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Bella Coola Symphony 8/8Descending, we continued down the west face all the way. The face was decidedly easier, but we were glad that we had persevered on the more difficult route. As we walked along the glacier below the ridge, looking up at it, we relived the pitches. In fear and uncertainty, mastering difficulties with skills too seldom used; we had risen to a challenge. If conquests there must be, let them be of ourselves. So long as we savor the game and delight in the path, we shall never tire of the contentment to be found in walking the hills. The next day everyone except Frances and I returned to the Borealis camp with bivouac gear. They hoped to put a new route on Aurora, but rain that night dampened their enthusiasm, and they returned to our heather camp the following day. They then climbed the east face of Second Fiddle, an attractive peak on the ridge which runs northeast from the Poet-Musician rock climbing, and a first ascent. We returned to the lake via Symphony Saddle, and the next morning were flown out by Dick Poet's new partner, Dan Schuetze. The others left for home, but Frances and I drove into the Bella Coola Valley to visit our friends, Frank and Lillian Cook. Waiting there were Dick Culbert and Glenn Woodsworth. They had just returned from a rainy trip north of the valley, on which Dick had climbed the high peak which lies just west of the head of Tseapseahoolz Creek. After several days of rain, Schuetze flew them from Bella Coola to Symphony Lake. During a week of excellent weather, they climbed Mount Fyles, two major peaks of the Iroquois group, and an attractive peak two miles southeast of Snowside. They then packed to the pass above Polar Bear Lake, on the Noeick-Gyllenspetz divide, hoping to reach the head of Nordschow Creek. At this point their week of sunshine came to an end, and severe weather forced them to retreat to Bella Coola via the Nusatsum River. Later in the season, there was further activity north of Bella Coola. Dick and Glenn reached a summit between the two final forks of Jump Across Creek. Also, two members of a Geological Survey party climbed the west ridge of Index Crag, as well as several minor summits in the area. And to the south, Monarch was climbed for the fourth time. Meanwhile, Frances and I took advantage of good weather to make a memorable ascent of Thunder Mountain, north of the valley. Up the Noosgulch we went, starting the long climb toward timberline 4,500 feet above. Going up the forested slope, we kept discovering previously unnoticed species of flowers, including several interesting saprophytes. Devoid of chlorophyll, they lent an exotic touch to the scene, as did a beautiful amorphous fungus of glistening chrome-yellow. After several hours of steady climbing, the slope leveled off somewhat, and we wandered by compass through a featureless tangle of contorted trees. Eventually the slope steepened again, and we reached a long rockslide. Breathing more freely, we left the forest behind and ascended into the world of heather. Within minutes an ideal campsite was encountered, and the tent quickly pitched. The following morning found us approaching the south side of Thunder Mountain. The only time during the entire trip that we had been able to see the mountain had been after dark. Consequently, we had had no opportunity to study the mountain and select a route. Groping blindly in the fog, we now found ourselves among huge talus blocks, and then on a long slope which stretched upward into the murk. Suddenly a vertical cliff materialized in front of us. Seeing what might prove to be a route up the wall, we decided to attempt it, rather than waste time searching in the fog for other routes which might not even exist. As we clambered up a few final yards to the wall, the mists suddenly parted, and we found ourselves in an island of sun surrounded by silvery-white vapors. The wall yielded, providing us with one or two hundred feet of excellent rock climbing. As we rounded a corner at its top, we found the whole mountain dispersed while we had been engrossed in surmounting the cliff below. Crossing a broad talus gully, we clambered over a rib and into a narrow gully which led to the summit plateau. (Later, on the return, we descended this gully all the way to the bottom, where it spreads out into a broad talus fan; from there, it was a simple matter to skirt around the west end of the sheer wall.) Breaking onto the plateau, we found that the highest point lay several hundred yards to the north. But first, we rushed over to the eastern escarpment for the view. Although we had known that this side of Thunder Mountain breaks off in an impressive cliff, we were unprepared for the beauty of the scene before us. The clean brown summit rocks dropped away sheer at first, and then merged into a sparkling white slope of fluted snow, which pitched steeply into the depths. Far below, small glacial tongues ran out from the base of the wall, dissipating themselves in morainal debris. And there our eyes came to rest, and we could only point, speechless. For in the midst of the moraines reposed a small lake of incredible hue. We searched for words, and finally concluded that "dusty Rose" was as close as we could come to describing it. A nearby vein of red rock suggested that the glacier which drains into Dusty Rose Lake grinds over similar rock, and the glacial flour is thus red instead of a more conventional shade. Whatever the reason for its color, we were profoundly impressed by the unique beauty of this lake. So engrossed were we in the view that it was only after some moments that we noticed the actual summit of our mountain. To the north, at the higher end of the summit plateau, we noticed a sheer tower rising from the depths at the edge of the plateau. Separated from the main mountain by an inaccessible cleft, it was many hundred of feet high, much of it overhanging. We gazed at it with sinking hearts, for it seemed quite apparent that it constituted the true summit of our mountain. Reflecting upon the many rewarding experiences of this journey, my wife and I walked across the plateau toward the tower. Only then did we find that it lacked being the true summit by only two or three feet. Walking further north a short distance on the level plateau, we could see that we had topped the pillar ever so slightly. It was a disappointing anticlimax, for we had hoped to return bearing with us the legend of an unclimbable northland mountain. We returned to Bella Coola carrying not a legend, but a burnished white antler, dropped by a young moose on the rolling heather near Thunder Mountain. Lying on our desk at home, it serves as a tangible reminder of the ethereal rewards this country offers. Once again that everlasting whisper is repeated, so: "Something hidden...something lost behind the ranges, we find new valleys of contentment. And seeking something lost, we find it within ourselves.
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