A three-generation forest industry family reflects on glory days and daunting change.
THE STORIES THEY’LL TELL Legends left behind when our glacial ice is gone.
ODE TO THE EAST KOOTENAY VOLUNTEER
PUNK. PROTESTER. POLITICIAN. B.C. music legend Joe Keithley, founder of D.O.A.
E-BIKES. E-YIKES. Get ready to giv'er.
WHO IS CRANBROOK’S RENÉ FARWIG?
The East Kootenays’ premier custom home builder.
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We can’t wait to have you.
ROUND UP
12 NDP HEARTLAND HURT, BRAND SPANKIN’, HOLLYWOOD CALLING
Q AND EH
14 JOE WHO?
B.C.’s godfather of punk rock talks street drug solutions, city hall, and a half century of head bangin’.
ART
18 I CRIED WHILE THEY DRIED
Creston ceramics artist Andrea Revoy reminds us that beauty doesn’t just survive the fire — it’s shaped by it.
FOOD & DRINK
21 KILLER, WITHOUT THE BUZZ
No-booze beers and cocktails are pouring onto menus and shelves everywhere. Trench editor Britt Bates samples an East Kootenay bevy of zero-alcohol beverages.
HISTORY
23 OF BONES AND BLOW UPS
Ninety-two souls lay at rest in this Highway 3 cemetery. And alongside them, a stony secret.
CHARACTER
24 LONE STAR: RENÉ FARWIG’S FAR-OUT JOURNEY
Cranbrook’s René Farwig and his life’s extraordinary arc; from bombed-out basements to the Olympic Games.
ENVIRONMENT
28 EVERGREEN EMERGENCY
Remarkable East Kootenay efforts to save a keystone species — the whitebark pine.
YOU FUNNY
76 HILL OF BEINGS
For some, a rowdy backcountry adventure is the bomb. For others, a mountain view from the couch is pretty much perfect.
Howl and Hue
Inspired by mountain adventure and days immersed in wild places, Grasmere, B.C. artist Ric Fedyna uses layers of paint and sanding in an effort to create portraits of emotive realism and vibrant expressionism. Fedyna’s work can be found at Invermere’s Art on 9th, Fernie’s Polar Peek Books, and KootsRoots in Cranbrook. ricfedynastudios.com.
On the Cover
Hat’s off — Originally from Kimberley, photographer Kalum Ko has worked in over 35 countries and now resides in Brooklyn, NY. Ko captured the image of the cowboy on this issue’s cover at the Cranbrook Pro Rodeo as a part of his award-winning Close to Home series, funded by the Canada Council for the Arts.
32
A FOREST AND A FAMILY
Part of a three-generation clan of loggers, Trench writer Danette Polzin reflects on the forest industry’s proud past and its transforming future.
42
THE STORIES THEY’LL TELL
With most East Kootenay glacial ice destined to disappear by the end of the century, these are some of the tales that will be left behind.
54
THE GIVERS
The benevolent efforts of East Kootenay volunteers who've stepped up. And those who've moved on.
68
ELECTRIC CIRCUS
Just plug and play. E-bikes are here to stay.
Meet Our ~
CONTRIBUTORS
LYNN MARTEL
Lynn has written about the people, natural environment, and mountain culture of Western Canada for three decades. Her most recent book is Stories of Ice: Adventure, Commerce and Creativity on Canada’s Glaciers, which weaves together a rich history of Canada’s glaciers through the exploits of adventurers, professional guides, tourism operators, creatives, and scientists. She is Canada’s Writer in Residence for the UN Year of Glaciers’ Preservation and a POW Creative Alliance member.
JOHN BOWDEN
John drove out west for a ski season 15 years ago, stopped for five years in Banff, then moved to the Kootenays. He can be found schlepping his two young boys around Nelson on an electric cargo bike. He and his family enjoy adventures with and without bicycles, and he documents their journeys to remember the highs, lows, and silliness in between. He wishes the most recent mountain bike he purchased was electric, and dreams of infinite torque for his cargo bike to conquer Nelson’s hills.
JEFF PEW
Jeff is a writer, photographer, counsellor, and creative writing teacher in Kimberley, B.C. He has two poetry publications: radiant danse uv being (Nightwood Editions, 2006, Jeff Pew & Stephen Roxborough, eds) and his first book of poetry, One Foot In (NeoPoiesis, 2016). His poetry has been featured on CBC Radio and B.C.’s Poetry in Transit. Jeff writes, photographs, and podcasts for several publications about the unique people and places of the Kootenays. — jeffpew.com
Feel the burn Riders Christine Wallace and Tony Braun ascend into ravaged and remarkable timbers above St. Mary Lake, B.C. on the trail to Haystack Lakes. Check out Electric Circus , page 68, for more on the oncoming e-bike revolution. — Bruno Long Photo
Rooted in Communities, Growing in Opportunities
PUBLISHER
Darren Davidson
EDITOR
Britt Bates
COPY EDITOR
Danette Polzin
ART DIRECTOR
Ashley Dodd
PRODUCTION DESIGN
Sarita Mielke
AD SALES & DESIGN
Alesha Thompson
DISTRIBUTION
Jesse Heinrichs
SOCIAL MEDIA
Danette Polzin
PUBLISHERS EMERITUS
Karen Vold
Grady Pasiechnyk
WRITERS
John Bowden
Lynn Martel
Dan Mills
Jacquie Moore
Greg Nesteroff
Neal Panton
Jeff Pew
Sarah Stupar
PHOTOGRAPHERS
Ryan Creary
Jeff Davies
Jesse Heinrichs
Kalum Ko
Nicole Leclair
Bruno Long
Tige Lussier
Dan Mills
Pat Morrow
Neal Panton
Jeff Pew
Leslie Prentice
Andrea Revoy
Steve Tersmette
Adam CK Vollick
Cranbrook Business Centre | Centre d’affaires de Cranbrook
Michelle Kleindienst, michelle.kleindienst@bdc.ca
Account Manager | Directrice de comptes
bdc.ca 1-888-INFO-BDC
NDP Heartland Hurt, brand spankin’, Hollywood calling
Following last fall’s razor-close election shave for the BC NDP, yesterday’s orange crush is today’s watered down OJ — for supporters in the heartland anyway.
But a Kootenay member of Premier David Eby’s cabinet is aiming to sweeten the party’s somewhat soured fortunes throughout the B.C. Interior — a political landscape once dominated by the New Democrats.
“We definitely would have liked to have won more seats in the Interior,” says Kootenay Central second-term MLA Brittny Anderson.
The 37-year-old — now B.C.’s first Minister of State for Local Government and Rural Communities — is one of only three NDP MLAs elected in the so-called heartland. Other than that, the Interior is Conservative blue from the Yukon to the U.S. border.
“That’s why the premier gave me the position — it’s a brand-new role. Want to make sure every decision made is being put through a rural lens.”
But according to a former NDP heyday heavyweight, the party’s big picture isn’t pretty, given its 47-to-44 seat election squeaker over the Conservatives.
“The question is, how
did we lose rural politics out here?” asks Corky Evans. Profiled in a springtime article on NorthernBeat.ca titled “Back When The NDP ‘Actually Gave a Sh—‘” Evans says today it’s possible to win a B.C. election with little rural support.
The 77-year-old threetime MLA and Columbia Basin Treaty co-founder says the New Democrats’ leadership has forgotten rural B.C. Evans served in the former Nelson-Creston riding and ran for party leader in 1996, finishing second both times.
Reporter Jeff Davies penned the Northern Beat tale, noting Evans’ lament for “the state of the party and the coalition of labour leaders and workers, rural dwellers, and urban activists who built it,” as well as new left-wing thought often preoccupied with identity politics.
After leaving the U.S. in the ‘70s, the former Californian was a Kootenay logger for 20 years. Despite the premier’s new plan to fast-track industrial projects in the face of U.S. tariff threats, Evans says he “didn’t see a thing” in recent NDP platforms that suggests New Democrats want sawmills, mines, a smelter, or a pulp mill.
But Anderson says the heartland is in good hands,
noting B.C.’s new Ministers of Environment, Health and Water/Land/Resources Stewardship all hail from rural roots and bring that sensibility to the legislature.
Talk about brands on the run. Hot on the heels of a major award for the City of Cranbrook’s new economic development marketing campaign, Cranbrook Tourism has taken the wraps off its new shiny schpeel. The new name and identity: Choose Cranbrook
“The new identity is inspired by the idea that Cranbrook’s true character isn’t always obvious at first glance,” says Executive Director Kristy Jahn. “Our job is to help visitors scratch the surface — to discover not just a sunny mountain town, but a living anthology of people and place.” Earlier this year, the City’s Choose Cranbrook campaign and website won the 2025 Marketing Innovation Award from the BC Economic Development Association (BCEDA).
There’ve been some big numbers come out of Kootenay Rockies Tourism this year. In its latest regional tourism profile — culled from 2022 stats — the province pegged annual gross spend-
Heartlander — Former Kootenay NDP MLA Corky Evans was first elected in 1991 and served in the government of then Premier Mike Harcourt. Evans says the party has forgotten about rural regions like the East Kootenay. — Jeff Davies Photo
ing in the KRT region at $1.1 billion. The B.C. tourism industry generated $9.7B in GDP in 2023 followed by mining ($5.3B), oil and gas ($4.6B), agriculture and fish ($3.1B) and forestry at $1.7B. “Tourism is by far the largest industry in B.C. and one of the largest in Canada,” says former KRT chair and College of The Rockies’ tourism instructor Mike McPhee Asked, “do you think your community has too few, too many, or the right amount of tourism throughout the year?” Depending on time of year, between 54 and 66 per cent of locals say … “just right.”
A blind date, a killer's stolen car, a body, and $40,000. Just another day in the Columbia Valley? Or the makings of a decent screenplay? Both, in fact. The aforementioned plot is at the centre of 2024’s All Night Wrong, the latest movie to be entirely shot in the region, and a follow-up to Hallmark Studio’s Hearts of Winter (shot in 2020 around Windermere and Panorama) and 2017’s The Mountain Between Us (fea-
turing bona fide stars Kate Winslet and Idris Elba).
“We’re looking forward to building a film industry in the Columbia Valley,” says Theresa Wood, who as overseer of the new Columbia Valley Film Office, has spent a few weeks this summer touring location scouts for a UK/Canada co-production and hosting location scout training school. The office is a satellite shop for the Kootenay Film Commission, which in April hired former CBC News reporter and independent documentary producer Sarah Kapoor as its new film commissioner. Kapoor, who grew up in Creston, hosted and co-created CBC’s Past Life Investigation, which earned a Gemini nomination and was featured on The Oprah Winfrey Show. Other noteworthy East Kootenay big-screen hits … 2010’s Hot Tub Time Machine (filmed in Fernie) and the way-scarier-than-a-blind-date-gonewrong 1982 horror flick, The Thing, shot in Kimberley.
– Trench Staff
Joe Who?
B.C.’s godfather of punk rock talks about life on city council, a solution to our mean streets, and a half century of head bangin’. Q AND EH
When Joe Keithley was 18, he left home — with almost nothing. A sleeping bag, a hundred dollars, and a guitar. Fifty years later, Keithley is still on the run, still with a guitar. He and his B.C.-based band, D.O.A. — considered the godfather group of hardcore punk music — have played on five continents and visited 47 countries. The band, which for the past decade has included Kootenay drummer Paddy Duddy and bassist Mike Hodsall, plays Cranbrook’s Shotties September 5, fresh off a 17-stop European tour. Once the tour wraps up, Keithley will return to his other job — councillor for the City of Burnaby. It’s a position he was elected to after running unsuccessfully, seven times. As both punk legend and elected official, the grandfather of three lives by D.O.A.’s slogan: Talk minus action equals zero.
“Real change starts locally,” Keithley says in the 2024 documentary about him, titled Something Better Change. “If you have a good idea, convince your
neighbours. Then the rest of your town. And if it’s a real good idea, it might spread across the country and maybe the world.” In June, Keithley was a keynote speaker at Beyond the Beat: Music of Resistance and Change , an exhibit at the Royal BC Museum, which travelled from the Canadian Museum for Human Rights. D.O.A.
I believe in what I’m doing. I believe in politics, getting people to think, to engage in our society and our world. And I also believe in the fun. That’s one of the things we said when we started D.O.A. Go out and change the world, play loud, obnoxious punk rock, and have fun while you’re doing it. That’s always been our three goals.
strong work ethic. I'm running a record label. I'm a councillor, I’m in the band. So, I basically have three jobs. You just work hard at it and take your time, take it easy. If you've got to get a rest, get a rest. It's just really more of a mental attitude than anything else. I used to play a lot of hockey too, but I'm retired from that. Too many injuries.
Record Breaker — Keithley launched the independent label Sudden Death Records in 1978. In 2024, it released the star-studded album No Escape From What You Are, featuring D.O.A. songs covered by 14 hard rock and punk acts, including Guns N' Roses’ Duff McKagan and Dead Kennedys (Top) Keithey with Kootenay-based drummer Paddy Duddy, left, and bassist Mike Hodsall, right.
featured largely in the show, along with luminaries including Neil Young, Public Enemy’s Chuck D, and Elton John.
Punk rock. For nearly 50 years. Why have you kept at it?
So, 17 shows in 20 days in Europe, a few weeks’ break, then a Western Canada tour — with 10 shows in 10 days. You're 69. How do you maintain that pace physically and mentally?
Perseverance and a real
Who’s had a big impact on the way you see the world, and your careers?
One of my idols is Pete Seeger. I had an opportunity to meet him a few times. He took on authority. He tried to change the world. He was 92 and he was still playing
on picket lines and trying to raise hell.
Is there another band out there who’s played as many shows over as many years as D.O.A.?
We sort of think there's only one band within rock, punk, and metal that's played more shows — we think that's Blue Öyster Cult, but we're not that far behind them. The good thing is we're younger than them.
Who’s putting out good music nowadays?
That’s my worst subject. I never have a good answer to that. I spend time meeting up with old mates from bands in California, London, and New York. I’m still basically into punk rock. How’s that for a politician’s answer? (Laughs) Say absolutely nothing.
That's a great segue. You’ve been a city councillor in Burnaby for sixand-a-half years, almost two terms. How do you like it?
Council is really fun. But there’s tension, there are arguments, there’s giveand-take. I take the same
approach as a councillor as I do with my band. You’ve got to have your ideals and you’ve got to stick to them.
Going to run again?
Oh yeah. It’s full speed ahead.
You were voted in for your support of climate action, employment opportunities, caring for vulnerable populations. What are your thoughts on how municipal and provincial governments can put a dent in the triad of homelessness, mental health crisis, and addiction?
We need all-in facilities. Like Riverview, which was in Coquitlam, although it was done in a disastrous fashion. Everyone who’s suffering from addiction combined with mental health troubles, they’re often
you’re on this stuff. And tried to help them as much as I can. It’s a tough situation, because everyone is someone’s brother, sister, uncle, father, mother. You can’t just leave them in the woods.
Johnny Rotten, one of the founders of the Sex Pistols, sang that anger is an energy. Is the emotion of anger needed for real change?
Put it this way, when D.O.A. started out, we fought against war, greed, racism, and sexism. Now 47 years later, D.O.A.'s fighting against war, greed, racism, and sexism. I thought things would get better. I think you’ve got to approach issues logically. Anger is part of it. But I think taking a measured approach and trying to get people on board is the only way to change things for the better in society.
