DanOCan

Sometimes lessons learned early are forgotten until something serves as a stark reminder of what we once knew.  I have always prided myself on being prepared, on looking at all the reasonable possibilities and being ready to deal with whichever one comes my way.  This past weekend I was issued one of those stark reminders when a simple hiking trip took a turn for the worse…

It was just supposed to be a quick hike.  The information I had showed the hike would be just over 1km from the trailhead to the top of an unnamed hill in Kananaskis Country.  The total elevation gain was under 250m and, while there was no defined trail and the going was expected to be rough, I figured it would take me less than an hour round trip.

That’s why, on a sunny Saturday morning, I parked my car just off to the side of Highway 68 and set off with my dog but little else.  I had checked for cell coverage and found none so I left my phone in the car.  I was carrying my camera and GPSr, but opted not to bring my backpack.  After all, I didn’t need all that extra weight for what was going to be a simple hike.  Likewise I chose to not bring my trekking poles, surmising they would be more of a hindrance than benefit when I got into the deadfall.

Moose Mountain – I was much better prepared the day I ascended it

I was just 400m from the top of the hill when I climbed over a fallen tree.  It is the exact same manoeuvre I have done hundreds, perhaps thousands, of times while hiking.  I stepped up onto the trunk, found my balance point and dropped down to the other side.  This time, unlike all the other times, something went wrong.  The grass and plants had obscured a small hole on the other side of the trunk.  As my right ankle hit the side of the hole I heard a loud pop and I went down hard.

I lay there for several minutes trying to gather my bearings.  The pain in my ankle was intense and I feared it was broken.  I was also concerned I would not be able to put any weight on it.  I started gathering my thoughts by taking stock of my situation.  I realized I had violated the two most important rules of safe hiking:

– No one knew where I was.  I had said I was going to the Sibbald Flats area, but that covers an awful lot of ground.  Sure, if Search and Rescue came looking for me they would easily find my car, but with no defined trails how would they know which way I had gone?

– I had no supplies.  No food.  No water.  No first aid kit.  No emergency blanket.  If I was going to be there for awhile I was going to get very uncomfortable very quickly.

I did have my camera.  It has a small mirror on the back so I figured if worse came to worst I could always use it as a signalling device.  However, that would mean someone would need to be looking for me and, since no one knew when I was expecting to be back (remember how I said I broke all the rules?) that would be many hours away.

No, I knew if I was going to get out of there I would need to do it myself.  Using the trunk for leverage I pulled myself to my feet and gingerly tested my ankle.  It hurt, but it seemed to hold my weight.  There was something positive to hang my hat on!

There were only two choices – up or down.  I opted to continue upwards, my reasoning being it would be easier to attract help from a high point instead of a low point.  I also knew going upwards would be moving me closer to the road.

I actually made it to the top without too many problems.  Just as I reached the top my ankle gave way and I went down a second time.  I managed to locate a branch that was the right size and shape to use as a bit of a crutch which helped a bit.  I decided to give up my advantageous high ground and go for the car.

Instead of taking the longer but gentler slope down the backside of the hill where I came up, I opted to descend the much steeper and rockier front slope.  The topographical map in my GPSr seemed to indicate it was do-able and – big plus here – the rockier surface meant there was much less deadfall to deal with at the higher elevation.  I expected the lower elevation was sheltered in the valley so I might not have much deadfall to deal with at all.  It also was a direct line to the road and civilization.

I managed to slip and slide my way down the rocks and finally into the trees.  The direct approach was only about 500m to the road and, while it took me awhile to cover that distance, I thought I made pretty good progress.  There was very little deadfall which meant I could limit the strain on my ankle.  I emerged onto the gravel road just 200m from my car and from there it was a simple matter of driving home.

Sometimes it’s better to be lucky than good.

Over the weekend I had the ankle x-rayed and they found two small bone chips – one was fairly worn and rounded which the doctor believes was from a previous ankle injury.  The second one was smaller, not being detected by the radiologist until a day later.  The recovery process is basically “brace it, ice it, rest it and see us again in a week.”

Sometimes we get complacent when things seem too simple.  I guess there is a lesson here for all of us. 

“It’s not until you get back to nature that you realize that everything is out to get you. So my father always told me to respect nature, because it has no respect for you.” – Dana Scully, The X-Files

“You have to get back up on the horse that threw you.”  Words of wisdom which I believe to be true.  But, in all honesty, it has been years since I was even on a horse and even then I never actually had one throw me.  I think the last time I was even close enough to a horse where it could kick me was three years ago when working as part of the crew trying to rescue a horse that had fallen through the ice on a pond.

So, given my lack of experience with the real animal, why the heck am I talking about horses?

Well, the short answer is “I’m not.”  What I am talking about is the figurative horses we get throw off of from life all the time.  The things we need to conquer in order to move ahead.

