Legends of the Ktunaxa: Lk Koocanusa to Chief Isadore Trail km 30

We woke up to a beautiful sunrise on a cool, dry morning.  The sun came up behind the Lizard Mountains, painting the sky with soft, pale yellows and pinks which were mirrored in the still waters of Lake Koocanusa.  As we packed up and got ready to head out we heard the eerie call of a Common Loon echoing across the lake.  We were also a little surprised to spot a Blue Jay moving through the conifers above our tent, along with a group of American Robins.

We left the campground, crossing the highway to look out across the marina towards the mountains, which appeared as pale purple outlines against the soft yellow sky.  In front of the marina was an interpretive sign, outlining the creation story of the Ktunaxa People.

In the brief version of the legend, before the Ktunaxa People arrived in the valley, there was a disturbance going on, which was caused by a huge sea monster who was killing all the other animals.  The chief animal formed a war party, who chased the monster up and down all the rivers in the land.  Every time they thought they had cornered the monster, it would escape into a new waterway.  Finally, a wise old one named Kikumon suggested that the animals use their strength and size to block the entrance to the waterway, trapping the monster. They did so, and the honour of the kill went to the Red-headed Woodpecker.  The remains of the monster were given to the animals, and when only a few parts remained, they were scattered across the land.  The ribs became the hoodoos that can still be seen in the area. The kidneys became the Black People, the swim-bladder became the White People, and the orange roe was used to create the Yellow People. Wiping his bloody hands on the grass, the Chief Animal, or Creator, looked down and said 'These will be the Red People. They will be small in number, and they will remain here eternally.'  These were the Ktunaxa, who became the protectors of the land.  The chief animal was so excited by his work that he jumped up, cracking his head on the sky and falling down dead.  His body became the Rocky Mountains, his head fell near what is now Yellowstone National Park in Montana, and his feet are in the Yellowhead Pass vicinity.

Our minds filled with images of sea monsters and grand adventures, we continued down the shoulder of the paved highway.  We soon came to another information plaque, this one referring to more modern concerns.  Apparently we are walking through an area that is home to a threatened population of Yahk grizzly bears.  A few years ago the Trans-border Grizzly Bear Project was initiated to assess the status and needs of the population.  They found that the habitat in this area could support more than twice the number of grizzly bears that currently inhabit it.  Human caused mortality, lack of adequate habitat security, and loss of habitat connectivity are among the causes of the bear population's decline.  Part of the management plan in the area is designed to help offset some of these factors and support the grizzly bears living here.

Thankfully our walk along the highway was relatively short, and the Great Trail soon turned down a gravel forestry service road.  For the next few hours we walked down the gravel road through a dense conifer forest.  At several points we passed herds of red and black cows on the road.  It felt strange to hear the moo of cattle in the forest around us, and the smell of sun-warmed pine needles was almost completely overpowered by the scent of cows.

For most of the morning the cattle were our most common companions.  At one point a cyclist stopped to chat before continuing on his way to Cranbrook.  He wished us well, and reported good trail conditions on the way ahead, which did much to lift our spirits. 

Our route alternated between quieter grassy tracks and the main forestry road, which had quite a bit of traffic on it, mostly from hunters.  As we crossed a stream along the main road we came across a camp set up in the trees.  Two RVs, each with several ATVs and a pickup truck were parked among the trees.  The owners seemed to be cutting firewood from the forest behind the camp, and gave us very suspicious and slightly hostile looks as we trekked by.

Eventually we turned down another forestry service road with a large sign suggesting it was 20 km to Wardner.  There was a cluster of signs at the beginning of the road, indicating which CB frequency vehicles should use on the road, and how they should call out the kilometres to alert others to their position on the narrow road.  There were also signs indicating the road was closed after October 1st.  This deadline seems to mark the beginning of winter in the mountain passes, the time when snow tires become mandatory, the date when trap lines become active, and presumably the month when forestry operations start up in earnest.  This deadline is now alarmingly close for us as we move towards the Pacific as fast our legs can carry us.

As we walked around a curve in the road about half a dozen Turkey Vultures suddenly took flight from the trees above us.  The unexpected movement of these large birds was startling, and we looked around quickly to see if there were any fresh carcasses lying about.  With both hunters and grizzlies in these woods, the large group of vultures was slightly unnerving.  Having found nothing sinister, we stopped to admire the Turkey Vultures, who had moved up to the very tops of the conifers at the edge of the road.  They were sitting with their wings extended, soaking up the morning sun.  Several of them were swaying back and forth slightly, the long black feathers on their wings appearing iridescent in the morning light.

