That Sounds Pleasant

I received an invitation to go on an overnight hike north of Pemberton. The hike is called Cerise Creek and it’s a two-hour trek. There’s a log cabin at the top so there’s no need to pack a tent. That sounds pleasant. I’ve been wanting to go camping. If I had only known what I was getting myself into. It’s a good thing I didn’t know!

I rented some snowshoes and a few other goodies and the next morning we were off. Marek told me that his friend Andrzej was ill so he could not join us. Andrzej has been on the hike before. For directions we had a piece of paper with some obscure directions. Marek is one of the photographers from where I work. He just had his sixtieth birthday party or was it his sixth? He is more like a teenager. With his spiky white hair and his warm demeanor he could easily pass as the bass player from the Scorpions.



Probably because we were talking, we missed the Highway 99 turnoff near Pemberton. After regaining our bearings and heading in the right direction we decided to pull over by a creek for a quick bite to eat. I lost my snappy sunglasses in the rushing river. Was this an omen? A sign of things to come? Luckily after about five minutes of scanning my eagle eyes caught them.





We finally began our hike after 2pm. We suited up with our large packs and descended into the ravine. We easily crossed the river bridge and began our ascent in the slushy snow. It was quite steep. I was already huffing and puffing while Marek was comfortably blazing ahead as if he was on a stroll along the seawall. This was my first, “why am I doing this moment?” one of several to follow. The trail was not clearly marked but Marek was following the faint day-old trails left in the snow or possibly he was doing this by radar or sense of smell. I hoped that he knew where he was going because I sure didn’t.



The initial ascent opened up into a meadow-like logging road. Now this is more like it. We followed this for a while and the trail led back into trees. The trail was even fainter but the snow was hard and crunchy so it was easier to climb. We took turns trying to decipher the cryptic hiking directions but they didn’t make much sense so we just followed the faint footprints. For some reason this reminded me of a movie that I saw when I was a kid. A group of explorers are using a map and are following someone else’s tracks in the search for gold and glory. The footprints in the sand lead to an empty treasure chest and a couple of unlucky skeletons covered in cobwebs.

The wooded area gradually became more wide open and steeper. We stopped for a short lunch and sat on our packs and added a layer of clothing. We’ve got to be close now I figured incorrectly. There was no strong sign of a trail so we followed the creek upwards being careful not to get too close to the edge as the spring snow we were walking on could give way at any time. The sunny weather was perfect and the temperature was cool and refreshing. I was feeling pretty good but the pack was starting to feel heavier, my legs were getting a bit stiffer but I managed to forge ahead at my own pace. We saw something in the distance. It was a large flat object with lots of snow on it. Is that the hut? We get closer. No. It’s just a large boulder. Rats.

We continued upwards and the tree line was beginning to end. It opened up into a large white plateau which curled slightly to our right. There were no trail markers. We were hiking for two hours without complaint. We hiked up a bit farther. We reached a crossroads. “Which way should we go Dean?” asks Marek. Good gravy, how should I know? “Well. If we go to the left it is not as steep, we could follow the stream and the cabin could be there. Or, we go to the right.”

It can’t be to the right. Look how steep that is! Look at the tracks going up there. The person who went up there must be crazy. I can’t think straight. I’m tired.

Marek comments, “most of the tracks lead to the right.” He’s right. Damn. It’s like looking up a ski run without being able to see the top. Marek has just broken his Korean made snowshoes so he’s decided to go on without them. The deep snow has been in the sun all day so with each step he makes he sinks down a foot. For me it’s another why am I doing this moment but I don’t complain as I signed up for this, plus complaining will just sap my energy like being around a bitter office worker or a member of Metallica.



We began the steep part of the ascent. After huffing and puffing for a while I looked up and felt dejected. It doesn’t even look like we’ve moved anywhere. Now I’m getting scared. We don’t even know if we are heading in the right direction or not. It’s getting late in the afternoon. I know that I don’t have that much energy left. I know that there is nobody who can help us. We are on our own. I decide not to look up and just keep forging ahead. After a dreamy and foggy eternity I take a chance and look up again. I can see the top now, I’ve made it at least half way. This perks me up a little bit and I long for a Scotch at the top. I brought along my flask that I bought in Scotland from the McCallan distillery that I toured with my Dad. I had filled it with some fine twelve-year old Highland Park whisky, one of my all time favourites, but all of this snow around me had me thinking other things. Maybe I should of brought some Tequila with me and used some snow to make me a nice lime Margarita? I have been taking mini breaks along the way up but I still cannot catch my breath as we are at almost nine thousand feet. My vision is basic. I’m not picking up on the finer details. I guess I could make my sleeping bag into some sort of tent? Are Marek and I going to have to cuddle up at night in order to keep warm? Keep moving. At my darkest moment, I call up to Marek, “Hey Marek. Can you take a picture of me?” He turns around and says that he has packed his camera away. Not a good omen. I keep moving on. Marek has reached the top of the hill and disappears. I soon reach it too only to discover another hill. Will it ever end? Hiking is fun.

