Not much out there that I can find describing this one, although I'm sure it gets done. "Bird" is a provisional name, according to Peakbagger, for the summit just north of the pass upstream of Fowl Lake along the Owl-Tenquille Traverse route. There's an obvious avian theme to the names around here, although this one could have used a little more imagination IMO—"Bald Eagle Peak" comes to mind. Fittingly, I even spotted one flying over one of the lakes on my way out.

Anywho, this one came to me while lying in bed one morning with no agenda other than feeling compelled to get outside and do something on an otherwise perfectly good July weekend. My curiosity had been piqued after looking across at Fowl Peak from Ronayne earlier in June, so with good trail access and having never been into this particular corner of the range before, I figured I might as well go see something new.

Rolled outta bed well rested at 8:30, hit the road around 9ish, and made it to the Chain Lakes trailhead at a very agreeable crack of 12:30 (4x4 required). Heck, it stays light until nearly 10 p.m. that time of year, so I still had plenty of daylight to work with for a solid day hike. The trail was in excellent shape and had seen recent maintenance, with all the fallen logs cut and moved out of the way. Up into the lakes basin, where the views from Fowl Lake and onward are simply stunning. Big-ass lake—probably big enough for a Twin Otter to take off from!

Continued upward on a somewhat less-defined trail to the upper lake, then contoured around its north side, which was somewhat annoying, to reach the talus basin below the pass. Up along the watercourse in the centre and soon enough I reached the pass.

I considered going for slightly higher Fowl Peak, but the topo contours suggested something considerably less involved than what I saw in front of me. It certainly goes but entailed more dealing than I was expecting. I was also getting close to my turnaround time, and the weather seemed to be taking a turn for the worse. I narrowly escaped a thunderstorm the last time I was in the area and had no interest in a long hike out in the rain. So, I opted for the obvious peak immediately north of the pass instead. It's only ~25 feet lower and probably has better views anyway. A smidge over four hours to get there.

Started back down after about 15 minutes on top, wanting to get out before dark. No issues there, reaching the trailhead just after 9 p.m. with daylight to spare for the drive down the FSR and back into Pemberton. Curiously, there were hardly any bugs until reaching the talus area below the pass on the way in, but my oh my were they THIRSTY on the return. No time to stop and take a piss even! To be expected, I suppose, considering the time of year and all the lakes around. Better once back in the Chain Lakes basin, but then back in full force at the truck!

About 21 kilometres round trip and 3,300 feet of vert, not including all the ups and downs, of which there are plenty. This trip exceeded my expectations, as the scenery is top-notch. Definitely an area that deserves far more attention than it apparently gets.

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Rising from the east end of Seton Lake and visible from Highway 99 shortly before Lillooet when approaching from the south, Ample Mountain is a lesser peak surrounded by local giants but with surprisingly excellent views. Furthermore, the stats—about 4 kilometres round trip and 1,500 feet of gain—make for a very reasonable outing, especially well suited to those looking for an easier hike after climbing Mount Athelstan the day before, for example!

Most of the elevation gain is done on the Seton Retask Road, which I took to reach the trailhead. This road remains a bit of an enigma to me, considering how seemingly unsuitable the steep, rocky slope immediately west of the highway appears for such a road. But rest assured, it exists and is actually quite good by SWBC FSR standards, providing access to the popular Seton Ridge Trailhead en route to the comparatively obscure one used for Ample. Continue a short distance beyond the trailhead to a large landing and parking area, complete with outstanding views overlooking Seton Lake. This would make an excellent car-camping spot for anyone coming in the night before—a room with a view!

With the truck parked at said landing, I proceeded a short distance back down the road before turning left onto what remains of an old spur, now forming the initial part of the Ample trail. A short distance later, I turned up and left into the forest, following a worn path as it switchbacked up the peak's gentle Northwest Ridge. The path is easy to lose, which was exactly what happened to me, as I was suckered a little too far right toward Ample's cliffy South Face by game trails and whatnot. Even so, this turned out to be a decent way up the mountain, with a few views along the way making up for the minor detour.

