Have you ever invited a person to go quadding with you, not thinking for a moment that they actually would?
Last winter, while snowmobiling around Revelstoke, B.C., with some district sales managers (DSMs) from Bombardier Recreational Products’ (BRP) ATV division, I had the opportunity to meet one of the guests who came along with them. A bit of background history: my daughter works for BRP and sometimes I am invited to help guide some of the special rides for the DSMs when they come to the Revelstoke area—be it the snowmobile division or the ATV division of BRP. In any case, this ride saw us guiding 12 people for a couple of days in the mountains.
Sitting there, watching the eastern riders enjoying the deep snow and fantastic riding that Revelstoke has to offer, I got talking with Clermont—a transplanted Quebecer (one who has moved from Quebec to Ontario). We talked about sledding, of course, but then the conversation turned to ATVing.
Clermont was interested in quadding in the mountains and said he'd never had the chance to try it. He rides in the mountains of northern Quebec but had never ATVed in the mountains of Western Canada; as he says, “They are not mountains when compared to the real ones.” I told Clermont that if he came out to B.C., I would be more than happy to show him around and take him into the high country.
Offer accepted
A few weeks later, I got a phone call from Clermont, telling me that he and his wife were planning a trip to Alaska and they would be coming through Revelstoke, pulling his toy box with a quad inside. They were wondering if my offer still stood to show him the mountains. Of course it did—these offers are not made lightly and I told him we looked forward to seeing him in early August.
When Clermont and his wife, Monique, arrived in August, we met up with them at a local campground. They weren’t hard to find at the campground—a large Ford dually with a massive travel trailer and two very friendly people standing there waiting to meet us. Over a couple of refreshments, we all got to know each other and started planning for a few days of riding the mountains. I borrowed a large trailer from a friend of mine and we headed out on a Friday morning for a ride.
Getting acquainted
We didn’t head up into the mountains that day; it was just an introductory ride to see what type of riders they were and show them a bit of the scenery. The Alkokolex, a popular area south of Revelstoke, offers some very good road riding with just a few challenges, such as getting across avalanche debris, riding through washouts and getting out onto some of the higher logging cutblocks. I could see that this guy knew how to handle an ATV, or in his case, a UTV.
Clermont and Monique were riding a 1,000 cc Can-Am Commander, and Clermont was not afraid to tackle just about anything you threw in his path. The type of quadding he and Monique were used to certainly differs from our riding, though. They are into more long-distance riding with on-the-trail camping and making their own trails. In any case, we got to see the mountains from the bottom up; next, it was time to see them from the top down.
Doing some rough riding
Saturday saw about nine quads and 12 people showing up at the Chevron (our favourite gas-up and meeting place), and we were ready to head to Teddy Glacier. This area takes you through an old mining road right to the top of the mountain.
After crossing on the ferry at Shelter Bay, which is about 45 kilometres south of town, we headed out from the staging point. In August, it tends to get a bit dusty—especially after this summer's heat wave. We all spaced apart but still showed up dusty but happy at the various stopping places along the way.
It was looking good: the road was all there and the scenery kept getting better and better the higher we climbed. This was T-shirt riding weather for sure, and at the start of the day, we saw a cow elk standing in the middle of Fish River. But about five kilometres from the top, we came around a bend in the road and all of a sudden there was no more road—it was all sitting down in the creek about 100 feet below us. A massive washout had ended this trip for sure.
At lunchtime, we built a fire and cooked some hotdogs while making new plans to go back to the valley bottom and try the Camborne. In this area, there is another mining road and old mines left over from the silver mining days of the 1800s—and some more recent mines. We met some guys coming back down the trail and they told us they had spent a lot of time cutting through avalanche debris but had made it to the top. There was only one other obstacle—a large rock on a steep hillside that might block the UTV from going any farther—but when we got there, some others had built a trail over the top of the rock and we carried on.
