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Bella Coola Symphony 2/8The next year found a California group approaching from the west once again, but this time up the Taleomey River. Jim Wilson, Dick Houston, Al Steck and Floyd Burnette found the going to be very similar to that encountered on the Noeick River. The established a base camp between Satan Mountain and the Mongol Peaks. Satan, rising directly above the camp, provided an easy scramble up its gentle northwest ridge. The group had neglected to bring a map and Satan Mountain thus ended up being called Hornet Mountain in at least one mountaineering journal. Ogre Mountain, one of the highest in the area, had looked quite impressive from Snowside two years before. The south glacier provided fairly easy going to the bergschrund, but the snow above the schrund proved to be quite steep. It led to the west ridge just a short distance below the summit. While Dudra had described the first ascent of "Mount Jacobsen" by his group, it had been apparent to us that the west peak, which they climbed, was decidedly lower than the east peak. The higher peak of Jacobsen, a fine mountain to begin with, was thus even more alluring. The group attained the notch between the two peaks via the easy south glacier. From there, they went straight up the rock of the west face to the summit. This was an excellent route, direct and esthetically pleasing. Although the angle was fairly steep, the rock was good and skilful route finding enabled them to make the ascent without roping up. One day remained before they had to start the long walk out, and a very attractive peak some miles down the icefield beckoned. Jim and Al started early, and some hours later they were close in under the bergschrund on the east face of Geryon Mountain. Looking up at the heavily fluted snow above them, Al likened the slope to those found in the Peruvian Andes. They decided against attempting to gain the south col via this slope, and instead traversed back to the north. Crossing the bergschrund near its northern end, they climbed a slope of mixed rock and snow to gain the crest of the northeast ridge. The ridge was followed to the summit, with some respectable climbing being encountered near the top. The hour was late by this time, and the pair departed from the summit in such haste that they did not bother to leave any evidence of their visitation. During the walk out via the Nusatsum River, much of it along grizzly trails, the party encountered scattered bones in the midst of a sheltered thicket. The discovery of the skull confirmed that a grizzly had died there. Precautions were redoubled, lest further fatalities be recorded in the valley of the Nusatsum. The following year Canadian Dick Culbert took an interest in the area. Walking alone up the grizzly-infested Atnarko River, he followed Ralph Edwards' trail past Lonesome Lake and up the valley toward the divide just north of Knot Lake. He climbed the highest point two miles north of Pandemonium Creek, or West Creek, as it is also known. This peak is eight miles east-northeast of Mount Ratcliff. Overland routes had now been explored, and found to be quite time consuming. The founding of Wilderness Airlines by Dick Poet, based only fifty miles away at Nimpo Lake, enabled us to devote much more of our time and energies to actual climbing. From 1961 through 1964 Dick provided us with excellent service. His untimely death last October, following a crash in Tweedsmuir Park, casts a shadow of uncertainty over the future of the Symphony Lake area.
1961This year found three veterans returning once again to the land they had come to love. Jim Wilson, Dick Houston and I headed west from Williams Lake, knowing not what route we would choose, but with memories of shining mountains leading us on. As we passed Nimpo Lake, we spotted a neatly painted sign with the words "Wilderness Airlines-Charter Service Available." Such was our introduction to Richard Poet, crop duster and bush pilot. The next morning, a flight of less than half an hour put us on the shores of Symphony Lake, unvisited by mountaineers since Dudra's initial flight in 1953.Five years before, from Snowside Mountain, the three of us had seen Cerberus Mountain, and the memory had been with us ever since. Jim and Dick had been even closer in 1958, but had not had sufficient time to make thee pilgrimage to the far end of the icefield where Cerberus lay. So we found ourselves leaving the shores of Symphony Lake, wandering across the meadows and down through the woods below the outlet. Passing along an open stream, we waded through masses of wild flowers. Soon we were climbing up onto a low overgrown moraine into a beckoning world of rolling moraines, sparkling streams, scrub willow, Indian paintbrush, fireweed, and myriad of other flowers. We topped a rise, and before us a deer was bounding across the moraines. Sunlight shimmered from the wind-rippled surface of "Deer Lake." A white cascade, tumbling down over warm brown slabs from a glittering icefall above, leapt free in a final plunge into the turquoise waters of the lake. We pressed on, ever more entranced with the beauty of this land. Moraines gave way to slabs; we walked through alluvial valleys strewn with flowers, and passed beside ponds and lakelets of varying hue. We mounted still another moraine, and below us were spread acres and acres of brilliant green meadow, with an occasional scattering of alpine fir. On the far side of the meadow was a narrow strip of grey moraine, and beyond that lay a vast river of bare ice, glistening in the sun. This was the Jacobsen Glacier, a mile in width, its snout eight miles down the valley from its origin at the edge of the huge central icefield. Our route took us across heather benches, and out onto a final overlook above the ice. As we gazed out over the expanse of icefield, a chain of three peaks some miles to the south caught our attention. This was the trio of Geryon, Tzintli, and Chillicootin. We spent the night on the icefield at the head of Jacobsen Glacier, and the next day traveled south toward a low glacial divide immediately east of Chillicootin, or Chili, as we were to know it. Looking up the glacier toward the Geryon-Tzintli-Chili group, we expected to be passing below the peaks within an hour or two. We trudged patiently up the glacier, but it was only after some hours had elapsed that we could detect any decrease in the remaining distance between us and Geryon, the first of the three peaks. We plodded onward, and eventually came abreast of Geryon. By now it was midday, and we were beginning to appreciate the immensity of the icefield system we were crossing. Slowly Tzintli passed by, and we grew closer to Chili. At last, late in the afternoon, we slogged up a final slope and crossed the saddle below the peak.
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