Eventually, all trails and paths converged onto the sharpening crest of the West Ridge, with the rocky summit ridge and various false summits now coming into view. This is also where the route becomes festooned with giant "toothpicks"—bare, bleached trees, some still standing but most fallen and lying across the route. Somewhat tedious, but not terrible. At the first opportunity, I scrambled up the rock tower ahead for some enjoyable climbing, mercifully free of all the pickup sticks. Down the backside, only to find another false summit beyond. This one was best traversed below to the right, as it looked somewhat more difficult and exposed to climb over than the first.

From the final saddle, the remaining distance to the true summit was a simple matter of putting one foot in front of the other, and I reached the top a mere two hours after leaving the truck. The 360-degree view from up there was excellent, particularly toward Mission Ridge, stretching from Puck at its western end to The Nipple and McLean farther east. There was also a great view southward up both Phair Creek and Cayoosh Creek valleys. The mighty Mount Brew stood proud directly to the south-southwest, with downtown Lillooet and the Fraser River Valley showing nicely through the narrow gap at the confluence of the Seton and Fraser Rivers.

The standout, however, was without question the view overlooking Seton Lake—and for me, that was the reason for doing this hike in the first place.

I wandered around up there for about 30 minutes, taking in the scenery from every conceivable angle before starting back down. This time I managed to stick to the trail, returning to the truck just before 5 p.m. Now, that may seem rather late for such a short hike, but considering I didn't get started until a very Mediterranean 12:30, I'd say it amounts to a very civilized and high-value day hike!

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Athelstan has been on my mind for ages, especially after gazing across at it from the Pebble Peak area some years back. The south route described here is direct, steep, and relentless, with a reputation for exhausting "two steps forward, one step back" pumice slogging. Tackling it in early summer avoids much of that nonsense, as snow still blankets the worst sections. Better yet, it makes for one long-ass glissade on the way back!

I parked about five minutes short of the mine gate near the end of the Upper Lillooet River FSR, as the road has become eroded with a deep ditch running across it. Probably manageable in a 4x4, but I didn't feel like risking it, and it adds very little to the overall day anyway. From there, I headed through the mine site, taking a direct line toward the timbered (now mostly burned) spur leading into the alpine below the peak. Finding the best place to cross the two ravines before reaching the spur is key, as it keeps both the bushwhacking and general faff to a minimum. Lower is definitely better, with less elevation loss and gentler sidewalls. About two hours brought me to the base of the moraine.

Then came the endless UP.

I slogged to the top of the main snowfield, where the dreaded pumice finally became unavoidable—fortunately not for long, as solid rock appears just to the left. At a snail's pace, I worked my way through this section before reaching a bench where the scrambling finally begins. The remainder of the route is best described as a series of scrambly steps separated by snow patches on the more level sections. There are a few steeper bits of rock here and there, but overall the exposure is moderate and well within the comfort zone of a competent scrambler.

A sizeable summit cornice was still hanging on, so I didn't dare venture beyond the cairn. The views, however, were outstanding in every direction, particularly toward the icefields and towering peaks to the northwest. Sampson, Thiassi, Ethelweard, Meager, Overseer, Pebble, and countless other familiar summits all showed up beautifully. I carried an ice axe and crampons but never felt the need to use either. The climb took a laborious six hours—ugh!—followed by a scorcher of a descent that, thankfully, included at least one glorious glissade. About ten hours round trip all told. Afterwards, it was off to the Duffey for the night before hiking Ample the following day.

Surprisingly reasonable stats for such a significant peak! For anyone considering Sampson but put off by reports of bushwhacking and its generally brutal approach, I'd strongly recommend Athelstan as an alternative. With the hike essentially starting from the driveable end of the FSR, it offers a wonderfully remote feel and an outstanding 360-degree panorama that would be hard to match anywhere else in the area.