GO
OUT AND CHANGE THE WORLD. PLAY
LOUD, OBNOXIOUS PUNK ROCK. AND HAVE FUN WHILE YOU’RE DOING IT. THAT’S ALWAYS BEEN OUR THREE GOALS.
coming from really unfortunate circumstances and something traumatic has happened to them in their life. And we need to help them. We need facilities that get them through the stages. Clear up the addiction. Get them ready to go back into the world. Get a job. It would take a big, big investment on the part of government. And neither political stripe has chosen to do that yet. It’s a big problem. But so is the cost to pay for property that’s stolen, or a business owner’s place that’s ransacked.
The punk scene was heavy back in the ‘70s and ‘80s. Did you deal with drug and addiction issues personally?
For sure. I lost a bunch of bandmates due to drug problems. And kicked a few guys out of the band. Told them you can’t play while
In 2019, D.O.A.’s album Hardcore ’81 won the Polaris Heritage Prize — it's basically like a Hall of Fame nod. You guys beat out The Band, Joni Mitchell, k.d. Lang. You think any of those guys were carrying their own equipment after 40 years on the road?
(Laughs) I kind of doubt it, right? I think the previous year we got beat out by Rush. Hardcore ’81 is kind of a template for hardcore punk. It’s funny because D.O.A. was the first band to play for a lot of famous people early in their lives, whether it be Henry Rollins or Kurt Cobain, all sorts of famous people that had great careers or still do. But D.O.A. was often the first punk band to play in their town.
continued on page 16
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Your two fellow D.O.A. bandmates are in fact Kootenay fellas. Paddy Duddy and Mike Hodsall were with BC/DC for years, and a number of other acts. They’ve been with you for about 11 years. They’re great bandmates and great at what they do. We have a cohesive unit and we get along. It’s a great lineup. Paddy called me up a few times when he had a show on Kootenay Co-op Radio. Turned out I needed a new drummer. Next thing I knew he was on stage with us, and we were off to tour China.
great show with Slayer in Poland, 20,000 people, about seven years ago. That was incredible. It was just packed. Yeah, there's been plenty of them, whether metal, punk, or sometimes even folk.
The Stones are still at it. Ever cross paths with Mick Jagger? No, I wish I had. To me, The Stones are probably the top three ultimate rock bands. Them and CCR … another guy I'd like to meet would be Neil Young.
CITY COUNCIL IS REALLY FUN. THERE’S TENSION, THERE’S ARGUMENTS, THERE’S GIVE-AND-TAKE. I TAKE THE SAME APPROACH AS A COUNCILLOR AS I DO WITH MY BAND. YOU’VE GOT TO HAVE YOUR IDEALS. AND YOU’VE GOT TO STICK TO THEM.
Not long after that I needed a bass player. Paddy recommended Mike, and there you go.
For folks who don't know anything of D.O.A., can you just rattle off the top of your head a list of some of the massive acts you've either shared the stage or marquee with over the years? I think it's kind of all of them. Basically, every prominent rock band you can think of. We’ve opened for everyone from Noam Chomsky to David Lee Roth. That was pretty interesting. Roth was a fan of D.O.A. And then I got in an argument with his manager and he kicked us out of the building. We did a
And then at the top of my list, the guy I want to have a drink with, is Willie Nelson. People ask me how long I’m going to keep going. Willie's 95 and he's still playing. So why not.
This interview was edited for context and length. D.O.A. plays Shotties in Cranbrook on Sept. 5, The Castle Theatre in Castlegar on Sept. 13, and The Prospector in Rock Creek on Sept. 14. More info? SuddenDeath.com
– Darren Davidson
Politico — First elected to Burnaby City Council in 2018, and re-elected in 2022, Keithley is the only member of the Burnaby Green Party currently serving on the eight-person council.
I Cried While They Dried
The survivor of toxicity and abuse, Creston ceramics artist Andrea Revoy reminds us that beauty doesn’t just survive the fire — it’s shaped by it.
A quiet, powerful truth flows through the work of Creston-based ceramic artist Andrea Revoy — a truth both heavy with emotion and lifted by playfulness.
Revoy’s sculptures are not simply pieces of art: they are chapters of a personal evolution, shaped in clay, pain, and light.
Originally from Vancouver Island, Revoy landed in Creston in 2009 — a move she describes as life-shifting. “When we moved here, I didn’t work outside the home, so I was able to be fully immersed in ceramics,” she says.
It was a natural fit: Creston’s stunning beauty and close connection to wilderness echoed back her inner need to heal, rebuild, and
grow. “I’ve always been connected to trees, to mountains,” she adds. “Being here feels grounding. It shows up in my work.”
Revoy’s journey into art began through a side door. While working as a hairdresser in Red Deer, Al-
work cracked open my imagination,” she says. “It became a way to physically work through what was inside me.”
Revoy’s interior world emerged into material form with her Trophy Wife series — a body of work initially
“SOMETIMES I THINK I KNOW WHAT I’M MAKING — AND THEN THE CLAY TELLS ME SOMETHING ELSE.”
berta, she took an artistic welding course at Red Deer College. From there, she fell headlong into the college’s visual arts program, initially focusing on painting. But once she discovered the tactile power of clay and sculpture, something shifted.
“Three-dimensional
created out of the emotional pain she suffered during an abusive relationship.
“I’d never made anything that raw before,” explains Revoy. “I didn’t know you could put your whole body and soul into a piece of art. But I cried making them, I cried while they dried. It all poured out.”
The sculptures, while striking in their craftsmanship, hold a haunting tension. One piece, titled And Then There Was None, captures her loss of self-worth in the toxic relationship dynamic. A delicate female figure sits inside a cage, her dazzling centre removed.
“It’s about how someone can love your sparkle, and then over time just take it all away,” Revoy shares.
A small accident in the gallery where that piece was displayed ended up being a sweet release for Revoy — when And Then There Was None was shattered by a falling clay mermaid, Revoy found herself relieved. “I didn’t want to keep it. It carried so much pain,” she says.
ART
Survive, then thrive — “There’s a peculiar magic in realizing you are not the same person who started the journey,” artist Andrea Revoy says. “It’s not a loss, but an evolution.” —
Andrea Revoy Photos
“When it broke, I didn’t have to decide what to do with it. It was like something let go.”
What followed was a slow emergence. Now separated from her spouse, Revoy is creating a new series that’s infused with a different kind of intensity — a “golden joy,” as she puts it. Currently taking shape in her Creston studio and deeply influenced by a yoga practice and healing journey, these new works draw from a powerful sense of rooted freedom.
“There’s gold light in the chest of some of these figures,” she explains. “I started to see this image of myself — light pouring from my
chest — and I learned to see that as love. That’s what I wanted to sculpt.”
Revoy’s practice is intuitive but grounded. She begins with slabs of clay, and without a rigid plan. Journals, sketches, and scattered notes feed her early ideas, but the real storytelling happens in her hands. “Some-
ton studio, Revoy combines hand-built clay with bits of spun wool, felt, and sometimes found objects.
Workmanship, attention to detail, and a sense of humour — even when working through darker themes — are at the core of Revoy’s process.
“The pieces I make are in-
Victoria to Black Diamond, with plenty of showings in the Kootenays.
Lately, Revoy is exploring themes of womanhood, nature, and interconnectedness through her art practice. “I don’t want to call it goddess work, exactly, but it’s definitely feminist,” she says. Caged figures, radiant
CRESTON’S STUNNING BEAUTY AND CLOSE CONNECTION TO WILDERNESS ECHOED
BACK TO HER THE ARTIST’S INNER NEED TO HEAL, REBUILD, AND GROW.
times I think I know what I’m making — and then the clay tells me something else,” she says with a laugh.
Revoy is inspired by mixed media artists, and explains that she’s always considering how to incorporate other mediums into her work. In her cozy Cres-
spired by events or everyday experiences that make me think, smile, and laugh,” she says. Some of her most popular functional-art pieces, like the whimsical Drinking Buddy cups, offer a tangible sense of connection and spark of joy, and have been shown in galleries from
golden hearts, and layered textures tell stories of perseverance and power.
“It’s about strength and staying grounded,” Revoy says, “and about how nature and creating art can help us work through trauma.”
Revoy’s pieces are available at galleries across British Columbia and Alberta, by appointment in her Creston studio, or through her website: andrearevoy.com. She also shares her journey on Instagram at @andrearevoyceramics, inviting viewers into her process, which is a celebration of resilience, creativity, and the light that art can reveal.
– Jacquie Moore
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Killer, Without The Buzz
HOP WATER Encore Brewing - Cranbrook
With zero alcohol, zero calories, and a zesty bite, this is a pint glass of perfection. Meet Hop Water: a light and refreshing sparkling water infused with fresh hops, crafted in-house at Encore Brewing in downtown Cranbrook. Currently at five bucks with free refills, it’s an easy and affordable
glass of summer. Want to sip something sweeter? Encore handcrafts flavoured syrups to infuse into soda waters, including raspberry and lavender. They also serve up their ever-popular handmade milkshakes, and bartenders rock an old-school slushy machine behind the bar with rotating flavours.
Non-woozy beers and cocktails are pouring onto menus and market shelves everywhere. Trench editor Britt Bates samples an East Kootenay serving of zero-booze bevvies.
Zero proof, but full flavour: if you’re opting out of alcohol these days, there are far more options than soda water or dusty nearbeer from the bottom shelf. Today’s non-alcoholic libations are more sophisticated and satisfying than ever.
In recent years, Canadians have cut back. In 2024, alcohol sales by volume fell by 3.8 per cent — the
too — proof that many of us aren’t quitting entirely, but just slowing our roll.
Whether you’re curious about the benefits touted by low-booze advocates — like reduced anxiety, elevated mood, and improved sleep — or just want to stretch out those hours chatting on the patio while staying bright-eyed tomorrow, it’s a better time than ever for a
THESE AREN’T SUBSTITUTIONS; THEY’RE SUPERIOR SELECTIONS IN THEIR OWN RIGHT.
steepest decline since record-keeping began in 1949. Younger generations are leading the charge: studies show that up to a third of Gen Z and millennials have dialled back their drinking.
Stone-cold sober isn’t the only option, though. A 2024 study showed that 75 per cent of Canadians who purchase non-alcoholic options also purchase booze,
dry round. Thanks to growing demand, producers are stepping up and rolling out more complex, stylish, and downright delicious offerings.
Raise a glass to these five options from across the East Kootenay that bring great taste and elevated style to your table. These aren’t substitutions; they’re standout selections.
In downtown Golden, this locally-loved haunt dishes out quality Mexican food — along with a robust menu of zero-proof libations.
Fernie Brewing Company is a household name in the Kootenays and beyond — and with good reason.
For over two decades, this family-owned company has
- Golden
“Everyone has asked for a classic lime margarita,” says Kat Morrison, manager of Reposados and creator of its seasonally-rotating drink menu.
“So I went on the hunt for a non-alcoholic tequila — and I really wanted a Canadian one.” After much searching, Morrison was successful.
Additionally, the cocktail uses a non-alcoholic triple sec that’s crafted in-house, and fresh lime.
Served in a classic margarita glass with a salt rim, the Zero Proof Lime has all the flavour and feeling of this classic cocktail, best enjoyed with friends in the sunshine.
“Pregnant women love it because it really feels like you’re having a margarita,” Morrison laughs. “And sometimes when you’re pregnant, you just really need a marg.”
been crafting award-winning brews.
“We wanted to create a non-alcoholic beer with the same great taste and quality as Fernie Brewing Co.,” explains Lindsay Ranson of LOGO and FBC. “It’s important for us to have an option for beer drinkers who still want full-flavoured, mountain-fresh craft beer — just without the alcohol.”
LOGO has three popular brews in its lineup: the crisp Citrus, a classic refreshing Pilsner, and the hoppy Hazy IPA. Unlike the method of creating many near-beers on the market, which slows fermentation and thus the flavour-building process, LOGO takes a different approach.
“We brew LOGO just like FBC beer,” Ronson explains, “and then strip the alcohol out afterward — so we still get the same great taste FBC is known for.” continued on page 22
ZERO PROOF LIME Reposados
LOGO BEER Fernie Brewing Company
CR*FT BEER
Invermere Brewing Co. may be a new name in the Columbia Valley — but it has a rich his tory of expert brewing on both sides of the Rockies.
For nearly 15 years, Arrow head Brewing Company was an Invermere staple. In May 2025, the brewery was purchased and rebranded: the business got a fresh name and a new look, and all old Arrowhead brews were sunsetted to make room for a lineup of fresh offerings.
STEAMBOAT 75
“Even before we opened, we felt it was super important to offer non-alcoholic options,” explains Kim Fraser, the owner of Steamboat Lounge in Radi um. “People should be able to come to a higher-end lounge and still enjoy the atmosphere and a really nice drink.”
Like everything Steamboat does, their libation list orients toward physical health and community wellbeing. They work closely with local farmers and suppliers, with a focus on organic ingredients, for a farmto-glass experience.
of Bones and Blow Ups
Ninety-two souls lay at rest in this Highway 3 cemetery. And alongside them, a stony secret.
Tucked in the trees, white picket fences surround the last resting places of some of Moyie B.C.’s early settlers. It’s a tranquil and picturesque spot, other than the traffic whizzing by on Highway 3.
was the building’s purpose.
When the adventure blog Off the Beaten Path with Chris & Connie featured the cemetery in 2018, they suggested the building was “a place to keep bodies temporarily over winter till the ground thawed — cold storage for the dead.” They go on to say, “These buildings, while not seen much today, were frequently found next to pioneer cemeteries.”
ed to the place has recognized its purpose.”
There was some pushback in the comments from those who believed it was a
If a powder magazine, it leaves the question of how graves were dug in the winter without heavy equipment. A search on the subject does produce references to winter vaults — as well as to graves dug in advance before the ground froze. It’s unlikely Moyie’s gravediggers were that proactive, since they didn’t have to contend with many deaths to begin with: there were fewer than two dozen in the
JUST EAST OF THE BURIAL GROUND ARE THE CRUMBLING RUINS OF A STONE BUILDING WHOSE ORIGIN IS DEBATABLE.
At least 92 people are buried here, the first of whom, Joshua Hillyard, was killed by a falling tree in 1898. Moyie’s newspaper reported Hillyard was buried south of town in a spot that was then only accessible by boat. Given the difficulty this created for the funeral procession, it’s not clear why this location was chosen.
Something else about the site is peculiar. Just east of the burial ground are the crumbling ruins of a stone building with debatable origins. Moyie Reflections, a history book published in 1988, says this building once stored explosives for the St. Eugene mine.
Yet at some point, a plaque was affixed to the ruins that reads: Historic Moyie Tomb, 1898. It’s unknown who put it there or how they determined that
powder magazine, as Moyie Reflections had suggested, but the blog’s writer, Chris Doering, stands by his conclusion
He explains that he knows of other such structures, and notes that while the Moyie building was close to the cemetery, it was at least a kilometre from the mine. In the event of an explosion, he felt the stone construction would have resulted in “a million projectiles going a million different directions at high speed.” Doering points out the plaque, which indicates, he says, “someone connect-
community between 1898 and 1906. Perhaps their winter graves were simply shallower than others, and the result of grueling effort. In a mining town, at least, there was no shortage of men efficient with shovels and pickaxes.
Like a lot of things about the past, we may never know for sure. Whether powder magazine, winter tomb, or something else entirely, the ruins aren’t giving up their secrets so easily.
– Greg Nesteroff
Tomb or powder magazine? There isn’t enough evidence to be sure which theory is correct — but the latter appears more viable. Here’s why:
• Moyie Reflections was written 25 years before the plaque appeared — and the book was more likely informed by those with firsthand knowledge, and likely fact-checked before publication.
• Stone wasn’t unheard of as a building material for powder magazines. Such buildings also existed near Fernie, Greenwood, and Sandon.
