Along with our tent, food, and clothing, someone had also taken our wallets, car keys, and Dave's iPhone. We sprinted through the campground, checking food lockers and bear hangs, and asking everyone we met where our things had gone. We continued hiking toward our camp but stopped suddenly-first stunned, then panicked.
A friendly Alpine Club of Canada employee informed us that the campground's water system was being shut down for the season and the last of the outhouse's poo barrels were flying out. The bird touched down and took off a number of times while we climbed and descended, and once we arrived back at camp I was shocked to find seven people buzzing around the campsite. Our loneliness was merely amplified by the absence of any other tents. We established camp on a barren rocky dome, otherwise known as Applebee Campground, while a waning moon illuminated the spires towering above us. They were heavily laden with the requisite climbing gear, camping equipment, food and warm clothing, but we levitated up the relentless approach trail as though on an escalator. We reached the trailhead and re-packed our bags one last time. We settled on the uber-classic McTech Arete. I was craving the exposure of off-balance finger cracks, hand-sized railway-track splitters, and the opportunity to finally climb a 5.10 in the alpine. I coerced my dear friend Dave (with relative ease) into neglecting his studies as well that weekend, and we rallied up the winding, dusty Bugaboo road on Friday night.
It was a beautiful day and the bluebird sky left me thinking not of Ondaatje, but of the Bugaboos. My professor's words wafted over me, floating by like the cumulus clouds outside the second-story window. This article originally appeared on Climbing
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