On a day off in Revelstoke, Canada, James Vincent has no option but to climb a mountain, just to come back down again.
Words & Photography James Vincent
British Columbia. Those two words resonate with mountain bikers across the globe and conjure up images of legendary mountain biking films and epic photoshoots. From the deep, dank forests and wooden skinnies of Vancouver’s North Shore, to the sculpted jumps and berms of Whistler’s world-renowned bike park, western Canada has got it in spades (whatever ‘it’ might be). Sure, sunny California might shout loudest about its claim to be the birthplace of mountain biking, but it’s the wetter, gnarlier environs of western and central Canada that are arguably closer to the hearts of UK riders. Before boarding the last leg of my flight over here, the departure board is filled with such evocative destinations as Kamloops and Whistler, and at once I realise this is it! I’ve been reading about these riding spots for most of my adult life and finally I’m here. This is my ground zero.
But I’m not sticking around near the coast – I’ve never been one for getting my wheels off the ground, tending to do so by accident or necessity rather than by design, so for all its glitz and glamour, Whistler doesn’t really appeal. And yes, I’m fully aware that there’s other riding to be had on the coast, but I’m heading further inland to the small town of Revelstoke in the heart of the Monashee Mountains, some 510km east of Whistler. It’s remote – my transatlantic flight landed in Vancouver, was followed by a short transfer flight to Kelowna, and yet I’m still a solid 2.5 hour drive away from Revy (sorry, the local dialect rolls off the tongue far too easily). Come wintertime, being Revelstuck is a legitimate thing, and depending on road conditions, local advice is to allow days to get to the airport, otherwise you run the very real risk of missing your flight home. Not that you’d be in any rush to leave; I’m staying with Rach, an old family friend who came out here from New Zealand for a winter season a few years back with her partner Nath, and has since bought a plot of land and built a most impressive house surrounded by mountain views from all aspects. To say she is in no hurry to return to sleepy Ashford in Kent would be a chronic understatement.
Due to its isolation, Revy will never see the huge visitor numbers of Whistler, but that’s all part of the appeal. An old logging town on the Trans-Canada Highway, Revelstoke is famed for its champagne powder and world-class backcountry heli-skiing in winter. But winter can only last so long, and folks like Matt Yaki (who runs guiding company Wandering Wheels) need something to do during the summer months when the snow is long gone. Fortunately, logging trucks need roads into the woods which give plenty of access to mountain bikers – and with a quick switch out of a ski rack – helicopters are being called into service to ferry riders to the nearby peaks as well.
Off-piste.
However, we did the heli-biking thing last week, so today is all about having an adventure under our own steam. It’s well known among my regular riding buddies that I have a certain twisted penchant for hikeabike. That age-old tradition of seeking out those hard to reach trails, where either the gradient is too steep, the path too narrow, or the terrain simply too loose to pedal up. The ones that demand you shoulder your bike and walk, often for hours at a time. And so it is that our target for the day was the towering 2,380m peak of Joss Mountain, set on the northern fringes of the Sawtooth Range in the heart of the Monashee Mountains, British Columbia.
In the grand scheme of things that’s nothing to write home about – heck, there are mountains climbing well above 3,000m just within the Monashee range, let alone the rest of Canada – but seeing as the highest peak I’ve got easy access to in the UK is Helvellyn at a puny 950m, I’m going to write home about it, dammit.
Loose and looser.
It’s a ramshackle and animated crew that gathers outside La Baguette in downtown Revelstoke, on the Monday morning of the August Long Weekend. What had started out as a low-key event with Matt and a couple of his riding friends, is no longer. Word has spread, and as seems to be the way in all good bike towns, once one person hears about a good thing going down, there’s no stopping the party. It doesn’t help that Matt’s on the board of the Revelstoke Cycling Association, and Revy has a very tight-knit community – wildfires have been known to spread slower than news of this ride. Add to the equation a bank holiday weekend and the lure of an epic ride on a barely ridden trail, and my attempts to keep this small, carefully organised ride-with-photos (it’s not really a photoshoot) under any semblance of control are gone in a puff of smoke – by the time we’re ready to depart, we’ve managed to fill two Canadian-sized pickup trucks for the short journey out of town to the trailhead.
Things get even looser when just after leaving the highway for the dirt track climb to the trailhead, someone enthusiastically suggests it must be time for ‘a smoke’. Seriously? I know it’s legal over here, but it’s barely 10am and we’ve got a mountain to climb. I decline at this early stage in the proceedings, in the vain hope that it’ll slow the others down to my pace while I struggle with my weighty camera pack, and safe in the knowledge that there’ll be plenty more opportunities to join them once we’ve hit the summit.
Signposted.
Forty-five minutes later we pull into the trailhead car park. Actually, on second thoughts, scratch that – the ‘car park’ is little more than a turning circle where the logging track gets too narrow to continue. But it’s no real surprise – the track on Joss Mountain is no regularly maintained bike trail. It’s open to mountain bikers, but the track itself is just a hiking trail heading off into the wilderness, with a single signpost at the bottom pointing the way into a darkened forest jungle. We can clearly see the summit way off in the distance, looming large as we unload the bikes, and I rue my decision to not bring a jacket. In all fairness there wasn’t much of a decision on my part – I just completely forgot, being preoccupied with squeezing camera gear and snacks into my pack. Trailforks describes the route as an “extremely challenging and advanced hike & bike adventure” and suggests that “due regard should be given to communications, first aid and emergency preparedness”. Whoops. Luckily, I didn’t read any of that until I’d got back to the UK, so the sight of everyone packing coolers full of beer, and pockets full of joints didn’t really concern me, but maybe a jacket would have been a good idea.