• Although Doering says that winter tombs weren’t uncommon, the one at Moyie would be the lone surviving example in the Kootenays. There are, though, a few newspaper references to the St. Eugene powder magazine — but none offer its location or material.
• There are newspaper accounts of several early Moyie funerals stating that burials took place in December, January, and February. There was no suggestion any bodies were entombed until spring.
Lakeside living, and dying — Moyie was founded in 1897, and by 1901, had a population of nearly 1,000 — predominantly male miners in boarding houses. The community boasted a school, market, saloons, and brothels. By 1920, the mine employed just 20 people and the population had plummeted to 100.
CHARACTER
Lone Star: René Farwig’s far-out journey
Wartime breadlines. Olympic fall lines. Papal friendship won and loves lost. A Cranbrook senior shares the story of a truly remarkable life.
On a warm June morning, René Farwig sits on the veranda of his mobile home in Cranbrook, B.C. At 89, he moves with the steady choreography of someone who’s practiced slowness. His memories arrive in flashes: some precise, others cloudy, recovered with a snap of his fingers and a squint.
For Farwig, time is not a straight line. He loops back mid-sentence, rewinds decades, then jumps to the present. He speaks for five and a half hours without pause, his accent a thick hybrid of Ger-
man, Bolivian, and middle North American. He wears a straw hat, blue jeans, and Birkenstocks. Every so often, he combs his thick white eyebrows with his fingers.
His third wife, Danella, brings coffee, smiling, says very little, and drifts back into the living room. Airplanes fly overhead. A barefoot man ambles on the road strumming a guitar, singing something half-familiar.
“Seems like if your organs are okay, you can go on forever,” Farwig says, before we begin.
Decorated and dignified — Having lived and travelled across the globe, the 89-year-old now lives a quieter life in Cranbrook with his third wife and their aging dog.
Jeff
A CHILDHOOD TORN BY WAR
Farwig was born in 1935 in Valencia, Spain, the child of a German engineer father and a Bolivian woman from a large Catholic family. His father, wounded and decorated with an Iron Cross, had left postWWI Germany for Bolivia, building small dams in the Yungas mountains and carrying equipment by mule.
The family returned to Europe: first to Germany, then back to Spain, just as Franco's civil war ignited. “My dad was a translator for Franco,” Farwig explains. “He worked with the German pilots helping Franco, but died in 1939 when I was only five. Malaria. War wounds. Who knows?”
That left his mother alone in Spain with three boys. “She was elegant, but tough as nails,” Farwig says. She returned with her boys to Germany, drawn by family promises of education and stability. They settled in Halle, a Saxon town of 100,000, just in time for the Second World War.
“We got bombed for three years straight,” Farwig says. “There was little to eat. Breakfast was potatoes and onions, whatever you could scrape together. Our house had no windows. The doors were scavenged plywood. We’d steal light bulbs and anything we could to survive.”
Farwig learned to adapt.
“I stole cigarettes from my
mother and gave them to teachers. That didn’t go over well.” He remembers strict rules: never stepping off the concrete onto the grass, and learning to eat properly at the tables. “It was discipline.”
By the end of the war, everything fell apart. “The Russians were coming from the east. The Americans and Canadians came from the west, giving us bread, chewing gum, and chocolate.” His family left by train, just ahead of the Red Army, which eventually stopped the train, evicted the German soldiers, and beat or killed them.
“But we had Bolivian passports, which saved us.”
The family ended up in displaced persons camps — first in Bavaria, then Munich, then Switzerland. “In Munich, the camps were full of women and children. No men, other than the very old.” He remembers standing in line with a tin can, waiting for soup.
Switzerland was another world, untouched by the war. “The trains ran on time,” he recalls. “Everything was clean. The lake sparkled.”
"THERE WAS LITTLE TO EAT. OUR HOUSE HAD NO WINDOWS. THE DOORS WERE SCAVENGED PLYWOOD. WE’D STEAL LIGHT BULBS AND ANYTHING WE COULD TO SURVIVE."
FOR A YOUNG REFUGEE, THE ANDES’ EMBRACE
After the war, Farwig’s family left Europe for South America aboard a packed emigrant ship from Genoa, Italy. “There were 3,000 of us,” he says. “Six decks high, all crammed where the cargo used to go.” The journey spanned 30 days, with stops in Dakar, Rio de Janeiro, Fortaleza, and Montevideo.
“They’d unload people at every port, immigrants accepted by each country. We were the last ones off in Buenos Aires.”
To escape the stench and sickness below deck, Farwig’s family made a deal with the ship workers. “They let us sleep in a lifeboat if we smuggled rum and nylons to shore. It was quiet, clean, and sunny. We had to sneak back on board each morning before the rest woke up.”
downtown. Farwig’s mother found work as a bank teller and sold a Franco-gifted watch for $50. Now a refugee, Farwig received a scholarship to a German private school.
“Some kids were driven by chauffeurs. I sat there with a piece of bread and a banana, thinking, ‘Sons of bitches.’”
“SOME KIDS WERE DRIVEN BY CHAUFFEURS. I SAT THERE WITH A PIECE OF BREAD AND A BANANA, THINKING, ‘SONS OF BITCHES.’”
The family made their way to La Paz, the capital city of Bolivia: high in the Andes, and rough. The family lived in a two-room, century-old apartment
He hated the nuns. “I was in school six days a week because I misbehaved. My mom thought it was terrific.” Still, there were perks, like free ski equipment for juniors under 15. Bolivia, like everything else in Farwig’s life, was complicated.
continued on page 26
Pew Photo
On weekends, Farwig skied on Chacaltaya, a 17,000-foot glacier 40 minutes from La Paz. “We had 40 feet of ice,” he recalls. When crevasses opened across the lift line, Farwig and his mates laid down planks, shovelled snow on top, and helped tourists ski across. The lift engine was a 1942 Ford truck with a cable around its wheel.
sphere, the ski season ran during the north’s summer, and South America was becoming a hotspot for off-season ski training.
Coaches from Denver University brought some of the best American skiers to Chile and Argentina to train during these months.
In the following years, Farwig, the best skier in South America, was invited
WHEN CREVASSES OPENED ACROSS THE LIFT LINE, THEY LAID DOWN PLANKS, SHOVELLED SNOW ON TOP, AND HELPED TOURISTS ACROSS.
A wealthy family from Buenos Aires — owners of Austral Airlines — sponsored a month-long ski scholarship in Argentina that Farwig won. “They were multimillionaires,” Farwig says. “They’d fly us in when I was about 14 or 15.”
At 16, he became Bolivia’s top skier and joined a national team — “not official,” he explains, “but we called it that.” He returned each year, eventually winning the National Championships in Argentina.
That’s when Emil Allais, a French world champion skier, took notice of Farwig. Allais sent French coaches to South America, first to Chile and then Bolivia. “They didn’t charge us anything,” René says. “We had world-class coaching, totally French, technically oriented.”
In the southern hemi-
to compete in the U.S. With just $200 to his name, he travelled four days from Miami to Denver.
“We hosted American patrollers in Bolivia — fed them well — so they returned the favour,” he says.
At 20, René Farwig became Bolivia’s first-ever Winter Olympian. With no team or federation, his brother introduced him to a Bolivian government minister who asked, “You think you’re good enough for the Olympics?”
With $1,000 and a $140 boat ticket, he travelled to Chamonix to train with the French national team, widely considered the best. He lived simply, trained hard, and ran alpine roads while a friend followed on a Vespa.
“I kept currencies in different pockets — marks here, lira there,” he laughs.
Farwig raced all over Europe, including Sestriere,
Adelboden, and Kitzbühel, the latter where four racers before him were airlifted to the hospital. “I made it down,” he says. “The officials ran toward me, but by then, the crowd had gone to the bar.”
At the 1956 Cortina Olympics, he carried Bolivia’s flag alone in the opening ceremony. “An Italian girl held the nameplate. The Russians had hundreds of athletes — I raced with strings cinching my pants to my legs.”
“Without a coach or proper gear, I finished 35th in the downhill,” Farwig says. “Someone told me, ‘You beat a lot of countries.’ I held onto that.”
When he returned home, 300 people greeted him. “For revolutions, thousands would fill a stadium,” he says smiling. “No one understood the Winter Games, but I enjoyed every minute of it.
Peak performer — Farwig competed in slalom and giant slalom events in the 1956 Winter Olympics — and years later, helped shape Canada’s own Olympic story, overseeing the development of what would become Nakiska, home to alpine events for the 1988 Winter Games.
RENÉ HELPED SHAPE MODERN SKI INSTRUCTION, BLENDING ELITE TECHNIQUE WITH INCLUSIVITY. BUT TENSION WITH BUSINESS PARTNERS AND THE DIFFICULTY OF MANAGING HIS SKI INSTRUCTORS … LED HIM TO WALK AWAY.
After the Olympics, Farwig's life in North America exploded into a whirlwind of racing, love, coaching, and reinvention. Landing in Denver in the early '60s with $200 to his name, he hitchhiked to Aspen where he found housing with ski patrollers and met his future wife, a vibrant home economics teacher chasing her
ski dreams. They fell in love, married, and skied across Chile and Argentina, where Farwig beat Olympic champion Stein Eriksen in a GS race.
Back in the U.S., Farwig found work in Aspen as a groomer and ski instructor. He eventually settled in Colorado, started a family, and opened a ski school. Tragedy struck when their daughter
was killed in a traffic accident — something Farwig and his wife never fully recovered from.
René’s ski school career took off. He became ski school director in Boise, Idaho, and then at Mount Hood Meadows in Oregon, where he pioneered women’s programs, midweek racing leagues, and youth training systems. At his
THE ARMS OF AMERICA, THE MAN OF GOD
peak, René managed 100 instructors and 80 racers, hiring international talent from Argentina, France, and Chile.
Known for his charisma and instinct, René helped shape modern ski instruction, blending elite technique with inclusivity. But tension with business partners and the difficulty of managing his French ski instructors — who urinated in the snow and slept with clients — led him to walk away.
After the Olympics, Farwig was invited to represent Bolivia at the National Erasmus (Student) Games in Zakopane, Poland. He took a train alone through the Iron Curtain.
“They gave me a whole compartment — eight seats — just for me. I felt like a celebrity,” he recalls. At the event, he was the only solo athlete, and housed far from the venue. “No coach. No helmet,” he says.
During a formal banquet, he was seated beside a young priest dressed in black who was curious about Bolivia, and Farwig’s blonde hair and German fluency. They became fast friends.
“He was an intermediate skier, very kind,” he reflects. “When we skied, I gave him tips on his turns.” That priest, in 1978, would become Pope John Paul II, a lifelong friend of Farwig.
FROM JASPER TO KASHMIR TO CRANBROOK
In 1979, Farwig left Mount Hood Meadows to become general manager of Marmot Basin, a ski resort owned by 17 doctors in Jasper, Alberta. “The gearbox on the T-bar was open and loud as hell,” he says. “Grease everywhere. It was shocking after the States.”
Adjusting to Canada’s National Parks system, René learned on the fly. He documented mismanaged avalanche control that killed wildlife and pushed for better infrastructure.
“I wanted 10 more lifts, but first we needed basics — like taxis at 2 a.m. when
tourists arrived by train.”
René quickly became a local leader, joining the Chamber of Commerce, and rubbing shoulders with politicians like Joe Clark and his wife, and Maureen McTeer, whom he skied with.
Later, Pope John Paul II planned a visit to Edmonton. “The weather was too bad for the Pope to fly to Jasper,” Farwig explains, “but the Vatican invited my wife and me to dinner in Edmonton instead.”
At dinner, René and the Pope spoke for 40 minutes. “He asked me how a Nordic skier from Bolivia ended up
“HE ASKED ME HOW A NORDIC SKIER FROM BOLIVIA ENDED UP IN THE CANADIAN ROCKIES. I TOLD HIM, ‘YOU WERE A POLISH PRIEST. NOW YOU’RE POPE. THINGS CHANGE.’”
in the Canadian Rockies. I told him, ‘You were a Polish priest. Now you’re Pope. Things change.’”
“I was lucky to be white and blonde,” René reflects. “It helped me get through doors. But I saw how hard it was for Black people in Idaho. That always stayed with me.”
In 1983, Farwig was asked to leave his job at Marmot Basin to become general manager of the new Olympic alpine venue near Calgary, Mount Allan (now Nakiska).
“The committee asked, ‘Do you want to build the Olympic ski hill?’ How could I refuse?”
Farwig lived in a motorhome on-site and oversaw massive infrastructure projects: pumping water 3,000 vertical feet from the river, installing 355 snow guns, and blasting through frozen terrain.
“On the eve of the women’s downhill, we had to drill holes every two metres on the course and pack them with dynamite,” he says. “We blew up 200 metres of snow and ice. It looked like a war zone.” Throughout the night, they groomed and made fresh snow. When the jury arrived, they were impressed with the conditions, having no idea what Farwig’s team had done all night.
Mount Allan faced warm weather, lawsuits, and tragic accidents. René’s team struggled with snow density regulations and building a system from scratch. Despite setbacks, the venue hosted all alpine events for
the 1988 Winter Olympics.
“It was the last Olympics before the Games became what they are now,” he says, referring to the massive expenses today.
After the Calgary Olympics, Farwig’s career spanned various continents and disciplines. In Northern India’s Kashmir region, he helped map gondola and lift lines, walking the mountains to design ski terrain. He served as general manager of Hemlock, Shames, and Nitehawk ski resorts, and base manager of Sunshine Village, across Western Canada.
As technical delegate for downhill events with Molson and FIS, he played key roles at ski races across North America, including the Lake Placid Olympics. Known for his artistry as well as athleticism, Farwig also held art exhibitions of his scenic landscape paintings.
“Nowadays, I do nothing,” René says, looking toward his dog curled nearby. “He understands me slowing down. He’s almost my age.” After a life of mountains, medals, and continents travelled, Farwig speaks with the calm of someone who's seen the world rise and fall.
“Everything passes,” he says. “It’s the consequence of the passing you really have to watch out for.”
– Jeff Pew
One man showing — At the 1956 Olympics in Cortina d’Ampezzo, Italy, Farwig was famously the only person carrying the Bolivian flag; he was the country’s sole competitor, and the first athlete from that country to ever be sent to the Winter Olympics.
An Evergreen Emergency
The whitebark pine — an East Kootenay keystone species — is under siege. Scientists are attaining new conservation heights to save the vital conifer.
High on a mountainside west of Canal Flats on a blue-sky day, overlooking the great Columbia Lake, Gabriel Enrique Montano secures himself with an industrial harness to the trunk of a towering whitebark pine, and ascends.
As the warm afternoon breeze picks up into a gust of cool subalpine wind, he sways dramatically with the bending branches, surrendering to the mercy of wind,
So, why do Montano and other whitebark pine restoration technicians go through all the trouble in the first place?
Put plainly, it’s because whitebark pine — or Pinus albicaulis — are under siege from an invasive and parasitic fungus known as white pine blister rust, brought over from Europe
“IN THE FALL, WHEN YOU’RE TAKING THE CAGES DOWN AND THE BIRDS HAVE EATEN ALL THE OTHER SEEDS, THEY STARE AT YOU LIKE, ‘HEY! WHAT ARE YOU DOING? THAT’S MY FOOD!’”
rope, and top-quality timber.
From ground level, he looks miniature. Easily mistaken as some obscure extreme sport, Montano’s clambering around the canopy is fuelled by professionalism and diligent purpose.
Montano is a whitebark pine restoration technician for the Whitebark Pine Ecosystem Foundation of Canada (WPEFC), and part of the day-to-day job is pinecone protection and collection.
