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Bella Coola Symphony 3/8Below us was a broad, flat-bottomed glacial basin, with ice sliding into it on three sides. On the south side, it dropped away to become the Sumquolt Glacier. through the gap across the basin was framed a vista of snowy peaks, range after range fading away into the distance. These were the ridges between the Sheemahant and Machmell Rivers, reaching out to Pashleth Creek and Beyond. Unvisited by man, these mountains seemed serene and secure in their splendid isolation. On the right, forming one bastion of the gap through which the glacial basin poured, was a very attractive peak. Small and previously unseen, it was of beautiful form, with dark rock, fluted snow slopes, and graceful curves of sun and shadow sweeping upward on snowy aretes. As we descended into the basin, Cerberus came quickly into view. High and massive, its only apparent route lay up the center of an icefall which dropped steeply from the summit directly to the base of the mountain, perhaps two to three thousand feet in all. The route was not inviting, and we resolved to reconnoitre the mountain before attempting it. Looking out from our campsite on the floor of the basin that evening, a feeling of great isolation from the world of man came over us. To the north, the Bella Coola Valley was six arduous days away, while unknown wilderness lay in every other direction. We had crossed from the Bella Coola watershed into another, and "something lost behind the ranges" had been found. But still further ranges lay beyond, and wilderness experiences were "lost and waiting' for us in worlds yet unknown. The next day we traversed around the south side of Cerberus, looking for a route. As we approached the southwest ridge, it appeared to be a moderated rock climb, so we started up. Unexpectedly, we had to rope up at the very foot of the ridge, but the difficulty quickly eased off, and we clambered quickly upward over easy rock. About half way up, the ridge leveled off, then rose again in an ever-steepening curve. As we neared the crux of this, no solution was apparent. But small holds led up a slab and around a corner to the right into a chimney, which in turn led to easier ground above. Leaving the ridge, we traversed out and up on the west face, coming out on the summit snow cap about a hundred yards north of the summit. And thus, after a wait of five years, Cerberus was realized. A beautiful mountain, the highest for many miles around, it had fallen with unexpected ease. The following day was declared a rest day, so we simply went walking, and ended up on top of Chili Tower. From our camp in the basin below, this was a very striking pillar of rock, with a vertical face many hundreds of feet high. From the backside, though, it was merely a walk up a smooth snow slope, with a little scrambling through some boulders at the top. The summit of Chili Peak itself was quite near, but seemed to involve rope work on a steep rock ridge. Since some members of the party seemed to feel that rock climbing was against the rules on rest days, we contented ourselves with the views of the Tower. From Cerberus, we had been intrigued with the views of Sciron Mountain. As we later drew near, Sciron assumed an ever more formidable appearance. We sat on some rocks studying the problem at close hand, and ended up returning back across the glacier to try Basin Peak instead. This was the fine little peak which had attracted us as we entered the basin. Lying immediately southeast of Cerberus, it splits the Sumquolt Glacier at its source. Heading for the base of the Southwest face of Basin, we displayed some uncertainty in getting off the snow and onto the rock. The first pitch was quite respectable, involving, chimney technique. Traversing up and to the left, we found easy going. The only problem was route finding, and we eventually landed on the summit. On the descent, and easier route was found which bypassed the initial awkward pitch. Other summits remained untrodden, but leaving projects for future years, we returned to Symphony Lake. Talchako Mountain, too, had been seen and admired from Snowside five years before, and we set out for it through the lake-studded meadowland and sandy moraines east of Symphony Lake. A camp was placed on a prominent meadow bench on the southwest flank of Talchako Mountain. The meadow was several hundred yards across, and extended for probably well over a mile. The next day we were off early, plowing through the dew-laden willow of the upper meadow. Taking care to avoid the temptation to gain elevation, we traversed along the south flank of the mountain, eventually coming to a bluff overlooking a rocky basin with a small glacier at its head. Leaving the heather behind, we entered the world of rock, crossing the basin and traversing to the base of a huge terminal moraine. Ascending to its crest, we traversed still further east, and approached the foot of a prominent snow-filled couloir, which slashes down the whole southern face Talchako. The remainder of the ascent took us several thousand feet up easy rock on the East Side of the couloir, to a point directly below the three summits. We guessed wrong, and ended up on the lower east summit first. Dropping back down and across to the central summit, we felt that the west summit might be higher yet, and so clambered on across to it. Reaching the western peak, we were stopped by a startling discovery. First speechless, then babbling with speculation, we swooped upon the object of our concern. We were not the first to stand upon Talchako's summit. Overlooking the sheer northern precipice, banked up against a sloping rock, was a small semicircular enclosure formed of rocks fitted together. It was low, and partially tumbled in, but the hand of man was unmistakable. Had the structure been long enough to lie down in, the logical conclusion would have been that it was a shelter erected by some previous mountaineer who had been benighted upon the summit. But the enclosure was only about four feet across, too small to occupy except by sitting up exposed to the wind. Certainly many a mountaineer has spent the night in this position, but not when ample level space is available, as on the summit of Talchako. For lack of better explanation, we concluded that the structure had served as a pulpit, in which ancient Indian priests stood as they hurled sacrificial maidens over the imposing precipice. We did not reach our meadow camp until late that night, having been gone sixteen hours. Returning to our base camp on the southeast shore of Symphony Lake, we commenced the long walk out to the Bella Coola Valley. By the time we reached Bella Coola six days later, we were unanimously agreed that the Nusatsum was more difficult than we had remembered.
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