Where the Ice Age Lives On

Ever since my first visit in 2022, I have been captivated by the Sea to Sky region of British Columbia. To many, it might seem similar to any other Coastal range like the Cascades, and it mostly is. But this area also felt like the scale of Cascades or Olympics had been stretched horizontally by many factors. Everything was bigger – the alpine meadows, the valleys, and especially the glaciers.

Over the years, I ticked off a bunch of high quality single day routes in the area – the Armchair Traverse, the Spearhead Traverse, the Garibaldi Lake Circumnavigation, the Tantalus Traverse, and a few more. From various vantages, I caught glimpses of high plateaus of ice to the northwest, just across the valley. It didn’t look like much, but I could tell it was just the tip of the metaphorical iceberg.

The Pemberton Icecap is the southernmost icecap in the BC Coastal Range, and arguably the southernmost icecap in all of North America. While its total area has declined from 700 sq km to 400 sq km from 1985 to 2025, its current area still rivals that of all the glaciers in Washington state combined (450 sq km) – and far more than the entire lower 48 minus Washington state! And just 20 miles further north, the Lillooet Icecap is even larger!

After many great summer high routes in the North Cascades, I decided it was time to venture deeper in the Sea to Sky. I wanted to get up close with the Pemberton Icecap. Surprisingly, there was extremely little information about summer trips to the icecap. I could tell snowmobilers frequented the icecap in spring, but I could not find a single trip report from the summer season. Were the glaciers even passable? Why did seemingly no one venture out here? The access seemed straightforward, the terrain looked relatively chill, and the glacier late season imagery looked manageable. What was the catch?

With zero information, John, Ben, and I started drawing lines all over the map, from Princess Louisa Sound to Bridge Creek to Whistler. In the end, we settled on a route from the Harrison Hut at the north end of the Icecap to Tricouni Peak at the south end of the Squamish-Cheakamus Divide, a straight line of over 40 miles that never left the alpine. The icecap section would feature 15 straight miles of glacier travel.

But as often happens with these ambitious plans, a curveball came our way. Two days before our planned departure, we noticed in a Facebook group that the Lillooet South FSR, which we needed to access the north end of our route, had been closed due to “extreme landslide risk”. We scrambled for a backup plan. Sugerloaf seemed like a solid starting point, but Ben suggested Rutherford Creek. This would have the advantage of a much shorter car shuttle and a more unique perspective on the icecap, crossing the high peaks at the southern end. We cut our plan from a 5 day trip down to a 4 day trip to manage potential smoke. It was time to head north!

Day 1: Approaching the Pemberton Icecap

With light rain and a short first day, we were in no rush to get started. We drove across the border, left a car on the Chance FSR, and made our way up to the Rutherford FSR. Our approach to the alpine was the Zener / Torrent approach. We didn’t know much about it, but it appeared on Strava heatmaps, so we figured it was not too bad.

Like many BC hikes, we started up some rough logging roads before following some vague flagging into a clearcut. The drizzle was light, but the brush was very wet, so we quickly got soaked. I haven’t been that wet in a long time in the mountains.

The approach was easy and not too brushy, but just brushy enough to get us soaked. Around 5k, we emerged into what can only be described as the boggiest bog I have experience outside of Alaska. It would give a bog in the Brooks Range a run for its money.

Once in the alpine, on snow and rock, we could actually dry out. It was pretty simple travel over the shoulder of Zener Peak towards the Icecap, with a little bit of wet scrambling on the west side. While there was a “snowmobile approach” route drawn on Caltopo that looked much more direct, we suspected it would be a brushy nightmare without snow, so we took this longer route over Zener. It worked out just fine.

Clouds and intermittent showers hid the glaciers around us, but we could tell we were already in big terrain. We found a nice post glacial gravel bar between Zener and Sisqa Peak to camp on. We were only four hours from the car, but it already felt very remote!

Day 2: Crossing the Pemberton Icecap

We had a big day planned – over a dozen miles on glaciers alone! The morning was still cloudy, but we could tell the sun was beginning to break through. I was eager to get going after a poor night of sleep due to a leaky Thermarest pad (at the valve!).

Our plan was to stay high above the easternmost valley glacier of the Pemberton Icecap, traversing smaller tributary glaciers before crossing onto the upper reaches of the long glacier. At over 3 miles long, this glacier would be huge in Washington, but is one of the smaller components of the icecap.

Travel was simple and quick. In Canada, there is always a risk of getting “Caltopo-bagged”. The resolution of maps is poor, so you cannot depend on slope angle shading. Steep terrain can appear out of nowhere. But so far, so good.