At first glance, harvesting pinecones seems like a relatively simple task — and with most pine trees, it probably is.
in the early 20th century.
Unfortunately, the current battle against it hasn’t been going well.
“It’s pretty bleak,” says Roma Zulyniak, who’s worked with the WPEFC since 2021. “Pretty much any tree that gets sick will eventually die from it, and they’re dying at a rate that we won’t be able to keep up with.”
Whitebark pine plays a vital role in stabilizing snowpack in the subalpine because it grows comfortably at a higher elevation than most other pines. Zulyniak describes the tree as a keystone species, citing it as a main food source
Whitebark pines, however, only produce cones near the not-so-convenient tippy-top, making the process a bit more complicated.
for red ground squirrels, grizzly bears, and — importantly — the Clark’s nutcracker: a bird with
which the trees share a symbiotic relationship.
The pine seeds, rich in fat, are a favourite food of Clark’s nutcrackers, who have evolved with a special adaptation called a sub-lingual pouch — underneath
Sentinels of the subalpine — Pinus albicaulis are native to the East Kootenay — but in some areas, white pine blister rust has caused up to 90 per cent tree mortality. — Jesse Heinrichs Photo
their tongue — where they store and carry large amounts of seeds over long distances, before distributing them amongst various caches.
But like many Kootenay residents, Clark’s nutcrackers can be spacey on the best of days, and it’s not uncommon for them to lose track of a cache or two. These forgotten treasure troves turn into tall, lush stands — so long as they remain undetected from opportunistic bears and other hungry critters.
Once a seed takes root and turns into a sapling, it takes approximately forty years before a whitebark pine tree is mature enough to start producing cones of its own; a timeline that makes the work done by the WPEFC all the more essential.
One of the core focuses of the restoration process is to find trees that show a natural resistance to white pine blister rust so that their seeds may be harvested, grown in a nursery, and then redistributed into the ecosystem.
“We go into thick stands of whitebark pine and try to find the healthiest trees,” explains Zulyniak. From there, a restoration technician, like Montano, climbs the tree to its top to install cages over the budding cones, protecting them from Clark’s nutcrackers.
“In the fall, when you’re taking the cages down and the birds have eaten all the other seeds, the Clark’s will land on
a branch right next to you,” says Montano. “They stare at you like, ‘Hey! What are you doing? That’s my food!’”
During the summer — while the cones are caged and developing — the team clears space around existing whitebark pine, promoting healthier growth, and they collect samples from the trees so that they can be tested in a lab for the pivotal, rust-resistant gene.
“We’ve found a few trees with that gene,” says Zulyniak, “which is a really good sign.”
Through an act of what can only be called absolute wizardry — or grafting, if we want to be technical — the time it takes for a tree to start producing cones can be reduced by over thirty years.
By attaching the cone-producing branch of a mature whitebark pine to a younger tree, cone production for the younger tree can be stimulated.
Ideally, this process will eventually lead to a healthier, sturdier, and disease-resistant population of whitebark pine for generations to come.
And in the meantime, the dedicated team at the WPEFC will be found in the forest, swaying in the treetops, pining for that resilient future.
– Jesse Heinrichs
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Pine peeps—Headquartered in Kimberley and working throughout Western Canada, the Whitebark Pine Ecosystem Foundation of Canada is a team of dedicated people (and the occasional dog) working to protect future populations of whitebark pine.
Part of a three-generation clan of loggers, Trench writer Danette Polzin reflects on the forest industry’s proud past and its transforming future.
W: DANETTE POLZIN
was one of those warm spring days that stirs excitement for summer.
I was at the shop, where my brothers were wrapping up after-work projects — fixing hoses and welding machine buckets. The shop itself tells the story of years of hard work: sweat, blood, beers, tears, and laughter etched into every corner. It’s common for the guys to gather here after hours, but
this evening was different. We were sitting down to reflect on the near 50-year journey that took my dad from a worker in logging, mining, and pipelining to owner of his own logging and milling outfit, and eventually president of our family’s business bearing my father’s name, Rick Polzin Contracting Ltd.
My dad is a man who has a vision, mission, and
passion for doing forestry differently. And this is our story.
I grew up a backcountry kid, mostly in Kitchener, B.C., not far from where I now live with my two sons. When I reflect back on those early years, it’s not so much the logging itself that I remember — it’s the life that came with it. The backroads we explored, the camping trips, the remote forests
accessed by foot or ATV, the scent of sawdust and chainsaw oil on my dad’s clothes — a smell I still wish came bottled as cologne or air freshener.
With that backcountry upbringing, what experiences we had; I remember my grandma and aunties bottle-feeding a fawn that wouldn’t have survived without help. At my grandparents’ cabin, a resident bear and I would sit noseto-nose, separated only by a window. I had a pet squirrel, as did many of my family members — at least in the logger households, where nests from fallen trees were often rescued.
I was the oldest of three children, quite a bit older than my two brothers, Chad and Jesse. I remember as a young child, Chad idolized our dad. He’d do anything Dad would do. Dad ate sardines, Chad ate sardines. Dad wore jeans, Chad wore jeans. Dad was a logger, Chad was a logger — a decision he’d made by age eight. As a child, I saw my dad as this strong, stoic, immovable force with an often inappropriate, but always formidable sense of humour, a heart of gold,
Pointing to a
and the drive of someone who truly lived by the motto ‘work hard, play hard.’
And even though I was the only one in our home who didn’t follow the logging footsteps laid out for us, I was gifted an incredible appreciation for the beauty, complexity, and force of this great planet we stand on.
In my early twenties, I was visiting friends in Creston and met a guy I didn’t know. He struck me as a young hippie, the type who might have a ‘Save the Whales’ or ‘Hug a Tree’ bumper sticker. He started talking about logging. I braced myself. I knew where this usually went. Then he surprised me. Pointing to a logging block on Mount Thompson, he said, “I don’t know who did that logging up there, but that’s exactly how logging should be done.” We all looked up.
That logger was my dad. And that was the moment I really realized that he was up to something. Something different than our communities and hometown’s surrounding forests had grown accustomed to.
logging
HAUL IN THE FAMILY — A scene from a Hollywood set or everyday life for Kitchener B.C.’s Polzin family? In 1983, the story’s author, at age two, held by one of her grandparents. Her young mother and father are at the far right. The family have been foresters for more than 60 years. (Right) A common scene from logging life in the ‘90s — the kids on the Cat. (Bottom) Rick Polzin’s father in 1984, with his snowcat and a load of cedar salvage to produce shakes, posts, and rails.
Paycheque lost, foresting niche found
Twenty years ago, our family’s business was featured in Interior Trucker & Logger Magazine. In that piece, Dad said he never wanted the company to grow so big that he couldn’t stay involved in all parts of it. And while it has grown, it’s still run by just my parents, my brothers, and a handful of employees. Today, the core logging crew is dad and brothers Rick, Chad, and Jesse, alongside Rick Chilson, my uncle Danny Polzin, and occasionally former employee Tyler Powell, who still helps out on his days off from the mine. In the past, grandpa and great-uncle, Ron and Jim Polzin, also worked with the business. My mom, Carleen, runs the office, with Teresa, Danny’s wife, helping out and managing safety.
Dad’s first job was doing cedar salvage work in the Creston area with his own father, making shakes, posts, and rails. He also remembers riding in machines while his dad land-cleared for pipelines and roads. He left school in grade nine or ten to focus on cedar salvage, then worked for other contractors in logging, mining, and pipelining — often away from home.
block on Mount Thompson, the hippie said, “I don’t know who did that logging up there, but that’s exactly how logging should be done.”
His first local logging gig came from Jim Roberts. Jim was hesitant at first, with my dad being only about 20 years old, but he begged for a chance.
“Jim sat there all day watching me,” Dad remembers. By the end of the day, Jim was impressed. Dad joined the crew.
After years with various contractors, he felt a growing pull to step out on his own. Tired of the big-company grind, he was working for Crestbrook (later taken over by Tembec, and now Canfor). In 1998, my parents bought a small sawmill, planning to run it part-time on our property. They drove all the way to Oregon to bring it home.
The plan was for Dad to keep working at Crestbrook while easing into his own small-scale sawmill operation. But shortly after they returned, Crestbrook restructured. His job was cut, without warning.
“When Crestbrook cut Dad’s job, we were kind of shitting our pants,” Mom recalls. They’d just bought the sawmill and leveraged their house as collateral.
“I didn’t think I’d ever put something against our house like that,” Dad adds. “But we never did it again.”
It turned out to be a blessing in disguise. The layoff
FROM INTERIOR TO INDEPENDENT
pushed Dad to fully commit. He’d felt the industry’s smalltown heart and soul was draining away as big companies took over.
“You’re just a number,” he started to tell friends. Sure enough, not long after the corporate acquisition of a bunch of local mills, logging rigs were literally numbered. “See, there it is,” he said. “They used to know people by name. Now, they’re a number.”
But folks adapted to the new corporate landscape, and it was in that same year of the mill purchase, 1998, my parents started to find opportunities in B.C.’s Small Scale Salvage Program, where mom and pop outfits bid on timber blocks filled with mostly dead trees. Dad began milling full time — selling logs to builders, and sawing custom orders for clients including CP Rail and YRB. Today, both my brother Jesse and I live in homes built with timber our dad sawed.
Aside from the sawmill, the first ‘machinery’ my parents owned was the family-famous “green beater” truck, an old tractor, and a skid steer. My dad also rented a skidder — which drags logs to a landing where they’re processed and loaded onto trucks — but quickly learned that relying on rentals and other contractors was, in fact, unreliable. So, Dad made his first big machine purchase: the 518, a used skidder from a longtime friend and business contact.
“I remember when you first got that skidder because it was dropped off at Danny’s and we were driving it around in the back,” Jesse says. Too short to see over the dash, he and Chad team-worked the foot pedals and steering the first time they rumbled around in the big rig.
“You remember smashing your head?” Chad asks.
“Which time?” Jesse says. We all laugh — Jesse hit his head A LOT as a kid. “Dad had me moving the skidder up Kidd Creek and you were riding with me. Dad showed me how to shift and said just leave it in second. But I wanted to try third, so I shifted without letting off the throttle, and Jesse smashed his head off the screen.” Jesse started hollering. Chad apologized, with a caveat.
“Just don’t tell dad,” he pleaded. “I was supposed to leave it in second.”
Chad always knew he wanted to be a logger. By eight or nine, he was working summers full-time.
“The first summer, all I did was carry the saw out to dad, hold the tape, carry the saw back, and gas it up. I got $20 a day if I stayed awake and $10 if I napped on the truck seat. I made $360 that summer.”
“He slept a lot,” Dad laughs.
Over time, the salvage program began to shift. It still
21,000 hectares and a community’s better interests
existed but became harder to access. More paperwork. More costs. And no guarantee of getting the job, even after investing the time and effort. After 2013, stumpage rates — the fees loggers pay per metre to harvest wood from Crown land — began to rise so high it wasn’t worth it anymore.
protection, and wildlife habitat restoration. Our community forest is part of the British Columbia Community Forest Association, which represents upwards of 50 community forests across the province, with at least six of those located within the Kootenays.
they
for
And it was through this transition that the company started taking on more work for the Creston Community Forest (CCF).
The CCF is a living, breathing example of community forest stewardship. It’s a non-profit organization managing over 21,000 hectares of land in the Creston area. With a focus on sustainable forestry, they also put large efforts into public education, trail building, wildfire mitigation, watershed
CCF aims to balance logging, the local economy, conservation, and recreation. With science and community interests in hand, the CCF aligns forest management with local values and environmental integrity to foster resiliency and sustainability, ideally for generations.
The vision of the CCF has always mirrored my dad’s approach to forestry. So, it was no surprise he eventually started working with them. He initially got in the door because other contractors would underbid on Community Forest jobs to win contracts, but often failed to finish them. Some lost money and bailed. Others only took the jobs to fill downtime from their large contracts, then dropped them the moment bigger work called.
That’s when the Community Forest started calling my dad to clean up the mess. Over time, he became one of their main contractors. As part of that role, since roads had to be built to access the logging blocks, he naturally moved into forest service road building and maintenance. The company also started working with BC Timber Sales, taking on road and bridge maintenance. As trust built, my parents started bidding on bigger and bigger contracts.
BRIDGING GAPS — Up a forestry road outside of Yahk, B.C., in 2019, the Polzins place a bridge
built. (Top) Four-year old Jesse, now a full-time operator
the company.
HORSE AND POWER — Carleen’s dad and brother, Stanley and Haven Hoffarth, also tried their hand at horse logging, near Yahk (top). In the ‘90s, the guys needed to move a bulldozer, but didn’t have a trailer, so they used a beater truck. The cab was removed with a chainsaw (middle). The company’s feller buncher. Today, brand new, the formidable foresting machine would be valued at nearly $1M (bottom). In the early ‘80s, Rick and bulldozer, during a gig mining at Elkford’s Eagle Mountain (opposite).
Back at the shop table, I ask Dad what sets their company apart.
“Well, I’m better looking,” he laughs. Versatility, he adds. Being able to do everything — log, build roads, bridges, or anything else — Mom adds. And a commitment to selective, sustainable practices.
Both of my parents remember when Simon Fraser University students visited. From the front deck of their home, which overlooks a logged mountain, my dad pointed to a block logged by his crew a year or two earlier. The students were convinced it hadn’t been touched, and were shocked to learn it had. Especially when they saw the stark difference between his block and one right next to it, cleared by a large contractor.
That contrast is everywhere — and often highly visible, particularly due to the increasing amount of lesser-regulated private land logging. High-visibility cut blocks on privately owned property are one of the reasons many people wrongly think all logging is destructive.
“When people complain about logging,” Dad explains, “they find pictures of clear cuts and the worst blocks out there and use that as the example for the entire industry. And they’re not even doing that on purpose. They’re just not educated to see the differences.” A selectively logged site can look untouched within a year. In truth, thoughtful logging protects watersheds and manages wildfire risk. The real problem, say forestry watchdogs and long-time loggers like Dad, is that the industry is strictly run for profit. Rules are in place, but they aren’t always followed. Enforcement is often nonexistent.
Take replanting, for instance. Tree species are
supposed to be replanted in the same ratio they were removed. But that’s not always what happens. Contractors choose the cheapest species, and no one checks. Over time, this threatens biodiversity and the regenerative strength of our forests.
And the industry is also steeped in politics. Major forestry corporations have the money and power to lobby urban politicians — many of whom have never set foot on a logging site. Meanwhile, small contractors and workers raising alarms are silenced. Mismanagement from the top down continues to cause serious damage.
Another hot-button misconception in the industry is old-growth logging.
“A lot of the old growth is wood that is rotten or diseased,” Jesse explains, “or in a state that it’s going to be prone to those things.” These trees aren’t valuable. If they’re cut, it’s often to help the forest regenerate or prevent disease and wildfire.
The definition of old growth is murky at the government level, and what gets labeled as such can be misleading. Some truly ancient forests need protection. But other “old growth” areas are filled with fuel. Wildfire risk in these protected zones is alarming because selective logging isn’t allowed. What happened in Jasper is a prime example. Hiking through Elk Lakes Provincial Park last summer during a storm, surrounded by hundreds of dead standing trees, I shuddered at the thought of a possible lightning strike.
“I don’t remember ever logging a place that hadn’t been logged before,” Dad says. “Even if it was 80 or 100 years ago. Back then, they just took
the big trees. What we’re logging now were weeds in their way.”
