This is what summer looks like in British Columbia’s Garibaldi Provincial Park:
In essence, it looks like winter. And it is spectacular. Located an hour north of Vancouver, between Squamish and Whistler, the park is rimmed by 8,000-foot mountains and centered around Mount Garibaldi (elevation 8,786 feet). The glaciated area gets something like 40 feet of snow every winter, with the alpine snowpack lingering well into summer despite temperatures into the 90s.
In late May, I had the chance to hike, snowshoe, and ski up and down three of Garibaldi Provincial Park’s classic vistas: Elfin Lakes Hut, The Black Tusk, and Panorama Ridge. Each journey began on dirt trails and ascended to deep snow, with a couple of side-jaunts that highlighted my personal need/obsession to pack as much as possible into my days.
ELFIN LAKES HUT
There was no toilet paper at Elfin Lakes Hut, and Jenna and I both had to go.
We’d just hiked 7 miles from the Diamond Head parking lot outside of Squamish, with the trail turning to snow after about 2 miles and growing increasingly deep as we neared the crystal waters of Elfin Lakes. At the very least, I thought, I could use snow in place of TP.
The temperature was in the 80s and we each wore shorts and t-shirts, which felt a bit incongruous with our snowshoes and gators. As a native New Englander, it seemed strange to enjoy snow without the associated hardships of wind and of frigid temperatures. The Puritan in me felt that I wasn’t paying the requisite penance for winter fun.
The temps dropped into the 60s as the late-afternoon sun fell behind the peaks and we approached the Elfin Lakes ranger station and backcountry hut. Mount Garibaldi loomed ahead of us, and behind it we could see a prominent volcanic spire called The Black Tusk. Soon we realized that all six public toilets had run out of toilet paper and that we’d also forgotten to bring an emergency backup roll.
But we weren’t alone. Six other hikers were also staying at the shelter, which had 33 bunkbeds in the upstairs loft. They were playing cards outside on the hut’s deck. After some consulting with Jenna, I mustered the nerve to ask if I could “borrow” another hiker’s toilet paper. I felt a bit guilty about asking, as there is an ethos of self-sustainability in the backwoods, but this was somewhat of a crisis and the comfy hut (which had a propane stove and solar-powered lights) was far from self-sustaining.
“Anybody know where the toilet paper is?” I asked the other hikers as they played cards.
They all looked at me blankly.
“I was just in the bathroom,” I said, “and I couldn’t find any toilet paper. Weird, right?”
“It’s a pack-in, pack-out situation,” one of the card-players said. “You have to bring your own.”
This was clearly not the case, as the six-stall outhouse was full of huge toilet paper dispensers—they just all happened to be empty, presumably because the park rangers hadn’t yet refilled them ahead of the peak summer season. Moreover, every other provincial park that we visited in British Columbia did stock their outhouses with toilet paper. But I wasn’t really in a position to argue with the guy.
“Oh boy, that’s bad news for me,” I said. “Guess I’ll have to use the snow.”
The cardplayers chuckled as I walked away and inside the hut to where Jenna was unpacking our gear.
“They won’t give me any toilet paper,” I whispered to her. “They all just laughed at me.”
One of the cardplayers now walked into the hut.
“I might have some extra to give you,” she said. She reached into her bag and pulled out a full roll, from which she judiciously peeled off six squares apiece for Jenna and I.
“Wow, thanks so much,” we each said.
She walked away.
“She was kinda stingy with the toilet paper,” Jenna whispered to me. “It’s not like we’re asking for a candy bar. This is a basic human necessity!”
It was enough TP to last us through the night.
The next morning, I woke at 6 a.m. to snowshoe up the snowfields to an area known as The Gargoyles, which appeared to be popular for skiing judging by all the tracks down the steep face. After about two hours, as the icy slope steepened to a grade of 50 percent approaching the crest of the Gargoyles, I was direly wishing for an ice ax to arrest a potential fall. I was pushing beyond the limit of what snowshoes are made for and should have been wearing crampons. I turned back when I realized that I was potentially topping out on a snowy cornice that was separated from the rock.
Back down on more even ground, with my body less tense from that somewhat stressful hike, I had no toilet paper for what came next. But I had a lot of snow.
