Too late, we were already halfway down the 1550 meter decent, no stopping now. I couldn't help make things sketchier, as I drove, by compulsively looking over the edge while our truck and trailer slid its way around the powdery hairpin turns. Once we reached the valley bottom all that came out of Sheenas mouth was "it's gonna be fun getting out of here".

So that was the beginning of our ski trip into Bella Coola on a poor-womans budget. We had a plan and it was drawn in pencil on our topo map with all our bearings written down. We had the map memorized. We knew where we would camp every night, we had all our meals home cooked and dehydrated, and our gear was jammed into our packs and one 90lbs sled. We knew what mountains we wanted to ski, where the massive crevasses were, where the icefalls were, and we had our ˜dreamy lines" drawn on the topo map. We had our base camp, on the Monarch Glacier, drawn on the map as a little house. We had a plan, we had a plan and it all burned to fluffy white ashes because we couldn't control the weather.

Sheena and I left in February, packed for 20 days, when either the best or the absolutely worst weather could be experienced. We were dropped off on the side of the highway east of Haggensborg on a deactivated forestry road and the plan was to travel 65 kilometres into the steroidal environment of the rugged Coast Mountain Range. We were skiing into the Monarch Glacier with absolutely no motorized assistance. Phhh, we don't need no stinking heli or sled, we just need to put in a little more effort to get there. I would love to say that the trip was an outright success but a plan is never experienced quite like it is dreamed and in this case chaos ruled.

We travelled 35km into the jagged wilderness heading towards the Monarch Glacier. The mountains just seemed so massive, the Rockies suffered from little man syndrome compared to the colossal rock and ice that tumultuously shaped the Coast Mountain Range. We camped and skied surrounded by the massive Coast Mountains yet sadly never touched the Monarch Glacier. I can point my finger at the one culprit that caused the demise of our trip- weather. Temperatures fluctuated from 20C one day to +8 the next, which made things ridiculously dangerous. We would sit at camp with a pair of binoculars and literally watch avalanches tumble down surrounding slopes. We fell asleep to the odd, powerful rumbles of avalanches ripping down into the valley, the deep rumble echoing through the walls of our tent causing our eyes to light up -˜did you hear that one?"

On the eighth night after receiving over two and half feet of heavy snow and spending 50 hours tent-bound, we received a weather report that looked dismal. A warm front was moving in quickly off the west coast and rain was expected for five days or longer even at elevations up to 6000ft. It was going to get socked in quickly and super wet. We had no choice but to bail-out. The warm temperatures heating up the shit load of new snow, which was sitting on top of a less dense layer, was a recipe for disaster. A huge avalanche cycle would transpire. We had to get out fast.

We traveled thirty five kilometres in fifteen hours, hoofing our way back into civilization with our tail between our legs as avalanches ripped above us. At one point, directly adjacent to us, a class 2.5 avalanche ripped its way down, coming to a stop 100 meters above our trail. After swearing and nearly shitting bricks, we watched in awe as numerous point triggers released far above us sweeping past dwarfed, awkward trees and rumbling off cliffs.

The rain hit with force just as we got off the trail at the confluent of the forestry road and the Bella Coola highway. I have never seen it rain snow before but it did and with a vengeful, windy attitude. I stood on the shoulder of the highway with one thumb pointed in the air, drenched from head to toe, smelling like one dirty mountain girl. I just wanted to cry. We had gone to so much effort preparing, researching, organizing, and pulling that stupid sled over hundreds of fallen trees, but for what? We didn't get any turns in, we nearly got pummelled by avalanches and we hiked out asses off to sit in a tent for two days dreaming obsessively of the lines we had not and could not ski. Then I asked myself whether it was worth it and without a doubt, it was.

* * * * * *

A smile came to my face as a black Camry pulled onto the shoulder of the highway. While I jogged up behind the car I looked up at the grey sky and let the snow splash my face. Walking away smiling from the ˜walkabout ski touring trip" was the hardest part yet. Compromise was hard to accept but it was easier with an open mind, which made the trip successful regardless as to whether the destination was reached. It was an experience far more valuable than the best days of skiing we had in Alaska because we left Bella Coola with far more knowledge and experienced then when we started. We were just relieved to get out of there alive. I guess the perfect ski touring trip is ˜but a puff of smoke in the imagination" as Hemingway said.