“It’s like a garden,” he surmises. “Do it once, do it selective, do it right, and you can do it again. There’s not enough common sense in the industry any more. You can’t just have people in offices writing up stuff when they’ve never worked in the industry or have only been trained in a classroom. It just doesn’t work.”
“You need a balance,” Dad says, “and we’ve lost that.”
Danger, love, and legislation
After more conversation around the shop, the conclusion is that logging itself isn’t the issue. It’s the layers between government, corporations, and the people on the ground. And the challenges don’t end there.
Strict provincial safety requirements have created new barriers. Dad and his crew have always made safety a priority — what matters most is that everyone gets home at the end of the day. But not all operators are the same, so safety standards have become far more rigid. It’s a catch-22, essential for protecting the lives and wellbeing of workers, yet tough on operations.
“You can no longer run a skidder and hook chokers when you’re 16,” Jesse shares. (Workers now must be 18 to log in B.C.) My brothers started young, working under Dad’s wing. But now, my sons want to do the same and the rules are different.
“It’s the same for farmers as it is for loggers,” Dad says. “When kids were young, they used to help and learn that way. Now the government says you can’t. They’re killing the industry. I under stand why the rules are in place, but at the same time, I’d never let anything happen to my sons or grandsons out there.”
“The old days were a lot of fun, there was just something about it,” Chad shares. Jesse agrees. “It’s safer now, and easier. But there’s something to be said for line skidders, and hand bucking and hand falling. It was a lot of physical work. But it was rewarding and there was a different camaraderie.”
Logging has always been dangerous — it’s known as one of the most high-risk jobs for a reason. “Dad dropped a tree really close to me once,” Chad recalls. “We didn’t tell Mom for years. I knew I’d never be allowed to go again.” Another time, a small tree top snapped and hit Dad’s legs. Everyone ran. “You don’t worry about saving saws,” my dad says. “You just run.”
Competing with mines and oil and gas on wages is near impossible. The industry needs to become more accessible and enticing for young people — there’s no opportunity for them to fall in love with logging early on.
Finding qualified workers is one of the biggest challenges today’s logging companies face. As seasoned workers retire, hiring new ones isn’t easy. Times have changed, and the things that the family loves about the work tend to push new workers away.
The lifestyle demands motivation and grit — up early (sometimes 1:30 or 2 a.m.), no stopping all day, and laser focus. It’s a mindset.
“You’re always watching and looking out for each other,” Jesse says. “You don’t want to let anyone down. You’re not just pulling a pay cheque.” One person calling in sick or not showing up can shut down the entire operation.
Jesse shares what he loves most. “The ever-changing office. A literal mobile office where it always looks different every couple of weeks or months. It’s also nice running the processor, because my dog fits.” Chad and Rick Chilson chime in at the same time that their favourite part is “beer after work.”
“I remember breakup parties,” Chad grins. “The last day of work on spring breakup, we’d quit early and head to the bar or someone’s shop to celebrate.”
A logger’s life is one shared with the land and with wildlife. That often leads to unforgettable moments. The crew has paused operations for calving grounds and watched elk bed down under machines at night. Over time, animals have learned that machinery and people can offer protection from predators. And provide food.
“There’ve been jobs where the skidder’s dragging the trees away and the elk are following it, getting a meal togo,” Jesse says, adding that the ungulates love unexpected access to lichen in the winter months.
ROOTS — The Polzin family and crew in 2025. Left to right, Jesse, Cameron, Molly, Chad, Jackson (upper row), Rick Chilson, Rick, Carleen, Teresa, Danny, Danette (lower row). Nicole Leclair Photo
SOULMATES AND SAWDUST — Rick and Carleen, in 2016. The couple have been married for 40 years.
Steady work in unsteady times
There’ve been milestones in the family business. Buying the first skidder, going mechanized with a processor and buncher, the first brand-new machine. Another huge moment came when the company hit seven figures in the corporate account. But easy come, easy go. Expenses quickly absorb celebration in a family-owned business.
Through it all, Dad has remained independent. He’s never signed on with any other major corporate player. And that created its own hurdles. Bankers often wanted to see five-year contracts to feel their loans were secure.
But as my mom says, those contracts provide false security because they can be cut at any time without notice. The flexibility of the family business has paid off. Their current banker agrees, confident in their stability and never worried about their future.
Work has been steady.
“Most of the time, I don’t go look for work,” says Dad. “People usually just phone us. We have never advertised.” Along with the Community Forest, the family business works with Kalesnikoff in the West Kootenay, BC Timber Sales, mining and exploration companies, BC Wildfire Service, Ministry of Forests, BC Parks, YRB/Ministry of Transportation, and they complete a lot of logging for private land owners.
Dad counts his blessings. As for the future, it’s uncertain.
Competing with mines and oil and gas on wages is near impossible. The industry needs to become more accessible and enticing for young people — there’s no opportunity for them to fall in love with logging early on.
Political pressures, land rights issues, and environmental concerns are squeezing the industry tighter. And a lack of education and understanding at all levels — from government to public — is shaping policies that make logging harder without improving forest management or regeneration.
More education is crucial, too. When done right, logging is essential and sustainable. Alongside fishing, it’s one of the few truly renewable industries in the province. Logging isn’t just about lumber; nearly everything we extract — rocks, sand, gravel — depends on it. Selective logging is also key to wildfire mitigation. Leaving forests untouched means more frequent fires as a part of the natural regeneration cycle. The current strategy of preventing both sustainable logging and small fires contributes to the massive, uncontrollable wildfires we’re now facing.
It’s a complex industry facing deep uncertainty.
And with that, I ask Dad if his grandsons should become loggers.
“They sure should.”
Declarations of Independence
With a new name, small Interior B.C. mills re-up their game.
W: STEPHEN HARRIS
Representing $125 million in annual wages amongst its 13 mills throughout B.C., four of which are in the East Kootenay, the Interior Lumber Manufacturers’ Association is getting a new name: the Independent Lumber Manufacturers’ Association.
The association — a fixture in B.C.’s forest sector for over 60 years — says the fresh moniker is more a declaration of identity than a rebrand.
“For over six decades, our members have been doing more with less,” says ILMA President Ted Dergousoff. “We’re crafting specialized, value-added wood products, supporting rural economies, and sustainably managing our forests.”
Dergousoff explains that ILMA advocacy stands on a simple principle: the right log should go to the right mill.
“That means provincial timber allocation should recognize the capabilities of independent mills and value-added manufacturers — not just large-volume, commodity producers,” he says. Dergousoff explains that this effort helps secure stable employment in rural communities and supports innovation in wood products.
“Proper log-matching ensures that wood is used to its fullest potential, maximizing both economic return and ecological value.”
FOUR STARS: The ILMA’s East Kootenay Mills
BRISCO WOOD PRESERVERS (Brisco)
Specializes in wood treatment and preserving; produces utility poles for electricity, internet, and phone service across North America.
• Species specialization: western red cedar, lodgepole pine
The once family-owned sawmill has closed, but its forest harvesting division and Cranbrook finger joint plant are still operating.
• Core products: finger-joint studs
• Species specialization: mixed
• Log sources: area mills
• Employees: 23 plant employees
J.H. HUSCROFT LTD. (Creston)
Family-owned sawmill that produces dimensional lumber and has employed local workers for over 90 years. A new sawmill trim/sort/stack line project is underway.
• Core products: 1x4 to 1x12 & 2x4 to 2x12 paneling, flooring, boards, lamstock
• Species specialization: fir, larch, hemlock, pine, spruce
• Log sources: 80 per cent tenure, 20 per cent open market
• Employees: 80
STELLA-JONES INC.
(Galloway)
Major supplier of treated wood products for infrastructure and utility sectors with operations in the East Kootenay and throughout North America.
• Core products: utility poles
• Species specialization: cedar
• Log sources: small tenures across the West Kootenay and Okanagan. The majority of fibre is purchased.
• Employees: 3,000 across North America; approx. 10 in Galloway
Heavy Haulers
CANFOR (TSX:CFP)
East Kootenay mills: four (Cranbrook, Elko, Radium Hot Springs & Wynndel Box and Lumber Ltd. — purchased in 2016)
• Employees: approx. 600
• Cutblocks as of April 2025 audit: 90
• Kilometres of road to maintain: 4,600
• Number of facilities in Canada, the United States, and Europe: over 50
DOMTAR/SKOOKUMCHUCK MILL (privately owned)
• Employees: 280
• Pulp production capacity: 280,000 tonnes per year
• Economic impact: $485 million annually
• Number of Domtar pulp mills in North America: six
Fibre Optics
EAST KOOTENAY FORESTRY FIGURES
• Number of timber supply areas (TSAs) in the East Kootenay: three (Cranbrook, Invermere, Kootenay Lake)
• East Kootenay forest industry’s annual revenues: $2.4 billion across forestry, wood manufacturing, and pulp and paper
• Number of jobs: 3,400 direct and thousands more supported indirectly through trucking, supply chains, and community services
• Ranking amongst top East Kootenay employers by sector: 2nd (mining is first)
HANG ‘EM HIGH — Shot in the 1920s, the Lake of the Hanging Glacier and Horsetheif Creek Valley, as seen through the pioneer lens of Byron Harmon, a Washington State-born photographer who was amongst the first prolific visual chroniclers of the Canadian Rockies. The glacier is located west of Invermere and Radium in the Purcell Range.
THEY'LL TELL STORIES THE
It's said that memories are some of the few things in this life that can't be taken away. With most East Kootenay glacial ice destined to disappear by the end of the century, these are some of the tales that will be left behind.
BY LYNN MARTEL
LAKE OF THE HANGING GLACIER
Long before social media, Byron Harmon’s camera talents and physical stamina made him the star photographer of the Rockies and neighbouring mountain ranges.
On one early 1920s expedition, Harmon traveled with mountain guide Conrad Kain, Tom the camp boy, and two U.S. clients. Cora Johnstone Best was a medical doctor and Audrey Forfar Shippam was an artist who worked in sculpture, printmaking, and painting. Both women were skilled climbers and members of the Alpine Club of Canada.
In her highly entertaining report in the 1923 issue of the Canadian Alpine Journal — accompanied by Shippam’s photographs —
Johnstone Best described their adventures exploring 300-metre-long glacier ice caves, replete with miserable rain and snowstorms, and the antics of an uncooperative pack horse named Old Bill. The two women rode their horses and scrambled peaks on
their own. One day with Kain, they made a first ascent of a 3,353-metre peak they named Conforjohn.
Describing Lake of the Hanging Glacier, Johnstone Best wrote, “Such a scene of wild grandeur; such cold majestic beauty; peak after peak glittering in the after-
GREEN DREAM — Hiker Graeme Lee Rowlands surveys Lake of the Hanging Glacier and its once abundant ice. The remarkable location was featured in a 1919 issue of National Geographic entitled "On The Trail of a Horse Thief," back when the glacier cliff face loomed as much as 100 feet above the waterr — Pat Morrow
Photo. BELOW — Byron Harmon’s 1920 shot of the Lewis Freeman party, replete with mandatory four-legged companions. — Photo Courtesy Whyte Museum
of dynamite had been carried all the way from Windermere on one of the horses (not Old Bill) to assist Nature in the final act of bringing forth a natural phenomenon.”
Harmon and Shippam installed their moving picture and still cameras at precise locations, while Kain dug a hole in glacier ice and lit the fuse: 17 sticks in all.
“Harmon took a last anxious look into the finder — yes, the exact peak, and it was rounded high with new snow. He mopped his face and looked along the line to see if everything was ready. It was. This would be a grand success, undoubtedly. The earth shook; the air turned purple; Mother Earth agonized, and a few pounds of ice tinkled off into the water as the smoke drifted away.”
They waited hopefully for a larger avalanche to happen. Meanwhile, everyone had forgotten about Old Bill.
“When the first report of the discharge took place, Old Bill started a little charge of his own. He came down the stretch hitting on all four, his mane flying, his nostrils dilated and flaming, his eyes holding the fire of battle. He hit Harmon first! Down went the camera and
Old Bill started a little charge of his own. He came down the stretch hitting on all four, his mane flying, his nostrils dilated and flaming, his eyes holding the fire of battle.
noon sun, eight great hanging glaciers in a semi-circle; the lake, itself a blue gem in a setting of beaten silver, juggled odd shaped icebergs that turned and twisted in constant movement, offering a kaleidoscopic array of prismatic colours from the palest mauve shade to deepest marine blue.”
She went on to share some behind-the-scenes anecdotes about the team’s mission to purposefully set off an avalanche that Harmon could capture in a dramatic photo.
“There hadn’t been much said about it, but those thirty-six sticks
Old Bill walked up the spine of the vanquished photographer, hit the second, third and fourth cameras with sickening precision and careered off down the valley. And then it happened! The whole top of the mountain eased off a bit, toppled and crashed to the glacier below in the mightiest of the mighty of avalanches.”
Harmon and Shippam moved their cameras over to the “big glacier” where they captured excellent, and now historic, photos.
BOOTSCOOTER — Amidst a springtime sea of Rockies peaks, ski mountaineer Christina Brodribb makes an early morning ascent up Mount Stanley’s north face. — Ryan Creary Photo. RIGHT — The Stanley Headwall, cloaked after a snowstorm. The glacier is seen to the far left, at the back of the valley. — Steve Tersmette Photo
STANLEY GLACIER
Jutting into the clouds above Highway 93 South in Kootenay National Park, Stanley Peak is an attention grabber of the first order.
At 3,155 metres, it’s not among the Rockies’ highest peaks, but its steep North Glacier and massive limestone headwall looming so close to the road make it unmissable.
ing mountaineer haunted by ghosts of partners who died during his first ascent of Switzerland’s Matterhorn, his celebrity trip was financed by the Canadian Pacific Railway Company. Whymper named the mountain for Fredrick Arthur Stanley, Canada’s sixth Governor General, better known nowadays as the namesake of hockey’s top trophy.
The North Glacier was first climbed in July 1966 by alpine master Heinz Kahl with Nick Ellens, since known as the Kahl Route. Writing in the 1967 issue of the Canadian Alpine Journal (CAJ), Ellens pro-
to be 65 degrees included him falling into a crevasse where he became “wedged a few feet below the surface so that no pull came on the rope. He quickly scrambled out, however, cold but uninjured.”
Two years later, Eckhard Grassman and Urs Kallen — the latter of whom is still climbing in his 80s — made the first winter ascent up the North Glacier. Reaching the top required them to tunnel through a cornice, which they managed safely, but later they saw that an avalanche had erased 300 metres of their ascent route.
What goes up, though, must come down — and
Reaching the summit required tunnelling through a cornice — but later they saw that an avalanche had erased 300 metres of their ascent route.
The short hike to its base likely influenced prominent U.K. mountaineer Edward Whymper to make its first ascent via the northwest ridge in 1901, with his guides J. Bossoney, C. Kaufmann, C. Klucker and J. Pollinger. By then, an ag-
nounced, “Heinz said he considers that on Stanley Peak (10,351 feet), the east face has the longest continuous snow-ice face in the Canadian Rockies, with the exception of Mt. Robson.”
Their ascent up a steep slope that Kahl estimated
Stanley’s North Glacier has become a superstar in the roster of steep ski lines. Its first descent is credited to Canadian Rockies steep skiing visionary Doug Ward in the 1980s — a time when super-steep ski lines weren’t yet popular. The line, he
said, was irresistible.
“It was likely a line I had first seen from the road, and the aesthetics of a line are the strongest draw for me,” Ward says. “Stanley's north face has that in spades.”
“I’d not heard any rumours of other descents, even by my second descent in ’87,” he adds. “There was nowhere near the pressures for these lines back then; not many folks aspiring to the classic ice-climbing routes.”