We continued on, our progress marked by the yellow kilometre markers along the road.  Around km 24 we began to see signs of logging.  Huge piles of slash and discarded tree trunks were piled high at the sides of the road, towering over the surrounding trees. It looked like an awful lot of wood was going to waste. There was a fork in the road at that point and we failed to make the unmarked turn onto our designated route.  Luckily Sean noticed something wasn't right a few hundred meters later, and we were able to correct the mistake without too much time and effort wasted.

For the next 15 km or so we followed the gravel road alongside the Kootenay River.  We caught periodic glimpses of its improbably blue waters through the conifers as we made our way along the forested road in the warm, sunny morning.  This 781 km long river is one of the uppermost tributaries of the Columbia River, flowing from its headwaters in the Kootenay Mountain Range into northwest Montana, the Idaho Panhandle, and then back into the West Kootenay region of BC near Castlegar, which we should reach in a few weeks if all goes well.

As we trekked along we encountered an ATV being escorted along by a Conservation Officer.  A short distance later we came to the first of three designated campsites along the river.  This was one of the spots we had been debating whether to push on to yesterday, but it was good we didn't try for it.  The site looked more like it had been colonized rather than merely occupied by campers.  There were two RVs, a large trailer for pulling ATVs, three pickup trucks, one of which had its hood open and didn't look road worthy, and a large yurt with a stove inside set up.  The vehicles were parked in such a way that it was clear no one else was going to share the site, even if they could have found an empty square inch.  It looked like several of the campsite rules were being violated, making us wonder if the ATV we'd just seen had originated there.   As we trekked on it became clear that each of the three back country campsites had been equally claimed and colonized by large trucks and mountains of gear.

We had been looking forward to taking a break at one of the campsites, so decided to stop a short while later on the side of the road in the shade.  As we were eating a granola  bar and having some water we spotted a mule deer running across the road at high speed.  Not too long afterwards we saw a second one standing in the trees, watching us quietly.  With so many hunters in the woods we found ourselves rooting for the wildlife, and willing them to stay hidden.

As we continued on down the road we began to climb.  We were huffing and puffing along when the Conservation Officer drove by again, this time stopping to chat and ask what we were doing.  We reassured him we weren't hunting, and the only weapon we were carrying was bear spray.  When we began walking again we spotted large drops and splotches of fresh blood on the road, and realized his truck had been carrying something that was very freshly dead and draining.  Ugh.

Around 1:30 pm we began to notice a bank of very dark clouds gathering above the trees up ahead.  Our view was blocked by the forest surrounding us, so we couldn't assess the extent of the storm.  The Weather Network still insisted there was only a 30% chance of rain, but we could feel in our bones that the art and science of statistical prediction was about to fail us yet again.

After a couple kilometres of steady climbing through forested hills, we finally emerged into a more open ranch landscape.  The property was at the edge of the crown land where we we'd seen all the hunters, and it was very heavily posted with 'No Trespassing', 'Private Property', 'No Hunting' , and ‘Will Prosecute’ signs, making us realize it must be a challenge to live so close to public areas and maintain any level of privacy.

In the next stretch, rolling fields of rich, golden, almost caramel coloured grasses were bordered by dark forested slopes, and dotted with abandoned wooden barns and outbuildings.  Beyond this romantic western scene rose the red slopes of Bull Mountain and the Steeples. 

The historian and romantic in Sean is always drawn to old wooden structures that hint of past stories on the land.  He was so intent on capturing these beautiful buildings against the dramatic sky that he failed to notice the barbed wire fence in front of him was electric, and unfortunately got a nasty shock. 

We had been watching the clouds gather and begin to rain above the mountains, the falling drops lit by the sunshine behind us to create moving white sheets.  A few moments later we were enveloped in a heavy rain that continued on and off for about 40 minutes as we skirted around a beautiful marsh and passed several high end, gated vacation properties hidden by trees.

Finally we reached the edge of Wardner, and saw the town site stretched out before us, the mobile homes and small homesteads clustered together with an almost random feel along the valley bottom.

The town of Wardner was established in 1897, when Jim Wardner sold 144 acres of land to Simon and William Guggenheim.  The two brothers opened a smelter on the land, and divided up the rest into small lots, starting a boom town.  In 1901 Jay A. Humphrey built a saw mill on the town site to process lumber being harvested in the area.  A steamboat was used to transports goods and people in and out of town until 1909, when a bridge was built over the Kootenay River.

The town thrived until the 1930's, growing to include two hotels, several general stores, an ice cream parlour, a barbershop, a drug store, a golf course, three schools, two churches, a post office, and a police station.  In 1931 a fire erupted in the saw mill, which began a downward spiral of depression in the town, with many businesses closing and few people able to find employment.  With the construction of the Libby Dam, the Canadian Pacific Railway rerouted the tracks to go through Fort Steele, and the highway was also moved to be farther away from the river due to the fluctuating water levels in the reservoir.  This pretty much brought an end to Wardner, and when we walked through it today there were no businesses at all.