The Black Tusk
Days later, we were back in Garibaldi Provincial Park, this time armed with our own roll of TP. We were with newlyweds Rich Carmona and Kathleen Oscadal (whose wedding was the impetus for our visit to British Columbia) and Rich’s old friend Iverson Long (who has recently been working as a diplomat in Bangladesh, which hasn’t seen snow since, like, the last Ice Age).
Over the next 24 hours, Rich and I would hike, skin, and ski more than 30 miles and ascend 6,000 feet of elevation.
Our first destination was Taylor Meadows, a 4.5-mile hike with elevation gain of 3,445 feet. Again, the trail began as dirt and within two miles turned to deep, slushy snow. Stepping off the hard-packed trail meant falling thigh-deep into snow, especially considering Rich and I each hauled 50-plus pound backpacks that held our skis and plastic boots.
Taylor Meadows was still weeks away from melting out and turning into a green meadow. There were two outhouses, and of course both were fully stocked with TP.
After shoveling off our wooden campsite platforms and setting up our tents, we poked over to some nearby snowfields and played tag. From here we had a clear view of an incredible rock feature known as The Black Tusk, which is the remnant of hardened lava that once flowed from this volcano a million years ago.
“It looks so close,” I leadingly said to Rich.
“The snow up there looks fun to ski down,” Rich said. “An early morning start might get us up and down quickly.”
“I was thinking the same thing,” I said.
There was one hiccup. Rich had brought skis for both of us, but only one pair of skins for moving uphill.
“We could each wear one skin?” I suggested jokingly.
“That might actually work,” Rich said. The snow was so soft and sticky that it naturally gripped the bottoms of our skis.
My alarm sounded at 4 a.m. the next morning. Within 30 minutes, Rich and I were in our ski boots and half-skinning (because we each had only one ski skin) through the snowfields toward The Black Tusk.
As the grade steepened we tossed the skis into our packs and booted up the mountain. We gained elevation fast, soon being able to glimpse the glacier-fed waters of Garibaldi Lake several thousand feet below us.
At the top of the snowfields we ditched our packs and booted the last half-mile up snow and steep rockfields to The Black Tusk.
It was 2.5 hours from Taylor Meadows to the steep walls of the Tusk. We didn’t have enough time (or information about the route) to make the final scramble up a steep chimney to the summit (especially while wearing clunky ski boots).
“Gotta leave something to do next time,” Rich said.
We skied back down in about 15 minutes to meet up with the others at 7:30 a.m.
Panorama Ridge
After that early morning side trip to The Black Tusk (about 6 miles round trip with 2000 feet elevation gain), we met up with Jenna, Kathleen, and Iverson in Taylor Meadows to together snowshoe/skin/hike up to Panorama Ridge (which would be another 10 miles round trip with 1600 feet elevation gain).
The temp was quickly rising, the snow reflecting the sun’s glare and causing us all to sweat and shed layers.
The pitch was steep but there was little to no risk of avalanches, as no new snow had fallen in weeks and the remaining snow was settled and packed.
About 500 feet below the top of Panorama Ridge was a sub-peak with stunning views. Rich said he was stopping there, and everyone agreed that they’d had enough uphill for the day and were ready to eat lunch before returning to Taylor Meadows and then the vehicles, which were about 10 miles from where we stood.
“I’m going to the tippy top,” I said.
“The views are the same here as from up there,” Rich said.
“But that’s the top,” I said. “I want to see it for myself.”
“What would it take to convince you not to go up there?” he asked.
“One hundred dollars,” I said. “You’d have to pay me to not go, because otherwise I feel like I’m personally losing something by not going.”
In a nutshell, that’s my life philosophy (or one of them). I might never get a second chance at something, so I have to go for it now. As Robin Williams whispers in Dead Poets Society, “Carpe diem.”
I slogged another 20 minutes through steep snow and up a final rocky section to the true summit of Panorama Ridge, which indeed had one the most panoramic views in all of Garibaldi Provincial Park. On one side of me the sky blue waters of Garibaldi Lake reflected the snowy peak of Mount Garibaldi. On the other side of me, the jet-black Black Tusk jutted dramatically into the sky.
I skied down in about 60 seconds to join up with the others.
