Words & photos:
Jimmy Martinello

Sponsored by

Garibaldi – Close to home

Being grateful is one life lesson I have learned over and over. We need to take the time to appreciate our homes and surroundings, feel healthy, and have good family and friends. Sometimes life throws you a hard curveball: hardships, injuries, conflict, but what life doesn’t have its unforeseen challenges for everyone? I guess that’s why we need always to remain grateful.

I know it really sinks in when I am out on a mission, away from the comforts of home. Those are the moments I am the most grateful for, the things I otherwise take for granted: how just being alive and breathing and getting out and adventuring helps us accomplish our dreams and goals and grounds us, letting us focus on the most important things.

Usually, every fall, I take some time off to travel abroad, but this year, I stayed close to home, determined to make the best of it right here in my backyard. You can live your whole life in one place and still find new areas for adventure if you look hard enough. Despite living in Squamish, British Columbia, and having grown up in Whistler, one potential quest had been at the back of my mind for many years:

• Properly exploring Garibaldi Provincial Park, 195,000 hectares filled with immense beauty and wildlife.
• Snow-capped peaks.
• Massive glaciers.
• Lakes.
• Old-growth forest.

The full potential
Many people come from around the world to explore the network of trails that cover 90 km through the park. I knew what the park had to offer but didn’t realize the full potential of what was out there until 2020, forcing me to dig a little deeper.

I wanted to take iSUPs (Inflatable Stand-Up Paddleboards) into the alpine to link mountain peaks, glaciers, rivers, and lakes to travel almost the entire length of the park, a distance of over 50 km. The quest took some serious research but came together this fall with a pristine wind and weather forecast and a solid crew dedicated to making it happen. It would be a long haul, multi-day excursion with big packs, technical rock climbing, glacier travel, and some serious coastal bushwhacking. The timeline was unknown, but we hoped to be out in three days.

Each crew member brought something of great value needed to complete the quest. Tim Emmett’s fantastic spirit, full of good humour, is welcome on any journey. Justin Sweeny is always keen for an alpine adventure. Dennis Flett is a true outdoorsman who can endure anything. Chad Onyschuk, an ex-pro mountain biker, multi-skilled individual, fast learner, and myself, always looking for diversity in adventure anywhere. While all were good friends of mine that I had journeyed and adventured with, we had not all been part of the same group before.

Garibaldi Lake
Our packs were stuffed to the hilt with boards and mountain gear; we had hardly enough room for food. Groggy from a lack of sleep, we headed for the alpine with headlamps at 01:00, marching 10 km to our first alpine lake, Garibaldi Lake. We all kept a mellow pace, knowing there was a long, full day ahead and three or four more after that.

We reached the alpine in perfect time, a beautiful clear-sky morning emerging from the dark. We strapped our gear and packs on our boards and set off onto the crystal blue lake, nothing but alpine peaks and glaciers surrounding us. The rising sun rejuvenated our tired spirits. Everything ache, memory, and stress of the outside world faded away one paddle stroke at a time as we walked across seven kilometres of the lake’s glassy surface.

Our plan for the first day was to climb a summit or two, and 17 hours later, we reached the high alpine. It had been a haul, to say the least, with precarious travel along some serious ridge crests. We tried for one summit, but the rock was too loose for our first objective, so we decided to pitch our first camp on a high col to catch the sunset and bivy overnight on our paddleboards in the high alpine. It was a big push for day one but a great start to the journey.

I was super proud of the whole crew, and as my eyes shut, my last words were, “Man, I’m sure grateful.” I am grateful to be here for these people, for the day behind us, and the days still to come. I believe the whole crew felt that way. Grateful or not, I learned a valuable lesson that night: bring a sleeping bag warm enough for a brisk night in the alpine, not a flimsy little liner. I shivered most of the night, but at least the stars kept me company.

The Pacific Ocean
The morning was a beauty, with views of mountain peaks in all directions, Garibaldi Lake sitting far below, and off in the distance, the Pacific Ocean. It felt like being perched up in the sky on a pillow of clouds, the crisp cool mountain air, and breathtaking views 360 round lost in a dream-like state. I wished we could spend the day at this special little camp spot but knew we had to get moving – there were at least 30 kilometres of travel over some seriously technical terrain.

It was glacier travel to start, with iSUPs rolled up, crampons on, and ice axes out, and our two teams roped together. We set off over the glaciated terrain, marching slowly while trying to balance our heavy packs. Ice, snow, and loose rock crevasses staring us in our groggy faces. We had to be precise from the fatigue of the big first day and being at a much higher altitude.