This past weekend I did a hike up Cox Hill.  As far as hikes go, it was nothing remarkable.  Roughly 14km round trip with 650m of elevation gain or so.  But, if you look deeper, you will see it was one of my horses.  It is not by coincidence that I picked a hike which starts from an equestrian trailhead.  It was a symbolic choice.

Two weeks ago you will recall I injured my ankle while hiking solo.  Cox Hill was my first attempt at getting back to hiking since the injury.  While it certain would be a physical test of the injury, it was more important to me as a mental test. 

I’ll admit to being nervous about going back out on my own.  Hiking solo had become a horse (OK, since I wasn’t *that* nervous how about a pony?) that I needed to climb back on after it had thrown me.  I had to show myself that I could still do it.  And, although the ankle was hurting by the time I returned, I did it.  I had gotten back on the horse.

I wish it was always that simple. There are plenty of horses I haven’t returned to conquer, but I need to save something for another time, another post. So, who out there is willing to share your own tales of being tossed?

Five years ago I tried to conquer Mount Allan and failed.  I was too out of shape, I didn’t have enough water, I was wearing clothing that was inappropriate for the hot weather, I started out too late.  All sorts of reasons, all sorts of excuses.  Yesterday there would be nothing that would stop me, I was determined to take my revenge on the only mountain that has beaten me – so far.

The Sign Says it All – It’s a Long Way to the Top…

I arrived at the Ribbon Creek trailhead just after 8am.  From there Tucker the Dog and I would set off on my quest. 

The trail starts easy, just a pleasant walk through the woods.  Once it starts up, however it really starts up.  Before long you reach the site of the old Kovach mine, which now appears as a lovely alpine meadow.  Continue onwards and upwards and soon you reach the grassy slopes of Olympic Summit.  Here is where the real work begins as an endless series of switchbacks slowly wind up, higher and higher.  You gain elevation at quite a clip – just over 5km into the hike and the parking lot is nearly 1000m below you and rapidly disappearing.

Fortunately you get a bit of a break here as you reach a bit of a plateau.  You get about 1km of relatively flat walking and you pass some very interesting weather instruments.  You pay a bit of a price as you surrender around 50m of elevation, but you are rewarded as you are about to enter the most interesting part of the hike – the rock spires.

End of the plateau and the summit still seems a long way away

Note the hikers just right of centre for a sense of scale

The rock formations keep your interest level up as the hike drags on

My trip through the rocks was made more interesting because I was following a family of hikers and their route finding went a little awry.  This meant I had to navigate down some interesting rock walls, some of them a good 2-3m high.  Under normal circumstances this wouldn’t be too bad but I also had to get the dog down some of them as well.  Other than one leap I wasn’t expecting him to make I didn’t manage too badly, but the return trip yielded a much better route, although it did require some traversing of narrow ledges – the fall would hurt but would be survivable.

Mount Allan does not surrender her summit charms easily.  The final summit ascent really tests your lungs and legs as you are forced to gain close to 200m of elevation over the last 600m or so.  Considering you are already a good 8km into the hike at this point (with a net ascent of ~1100m) you need to have saved some reserves for this final push.

Once at the top the views are amazing.  Wind Mountain and Mount Lougheed dominate the view to the west but there is something to see in every direction.  There was a slight breeze which was nice because the sun was beating down relentlessly on me at this point.  I had used most of our water supply just reaching the summit – apparently 6L was not enough for both man and dog.

My trip to the summit clocked in at almost 9km and took me a little over four hours to complete.  I only spent 20 minutes at the summit before opting to start the long trek back to the car.  If I had done some better planning I would have tried to either stage a car or arrange a ride and hiked out by following the other ridge down to Deadman’s Flats.

I was forced to cut off the dog’s water supply as I only had a little over half a litre left for the descent.  Even by carefully rationing my supply I was still empty with 4km left in the hike.  The descent is ever bit as brutal as the trip up since the steep angles means you are constantly struggling to avoid slipping.  My descent time was only slightly better than my ascent, clocking in at 3 hours and 20 minutes.

At one point I was atop a steep section and I lost my footing.  As I swung around to recapture my balance my camera case swung around and detached from my backpack and tumbled down the hillside.  I completely lost sight of it and, looking at the tangle of rocks and trees below, I assumed it was gone forever.  It was "”only” my point and shoot Panasonic but I was never the less peeved.  I wasn’t even going to look as I figured the search would be futile.

As the dog and I descended he started tugging at the leash and trying to head off trail.  I thought he had spotted a squirrel or something so I didn’t pay much attention, but he persisted – more so than normal.  I figured “Well, this would be about where the camera landed so maybe I should take a quick look.”

The dog led me along the steep hillside and then suddenly stopped.  I tried to pull him along but he stood firm.  I bent down to give him a tug and I saw him nipping at something in the thick bush.  Sure enough, he navigated me to my camera.  I was quite impressed when I turned it on and discovered it still worked!