We followed this glacier to its head near Mumbai Peak before crossing to the west onto another glacier. We knew that if we transitioned between glaciers near their top, the snow coverage would be better and transitions simpler. With such flat glaciers, we just needed to avoid the steeper convexities and lateral moraine walls.

Given the complete lack of information about summer trips to this region, we were a little worried that the glaciers might be navigationally complex. Instead, they were chill as can be. With such easy access and easy scramble peaks, this icecap would be a classic mountaineering objective in Washington.

What makes this spot so unique is not just the size of the glaciers, but how they are all so interconnected. Many of the glaciers flow in two, three, or even four directions! The largest glaciers are south facing. These are not glaciers because of steep north facing shade, or massive avalanche accumulation. They are here just because of modest elevation and insane snowfall accumulation. Without the defenses of high elevation or northerly aspect, they also are withering away incredibly quickly.

We followed the next glacier past Longspur to where we could view some new post glacial lakes to the north. It was a bit of a slog to get here in the soft, sun cupped snow.

From here, we took a left and headed west. Our objective was to summit what we called “the Nub” – an unnamed high point around 7900 ft just west of Famine Peak. While there were higher peaks nearby, we felt like this spot would have the best view of the sprawling icecap below.

And finally, we reached “the Nub”. A modest peak, with a spectacular view.

We could see the Wedge, Whistler, and Garbaldi area peaks to the west. But the more interesting view was to the south and west, where the mysterious peaks of the Elaho and Clendinning Ranges loomed snowcapped.

We quickly recognized that the best view of the icecap would be from a slightly lower peak, which we called “sub-Nub”. The Big Dawg, John, led us over there.

For miles in every direction, a sea of ice surrounded us. Outside of Alaska, we had never seen, up close, glaciers on this scale. It felt mind boggling to preside over a view like this, just a few hundred miles from home. Just a few degrees of more northerly latitude and a thousand feet of extra elevation can turn the landscape we inhabit into a world of snow and ice. Growing up, I always thought you had to go to Alaska to see glaciers like this. But it turns out they are almost within sight of Vancouver!

We took about 30 minutes to just soak in the views. Who knows when I will overlook an icecap like this again? And when I do, will it still be there?

The most direct route down to the glacier terminus would have been to descend the tributary glacier directly to our south, but we knew from satellite imagery that it no longer connected to the main glacier and ended in an ice cliff, so we decided to take the long way around.

Most of the main glacier was well snow covered, especially in the middle. The far left, where we were, had more mixed coverage, although the crevasses were all pretty small. Looking back, we would have saved some time by walking more in the middle of the glacier. Eventually, as we got lower, it all turned to bare glacier ice.

In some ways, a glacier is like a metamorphic rock – a hard mass of pressure ridges, crystals, and textures created by intense pressure. But in other places, it looks like a sedimentary sandstone, with various layers of minerals exposed by years of weathering and erosion.

The rock, I mean glacier, was remarkably sticky and we never needed crampons on the descent. A few steeper spots featured more crevassed terrain, but we were always able to traverse parallel to the crevasses over to flatter terrain, where the walking was simple and efficient. After 7 miles of continuous glacier travel, we stepped off the ice onto bare ground that likely had not seen the light of day for thousands of years.

There were camp options near the terminus, but I had a hunch that we could find a more epic spot a thousand feet up the moraine wall to the south. It had been a long day, but we mustered up one last climb up into the evening light. Every time I looked back, more of the glacier was visible, until I could see 9 miles away to the head of the glacier. From this perspective, the glacier looked so majestic, even in its declining state – flowing from the distant alpine, snaking its way to the bottom, and bleeding into the river below.

We found a lovely flat campsite next to a small lake where the glacial moraine met the normal alpine meadows nearby. During the Little Ice Age or recent maxima, the broad valley below us would have been filled with a thousand feet of ice, right up to the edge of our camp.

Looking at the Pemberton Icecap, I didn’t just see a glacier – I saw the history of the natural world around us. I saw the scouring tendrils of an ice sheet carving our lakes and sounds, the rushing gush of a glacial flood sculpting the canyons that we drive through every day, and the silty river deltas fed by glacial rivers where millions live today. It’s an ancient, exotic world that can feel so impossible to imagine. But out here, you don’t have to imagine; a tiny slice of that Ice Age world hangs on. There are so many other effects of climate change that are more visible or impactful to humans. Very few people will ever personally notice the changes out here. But I feel like we are going to lose something intangible, some connection to the past, when these icefields finally disappear.