We linked ridges and climbed beautiful mountain peaks, the whole crew working together to ensure everyone stayed safe while carving our path through the difficult terrain. With patience comes excellent rewards for all. We successfully navigated through the frozen landscape by linking the Sphinx Glacier to the impressive Cheakamus Glacier under the September sunshine.

Timmy and Justin did well to navigate the final hours of the day through the crevasse fields, reaching our second camp in the late evening, just in time to catch our second sunset – the Alpenglow electrifying the sky all around us. Perched high on the Cheakamus Glacier, we pitched camp, inflating our boards to sleep. Getting horizontal and off our feet never felt better.

Mount Davidson
As the dark sky approached, we looked up at Mount Davidson, the summit of our last climb. From there, it would be all downhill to Cheakamus Lake, where we would finally get the boards off our backs and paddle them down the lake. It was a relief even just thinking about it! Our packs weighed 75 pounds each, which wore you down in this landscape, especially having them on for 15-plus hours a day.

Packraft
Justin had decided to go with a pack raft (which weighs around four pounds) instead of 20 pounds for the SUP and paddle. At first, his pack was much lighter, but being an incredible team player, he made up the difference by taking extra ropes and climbing gear. Dennis, Chad, and Timmy all did their part carrying whatever was needed, sharing equipment, cooking food, and all, for an all-around amazing team camaraderie.

Our second night’s sleep came a lot sounder thanks to their generosity. Dennis gave me his bivy sack for more insulation, and Timmy warmed up hot water bottles twice in the night and gave me one to keep in my bag. What a game-changer!

Up and over the summit of Mount Davidson, a big descent and then a sweet paddle down Cheakamus Lake, followed by a short three-kilometre hike out to the road, was the plan for the next day. Doesn’t sound so bad, eh? We would soon learn that would not be the case. Sunrise greeted us with a spectacular light show; there were dark clouds in the distance, and the sun beamed down, the glacier glistening in the morning light.

We took off, heading for the summit across firm, steep, icy slopes. Each ice axe placement had to be secure with crevasses looming below. We succeeded in getting onto the west face of Davidson without any mishap and started heading up for the summit. Some of the climbing was steep and loose, which made every step and movement a balancing act. We all coached each other on, cautiously pushing towards the summit ridge, reaching the top in the late morning.

The mountain to the lake
The long days were wearing on all of us, and we were looking forward to sending it down the other side of the mountain to the lake. We had hoped to hike down the ridge from the summit on the northeast side, but with exposed, knife-edge ridges, it was way gnarlier than any of us expected. Without our massive packs, it would have been possible to navigate the terrain efficiently, but given our situation, we knew we had to turn around and find another way.

The massive Cheakamus Glacier
We took it in stride and pushed on. We made our way back down the west face and crossed the massive Cheakamus Glacier, but now we faced another cold night in the mountains. When we hit the ridge, tired, cold, and hungry, we were treated to yet another sweet sunset and an incredible place to set camp. Suddenly, it was worth enduring another day and night out. There was even a small patch of snow to melt water and cook our emergency backup dinner. Luxury.

The first night felt far away, but the feelings of gratitude were returning as we sat on this little perch. From all the efforts of the day came another round of sweet rewards. Despite the doubt and uncertainties of pushing our limits and the change in plans, here we were, in one of the most beautiful camp spots I had ever been, overlooking it all. It was a rush of sensory overload and pure gratitude and happiness. We sat, breathing in the fresh mountain air, watching the sky go off in a rainbow of vibrant colours as the sun dropped behind the peaks.

Cheakamus Lake
Our last day went smoothly but was not without a little coastal bushwhacking. We pushed through the thick coastal forest for seven hours before finally reaching the turquoise lake. Our cheers echoed across Cheakamus Lake as we celebrated. We did it! We knew it would be a big mission to expect the unexpected, be challenged, humbled, and venture into the unknown to push our limits.

We were all enlightened after testing our boundaries. We stuck together, trusted one another, and succeeded as a team. Though we were good friends already, by taking on a shared goal in the new territory, we had become better friends, a family.

The wind was calm on the lake, reflecting the mountain peaks in all directions. Hugging each other in that proud moment, I don’t think the stoke could have been higher. In a state of utter bliss, we pumped up our boards, dipped them into the lake, and set off for home, one final sunset leading the way, content and grateful for the journey and the friendship we all have and for the sheer joy of being alive.