While the glacier is certainly not as full as it was in the 1980s, it’s lost none of its allure, declares wellknown Rockies hardman Jon Walsh.
“Stanley has to be one of the most classic steep-ski descents in the range,” he says with enthusiasm.
For those who don’t plan to ski or climb the glacier, nor the ice and rock routes on the headwall cliffs, Parks Canada offers fascinating guided tours of Burgess Shale fossil beds in the rubble at Stanley’s base.
DIBBLE GLACIER
While The Steeples tower above Cranbrook, tucked behind them is a small, northeast-facing glacier named Dibble that can’t be seen from the road. Located in the Hughes Range — a sub-range of the Kootenay Ranges in the Southern Canadian Rockies — it’s a favourite glacier for locals to visit, and one that makes its appearance for climbers on Mount Hungary or The Steeples, and for hikers exploring the area’s higher ridges.
Growing up in Jaffray, Randy Boardman remembers his father taking him into the area where he often hunted. Now, some 30 years later, Boardman recalls see-
tination for off-piste skiing was in the nearby Island Lake Lodge area, Dibble offered more of a challenge to those who took it on.
“We skied on The Steeples because we were starting to look for something bigger.”
Dibble Glacier continues to draw skiers looking for a good line, in particular Dibble Couloir, often described as the most prominent line in the Fernie area, visible from many surrounding ridgetops.
Kimberley resident Pat Bates first visited Dibble as a young boy more than 50 years ago with his uncle.
“My uncle, who has now
couple of trips where he climbed the glacier to descend The Steeples “chossy” west side.
“The climb up is straightforward glacier travel, the last bit quite steep,” he describes. “The problem nowadays is that the loss of ice thickness is exposing large amounts of loose rock on both sides near the top, very similar to the Bugaboo and Snowpatch Col situation.”
Living close by though, he appreciates still having easy access to the area.
“The area has a special place in my heart, having had the opportunities that I had growing up,” Bates adds. “As a youngster, I had
“The climb up is straightforward glacier travel, the last bit quite steep. The problem nowadays is that the loss of ice thickness is exposing dangerous amounts of loose rock on both sides near the top.”
ing Dibble Glacier for the first time as a teenager.
“I looked at it and thought, 'Hey, there’s a glacier back here. We could ski on that!'” he says. “So, we did. We didn’t have touring gear, we used Securefixes on our downhill skis — those would have been 215s, GS skis. But we were 18, so we’d eat a peanut butter sandwich, head to the mountains, and be gone for three days.”
While the more popular des-
passed on, was a guide outfitter who had a cattle ranch right beneath The Steeples,” Bates explains. “My family also had a summer home on the same property. So, my first visits to the Dibble Glacier area were as a young boy with him on horseback during the summer. I soon learned that I could visit much more terrain with less hassle on foot, and so it began.”
Since then, Bates has visited Dibble regularly — including a
no idea that there might actually be bigger and equally spectacular mountains anywhere else in Canada.” Later, though, the same uncle took Bates on his first visits to the staggering mountains of the Rockies’ national parks.
“All my trips to Dibble are memorable, winter or summer, for many reasons,” Bates says. “Some of those are because of time I spent in the area with both close friends and relatives who are no longer with us.”
HEY DIBBLE DIBBLE — Photographed in 1938 by Frank Morro, Dibble Glacier sits on the northeast side of The Steeples, the famous group of peaks overlooking Cranbrook east of the city.
BY BOOT, BELAY, AND BIRD — The same snow and towering rock that lured heli-skiing pioneer Hans Gmoser to Bugaboo Glacier in 1965 now attracts thousands of hikers and climbers to ‘The Bugs’ basecamp locations like Applebee Campground. — Photos Courtesy Pat Morrow and Canadian Mountain Holidays
BUGABOO GLACIER
Driving the final potholed kilometre of the logging road toward its dead end at a parking lot often crammed with plates from dozens of states and provinces, the road suddenly curves, the forest opening up to an expansive view ahead.
“Holy s**t,” one might say at this point. Whether viewed by a neophyte or seasoned orophile, the sight of the stately granite Houndstooth Spire emerging from Bugaboo Glacier
inevitably elicits expletives.
The first non-Indigenous visitors were miners. The term Bugaboo, meaning an imaginary object that provokes fear, first appeared on the 1893 Gold Commissioner’s map. The legendary Austrian alpine guide Conrad Kain — who later settled near Invermere in Wilmer — first passed through the area in 1910 on a surveying mission with Alpine Club of Canada co-founder A.O. Wheeler and photographer Byron
Harmon, and he was immediately smitten.
Kain returned to the area in 1916, making numerous first ascents in the Purcell Mountains before arriving at Bugaboo Glacier. After establishing a high camp, three days later Kain led his most impressive first ascent — then among the world’s most difficult — the Bugaboo Spire via the south ridge, with clients Albert and Bess MacCarthy, Henry Frind, and John Vincent. In many trip reports over the decades, the gravel forestry road approaching the peaks is frequently mentioned. Spencer Austin wrote in the 1938 Canadian Alpine Journal, “It is definitely not advisable to attempt the road with a passenger car.” But he added, “Even the most blasé climber, I imagine, would be impressed by his first sight of the spray of spires rising out of this glacier.”
The 1960s brought rock climbing superstars Fred Beckey and Yvon Chouinard to ascend new, testpiece routes. That decade also brought skiers: Canada’s most prominent mountain guide of the era, Hans Gmoser, led a ski touring group in the area in 1963. When a client suggested hiring a helicopter to access an extra run or two, Gmoser knew the place.
“One week of ski touring and summer knowledge of CONTINUED ON PAGE 51
It was here that Conrad Kain led his most impressive first ascent — then among the world’s most difficult: Bugaboo Spire via the south ridge.
the area convinced me that this would be, by far, the best skiing any of us had experienced.” Canadian Mountain Holidays, the guiding outfit Gmoser had established in 1959, launched the world’s first commercial heli-ski trips — paving the way for dozens of other B.C. heli-ski companies to flourish in the decades since.
The first paying heli-skiers, six of Gmoser’s regular ski-touring clients, arrived in April 1965, driving the gravel road from 5:00 p.m. to 2:00 a.m. An abandoned lumber camp provided accommodations. The piston engine Bell G47 B1 helicopter carried just two passengers at a time; by 1968, the Alouette III carried six. Bugaboo Lodge, situated at the base of the glacier, opened in February 1968. Major renovations and luxury additions have happened since, and guests are now flown in from Brisco. Climbers who haul hefty packs by foot to Conrad Kain Hut, or the Boulder or Applebee Campgrounds, savour sleeping high above Bugaboo Lodge.
In 1969, 358 hectares — including Bugaboo Glacier — were designated a provincial park. In 1995, the 12,624 hectares of the Vowells Alpine Recreation Area and the provincial park were amalgamated to form Bugaboo Glacier Provincial Park.
Bugaboo Glacier has receded more than a kilometre in the last century, and has done so increasingly quickly in the past decade. Despite that loss, the place remains special. In their guidebook, The Bugaboos, Chris Atkinson and Marc Piché wrote, “We hope that you experience the same excited childlike giggles that we get every time we head up the trail.”
IF YOU KNOW, YOU KNOW
WORDS AND PHOTO BY NEAL PANTON
HERE’S THE DEAL: Kootenay folks are masters of keeping secrets. If you're in the know, great. If not, welcome to the "good luck figuring it out" club. Trails? Best wishes trying to find any of these hidden places with your favourite backroad map book. Signs? Gone. Trail tape? Vanished with the breeze, and trail rock cairns are just a few pebbles.
This is part of the never-ending backcountry treasure hunt — and it’s fine, really.
Huckleberry patches that ‘belong’ to your great aunt, pow stashes, and secret sun pits tucked between runs at the resort. Morel mushrooms hiding in burnt forest better than car keys in the snow. Which fly to use at which fishing hole; hunting grounds that take on mythological status; the place for finding those lost golf balls. If you know, you know. Every Kootenay local has their secret, or maybe a dozen. You’ll never fully know.
One of these gems is hidden almost in plain
sight: a subalpine rec site, but with a twist. Think of it as advanced Kootenay pinstriping for your vehicle. You’ll risk your muffler and maybe puncture your precious 10-ply just getting there. But if you make it? The treasure is worth it, but you'll want something that floats.
Our mystery lake is the home of a jaw-dropping Kootenay iceberg — sparkling, gorgeous, and a little terrifying at times. These wobbly icebergs are not the kind that just chill out in the water, but the ones that could sink an unsuspecting paddler when they calve right onto your kayak.
Know that if you go, locals insist you agree to a vow of silence, a blindfold for your passengers on the drive, and possibly a few offerings for your driver, like a smokie for the fire and a cold, locally-brewed beer, to be enjoyed beneath looming blue ice located in a place that some, but not all, may never know.
MOUNT JOFFRE
Rocky Mountain heather, admir ing the view and the sunset while I devoured the last of my backcoun try burrito. My shoulders and feet ached from carrying my pack and snowboard up seven miles: 1,902 vertical feet of hiking, bushwacking, and scrambling on exposed scree slopes … and we were only halfway
my second-ever published maga zine article, describing our snow board descent of the 3,449-metre Mount Joffre, one of the Canadian Rockies’ 11,000ers — or peaks over 11,000 feet. I accomplished the objective with three friends in August 1996, the article retelling it ran in a U.S. women’s snowboard magazine called — no jokes — Fresh and Tasty Mangin Glacier had long been a ski objective, but we felt a bit like pioneers, lugging our snowboards all the way there. After snowboarding through most of the 1990s, I’ve switched permanently to alpine touring skis: my first love is backcountry exploring, and although splitboard technology has much improved over the years, for me, skis are the best tool for the job. Reading my story in Fresh and Tasty now gives me lots to think about. It was my biggest adven-
a slow-moving change. If you have a favourite glacier, no doubt you can see the melting before your eyes.
I was pleased to hear some adventurers skied Mangin Glacier on Mount Joffre this spring. No one, however, has been able to ski from Joffre’s summit in August in many years. With this knowledge, I have a deeper appreciation for our experience, understanding that sun-cupped ski slopes don’t exist there in summer anymore. And, regardless of the time of year, I’ve still never met another woman who snowboarded Mount Joffre.
ADRENALINE RUSH!
By Jeff Pew
The Givers The Givers
With volunteerism's ranks dwindling at a time when helping hands are needed more than ever, Trench senior writer Jeff Pew chronicles the efforts of folks who've stepped up and those who've moved on.
For years, my dad spent weekends standing in the rain near the Horseshoe Bay Ferry Terminal, waving drivers into makeshift parking lots and collecting a couple of bucks for the Seymour Lions Club. On Halloween, he’d crawl into a plywood
coffin, fake blood dripping down his chin, and wait for the perfect moment to frighten kids trick-or-treating in their affordable housing complex. Not long ago, you couldn’t eat a half-burnt hot dog at a summer fair without bumping into someone in a blue-and-
yellow vest and a plastic name tag. They knew how to set up tents before the wind picked up and where the extension cords were stored. They had duct tape in the trunk and carried clipboards like anxious high school basketball coaches. They didn’t ask for much. They just showed up. Over and over. For pancake breakfasts, bottle drives, highway cleanups, and hockey arena concession stands. If you stuck around, they’d hand you a garbage bag, and before long, you’d be sorting bottles from napkins and soggy paper plates.
See Tapped Out, page 56
Kimberley V
TREATS NOT TRICKS — Rossi was well-known for being warm, friendly, and generous — and for her unforgettable homemade goodies. She offered them at her popular haunted house on Halloween and at many other events she volunteered at. — Jeff Pew Photo
“I made six trays of caramel apples, 12 dozen gingerbread kids, and 150 caramel suckers,” she said. Over 350 kids came to their door each year.
Shirley Rossi
October 2, 1935 –March 3, 2020
Before she passed, Shirley Rossi stood in front of her china cabinet, laughing. “Let’s see how many of these things I can break,” she said, reaching past teacups and saucers to pull out a Governor General’s medal she’d forgotten she’d earned. Volunteerism, to Shirley, wasn’t about praise or plaques. It was about pitching in — because that’s what you do when you care about where you live.
Her kitchen table told the story: yellowed clippings, decades-old photographs, and fading thank-you notes. Shirley was everywhere: Brownie leader, hospital auxiliary, booster club, concession stands, church choir, food services for accordion championships, theatre productions, and hockey tournaments. She didn’t sign up for credit. She just kept showing up.
Rotarian Sandra Roberts estimated that over the years, Shirley baked 30,000 meat pies to raise funds for her various causes.
Yet, Halloween was her masterpiece. For 51 years, she and her husband Pat transformed their home into a haunted house. “I made six trays of caramel apples, 12 dozen gingerbread kids, and 150 caramel suckers,” she said. Over 350 kids came to their door each year.
Rossi did all this while raising six kids, and surviving the unimaginable loss of two sons, six years apart, to separate car accidents. “You never forget,” she said, “but what are you going to do? You have to go on living.”
And living, for Shirley, meant giving. Even as her health declined, she remained active as long as she could. “I didn’t think about getting older,” she said. “Didn’t have time.”
Golden
ROCK SOLID — Geddes owns and operates Dirtbag Climbing Corporation, which offers guiding, youth programming, and community collaborations — as well as a climbing gym that runs on sliding scale fees, with its doors open 24/7 on an honour system. — Tige Lussier Photo
Daniel Geddes
The Reciprocity Project: How one man in Golden is reimagining volunteerism.
Daniel Geddes didn’t set out to become the face of volunteerism in Golden — but in a town this size, if you’re under 30 and know how to run a meeting, word travels fast.
“It started with my mom,” he says. “She ran a non-profit outside Edmonton. I got folded into it — fundraisers, community events, board meetings. I thought that was normal.”
Now 28, Geddes lives just outside town in a self-renovated RV that’s solar-powered, wood-heated, and cheap to run. It lets him put time where it matters: into Golden. He’s president of the Chamber of Commerce, convenes the Golden Threads poverty reduction committee, and regularly sits on food security and youth mentorship boards. He helped bring the farmers’ market under the Food Matters umbrella, and still finds time for the seed swap committee.
“Some days,” he laughs, “I’m not even sure what meeting I’m walking into.”
He’s especially proud of his youth programming that enables kids to rock climb, tend gardens for the food bank, learn about local food systems, and build with their hands. “I want them to feel what it’s like when work, play, and contribution aren’t separate.”
“It’s all connected,” he continues. “Volunteering can’t just be this extra thing you do when your life is ‘settled.’ It has to be part of how we live.”
SEE GOLDEN ON PAGE 58
Tapped Out, Continued from page 54
Yet, volunteerism — or whatever you call that quiet itch to pitch in — is starting to feel like something we used to do. Lately, in town after town across Canada, it feels like everyone’s tapped out. According to Volunteer Canada, 65 per cent of non-profits are struggling to find help. One-third have already scaled back and cut services, meaning fewer free community concerts, skate nights, and yoga classes in the park. In 2014, 31 per cent of Canadians volunteered in some capacity. By 2020, the number had reduced to 25 per cent. By 2025, we’ve noticed the impact on local East Kootenay service clubs.
Lois Lafaut, secretary of Kimberley’s Mark Creek Lions, reflected on the changing demographics of their club. “A lot of our members are older,” she says.
“Some struggle to help out with a lot of things. They’re tired. We have a few new, younger members — thank goodness for them.”
Lafaut speculated on the reasons behind the decline.
“A lot of younger people are working two jobs. They just don’t have the energy. I think it’s a generational thing,” she says.
“We grew up with 4-H, Girl Guides, and Boy Scouts, which taught us the value of giving back. I’ve been volunteering forever. It’s who I am.”
