Friday was our last full day in the backcountry and we woke to the sunshine slanting through the trees. Yes! We'd been hoping that the weather would dry out so that we could attempt the Black Tusk.
We discussed the route over breakfast with a local family - the dad had climbed the tusk years ago and recommend it. You don't need ropes - the climb is actually rated as a grade 3 scramble, although it's scary in places. He said it's doable and we should give it a go, so off we went.
By the time we were leaving camp, it was almost 11am, so we stopped just outside camp to have some cheese and biscuits and look at the tusk that stood so defiantly on the top of the mountain. It was a beautiful day and the forest had dried out already. We set off in the sunshine along a boardwalk then a trail through the alpine meadows of heather and wildflowers interspersed with clumps of forest. The flowers were amazing displays of colour and shape, my favourite being the spiky-looking red and orange Indian Paintbrush.
Halfway to the tusk, we met up with Tod on the trail and chatted our way up past the tree line, along a flat section of rock and scree then up a steep slope that led to the base of the tusk. The sun was occasionally dimmed by clouds and we felt the wind rushing past us whenever we weren't sheltered by the mountain. We made it to a ridge just below the tusk where we had a view of the landscape on the other side of the mountain and a closeup view of the formidable looking tusk itself. The tusk occupied the entire view to our left - a huge vertical face of shattered black rock with some lesser faces below, the whole thing looking structurally fragile, on the brink of turning to dust. We heard a small rockfall and saw some scree sliding into the dark cavern between us and it. Ahead of us was a vast barren area of snow-dotted rock and scree and to the right a continuation of the ridge with a mini glacier nestled into its north-facing hollow. The tusk was all that was left of a once humongous volcanic peak, the rest eroded away. Someone had walked along the ridge with his guitar on his back whilst we were there and started playing, the music coming to us on the breeze.
Beyond the volcanic scene, a perfect picture of the natural world at work. Glaciated peaks in every direction - huge ice fields spilling off the tops of the mountains and melting as they descend down the slopes, turning into rivers and lakes. To the south, the huge Garibaldi Lake, fed by many of the glaciers, still a perfect blue even from a distance. Forests as far as the eye can see with alpine meadows filling the gaps between trees. And clouds forming over the peaks; the water returning to the sky, to return to the earth.
We sat and had lunch, contemplating the climb. Tod didn't want to go any further, so we parted ways after lunch and Dave and I walked towards the imposing tusk. The path went up to it then around to the left and we looked up at it from below, hoping it wouldn't drop any rocks on us. We were nervous and excited, feeling like we were on a proper adventure. Tod was below us, walking towards to guitarist whose music still reached us. Around the side, the black tusk sloped away from us rather than overhanging our heads and looked only 20 meters high, the summit being suddenly out of view. We found the chimney that is the base of the scramble and set about deciding whether to go up.
The first section of the chimney is the hardest part, the crux. If we can do the first six meters of the climb, we can make it to the top. It looked scary - the black rock cracked open by the weather, turned into chunks of rock held together by a powdery deposit that seemed to be solid until it was disturbed and turned to dust. Test each hand and foot placement before you commit to it. Take your time. We were stood at the top of a scree slope at the base of the tusk and it was the exposure that made the route tricky - the thought that if you fell, you might be sliding a long way. I could see Tod and the guitarist on the ridge and heard singing and playing in harmony. Way below, a few people were having lunch but otherwise there was nobody to be seen.
I tested the first few moves to a small ledge, then came back down. Slowly, slowly. I felt sure we could do it but my heart was pounding with fear and excitement. Dave went up to the second ledge then came back down without any trouble.
Okay, let's do it.
I went first, up to the first ledge, up to the second ledge. Concentrate on hand and foot placements, try not to think about the space between yourself and the unstable ground below. I was nervous but I enjoyed it. It was an easy route with a bit of fear factor but nothing I couldn't talk myself out of - exactly the kind of scramble I'd been looking for.
Up on the second ledge, Dave came up to join me. Then I carried on up to the next ledge that was at the base of a scree slope in a narrow gulley, which continued off the side down a vertical drop to my right. Each time I waited for Dave to climb, I was frozen to the spot so as not to kick any loose rocks onto him. Once he was up, I walked tentatively up the gulley and out onto a tiny col where my gulley went off into the abyss in front of me and I was between two rock faces, the one on the right being the main tusk. I climbed up the little rock on my left for a view of the world we'd left behind as the mist filled the abyss next to the tusk.
We looked at the next section with trepidation, not because it looked difficult but because it went further up onto the scary formation that we didn't trust to hold us. The mist was enclosing the tusk and apart from a narrow view of the forest and lake paradise to the south, all we could see was black rock and grey cloud. But once we climbed out of the gulley onto the route to the summit, we felt like we were on relatively solid ground. The route was a well worn walk from there to the summit over loose rocks but not on a steep gradient.
As we hiked to the top, the cloud around us cleared to give us a view of the world we'd seen from below but with extra mountain tops in view. It was a fairly incredible sight, the world from 2500m. Clouds hung over the mountains and in the valleys. A hawk circled the tusk. The views came and went behind clouds that were blown along by the same wind we could feel on our faces. We stayed up there until an ominous dark cloud came our way - we'd hate to have to descend in the rain!
We hiked down to the gulley, scrambled down to the chimney and I tentatively climbed back down to the start of the scramble. Dave followed on and we celebrated our successful ascent. Woohoo! I'm so glad we went for it.
On the way back, we took a detour along the ridge to say hello to the travelling guitarist. We chatted to Ryan for ages about London, New Zealand, Canada and the incredible landscapes of the world. The clouds were all but gone and we had a fabulous view of the area from the ridge. Then evening was upon us and we hiked down together, scree-surfing off the slopes below the tusk and bounding back down the trail through the meadows and forests before parting ways to go to different campsites.
What a day! We finished it off with a refreshing dip in a little plunge pool under a six foot waterfall before dinner and bed in our nicely dried out tent. Then... was that thunder? We'd better close the vents and door just in case.
The rumbles got louder and louder until there were such loud claps of thunder that it seemed like the sky would crack open. The rain hammered on the tent and the lightning lit us up in bright white flashes. The rain collected on the ground and gushed in torrential little rivers that sprung up all over - we could hear them rushing under the tent pad. Then suddenly all was calm for a few seconds - the eye of the storm - before the wind and rain returned with a crack of thunder and we were being pummeled once again.
In the morning, a fog hung quietly over the rain-drenched world and we packed up and headed back down.
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