After a failed attempt last time, Ian and I were back for redemption. We rendezvoused at Valley Cliff Squamish, where I parked my car and mentally prepared myself to endure both a big mountain day and Ian’s relentless optimism.
We drove to Furry Creek, which sounds cute but offers nothing cuddly, and started our run. Except my body didn’t get the memo, it felt like it had just finished a marathon the day before and was very upset to be moving again. The 11km slog up the Furry Creek FSR felt like an ultra. I kept waiting for the “runner’s high” to kick in, but all I got was "runner’s regret." Fortunately, Ian’s company kept morale above sea level.
At 11km, we left the road and hit the trail toward the Mountain Lake Hut area. Around 1300m we hit the snowline, right about when I remembered my crampons were sitting at home. From that point on, every steep, hard snow slope became a personal trust exercise with gravity.
We made it to Wind Lake and contoured over to Ben Lomond, summiting via the NW ridge. The final slope was steep, snowy, and mildly terrifying in my running shoes, but the Arcteryx Vertex held on like a gecko. Ian played mountain nanny, helping me through the sketchy bits with the patience of a saint and the navigation skills of a Scottish sheepdog.
From there, we descended to Omer Creek and Loch Lomond lake(no bagpipes yet), then bushwhacked our way up to Bagpipe Peak’s west ridge. Somewhere around here, my enthusiasm took a coffee break. We hit the summit, then descended the north ridge into what I’ll generously call “vegetation.” We continued to Balfour Creek, down to 1100m meadows, heading eastward to the saddle then eventually to Indian Arm.
This section was not a hike. It was hand-to-hand combat with nature. Prickly berry bushes, alders, and devil’s club turned the descent into a slow-motion blender. My legs became a Jackson Pollock painting made entirely of scratches.
No matter how thick the alders got or how much devil’s club tried to assassinate us, Ian never once lost his cool.
Eventually, we stumbled onto the Indian Arm FSR like two war survivors. After limping 5.5km, we got picked up by a truck and gave us a lift to Mamquam Road. From there, we ran the final stretch back to my car, where my legs stopped working.
Massive shoutout to Ian, who remained cheerful even as I tried to disappear into the underbrush.
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