Patrick Barclay, a sixtime President of Kimberley’s Rotary Club, speaks to the worldwide trend.
See Losing Members, page 58
Losing Members, Continued from page 56
“We’re losing more members than we’re gaining. Rotary International loses approximately 10,000 members per year. Ideally, we’re wanting to attract people in the 25 to 50 yearold range, but they’re just not joining. They’re busy with other things,” he states. “They just don’t seem to have the service mentality like the older generation has.”
The Netflix documentary Join or Die traces the decline of civic engagement back to the places where we used to gather: PTA meetings, service clubs, and bowling leagues. It cites research in Robert
Putnam’s book Bowling Alone: The Collapse and Revival of American Community, naming what many of us already feel: when we stop showing up, the whole thing falls apart. It’s not just a personal issue, reflected in declining mental health and higher mortality rates. It’s a risk to democracy, as service clubs and community organizations provide a place to build trust, leadership, and meaningful collaborations.
A strong society isn’t just about voting or writing angry social media posts about pet control and potholes. It’s built at potlucks and town halls; with pickled beets at fall fairs; yelling “Bingo!” in church basements. It’s
about the weird and wonderful glue of participating in something that isn’t all about us. And without it, the bonds loosen. A community becomes a little more isolated, a little more alone.
But ask any small-town hockey coach why she still does it — driving kids with untied skates to 6 a.m. practice. Or ask the senior tending peas in the community garden, a cane resting on the soil beside them. They’re not in it for accolades. They’re not padding a résumé or looking for a line on their LinkedIn account. They do it because somewhere inside them, they still believe in the village, and
Where Did All the Volunteers Go?
• 65 per cent of non-profits in Canada are short on volunteers, according to CTV News. In the Greater Toronto Area, the numbers have dipped from 40 per cent to 25 per cent in just four years (The Philanthropist Journal).
• Younger generations still care, but many lean toward activism, mutual aid, or informal community work — rather than the clipboard-and-name-tag kind.
• Social trust is wearing thin. People don’t gather the way they used to. Clubs, choirs, and committees are fading from weekly calendars.
• Charities are caught in the crunch. Demand for services is up. Helpers are down. Many groups are doing more with less — and burning out.
• Money’s tight. Time is tighter. Rising costs, long hours, and second jobs leave less space for unpaid commitments.
• The pandemic hit pause on a lot of routines. For some folks, that pause became permanent.
• Volunteering isn’t built for shift workers. Irregular schedules make it hard to commit, even when the heart’s in it.
"It’s all connected. Volunteering can’t just be this extra thing you do when your life is ‘settled.’ It has to be part of how we live.”
Geddes is careful not to pile blame on any one generation for declining volunteer numbers, but he’s wary of excuses. “People say they’re too busy. But often, they’re just waiting to be asked. Meanwhile, it’s the same ten people doing everything."
He talks about the town pool, built years ago by Rotary Club volunteers with donated materials.
“Now we argue over how tax dollars are spent,” he says. “Nobody paid for it the first time. They just showed up and did it.”
That idea of showing up is central to Geddes’ philosophy. His gym income supports his frugal lifestyle so he can invest his spare time into the causes he cares about.
“I’m trying to live a life based on reciprocity — meeting my own needs and building outwards from there. It’s not a classic business model,” he admits. “But maybe that’s the point.”
When asked what keeps him going, Geddes doesn’t hesitate.
“Honestly? I want to enjoy my life. And I want to be around other people who are enjoying theirs. If that’s not happening, then what are we doing?”
His words are a reminder to put down our phones and look around. There’s work to be done, and it actually matters.
“I think that the most meaningful things,” Geddes reflects, “are the things that are right in front of us.”
GOLDEN CONTINUED…
See Legacies, page 62
'NEAT'URE KIDS — Geddes’ Exposure Camp offers kids five days of adventure, climbing outdoors while also exploring ecosystems and food. Above, he teaches a group about a microsystem growing on a decaying stump.
Invermere
Nadine Hale, Penny Powers, Doug Sinclair
A firefighting legend, and two lost too soon.
Ten years ago, in March 2015, Brisco resident Warner Einer wrote a letter to the editor of the Columbia Valley Pioneer, lamenting the decline of volunteerism.
Like the Windermere Community Association, the Brisco and District Recreation Commission had watched its once-thriving events — St. Patrick’s Day teas, Father’s Day barbecues, Halloween gatherings, and Christmas potlucks — quietly disappear due to dwindling support. A small, loyal group continued to maintain the Community Hall, Brisco Church, Galena Cemetery, and the historic church. But no new volunteers were stepping forward, nor did anyone seem to miss the events.
“Are we all too busy texting to notice?” Einer asked in his letter. His challenge was clear: show up, help out, and remember what community truly means. “It’s not what you get out of a community,” he wrote. “It’s what you put into it.”
In June 2024, Columbia Valley Pioneer editor Lyonel Doherty picked up the thread: “It is truly amazing (and powerful) what volunteering can do for your community,” he wrote. He pointed to folks like the late Nadine Hale and Penny Powers — people who didn’t wait for accolades. They just showed up and, in his words, “made their communities a better place to live and put smiles on countless faces, some of which don’t smile that often.”
Hale, who passed away in June 2024, left a lasting impact on the Columbia Valley. She served on parent advisory councils, supported youth through a basketball program and the Summit Youth Centre, and promoted inclusion through Columbia Valley Pride and the Recreation Adapted (RAD) Society. She also championed community health, sustainability, and Indigenous language revitalization. Hale helped create the Ktunaxa Nature Walk book, and was a driving force behind ‘greening’ the Invermere Hospital — turning a simple bike-to-work initiative into a valley-wide movement.
Penny Powers, Area G’s 2024 Volunteer of the Year, died in February 2024. She volunteered with the Edgewater Fire Department, led FireSmart efforts, coached kids in school ski programs, and sat on the Toby Creek Nordic Ski Club board for years. She helped launch the Lake Windermere Whiteway — the longest skating trail in the world — and remained involved in its upkeep from day one right through to the Guinness World Record ribbon-cutting. Powers also helped run the Banff Film Fest and worked behind the scenes with the Chamber of Commerce and various tourism committees. If you’ve ever walked a winter trail or attended a local event, there’s a good chance Powers had a hand in making it happen.
Invermere’s Doug Sinclair — recipient of the Governor General of Canada’s Fire Services Exemplary Service Medal and First Bar — was the 2024 RDEK Area F Volunteer of the Year. Sinclair has been with the Windermere Fire Department since its founding in 1983, helping build the original hall and secure its first fire engine.
SEE INVERMERE ON PAGE 62
a
supporter
Summit Youth Centre Hub, a safe and welcoming space for Columbia Valley youth that offers free counselling, creative outlets, mobile skateparks, and more.
— Photo Courtesy Columbia Valley Pride
Doug Sinclair (top right) has been awarded for his 40-plus years volunteering with the Windermere Fire Department. His son is the department's chief and his grandson is a firefighter too.
— Photo Courtesy Windermere Fire Department
When she wasn’t volunteering, Penny Powers (bottom) and her husband Max ran multiple local businesses, and took their two kids on plenty of backcountry trips to camp, horseback ride, ski, and paddle throughout the Columbia Valley and beyond.
— Photo Courtesy the Powers Family
HEARTS OF THE VALLEY — Nicole Hale (top left) was
vital
of Invermere’s
Fernie
Abi Moore
March 13, 1980 – July 17, 2024
In the 2024 Fernie Fix article “What Would Abi Do?”, editor Krista Turcasso honoured her friend Abi Moore, writing: “Not only was she an extremely talented and celebrated ultra runner with many accolades and course records to her name, but she was also a passionate volunteer … and she had a profound impact on trail running in Fernie.”
In 2010, Turcasso and Moore co-founded the Fernie Tears & Gears mountain bike and run duathlon, a community-driven event for first-timers and seasoned racers alike — something you could do with your kid, your neighbour, or your hungover roommate. Following its success, Moore and her husband Mike noticed a gap: Fernie had plenty of trail runners, but no club to bring them together. Together they created Stag Leap Running Co., a non-profit that hosts weekly runs, training sessions, and local races.
Moore was an accomplished athlete with podium finishes at incredibly challenging ultra runs like Sinister 7, Black Spur, and Golden Ultra. But for Moore, trail running was never just personal — it was about building community and friendships. The couple saw Fernie’s rugged trail network as the perfect setting for a signature event: the Elk Valley Ultra, a “high-vert, challenging 50 kilometres” that showcases some of the region’s best trails and mountain views. Building on the event’s success, the Moores launched the Lone Wolf Backyard Ultra: a last-runner-standing race with a course record of 108.8 kilometres. It lasted 16 hours and ended at 2 a.m., long after most folks had gone to bed or been eliminated.
“Abi loved trail running and wanted to share it with everyone,” Turcasso wrote. “Her volunteerism has always been tied to her passions and the belief that anyone can do hard things. Abi was always the first to celebrate others; she was everyone’s champion.”
A year after her friend’s passing, Turcasso reflected on the state of volunteering within the Columbia Basin: “There's volunteer burnout, a generational shift, and also a lot of overlap with the many non-profits in communities,” she says. “We developed a column in Fernie Fix to address this, where we aim to educate the community about our non-profits and the opportunities to participate.”
In 2025, after a six-year hiatus, Turcasso, along with a team of dedicated friends, will relaunch Fernie Tears & Gears on August 30 in support of the newly established Abi Moore Scholarship Fund.
“The response has been overwhelming,” Turcasso says. “It speaks to the impact Abi had on our community and how important it is to continue her legacy.”
TRAIL BLAZERS — Fernie Tears & Gears is a duathlon founded by dear friends Moore (left), a long-distance runner, and Turcasso (right), an avid mountain biker, who could never find an event to compete in together, so they created their own. —
Leslie Prentice Photo
THANK YOU VOLUNTEERS
Teck is proud to support the community’s enjoyment and use of Kimberley’s extensive trail system through land use agreements and our Community Investment program. We extend our heartfelt thanks to the dedicated volunteers from the Kimberley Trails Society, whose work enhances the trail network for the benefit of all users.
Learn more at teck.com/sullivan and kimberleytrails.org
V What comes around
A documentary maker turns his lens on those who give so others can giv ‘er
Hailing from Bratislava, Slovakia and Yokohama, Japan, Lukas Nemeth and his wife Aika have seen a lot of cool, and a lot of characters.
But global world views and international reloca-
tion apparently did little to prepare the 38-year-old filmmaker for the scene of post-Bavarian town benevolence that has been unfolding since 2011 on the slopes not far above Kimberley’s Platzl. Round the Mountain, a race that presented a scenario of impassioned volunteerism and community panache so authentic that the father of two decided to make a documentary about it.
“I wanted to highlight the simple fact that if there’s no volunteerism, events like this don’t exist,” says Nemeth, who along with cinematographer Scot Proudfoot, produced the 10-minute
documentary The Spirit of The Event this past spring. The pair are hoping the short garners selections for film fests in Banff, Vancouver, and Rossland this year.
The multi-discipline race, which features a 20-kilometre run, bike, or hike, was conjured up 13 years ago by a group of go-getter locals, including senior Jim Webster.
“We figured we could get 20 or 30 people out to run around the mountain,” says Webster. “We started with about 200 participants. And this year, I think we had around 600.”
But the number that truly counts? The 110 volunteers
needed to make Round the Mountain run. Including the eight Elvises that showed up this year to work the race’s chain of support stations. (Many of the volunteers, and participants, gear up in costumes.)
The race is 100 per cent volunteer run. All proceeds
go right back into trail maintenance for runners and riders.
“I get excited when I see new people wanting to take on leadership roles in this event,” says Webster, who recently passed on the race director role. “Because it shows me it's got a future.”
LINE OF DUTY — Doug Sinclair’s legacy lives on: his son, Drew Sinclair, is the fire chief at the Columbia Valley Rural Fire & Rescue Services, and his grandson is a dedicated firefighter, too.
The work has changed since Sinclair started. Fires are just one piece of it now — there are ice rescues, car crashes in snowstorms, and emergency medical calls in the middle of the night. Over the years, he’s served as a firefighter, officer, trainer, and mentor.
According to Doherty, the impact of volunteering goes beyond good deeds and papier-mâché parade floats: it can change how you see the world. “Volunteering gives people more clarity in life,” he writes. “It encourages you to step outside your comfort zone and do wonderful things that make you a better person.” In a world spinning with wildfires, war zones, and machines confusing themselves for humans, that’s no small thing.
Need a cure for cynicism? Doherty suggests rolling up your sleeves.
that the whole is greater than the sum of its parts.
These days, we talk of burnout and boundaries. About stepping back and quiet quitting. But maybe healing doesn’t come from disappearing into our alone time. Maybe it comes from scraping gum off the floor of the community hall with someone who remembers your name. From folding tables and stacking chairs. From belonging, not just being.
Volunteering doesn’t just help the food bank or the fall fair; it reminds us we’re still part of something. Fewer algorithms and passwords. More flipping flapjacks and creating tournament draws. We’re still people. Still here.
“Research has shown that volunteering reduces stress and anxiety, leading to lower rates of depression,” he explains. “Got a chip on your shoulder? Remove it by volunteering. Feeling down? Watch how quickly that disappears when you help someone who is struggling.”
No one gets through this on their own — not really. In the East Kootenay, many of us never stopped showing up. And, if everything ran as planned, if everyone got fed, the PA worked, and the kids got their ribbons, maybe you never even noticed them.
Some volunteers are still around. Some, unfortunately, aren’t — though their legacies certainly are. INVERMERE CONTINUED…
Legacies,
If a Tree Falls
A tale of down timber and chainsaw-wielding Samaritans.
By Dan Mills
“As you glide smoothly along the south fork of the Flathead River, you are aware of much dead timber, both standing and down. Unless you are an old campaigner, however, the sight of those tracts of “down timber” does not strike terror to your soul. But wait! One week hence and you shall learn, by wrench of joint and sweat of brow, by ups and by downs, just how terrible fallen tree-trunks can become.”
— William T. Hornaday, Campfires in the Canadian Rockies (1906)
TTHEY CAME, THEY SAW
— The Freeze family take a break from bucking. From left to right: MacKenzie, Paul, Clare, Al, and Patrick.
he truth about forests is that they are not the tidy, idyllic utopias we humans would sometimes like them to be, with shafts of golden light slanting down through the branches of evenly spaced trees, illuminating a perfectly manicured forest floor. In reality, forests are tangled and chaotic, with nearly as many trees down as standing; a tangled web of the dead and the living, strewn, at least to the human eye, haphazardly about.
Forests, however, are perfect in their imperfection. Mom nature has an intricate plan with everything exactly as it needs to be. We hominids are usually unable to decipher the rich intricacies of her grand design and therefore can’t see the forest for the trees, so to speak.
It is one thing to appreciate this tangle of perfection; it is another thing altogether to walk through it. If the Inuit have a plethora of words and phrases for snow due to its perva-
siveness in their landscape, then it should come as no surprise that those who wander the forests would have more than a couple names for trees that have fallen and obstructed their path. Windfall, blowdown, windthrow, windsnap, jillpoke, deadfall, and down timber are just a few such terms — and they are almost always uttered with an expletive preceding them.
F%#@ing blowdown, for example, can turn your path into a wretched obstacle course, and can be heartbreaking.
So it was back in 2016 when two backpackers — my son Sean and myself — had our hearts broken.