Day 3: Little Ring to Brandywine Area

We woke to a morning haze, a sign that the winds were shifting to offshore. We were grateful to have threaded the needle between rain and smoke for our biggest day in the alpine, but now we would find out how bad it would get.

The day began with an easy walk towards Little Ring. I suspect that both Ring and Little Ring are “subglacial volcanoes”, meaning they erupted beneath the ice sheet during the last ice age. They were capped by the ice, which created their flat tops. While I am not certain of this story, these peaks bear a strong resemblance to the Table in Garibaldi Provincial Park, which I read about in the “Fire and Ice” geology book.

Left or right around Little Ring? We waffled. Left looked shorter but chossier. We ultimately chose right. The travel was easy, with glorious views of the western end of the Pemberton Icecap. This would also be a wonderful place to camp.

After rounding the shoulder of Little Ring, we had a few miles of gentle meadow travel. We were fortunate that it was relatively quick, because mosquitoes were chasing us! We stayed down around 5100-5200 ft to avoid the bottom of some large terminal moraines. There was a little bit of brush, but not much.

The smoke felt like it was thickening as we approached the pass between Ring Mountain and Callaghan. We could barely see “The Nub”, only 10 miles away.

The offshore winds were ripping, keeping us surprisingly chilled on an otherwise hot day. The winds made me start to worry about the small fire down in Pemberton – if it burned to the west, it could cut off access to our car on the Rutherford FSR. Since we had cell service here, I texted Weatherman Wyatt for an update. Fortunately, it looked like the Pemberton fire had been contained and the smoke might improve a little bit in the evening.

The smoke had me feeling a bit down, but Ben occupied the next hour with a riddling tale of professional eating.

There were two options for reaching the Powder Mountain Icecap: we could stay high towards Slag Hill, or traverse low to the lower Solitude Glacier. We figured that the lower lateral moraine of the Solitude Glacier could be weird, so we went high. Predictably, the flat ridge on the map turned into steep volcanic ridge lines. But we got there.

By Washington standards, the Powder Mountain Icecap is massive – over 5 miles from north to south. Compared to the previous day, it was child’s play. But it was still slow plodding across the glacier, slipping on the large sun cups. With snow slopes on almost all sides, there aren’t really great views in this section. We followed old sled tracks across the glacier, encountering their trash along the way.

Once we started descending towards Cayley and Pyroclastic, the views got better, and our spirits lifted. We could even make out the Garibaldi area in the distance; it seemed like the air quality was improving!

We had a wonderful time descending the gentle glacier past Cayley. Near the bottom, our plan was to turn south through a draw. The glacier was a mess of ice and rock near the bottom.

As we got further, the volcanic canyon continued to tighten. It was hard to tell what was ice, rock, and water. We were clearly getting “Caltopo-bagged” once again – what didn’t even have slope angle shading on the map was a steep impassable canyon in reality.

We backtracked to the saddle, aiming for a north side detour. It was getting late in the day, but we didn’t panic.

Descending to the north required exiting the icy terminus of the glacier. We put on crampons for extra traction on the 25-30 degree bare ice. The meanders and patterns from the rivers on top of the ice were beautiful.

Then we blasted up a thousand foot climb back to the ridge. We were a little worried about finding a nice campsite, but there is also something rejuvenating about being on the move at golden hour, tasked with a sense of urgency.

We emerged into the evening light in a stunning alpine landscape. After hours of glaciers, this land of meadows, trees, and distant peaks felt like a massive relief. Just a half mile further, we stumbled upon the perfect campsite with incredible views of the Squamish Valley, all the way to the Tantalus Range.

This campsite was where our route joined the popular “Alcoholics Traverse”. Even though the terrain we traveled through was not particularly challenging, it always feels relieving to know that you are back in well traveled terrain. We could look forward to a scenic, straightforward final day of high routing.

Day 4: The Alcoholics Traverse to Tricouni

Visibility was still decent in the morning. We began the day with an easy and gorgeous walk along mostly flat heather benches. With abundant streams, blooming heather, and nice morning light, this was easily the most pleasant section of the entire route.

After so much glacial and post-glacial terrain, it was great to be back in the world of colors and life.

There is a small glacier on the west side of Fee, and here we left the meadows and returned to the alpine, gaining the ridge proper.

From here on out, the route follows closely to the ridge line. Tricouni still looked far away, but the terrain looked inviting, even with smoke filling the Cheakamus Valley to our east.