80% rideable…
Setting off into the jungle, there’s no gentle warm up and we’re climbing straight away. The path is awkward and the going slow, but the faster members of the group are managing to stay on their bikes among the rocks and roots and already breaking away. It’s not surprising – our party is made up of off-duty bike guides, shop staff, and a grizzly dude who in true Canadian fashion “works up at the dam” (no really, he does), but whose name escapes me. I’d love to blame the early morning or my lack of caffeine, but I’m just terrible with names. Sorry Grizzly Dude. Either way, you can sense the excitement for the adventure ahead, and I’m sure Matt is sandbagging by hanging back to keep half an eye on me.
An exasperated cry comes up from somewhere within the group… “Who’s the asshole who said this was 80% rideable?”
It’s the sort of light-hearted moan that most riders (hikers?) will make at some point into a three-hour climb, as they’re contemplating all sorts of poor life choices that have led them to this moment – why am I here and who are these people? Will we ever make it, and is this even going to be worth it? Can I just save myself a whole heap of effort, have a little lie down and wait for the bears to get me?
It’s slightly at odds with the chilled and laid-back demeanour of the ride, but at the same time no one really owns up to making this boldest of claims, and after some futile attempts to defend the statement by the fitter members of the group, heads are lowered and we return to the task in hand of climbing the mountain. One of the local guides, Dave Pearson, has taken it upon himself to do a spot of trail maintenance while we’re here. Leading the charge through the jungle, he cuts an imposing figure, widening the path with his knife as he hikes. The dense, overgrown nature of the lower slopes suggests that this is the most care and attention the trail has seen for a while.
As we leave the confines of the lower slopes, we transition to the wild flower meadows that are so iconic in the high alpine of British Columbia. It’s a brief season when the flowers are in bloom, lasting barely three to four weeks from mid-July to mid-August and we’re treated to a glorious display of bold reds, delicate yellows and bright whites carpeting the slopes. When someone suggests this would be a good place to stop for a bite to eat, there is no argument and everyone settles down to find their own patch of nirvana. Beyond the flowers and the pine trees, the views are opening up too, and other peaks reveal themselves to us through gaps in the foliage. Crickets chirp in the scrub, and even the damn mosquitoes that have plagued me for the rest of my trip have taken a break. Only 80% rideable? Who cares.
Into the alpine.
Sadly, we have a mountain to climb and so we do our best to pry ourselves from our idyllic rest spot. It’s far from easy as our legs are heavy and the air is thick and hot, but we’re far from the summit so we plod on. We welcome the few moments when we get to turn the pedals as a respite from pushing, and take note of a couple of cairns highlighting a trailside jump. One of the benefits of an out and back ride is that nothing comes as a surprise on the way back down, although you’d be doing well to memorise the full 9.5km descent in a single pass. There’s nothing particularly technical about the trail though – just plenty of exposed, rocky, alpine singletrack, very similar to the Lake District in fact, but on a completely different scale and refreshingly dusty in places. Nearing the summit, I catch up with Nath who has taken pity on me and is carrying my beer while I struggle under the load of my camera pack. Nath is an insanely fit and capable bike rider, but like all good Aussies, he has his priorities straight – every moment he can, our beers get buried into a snowdrift and chilled to perfection. There’s a strong selection of craft ales at the summit, including a delicious Blackberry Milkshake IPA, but none are as crisp, cold and refreshing as mine and Nath’s. Cheers!
Time to head for home.
There’s a bit of a split at the start of the descent, with some of the group opting for a distant ridge, while the rest of us fly down a blown-out rocky chute. I’m instantly at home, delighted to be heading downhill, my borrowed Rocky Mountain (how apt) handling the chunder with aplomb. We pause for breath and witness the rest of our party silhouetted against the afternoon sky having a blast cruising along their chosen ridge. There’s no rush while we wait – I take the opportunity to fire off a few photos, the sun is shining and the company is good. I’ve only been riding with these guys for a few hours and it feels like I’ve known them a lifetime.
A few of the riders didn’t get the memo about me needing to document the ride, so there’s a repeat performance of the climb up and the group splinters again. No one really minds though, least of all me – Matt and a few of his buddies are throwing all the shapes I need, until I try to encourage them to hit a naturally formed log jump lower down the trail. Unfortunately the landing is pretty off camber and loose with minimal support – groomed bike park this isn’t. Sensibly we decide that the margin for error is too small, and we’re a long way from help should anything go wrong so we move on.
The jungle spits us out back at the trucks where we began, and more beers are cracked open in the late afternoon heat. I’m not sure what’s giving us the most buzz – is it the beers, the flowing descent, or something else? Whatever it might be, no one is in any great rush to move on and we kick back in shorts and flip-flops, watching the sun trace a lazy arc across the sky. It sure as hell beats hiding in a café nursing a mug of tea or coffee back home. Eventually the call of food becomes too great to ignore, and we cruise back to civilisation with Funky Kingston playing rather appropriately on the radio. We make our way to a bar, the party shifts gears again, and great plates of ribs and pitchers of Clamato Bloody Mary are served. Revelstoke, you have won my heart – I’ll be back.
Disclosure
James’s flights were covered by Giant Bicycles.
Special thanks to: Rach, Nath and Bronson for their hospitality and beer portage, Matt Yaki for guiding, and Sandy from Skookum Cycle & Ski for the bike loan.
Not one use of “Revel-stoked”
You are dead to me.
@clareymorris – that’s literally the title of the article! Jeez