My Targus camera bag having survived a tumble down the cliff

There is no water until you get back to the parking lot, so both the dog and I celebrated our success by drinking out of Ribbon Creek (24 hours later and no beaver fever for me…) and soaking ourselves to cool down.  Hey, no one said revenge would be easy!

Mount Allan is advertised as being the highest maintained trail in Canada.  Well, it is very well marked and easy to follow, even in the sections where multiple braids provide a variety of routes.  It provides a tremendous workout, wonderful scenery and opportunities for some hands-on scrambling.  It isn’t an easy hike by any means and I’m not planning a return trip anytime soon but it is certainly one you should put on your “must do” list.

Note:  The following was written in an offline format back in May but I’m finally getting around to posting online now.

Grabbing the dog and setting out shortly before 7am I had one destination in mind – seeking the remains of the Rose Island Amusement Park.

There isn’t a ton of information on the Internet about Rose Island – most of it rehashing the same points.  Originally known as Fern Grove in the 1880s it was located on a peninsula formed between Fourteen Mile Creek and the Ohio River.  Primarily used by churches for camps and picnics, it was only accessible by boat.

In 1923 David Rose purchased the land and built an amusement park and hotel on the site.  Alternate access was provided when a road was built allowing guests to access a foot bridge across to the peninsula from the mainland.

In 1937 the Ohio River flooded and destroyed the park.  The Indiana Army Ammunition Plant acquired the land and used it until the late 1990s when it was included in the newly formed Charlestown State Park. 

Much of what was written about exploration of the old amusement park site was pretty dated when I started my research.  Access was only by boat but when I read the State Park had built a bridge to Rose Island in late 2011 my odds of exploring the area improved greatly. 

I had two basic goals:  Find the original main entrance gates on the banks of the Ohio River and find the swimming pool.  Information I had read told me the pool was actually in good condition until the 1980s and still existed in 2004 but I was worried the potential danger and subsequent liability issues might have motivated the State Parks Department to remove the pool after building the bridge to the area.

I was a little disappointed at the very beginning.  The original road allowance which used to provide access to the area has now been paved and converted into a walking path.  Yes, it still follows the original steep decent to Fourteen Mile Creek, but as far as abandoned places exploration goes, it lost a lot of its appeal.

As for the bridge which now grants easy access to Rose Island?  Well, I am pleased it is located near (fortunately not on) the site of the original footbridge.  It also is somewhat historical in its own right.  Originally built in 1912 as the Portersville Bridge spanning the White River between Dubois and Daviess Counties, it closed to traffic in 1999, was purchased by the State Parks Department in 2008 and moved to its current location. 

Once on the island I used my camera to take a picture of a parks sign which included a photo of the amusement park, likely taken at some point in the 1920s.  It would become my reference and map for this trip.

I worked down towards the river and along the bank which would have been in front of the “summer cabins” in the photo.  I didn’t find anything of interest other than plenty of examples of modern-day partying.  I eventually reached the site of the original gates which achieved one of my first major goals.

I also was excited to discover remnants of one of the two large circular items which are clearly visible in the photo just up from the main gates.  I assume these were large planters or something – it’s kind of hard to tell from the old photo.

I decided to move my search off the path an towards the base of the cliff which, according to the old photo, would have been the site of the hotel.  I didn’t find any foundation or major remains, just a number of bricks and some broken pipes.

Moving towards what would have been the center of the park, I could clearly tell the land was unnaturally flat and had been the site of something manmade.  The trees were also thinner here than the areas surrounding the edges of the peninsula, clearly indicating I was in the right area to find the pool.

And, then, there it was.  At first I thought I had stumbled back onto the pathway because I could see a small fence next to an open area.  That open area was the water-filled and moss-covered pool.  The moss was so thick across the surface of the water I saw a mouse run across it without falling in.

The pool still holds water and has two ladders still intact.  A large tree has fallen into it and there is a fair amount of debris inside,  It is surrounded by a small wire fence and, in some sections, Caution tape which has bleached white over the years.  It is a remarkable location and the highlight of the exploration.

Next to the pool there are concrete remains of a building, the outline of the floor is quite obvious.

Only two more discoveries awaited me.  On the way back to the bridge I came across the remains of what was a fountain, its water pipe still very clearly present in the center of the ring.

The final find was my verification of the site of the old footbridge.  The grading for it is still quite obvious and I was also able to find a number of footings and pieces of concrete which proved I was right.

On my way out I reread the sign at the trailhead and noticed it container a picture of people using the swimming pool.  It clearly showed both one of the ladders and the building which would have been on the foundation I found.  Having now been to the pool site I was able to put the location into proper context. Very cool, I had stood on the same ground where that photographer had stood decades ago.

Overall, my exploration of Rose Island Amusement Park was a success.