We reached the top after another steep climb and found ourselves in a world where signs of winter remained. There were small melt lakes surrounded by snow, alpine flowers already blooming and poking through the snow, and stunning surrounding scenery, making it worth the effort of getting there. Watching Clermont's and Monique’s faces as they looked out over the endless mountains and surrounding meadows—realizing they were actually on the top of a mountain—was reward enough for bringing these two here. Clermont even walked up to the small peak that was the very top of the mountain to say he was there, on top.
A great reminder
Later, while we were on the ferry ride back across Upper Arrow Lake looking out over the surrounding mountains, the clear lake and the endless forests, Clermont told me how lucky we were to live in such a place—to have all this beauty at our doorstep and be able to go and do what we do. It always seems to take someone from another area to point this out to us who live here, doesn’t it?
There’s gold in them thar hills
On Sunday, we headed north of Revelstoke into the McCullough Creek area of the historic old Big Bend Highway. This was gold country, with old claims and new claims being worked because of the high price of gold. Down in a valley, we could see an old bulldozer and a very large sluice box from days gone by that was abandoned.
We made our first stop at the old Westerberg camp to gather and ask some others there if the trail was good to the top. They said there was a small landslide that we wouldn't be able to get across, especially with the side-by-sides, but we had to find out for ourselves. The bridge that had washed out earlier was replaced, and the trail—even though it was scoured by runoff and had been rerouted in some places—wasn’t too bad, at least not bad enough to stop this group. After all, that is part of the challenge of quadding—anyone can ride on the road.
The small landslide that had happened many years ago was still there. Actually, it was in better shape and was easier to cross than it had been last year. Even the big Commander made it over, with Monique on the inside of the trail so she couldn’t see down the side of the mountain. Following the road over the top, we stopped in the large alpine meadow to have a coffee break and visit for a while.
Building trails as you go
Soon, we were heading down into the next valley that would take us to our destination. This old road was steep and full of large boulders and downed trees. In some places, the road was partially gone due to runoff. But this is quadding, and after cutting through a few trees, spooking a black bear standing on one of the downed trees, and fighting mosquitoes, we made it to the creek.
This part of the trail has always posed a bit of a challenge because it changes each year with high water washing away the opposite bank. The large rock embedded on the opposite side doesn’t help matters either. We worked at building the crossing, only to have it taken apart by the second quad to cross it, so we went to Plan B: take out the remains of the old bridge entirely and build another one.
Clermont was right in there with us; this is the type of riding he does at home, building the trails as they travel. Using old trees from the original structure and smoothing out the other steep bank with pollaskies and shovels, we soon had a crossing. After two hours of work, we were able to go another kilometre to the site of the dozer and sluice box and the end of the trail. But you know how it is: get a bunch of boys together and a creek and they have to build dams and crossings and whatever—it is just the nature of us, I guess.
After climbing all over the dozer, building a fire to make lunch and exchanging talk of how quadding in Ontario compared to B.C., we went back across the creek. At the top, we headed across a meadow on an old exploratory road onto another snowfield, where we parked beside a lake that was still partially frozen over. Clermont could not believe this; it was the middle of August and the flowers were blooming everywhere and ice was still on the lake. His comment was, “I can guarantee you that no one in Ontario is doing what I am doing today, right now.” A short walk to the top of the ridge allowed us to look over the valley below, at the ruggedness of the mountains right there beside us and, of course, to enjoy the horseflies.
Back at the Westerberg camp, we met a fellow we had seen earlier in the day. When we asked how his day had gone, he showed us about $200 worth of gold he'd taken out of the creek on his claim. What a way to round out the day!
Rich rewards for all
Those three days of showing friends my part of the country—seeing their faces as they enjoyed the type of riding they had only dreamed about combined with being with a group that welcomed them unconditionally—was a good experience for all of us.
Being told by Clermont that he has never ridden with a better bunch of people—people that would fit right into his group at home—was all the thanks we needed for showing them around. Getting to Ontario to go sledding and/or quadding is next on the list, after the offer was extended by Clermont and Monique. Another adventure awaits.
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