Like we had experienced throughout much of the trip, the geology constantly alternated between volcanic and non volcanic. Travel on the ridges was mostly quite easy and very scenic, with awesome views of glaciated peaks in all directions. If this was in Washington, it would be an instant classic.

Most people probably exit the traverse via Brew and Keg – hence the name “Alcoholics Traverse” (Brandywine to Keg). Indeed, that would be the simpler way to go, because the terrain changes quite a bit in character from Cypress to Tricouni, gradually getting more complex and challenging.

Right before Cleat Peak, we found a nice cold tarn to cool off in. Without much wind, and nearing 90F in Whistler, it was much needed!

Refreshed, we powered up for the final climb up Tricouni… or so we thought. Ironically, Tricouni was by far the most complex terrain of the trip, with steep ridges and gullies that do not appear on the topo map. We had to go up and down multiple times before intersecting the regular Tricouni scramble route. From here, we ditched our overnight packs and checked out the summit.

With the haze, we couldn’t see all the way back to the Pemberton Icecap, but even just where we started that day looked so far away.

It didn’t quite feel like the trip was over, because the descent looked annoyingly complex. Instead of taking the regular Tricouni approach, we were attempting a less common descent to Berg Lake. This would lead us to a road that connected with the regular Sea to Sky highway, rather than the Squamish FSR, saving us hours of driving with the car shuttle. From a driving perspective, it made sense, but I was a bit worried about onsighting this descent.

We picked up our packs and started south towards a low notch on the south ridge. This required going up and down and up around some cliffs, culminating with a steep snow finger to the ridge.

From the notch, it was more blind descending, weaving our way around cliffs and linking together snowfields.

Partway down, we down scrambled some class 3+ next to a raging waterfall. It appeared others had taken this route also, but we could later see an easier route through steep heather to skier’s left.

We followed the edge of the cliffs and lake through some more miraculous terrain before finally reaching the lake proper. Here, we could finally taste the finish. We were back on the trail again!

The hike out was quick, along the primitive trail and then rocky jeep road. It is always amazing how quickly BC will whisk you from a random logging road into the land of remote peaks and icecaps, and back again. I wonder if the Cascades felt a bit like this 50 to 70 years ago, when we had so many more roads, not to mention glaciers.

Ben suggested we call the route the “Icewine High Route”, as it was a marriage of the Pemberton Icecap and the Alcoholics Traverse. I liked the name. Ice and wine are two things that don’t typically go together, but the very essence of high routing is blending different disciplines: backpacking, mountaineering, long distance hiking, and scrambling. On this route, the terrain swung so wildly from miles of glaciers to gentle heather meadows – a beautiful mixture.

After a few years of progressively exploring more of the Sea to Sky Highway, the Icewine was a perfect capstone trip for the region. It brought together many familiar spots, from Whistler to Gariabladi to Tantalus, with the great unknown of the Pemberton Icecap. While it didn’t match the intensity or technicality of the Glacier Peak High Route or Pickets High Route, the scenery and remoteness was on the same tier. It felt like a once in a lifetime trip.

Thanks to John and Ben for joining on a great adventure and believing in the vision!

Notes:

• The route was 58 miles and 22k ft gain. Only the first mile and last 3 miles were on a road or trail.
• You could definitely do shorter segments of this route. There is easy access at Callaghan and Brandywine, so there really were three sections.
• This route was pretty moderate technically. The most challenging scrambling was definitely around Tricouni, which could be avoided by exiting Brew and Keg. There was barely any class 3 otherwise. The glaciers were long, but generally pretty simple, even when down to bare ice near the terminuses. We did not have to deal with any steep snow except around Tricouni.
• Ultimately, I am glad we switched from our original plan to start at Rutherford. It was a much shorter car shuttle and allowed us a view of the icecap from above, instead of just a 15 mile slog across mostly flat glaciers.
• I think we had perfect timing for this route (mid July after a warmer and wetter winter, so likely average-ish snowpack up high). Campsites were melted out and the snow was relatively consolidated. Later season, there would probably be more choss connecting glacial sections, as well as bare ice and open crevasses on the glaciers.
• These glaciers are receding really fast. The terminuses will change each year, so they could be more or less challenging in the future. Additionally, as the glaciers sink, lateral moraines will become more difficult to cross. We didn’t see any particularly challenging ones with snow cover though.
• If looking for a place to camp on our day 2, there were slabs near the summit of “The Nub”, and obviously plenty of flat snow to camp on.
• There was very little bushwhacking on this route, mostly just a little on the approach.
• I love Caltopo, but it is not very trustworthy in Canada. Ben had Gaia, which had much better slope angle shading.