TR: Bonnington Range, Kootenay Mountains
I've been meaning to put this up here for a while, and hopefully it'll bring snow back to the PNW
In the Southern Interior of British Columbia, nestled among a small group of mountains South of the town of Nelson, the Bonnington Range holds a reward for those seeking snow during times of early season drought in the states. Four cabins, built and renovated in cooperation with the B.C. Ministry of Forests and the Kootenay Mountaineering Club, are strung about in high valleys near the dividing ridges of the range. Stocked with the basic amenities of stoves, pots, pans, utensils and lanterns, travel becomes easy as only light winter camping gear is needed to ski from hut to hut. A forty mile and four day ski traverse from cabin to cabin offers stunning scenic views of pristine Canadian wilderness along its entire length. Alpine ski lines followed by endlessly featured glades from valley to valley complete the trip and make the long drive worthwhile.
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The Bonnington Traverse is usually done from West to East, leaving from the Bombi summit parking lot outside of Castlegar, and ending at Porto Rico Creek, North of Salmo. Reservations are required at a rate of $10/person/night and can be made through the Kootenay Mountaineering Club’s website. Each hut is most of a day’s hike and ski away from the next. Wood stoves and a cord of seasoned wood greet you at each hut to warm your soul and dry your gear at days end.
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Our group, left Bellingham for the eight-hour drive to Nelson after finishing finals week of fall quarter. Near the U.S. border, we realized that we had left a recently re-glued skin in a friends workshop and we were set back an hour to grab it. After driving far into the night, cooking dinner on timber hauling equipment, completing the final touches of a skin repair, and a snug bivy in the 4runner, we set out on the traverse. Our plan was to spend one night in the Huckleberry Hut, three nights at Copper Hut, and one night in the Steed Hut before skipping the final, Grassy Hut, on our exit. We would swap keys with our friends as they headed in the other direction on our second night at the Copper Hut.
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After an overstoked wood stove and sauna experience in the cozy Huckleberry Hut, we awoke the second morning to valley fog and made slow progress towards the Copper Hut. By midday the sky cleared and we could see our objective far off along the snaking ridgeline. Cold, clear daytime skies turned to a frigid, shadowy moonscape as the full moon rose and we plodded on.
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Arriving in the Copper Valley, we were greeted by snowghosts and the deceiving, hut shaped shadows they cast. Unable to locate the hut amidst the full moon and whitecapped trees, we were forced to have an unplanned bivy. The following morning we made our way to a vantage point. From high on Copper, Ben spotted a clearing near a large stand of trees and a bulbous mushroom of snow that was the hut’s roof.
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Gear was dried, hot food cooked, and as our friends arrived a sunset lap above the hut ensued. They left before light the next day following our beta on the route that had stymied us in the clouds. In turn, they gave advice for the best runs that we could ski towards the Steed Hut.
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The entire next day we farmed the glades surrounding the hut, finding feature after feature as we set new a skintrack every run. The early season coverage lent itself to plentiful small pillows, and at more than one point during the trip, the remark was made “I think I was in the air more than I was on snow that run”.
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We decided to embark early in the mornings of the near solstice daylight for our following two traverse days. On our third travel day as we bid the Copper Hut farewell the mercury was reading -4… Fahrenheit. Cold temps made for fast travel, quick transitions, and great stable snow. As we approached the Steed Hut, we saw the bygone tracks our friends, partially filled in with snow from the light breeze that morning. A feast of bacon, sausages and bean macaroni soup was made for our last dinner of the trip.
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On our last day we covered the remaining twelve miles of rolling ridgeline and were able to ski to our car. A note on the passenger seat, left by Ben’s roommates, thanked us for letting them use our car, but also told us of a melancholy end to their trip. Their Subaru had been broken into at the trailhead, and cleaned out of anything valuable. They had preemptively cleared out anything of value from our car, which left us with three fuzzy stations playing nothing but Christmas music, as we made the long and weary drive back to Bellingham that night.
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