The Rockwall Trail Part 2

Read Rockwall Trail Part 1

The next day’s trek to Numa Creek would be the shortest hiking day at just 5 miles. It also happened to be the day that I would set a personal record for photos taken in a single day, so it worked out. We would be losing more total elevation than we gained but there was still a pass to negotiate first, so up we went. The aptly named Tumbling Pass affords a box-seat view of the Tumbling Glacier. Punctuated by bluebird skies and the now omnipresent wildflowers, this was the site of a snack break for the ages. 

On a side note. I had never seen as many wildflowers in my whole life as I did on that trip. Maybe Canadians pick them less? Maybe their meadows come with some limestone-ground Miracle Grow that we are missing out on down south? Perhaps our timing was perfect. I can’t say with certainty, but I was more than happy to have been on the receiving end of such a visual assault. But I wasn’t done being gobsmacked for the day. The initial descent out of the pass and into the valley below it was the closest thing to Elysium that I can imagine my mortal coil will ever encounter.

If you don’t know me personally, I do have a propensity for freaking out when things are just too damned good. I gesticulate wildly, my voice modulates in a way that pushes the thresholds of masculinity. I recognize all of that about myself. I do my best to keep it under wraps when need be, but the best I can do is all I can do. Meanwhile, good ol’ “Joe” from Saskatoon is looking at the same shit that sent me into embarrassingly rounded-off middle-aged cartwheels and his response is, “Oh sure, that sun’s doing her job today then, eh?” “Yeah, Joe. She remembered to clock in alright. Don’t pass out or anything.”

Morning four saw us up and on the trail early. We were to gain 2,460 feet and escape the trees entirely en route to the highest point along the Rockwall Trail. In keeping, the discomfort of the ambitious ascent was negated by Mother Nature’s grandeur. After enjoying a handful of waterfalls and a few bridged creek crossings we launched into the alpine territory, reaching the 7,725-foot summit of Numa Pass.

The view was commensurate with the climb. And we were thankful that the incoming weather system maintained its distance for the time being. We were as high and exposed as we cared to be, especially with conditions potentially turning sour. We were also now looking down at Floe Lake. One of the jewels of the Canadian Rockies, I had been waiting with bated breath to finally gaze upon her in person and she did not disappoint. 

After another wildly scenic and photographically fruitful descent, we arrived at camp with just enough time to set up our tents and take shelter before an afternoon thunderstorm unloaded on us. This was also where the mosquitos we had managed to avoid for the entire trip finally tracked us down. After the storm, we watched white clouds transition into orange, red, and purple pastels before fading to black. The mosquitos never did go to bed. Floe Lake giveth and Floe Lake taketh away. The next morning my friend and I would wake up early to photograph and have Floe Lake to ourselves. Another memorable moment in a neverending procession of them that the trip had been responsible for.

It was all downhill from there. At least as far as trail elevation. Having consumed all but the final day’s snacks, we packed up our lightest loads of the trip that morning and began the descent from camp to the Floe Lake trailhead. It is decidedly different hiking than the previous four days. In 2003, the Hawk Creek fire consumed most of the valley that Floe Creek drains. Pale snags and fields of almost fluorescent fireweed and a bright blue sky with the occasional stray white cloud provided an eerie color palate for our final walkout. A forest reborn, while perhaps not as instantly attractive as much of the rest of the National Park, possesses its own distinctive beauty. Our five-day hike along the Rockwall Trail concluded with a crossing of the Vermillion River. A fitting end. 

Over the last week, British Columbia had exceeded my expectations on every level. Which I thought would be almost impossible to do. As much as I yearned for a shower beer, I wanted to download and look at my photos even more. And that last photo I took of the Vermillion River provided my own unbelievable BC Instagram moment. “Oh come on, that’s fake!” I thought to myself.

A version of this story originally appeared in the Spring 2019 issue of British Columbia Magazine.