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Directly south across the Tenas Creek Valley from the classic SSWBC guidebook peaks Sun God Mountain and Seven O'Clock Mountain stands Mount Ronayne. It's a relatively popular objective, either in winter on skis, usually descending a steep couloir on its North Face, or in spring and summer via the standard counterclockwise corkscrew route, which partially follows the Tenquille-Owl Traverse. Sandwiched between the mighty Lillooet River Valley to the west and the Birkenhead River Valley to the east, in the not-too-distant backcountry directly north of the village of Pemberton, this is a very scenic sliver of the Coast Mountains with generally good, albeit very overgrown, FSR access. It had been a minute since I was last up this way for the two aforementioned peaks, so with a fair-weather mid-June day to burn, I set my sights on Ronayne as my next instalment in the area.

Motored up the Pemberton-Portage Road as I have countless times before, hanging a left onto the Birkenhead Lake FSR for some 9.6 kilometres before turning left again onto the Tenas Creek FSR shortly after the main road crosses a bridge over the Birkenhead River. As mentioned, this road has become quite overgrown since the last time I was up this way and added plenty of fresh pinstripes to my truck as I proceeded higher into the valley. I finally stopped and parked along the roadside after another 7 kilometres or so of continuous paint abuse, generally in the vicinity of the Sun God/Seven O'Clock trailhead. I was no more than a kilometre or so from the end of the road, where I'd be picking up the trail anyway, so figured I might as well start walking from there.

The trail was easy to locate beyond the end of the road, making an ascending traverse southward to soon intersect Tenas Creek. I hopped across the creek, after which the trail more or less disappears, although the route ahead remains obvious. Across meadows below Ronayne's looming North Face, I continued toward a large snow and talus slope flanking the peak's northwest corner, encountering some rather fearless wildlife along the way—including a first for me: a large porcupine traipsing across a snowfield directly in front of me, all "honey badger doesn't give a shit" like!

Around said corner and then up into the small valley directly west of the peak, I was now officially following the Tenquille-Owl Traverse route. There's probably a trail through here once the snow is gone, but the gist is simply to continue straight south up the valley before veering left near its head to gain Ronayne's broad South Shoulder. The views really opened up here, particularly to the south and southwest toward the Fowl Peak area and the high peaks flanking the west side of the Lillooet River Valley, despite some low-lying cloud and smokiness aloft. I took a minute to soak it all in before turning my attention back to the task at hand.

Continuing directly north, the remaining route up Ronayne looked pretty trivial: an easy boot up the snow followed by a final scamper over the rocky summit block to the top. About 3.5 hours up, I finally stopped for a nice long break and a rest in the warm sun. Good views to the south and southwest as mentioned, along with Sun God and company directly across the valley to the north. More distant views were obscured by wildfire haze, which, this only being June, seemed a bit early in the season. Whatever—take what I can get, I suppose.

With time getting on, I reluctantly shouldered my pack and got down to the business of heading back. I descended off the east end of the summit, aiming for the large snowfield in the bowl south of the peak to expedite matters, then more or less retraced my route back to the end of the FSR without issue—or any further wildlife encounters, for that matter.

As I hiked down the road, dark clouds and thunder could be seen and heard advancing up the valley toward me, so I made haste for the truck. I kicked off my boots, slipped into the flip-flops, and turned the ignition just as the first drops of rain began to fall. Within minutes, it turned into a deluge. I felt for the others still out adventuring in the area, presumably somewhere around Sun God and whatnot, because it was one hell of a soaking thunderstorm that rolled through that afternoon.

Made it out just in time!

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With news that the washouts on the Nahatlach FSR and Kookipi Creek FSR had recently been repaired, there was no time like the present to make a dash for a peak or two in the slice of Coast Mountains lying just north of Boston Bar and immediately west of the Fraser Canyon. Up until this trip, the area had been a bit of a peakbagging void for me, with only American Mountain, Old Settler, and Urquhart far to the south, and Askom Mountain and Mount Brew well to the north, checked off the list. That leaves a rather significant stretch of peaks in between, culminating with southwestern BC's tallest—and arguably biggest pain in the ass to attain—Skihist Mountain. Whether I like to admit it or not, I'm slowly closing in on this beast, tales of horrendous bushwhacking, packs of wolves, and notoriously shitty rock be damned. But that's an adventure for another time... if ever.

