a large dome along the Thelwood-Myra divide, east of Mount Thelwood in Strathcona Provincial Park, and the near-whiteout conditions were making it very difficult to figure out. It was feeling scarier by the minute.
Our trip had started the day before at the Myra Falls mine site. Our loose plan was to ski tour westward up the long, forested ridge that divides the two forks of Myra Creek, and in to the high alpine terrain around Mount Thelwood. Then we would follow the high ridge back east toward Mount Myra and exit down the Tennent Lake trail.
This was all some years ago, when it wasn’t uncommon for the snow to accumulate at lower elevations, and our group of six started out on skis right from the parking lot, skiing down Powerhouse Road. That first day went smoothly enough. We skied along the Upper Myra Falls trail and, just shy of the viewing platform, descended down to the north fork of Myra Creek. We crossed to gain the toe of the long ridge that separates the two branches of the creek. It’s an elegant feature to follow and rises at a gentle grade ideal for ski touring.
Making camp
It was January, so the days were short. We pitched camp at a point due south of Harvey Lake bordering the valley immediately east of Bancroft Peak, and I dug a snow cave to wriggle into with my bivy sack. Between the clouds, we could see the bulk of Mount Thelwood looming across the valley.
Overnight, cold air moved in and we awoke to a mix of cloud and sunshine which ignited a fresh layer of surface frost in a dazzling landscape. From here our plan was to split the group. Rob and Laurie Wood, along with Derek Boekweit, were planning on an extra night and were headed closer to Mount Thelwood, while Chris Lawrence, Kate Inman, and I would take a shorter route back toward Tennent Lake.
Leaving camp, we followed a natural line southward along a tributary creek that led up onto a prominent shelf cutting across the hillside and linking the side of Bancroft Peak and Mount Thelwood. The trees began to open up to a pretty vista of sub-alpine meadows. Pushing ahead to break trail, I startled a little mouse, who scurried a hundred metres or more across the snow before disappearing into a tree well.
Travelling through a storm
Gradually our line of travel led us up toward Crystal Pass immediately east of Mount Thelwood. We stopped for lunch, where the clouds that had been swirling above us all morning descended to steadily envelop us in thick fog. By the time we were back underway, the wind had started to pick up. We skinned up the first knoll above and east of Crystal Pass, into the gathering storm. As we crossed the small col at 1500m, the wind became fierce. We looked at the map and decided to shy away from continuing higher over the next knoll and instead elected to follow a small band of trees across a bench just southwest of Peak 1560. The line led us across a slope that gradually became so steep that we decided to boot-pack. The storm raged; visibility shrank to little more than a hundred metres. The weight of our skis added to our overnight packs made the post-holing exhausting. Few things make you feel as vulnerable as sinking thigh-deep in soft snow on an exposed slope.
We hopped from tree clump to tree clump, trying to get a look at the terrain ahead. Finally the wind pushed an opening through the clouds and we were greeted with an intimidating view. We had made our way out far above Upper Thelwood Lake; the slope ahead was too exposed to attempt. We retraced our agonizingly gained steps to return to the col. We were going to have to make our way over Peak 1560 to find a way off the other side.
The snow chute
Up we went onto the wind-scoured summit, aiming for a large snow chute that dropped off the east side. By now the light was starting to fade. We found the top of the chute and, in the shelter of the lee side of the dome, the wind abated for a fairly enjoyable ski down. Once safely at the tarn below, we stopped to brew some tea, eat, and take stock. The plan was still to get to the car that day, but we had a long way to go.
As darkness settled in, we donned headlamps and wove our way along the ridge toward Tennent Lake. We could see the occasional star twinkling between the clouds as we carried along through the meadows. By the time we were crossing the lake, the night sky was electric with stars and the snow shimmered from the light of a crescent moon. That Strathcona magic energized us as we skied into the night. By midnight, we made it to the trailhead and our short but eventful adventure drew to a close.
This past winter as I was completing the second edition of my Vancouver Island backcountry ski guidebook, I found myself thinking back on this trip. Describing routes objectively doesn’t leave much room for the many, many backstories. But when it came time to reference that high granite dome, I could think of no better name than Whiteout Dome as a little reminder of that wild day.