I enjoy the flat hilltop that only lasts a few feet and then begins to ascend a small hill. I’m out of water too but Marek said not to worry as we can always melt snow. I’m trying to decide on how much further up I can go based on my energy level which was fastly approaching zero. Marek has reached the top of the hill and shouts, “We’re home.”

It didn’t quite register. I get to the top of the hill and then see the tip of the A-frame cabin in the distance. As we approach the log hut if feels better then arriving at any Park Hyatt. I’m glad that there was no Starbuck’s sign on it either. In a few years it will be a Pizza Hut instead of Keith’s Hut. Let’s hope not.











Luckily for us Keith’s Hut is empty. It can be quite busy in the summer months and we happily decompress inside. There is a wood stove, a long table with chairs, a basic kitchen area and a sparse sleeping area up the wooden ladder. Home. I heated up a can of Campbell’s Chunky Beef Soup® and the warm vapors caressing my face was as fine as any Asian massage.



Marek heated up baggies of curious Polish leftovers and we ate with silent gratitude. Through the window we could see the tops of Mount Joffre, Mount Matier and Vantage Peak. “Hey Marek. There’s people skiing down!” We take a break from our simple meals and head outside. A skier and snowboarder glide down easily. Those guys are nuts! They must have hiked up all day to get there. The peaks create a bowl, if you hit the wrong spot you’ll funnel down in an avalanche. If you going to go for it, you can’t stop and you can’t fall or it’s game over.



After dinner we traded whisky and travel war stories in front of the fire and spoke of our Polish ancestry. The sun took forever to go down and the crystal clear sky gradually turned from a deep azure to an inky black filled with stars. Bedtime for Bonzo.







We crawled into our sleeping bags and bundled up for the night only to be interrupted by the pitter patter of little feet. Mice! We had left all of our food out on the counter. Marek went down, collected it all and hung the food bags from a hook. They didn’t touch my food but managed to have a few nibbles of Marek’s. “Must be Polish mice” I remarked. It was surprisingly hard to fall asleep. I had about three Ginseng teas so maybe that was the ticket.

The next day after breakfast we left our humble abode. I was quite pleased that the whole trek would be downhill. Marek went off on his own, straight up, to get a better view of the peak. That sounded like work to me. I sat in the sun and watched him climb.





Part of me wanted to go but I had pushed myself so hard yesterday that I didn’t want to risk it. The hike down should be easy but you never know. As it turns out I was right.





The hike down was fun and manageable until the last part. The trail was not well marked and we reached a point were the snow was patchy. We knew we were heading in the right direction and the highway was not very far off but just when I thought the worst was over with we began the most brutal part of the journey. We started bushwhacking our own trail. The snow at this altitude was very soft and we kept sinking through it and layers of twisted branches. Branches kept grabbing at my pack and throwing off my balance and you cannot step backwards with snowshoes on or you’ll trip. Exhausted like actors in a war movie boot camp we reached the riverbank. We could not find a bridge. Marek decided to borrow my ski poles and cross. Damn that looks cold! The water was in the middle of his thighs and the current was quite strong. I took a picture of him and then began to cross carefully.



The water was cold but not as bad as I thought it would be. It thought my legs would go numb and that I would not be able to continue. I did not want to fall as I had my camera in my pack and it would be difficult to get up, not to mention the joys of hypothermia. Reaching the other side felt like a grand victory but my troubles were not over yet. There was not pathway. I had to crawl along on my belly on top of the snow covered tree trunks in order to make progress. Soon I could progress on my hands and knees. I could not walk as there was no solid footing. I crawled over one last fallen tree and now I could walk properly. My boots were sloshing with their soggy contents, the cool water was pleasing actually. We easily reached the highway but could not find the car. Which way do we go now? We went to the left and around the bend our luck changed. Marek’s vehicle! Our adventure had come to an end. It was a great feeling of accomplishment and we were quite pleased with ourselves. We took a few photos and changed in the gravel road-side pull-off and made our way home.




Marek described the hike as being harder than usual and he has hiked in the Himalayas and narrowly escaped grizzly bear territory in Alaska. When I read a description of our hike on a hiking website it made me quite angry and made me wish that I could purchase firearms.

Cerise Creek is a relatively short hike through pristine forest … Elevation gain is only 305m. The trail takes you to the beautiful Keith Flavelle Hut, a memorial cabin near the headwaters of Cerise Creek. "Keith's Hut" … adds a welcoming rest spot, especially in colder weather.

Does this mountaineering Nazi write condo ads? He makes it sound like you’re about to walk around Stanley Park. Maybe he scales K-2 while sleepwalking but most mortals would find our hike very demanding. On the drive home I learned that Marek knows how to build snow caves so he was not worried about finding the cabin. I wish I had known that on the way up!

My apartment elevator is not working. I live on the top floor. I had to hike up six floors (seven actually) to reach my cozy home. I tried to get Kurt to try on the pack. He could barely lift it but thought it wasn’t too bad once he got it on.

I ravenously ate my home-cooked pasta meal and reflected on the joys of running water, a comfortable bed, a warm home, and a fridge full of food.

I had only been away only one night.


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(photos by Dean and Marek)