For now, I figured it prudent to at least explore something off the next major FSR immediately south of the one used to access the aforementioned giant. By far the most popular objectives in the area are The Nipple, often combined with nearby Mount Laughlan for a neat little two-fer featuring enjoyable scrambling guarded by reportedly rather unpleasant bushwhacking. Those peaks also sit right above the west bank of the canyon, with views eastward over fairly unremarkable hills. Instead, I opted to venture a little deeper into the valley in hopes of finding less brush and more interesting scenery. Enter Mount Ichor—an otherwise obscure peak perhaps best known for the 5.10b climbing route Back of Beyond Buttress. Inspired by a recent trip report describing a non-technical ascent, I settled on Ichor as my objective for the day.

Back to Hope, then north along the Fraser I went, crossing the river at Boston Bar via a bridge I previously hadn't even known existed. From there I followed the west side of the canyon for a while before finally turning west onto the Nahatlach FSR. The valley here is broad and wild, with numerous recreation sites lining the well-maintained road as it winds deeper inland. Twenty-five kilometres after crossing the Fraser, I turned left across a bridge spanning the Nahatlach River and continued south on the Kookipi Creek FSR.

After so many kilometres—and especially after leaving the main road behind—I began to appreciate just how remote this area really is. I found that mostly exciting, though admittedly a little unnerving as well. Certainly not the sort of place where you'd want mechanical trouble. After another 9 kilometres or so, I turned right off the Kookipi Creek FSR, crossed another bridge, and continued up a tributary valley immediately to the west. I followed this road for another 9 kilometres to near its end, where a spur descends to a landing just before the deactivated bridge crossing the main creek. I parked there, shouldered my pack, and set off.

Crossing the creek, I followed a surprisingly good forest road north along its west bank for roughly 1.5 kilometres to where a stream draining Ichor's west basin crosses the road. If memory serves, the road more or less ends here anyway. From there I climbed steeply through the forest, keeping the stream within earshot on my left, before emerging into the broad talus basin immediately west of the mountain. I hopped boulders upward, passing beneath the now unmistakable Back of Beyond Buttress, building the occasional cairn along the way—being far too stubborn to record a GPX track, as usual.

Now turning right, I entered a higher talus basin enclosed by towering granite walls, using lingering snow patches where possible for easier travel toward the headwall above. A left turn brought me onto continuous snow leading into a small bowl, with a saddle on Ichor's southwest ridge just beyond. Upon reaching the saddle, I turned left for an easy stroll along the gentle ridge to the summit, where I finally stopped to savour the reward for all the day's adventuring. It had taken me just under three hours to get there, proving that, at least for Mount Ichor, the crux is the drive rather than the hike.

But no sverdina.com trip report is complete without a word about the views, and I can confidently say these did not suck. Highlights included the Cairn Needle-Traverse-Breakenridge group to the southwest; the remote peaks east of the In-SHUCK-ch FSR looking directly west; the crest of high summits surrounding the Rutledge, Kwoiek, and Chochiwa glaciers to the northwest; and a fine look toward the headwaters of the Kookipi Creek valley. The views east toward The Nipple were, as expected, kind of "meh," and with lingering cloud obscuring the skyline, I couldn't quite tell whether Skihist had decided to make an appearance.

After about twenty minutes on the summit, I started back down, arriving at the truck by 3:30 p.m. for what had turned out to be a pleasantly short day. From there it was back toward civilization... and straight into the inevitable late-afternoon Highway 1 parking lot. All in all, a pleasantly short day in a surprisingly remote corner of the Coast Mountains—and one more piece of the Skihist puzzle now in place.

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