To our surprise, when we arrived at the Wardner Community Park we found a gazebo, washrooms, a small playground, a water tap, and a sign saying that overnight camping was permitted for a fee of $10, which was to be deposited in a slot outside the Community Hall (no indication of where that was).  This was another stopping point we'd been considering in this stretch, but we didn't know that camping was actually permitted here.  Since entering British Columbia one of our repeated challenges has been not knowing where we can legally camp.  There have been ample opportunities along the way, but we never know about them until we arrive there, which is a bit frustrating.  At the end of a long day, when we're tired and sore from carrying our heavy packs, it is always better to be reasonably sure of our stopping point, and not just hoping for the best.

The Wardner Community Park also marked the beginning of the Chief Isadore Trail. This 43.5 km long packed gravel hiking and cycling trail is about half rail trail and half enhanced single-track pathway for mountain biking, and it connects Wardner in the southeast to Cranbrook in the northwest.

A very thorough and detailed plaque provided information on the trail, including outlining more than 25 years of work done by the volunteers who created the trail.  It isn't often that the trail building efforts of locals, which are so essential to the existence and maintenance of recreational trails we follow, are recognized.  In this case it was the vision, determination, perseverance, and incredibly hard work of Neil Shuttleworth and Al Freeze that made this next section of trail a reality, and we send out a heartfelt thanks for all their efforts!

After taking a break at the gazebo and very gratefully refilling our water bottles, we continued along the road, almost immediately arriving at Wardner Provincial Park.  This small, grassy green space featured several picnic tables situated under the shade of tall pines.  From this park visitors can enjoy a fantastic view down the Kootenay River of the gorgeous mountains beyond.  It also had pit toilets and garbage cans, making it a nice spot to enjoy a picnic.

We proceeded down the road that was lined with homes, and soon diverted onto an abandoned track that was becoming a bit overgrown.  We almost stayed on the main road, thinking the alternate route led to someone's driveway, but a large blue and white Trans Canada Trail sign firmly pointed down the track, so we took our chances.  It was a good thing we did!

A few hundred meters later a large white dog came bounding up to us barking, and as we passed his home we realized his owner was in trouble.  He had been attempting to wheel an incredibly heavy woodworking machine down a gravel slope to his basement workshop and it had tipped, pinning him against the stone wall of his home.  He couldn't move for fear of it crushing him.  It was so heavy it took both of us to pull it off him, and we were very grateful to see that it hadn't actually crushed his arm, as we originally feared! 

At the edge of Wardner we picked up a grassy track that ran along the railway line beside the highway.  We left town, passed a large field filled with Canada Geese, and then found ourselves walking beside fields and forests.  The traffic beside us was very loud, but we were extremely glad to be on the crushed stone dust trail, separated from the traffic.  As a bonus, most of the trail was shaded by tall pines, giving us much appreciated protection from the hot afternoon sun.

We followed very closely beside the highway for about 4 km, and then began to divert into the trees and to climb above the traffic a little.  The trail began to resemble a long green corridor that was crisscrossed with long bars of light and shadow from the surrounding pine trees. The bed of the rail trail made a long, straight, grey line that was softened by a thick carpet of red pine needles, and the scent of warm pine hung in the air.

We passed interpretive plaques from the Trans Canada Trail, maps and information plaques from the Chief Isadore Trail, and each kilometre was marked on a wooden post.  We thoroughly enjoyed this section of highly developed trail!

As we began to climb a little, from the higher vantage points we periodically enjoyed panoramic views across the river valley to the forested slopes of the mountains opposite. Down below we could see the wide, meandering curves of the Kootenay River, surrounded by dark green pine forests, and beyond them the reddish slopes of the Steeples rose up under a blue sky studded with fluffy white clouds.  As the sun began to set, the colours in the valley really began to glow.

Ultimately we walked about 38 km today, getting as far as the Mayook section of the Chief Isadore Trail, which took the form of a winding earth footpath that snaked gently up the forested slopes at the base of Mount Baker.  While the forest floor was still covered in grasses, here they were lush, green, and joined by a carpet of emerald green moss.  Such a difference from the dry landscapes of this morning.

An interpretive plaque provided information about the Mayook School, which was moved to the area from Wardner in 1908.  We did not visit this historic building, which is not located on the trail, but apparently the one room schoolhouse remained active until 1952, providing space for children from Kindergarten to Grade 8 to learn.  Since then it has been used to host country social events, and remains a valued part of Mayook.

Today has been an eventful and varied one on the trail, bringing new landscapes, perspectives, and a new trail which not only offers fantastic scenery and walking conditions, but also insights into local history and culture.  We are  thoroughly enjoying this section of trail!

See you on the trail!

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