The fires caused much hardship and economic loss. People were evacuated at various times, or worse, lost their homes altogether. Valuable timber went up in smoke, facilities were destroyed and governments spent large sums of tax revenue fighting the fires.

Fast forward to Winter 2004. A humble backcountry skier, like me, thinks, “Maybe some good will come in the aftermath of this catastrophe.”

Am I talking about the rebirth of the forest ecosystem brought on by fire?

Of course not!

I’m talking about the potential for new ski terrain! You see, backcountry skiers are obsessive, opportunistic, sons of bitches. Whenever an event occurs in our lives—a relationship fails, a forest burns up, a meteor strikes earth—the first thing that pops into our heads is: how will this affect my skiing?

With that question in mind, a colleague and I recently travelled to ground zero of one of last summer’s biggest fires—in the heart of Kootenay National Park, British Columbia.

We had studied maps of the burn area and chose to tour one of the fire damaged valleys in the park. At the trailhead we were greeted with a warning:



I had checked the Kootenay Park website trail report and read that some trails in the area were listed as ‘CLOSED—Safety Hazard’.

But I also noticed the fine print:
Note: Although closed trails are effectively blocked by fallen trees, visitors may enter the burned area at their own risk to pursue a variety of recreational activities including ski touring, snowshoeing and ice climbing.

I’m sure the officials at Parks Canada would prefer that the public stay out of the burn area for the time being—and sensible people will do just that. But taking a sample cross-section of the Canadian public and subtracting the sensible people, leaves: ski tourers, snowshoers and ice climbers. So off we went.

The day we picked was perfect, not a cloud in the sky and dead calm. As the sign said, it would not be wise to be in there if the wind was howling or there was heavy precipitation. We didn’t hear or see any trees fall on this particular day.

When the morning sun began warming the charred tree trunks we heard some cracking and popping. This phenomenon was even more pronounced in the late afternoon when the valley was plunged into shade and things began to cool down again. At times it sounded like we were in a giant echo chamber full of Rice Krispies. Very eerie.

We tried to be in flat open areas, out of range of burnt trees, whenever we stopped for any length of time—as this fellow is doing:



We were curious as to how the lack of forest cover might affect avalanche hazard so we picked a spot on a formerly-treed slope and dug a pit. The boundaries between major layers were defined by soot that had fallen from the trees. Exercising his razor-sharp wit, my colleague referred to this as: ‘carbon-dating’. Here I am performing the dangerous 'finger-poke test' on one such interface:



The effects of sun and wind were also evident in the snowpack. This prompted my colleague to quip, “It’s like being in the alpine, only lower.” Oh yeah—he was on a roll.

A conservative approach would be to conclude that slopes below tree line which have never slid in the past may be more prone to do so now. Another thing one should keep in mind is that the pole-like remnants of the trees would offer little resistance to moving snow.

On the bright side, travel below tree line is a whole new game. The lay of the land, from the valley bottom up, is much more obvious. The happy ski tourist has been granted bush-whacking amnesty and is therefore more able to determine and follow the safest line of ascent to access turns.




Descending through the burnt trees is good fun. It feels quite open, but quick feet are still required to avoid those tree trunks.





My colleague had concerns about his skiwear. He complained that brushing up against burnt branches left unsightly black marks:



I did what I do whenever I see a person wearing yellow pants, I laughed at him.

We made all sorts of interesting observations on this trip. This photo shows how even trees growing on steep, rocky terrain got smoked:




There was a conspicuous lack of animal tracks. We deduced that this was because there's not a damned thing left to eat in the whole freaking valley! But at one point, I caught a glimpse of movement. It was a wolverine. Well, maybe a badger on steroids. Here are his tracks:




We watched him motor along and were amazed at how fast he was moving. He was probably hungry.

The tour was a unique aesthetic experience. The stark contrast of the charred black trees against pristine white snow was awe-inspiring. I tried to imagine what it must have been like when this forest was burning—a roaring inferno, dark with smoke and unbearably hot—like Hell.

Now—in the exact same spot, on a cold, silent and brilliantly clear winter day—it was Heaven.



Tim