We struggled up the Mause Creek trail, filling the air with powerful adjectives. We were attempting to complete the initial leg of the Five Passes Loop, but
found the route choked with a horrendous amount of down timber — and big down timber. We eventually did complete the arduous trip, finding even more windfall and avalanche debris on the Sunken Creek leg. It was a mess and I felt sorry for whoever was tasked with cleaning it up.
The following season, I decided to revisit the Mause Creek trail and much to my surprise and delight, found that the route had been painstakingly cleared. I assumed this monumental task had been performed by some government funded agency — perhaps the BC Forest Service.
I had assumed wrong. In actuality, the Mause Creek mess had been cleaned up by a single family of volunteers, on their own time with their own tools,
continued on page 65
continued from page 63
skill, and sweat. I wondered who would commit such a benevolent and self-sacrificing (if not slightly masochistic) act. As it turns out, the Freeze family would — they have been doing so for quite some time.
Al Freeze grew up in the lumber camps of the West Coast so the roar of
a chainsaw is a song he knows well. As a young man he worked in everything from bumper repair, horse logging, and agriculture — but the outdoors was where his heart was. It was while skiing that his heart found an English girl named Clare and they were married shortly thereafter.
With a young family to provide for, the couple later moved to Elkford where Al took a job at the mine. Their two sons, Patrick and Paul, grew to be as passionate for the outdoors as their parents. So, the wilds of the Elk Valley made for a glorious place to grow up.
On both horseback and foot, the family of four explored deep into the backcountry clearing their way as they went. In 2000, Al began doing some volunteer trail maintenance for BC Parks — and it became a family affair when Clare, Patrick, and Paul also joined the team.
Navigating the path to
become a contracted trail volunteer was not without its own obstacles. Due to the inherent safety concerns of chainsaw work and the possible liability issues, not just anyone can take on the task. The right equipment, training, and experience is not only needed, it also has to be unequivocally demonstrated to Parks, Forest Service, or any other agency providing the work. After nearly a quarter century of clearing the way, the Freeze family — which now includes niece Colleen Myles and Paul's partner, MacKenzie McLean — have more than proven themselves.
If you have enjoyed wandering the trails in provincial parks like Top of the World, Height of the Rockies, Mount Assiniboine, or Premier Lake, then you have enjoyed the work of the Freeze family. If you have crossed Sunken Creek on any of its several bridges, you’ve been on continued on page 66
BUILDING BRIDGES — The family repairs a crossing on Sunken Creek, a high-elevation leg of the Five Passes Loop near Mause Creek and Tanglefoot Lake in the Rockies (above). Father and son work together to remove down timber from a trail in Height of the Rockies Provincial Park (left).
continued from page 65
infrastructure engineered and built by Team Freeze. If you’ve Nordic skied at South Star Trails near Cranbrook, you have done so on tracks groomed by Al. If you have enjoyed the Trans Canada Trail through Isadore Canyon, then — you guessed it — the Freeze family’s fingerprints are all over it.
Their work is indeed far-reaching, and has been rightly appreciated. In 2020, the whole Freeze clan won BC Parks’ Volunteer Legacy award, and in 2021, Al won the RDEK Volunteer of the Year award. This recognition is truly warranted, but is not what motivates this family of trail Samaritans.
It begs the question: what does compel Al, Clare, MacKenzie, Paul, and Patrick to take on this incredibly difficult and potentially dangerous work? Why would they drive all the way to some incredibly remote trailhead, then carry over fifty pounds of tools,
fuel, saws, and safety gear while climbing up into nature’s tangled perfection, only stopping their hard work when they either find a place to camp or run out of fuel? Where does the tenacity come from to then return all the way back down the newly-cleared trail to the truck, grab backpacks full of camping gear, food, and more fuel, to, once again, climb back up the mountain to their
camp? Yes, that’s three trips on the same trail to accomplish their initiative — and yet their answer as to “why” is usually a humble smile and a shrug.
Perhaps some of the motivation for all their efforts is fuelled by government agencies like Parks and the Forest Service being underfunded — and they’re trying to pick up the slack. Or maybe it’s because they just want to access these
bits of paradise themselves. Or maybe it is because no one else has the qualifications and grit to do it. In my opinion, however, it is far more likely that it's simply a quiet voice from deep in the woods — one that can be heard even above the roar of the chainsaws — that whispers, “Thanks.”
PATHFINDERS — Paul Freeze clears a path to paradise in Height of the Rockies Provincial Park (top). Paul and MacKenzie work hard to clear rockslide debris (right).
WE’VE GOT
BOWLING
DOWNTOWN CRANBROOK
Submit now through the QR code! Guide available in print and online in late 2025.
Iftime is money, then electric mountain bikes are the adventure sport sector’s new currency. Whether riders are looking to make light work of climbing trails and access roads, or aiming to clean the most challenging descents with big downhill bike ease, e-bikes are having a profound impact on how we recreate in the East Kootenay.
The explosive growth of e-mountain bikes and trail infrastructure are both a regional success story and a mirror of global trends. Like many consumer patterns, overall, e-bikes can point to Covid-19 as an inflection point: sales more than doubled in 2020 compared to the previous year.
“Six years ago when we opened, 10 to 15 per cent of our sales were e-bikes. Now that’s closer to 50 per cent,” says Matt McDonald, owner of Invermere’s Lakeside Bike Co.
The global e-mountain bike market size is estimated at almost US$6.5B. It’s estimated to grow by about 13 per cent in the next five years. Although the pandemic trajectory has levelled off, from one side of the trade show floor to the other, most bike brands are now building an electric ride — E-Mountainbike magazine tested 30 different models this year.
But e-bikes are still a big ticket item.
A full-suspension, all-mountain Devinci E-Troy, for example, will run you a cool eight grand. That’s nearly double its
analog sibling. And 20 pounds heavier. Top-end e-mountain bikes can break the five-figure threshold.
But evidently, for growing numbers of bike buyers, cost comes second to opportunity. Even amongst those who were once die hard traditionalists.
“As e-bikes get lighter and closer to a regular mountain bike, we’re seeing more and more adoption,” explains Alex Leighton at Selkirk Ski & Bike in Golden. “There’s a local group of retirees who were all riding regular bikes five years ago. All but one or two of them are on e-bikes now.”
Older riders still enjoy the health benefits, minus the rigour of ‘red-zone’ workouts. A German study from 2022 found that the hearts of traditional bike riders reach an average of 119 beats per minute, compared to 111 beats for e-bikers. The study also found that European folks on all types of e-bikes were 44 per cent less likely to reach weekly targets for physical activity than those on regular bicycles.
See ‘Heart Pounding’ page 70
In 2021, recognizing the growth of e-mountain bikes, Kimberley launched the Electrify the Mountains project. Thanks to a grant worth over $850,000, the city and its trail society have developed over 30 kilometres of single track built for e-bikes and adaptive bikes, too. Here, rider Tony Braun takes it to the bank. — Bruno Long Photo
Gone Travoltage
While that older demographic may be the sport’s primary clientele, thanks to more disposable income and a desire to spare aging knees, lower backs, and lungs, younger cyclists are also electrifying.
“E-bikes are shaking up mountain bike culture, and there’s less of a stigma as more younger people get into it,” notes James Duncan at Straight Line Hub in the Elk Valley.
During winter, the Fernie area is known for its steep and deep powder turns, and that same terrain makes for exceptional mountain biking — albeit with punishing climbs. Fernie Alpine Resort has welcomed e-bikes to the bike park and downhill bike trails with a pass. The math is simple: more uphill power equals more laps.
E-bikes also allow you to go further and cover more ground: a real benefit to those on vacation who may only have a day in town. “Rather than renting a regular bike and riding a trail or two, you can explore most of the main zones with an e-bike,” says Duncan.
Over in Golden, Leighton agrees. “With hundreds of kilometres of trails, gravel, and forestry roads, people can go on a big adventure and see a lot more with an e-bike.”
Further south in Kimberley, e-bikes have helped connect the ‘Peak to Platzl,’ or the ski resort and mountain bike trails to the downtown core.
“From downtown, you can e-bike to all the trails relatively quickly,” explains Ben Taylor Vallence of Kimberley’s Black Dog Cycle and Ski. Coasting up the 200-metre climb from town to the start of the singletrack is certainly a selling point for e-mountain bikes.
With e-bikes getting lighter, more retirees moving to mountain towns, and more people getting into mountain biking in general, bike shops anticipate that sales and service will continue to grow.
The trail network suitable for these motorized boneshakers is likely to expand greatly in coming years, too. While most communities’ trail networks allow class one e-bikes — up to 32 km/h without a throttle — places like Kimberley are taking it a step further.
Recognizing the growth of e-mountain bikes, the town launched the Electrify the Mountains project in 2021. With the help of a grant worth over $850,000, they’ve been able to develop over 30 kilometres of trails designed specifically for e-bikes and trikes, along with solar charging stations, accessible washrooms, and new signage.
Meanwhile, back up the Columbia Valley, Toby Creek Adventures, a snowmobiling and ATV guiding outfit based near Invermere, has upped their mountain bike game by building new trails and offering a shuttle service. E-bikers
BC Eb IKE LAWS
Motor power of 500W or less.
Maximum motor-assisted speed of 32 km/h.
Useable pedals.
EbIKE AGE LIMIT
BC: 16
ALBERTA: 14
ONTARIO: 12
with rigs less than 50 pounds are welcome to use the shuttle or pedal uphill. Toby Creek has plans to build an e-bike up-track in the next few seasons to access the operation’s blend of bike park features and new enduro-style alpine trails.
Toby Creek’s surrounding ridgelines and peaks, once the stuff of heli-ski drops or hours of granny gear hike a-biking, are now quitting time Shangri-Las for the electrified set.
“After work today, by 6 o’clock, we’ll do 2,000 metres in a club ride,” says McDonald. “Four hours. Everybody on e-bikes.”
“Tomorrow,” says the 20-year bike industry veteran, “we’re going right up to the ridge, then all the way down to the water.”
“With e-bikes,” McDonald surmises, “there’s no excuses.” Heart Pounding continued from page 69
Power playa — Rider Christine Wallace electrified on the mountain (left). — Bruno Long Photo
Former Canadian Downhill champ Chris “Larry” Lawrence with his Nelson fleet of rental e-bikes. A Kootenay mom and two toddlers head home from town, e-assisted (top left & right). — Darren Davidson Photos
E-zee does it
FROM RAIL TRAILS TO REAR-VIEW BLIND SPOTS, ELECTRIFIED BIKES ARE PUMPING WATTAGE INTO SEEMINGLY EVERY COTTAGE.
While e-mountain bikes garner most of the consumer attention in East Kootenay communities, electric peddlers are seemingly everywhere as of the last few years. Townies, cargo bikes, commuters, gravel bikes, folding bikes — even trikes.
Kiwi-turned-Kootenay entrepreneur Mike Clyde got in on the ground floor with California-based Pedego 14 years ago. Today, he oversees the brand’s
sales at bike stores across Canada, including a string of 14 Pedego outlets stretching from Nanaimo to Newfoundland.
“The first experience on an e-bike is almost always a smile, and a surprise,” says Clyde.
“I’m a huge supporter of e-mobility,” says the former New Zealander, who pedals to work up and down the notoriously precipitous streets of Nelson. E-bike health benefits and net benefits to society far outweigh
anything on the negative side, he adds.
But as is the case with any new trend, the pendulum often swings awry before settling somewhere more moderate.
Speedy e-bikes, and more recently e-dirt bikes, in the wrong hands can be a recipe for near disaster, a fact that is becoming more worrisome to Kootenay motorists and police.
In a city buzzing with electrified riders, the Nelson Police Department
finally issued a warning earlier this summer when a teen e-dirt-bike rider broke a string of road rules, then tried to outrun the cops.
“Electric dirt bikes are getting very popular with young riders around town,” the NPD news release stated. “Many of who aren’t paying attention to the rules of the road.” Police singled out Surron and Talaria brand bikes in particular.
“Police warn that electric dirt bikes aren’t street
legal, unless properly equipped with standard safety features such as headlights, taillights, brake lights, and turn signals. In addition, riders need valid insurance and a Class Six motorcycle licence or Class Eight learner's license.”
Local lore has it that the youngster had his bike rapidly confiscated by Dad, and sold. The bike, not the kid.
THE MARKETPLACE
Affordable. Easy to design. And a terrific way to support local media.
The Trench’s Marketplace section is the perfect venue for hometown retailers, hospitality hot spots, professional service providers, accommodators, and boutique businesses of all sorts.
The Trench reaches 15,000 readers an issue and then some, throughout your local, tourist and rubber-tire markets in the Columbia, Creston, and Elk Valleys. We can even design the ad for you, no charge.
Each issue of The Trench is a collectible celebration of local lifestyle and culture, with terrific pick-up appeal. Need more info about distribution, rate options, and story line-ups? Get in touch any time!
darren@kootenaymedia.ca
250.505.9759
KOOTENAY RADON SERVICES
TEST FOR RADON - RADON IS A SILENT THREAT
Radon is the leading cause of lung cancer in non-smokers — yet most people have no idea it’s in their home. It seeps in from the soil and builds up indoors, especially in winter. Be ready to test when it matters most. Order your test kit this fall and take control.
FUNK HAUS CRAFT LAB FINE ART AND CRAFT SUPPLIES
Unleash your creativity in our funky little shop! We have a world of art supplies for beginners and professionals alike. DIY kits, kids’ crafts, fun gifts, and more. We also have shared studio space and host workshops, skill shares, and classes. Open seven days a week in Kimberley’s sunny Platzl.
We develop 35mm, 120, and 4x5 film in C-41, B&W, E6, ECN-2 — even experimental film soups. Passionate support for analog shooters across the valley.
allchromesfilmlab.com @ferniefilmlab
KIMBERLEY ART GALLERY
AT “THE LAUNDROMAT” | ART IS FOR EVERYONE
Our gallery features 100% original, handmade, local fine and functional art inspired by Kootenay life. Our annual Christmas Art Market runs November 15–December 24, featuring Canadian-made art, gifts, pottery, jewellery, books, and more — open daily. Join us for late-night shopping on Saturday, November 15. It’s more fun than doing laundry!
Four Points Books is an independent bookstore with locations in Invermere and Golden, B.C. We offer a wide selection of titles for all ages and interests, including extensive nature and guidebooks for our beautiful valley. Four Points Books also carries stationery, puzzles, and gifts.
Visit us online or in-store in downtown Invermere or Golden.
1225A 7th Ave., Invermere 250.341.6211 409 9th Ave., Golden
fourpointsbooks.ca @fourpointsbooks
KOOTENAY
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MORE THAN JUST BANKING — IT’S YOUR FINANCIAL WELLBEING
After more than 50 years in the Kootenays, we’re still inspired every day by the people we serve. From families planting their roots to retirees soaking in the mountain views, we’ve had the privilege of growing with you.
That’s why we keep our banking straightforward, honest, and built around real value. Our goal is simple: to provide products and services you want so that you can spend less time banking and more time with your family. We’re here to help. your path. our purpose.
MOUNTAIN & PESTLE PHARMACY
A BOUTIQUE-STYLE PHARMACY IN KIMBERLEY’S PLATZL
We offer a fresh, personalized approach to patient-centered healthcare. We carry all prescription medications and refills, and our friendly pharmacists can diagnose and prescribe medications for minor ailments and contraception, right in-house. We’ll work with your doctor to ensure your prescription is safe and effective, and provide medication reviews so you can understand how your medicines and supplements will support you.
We also offer blister packs for organizing your medications, compression stockings for improved circulation and relief from aching legs, and on-site vaccinations for a wide range of immunizations. Your wellbeing is our priority, and we’re proud to offer exceptional, personalized care.
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100 Deer Park Ave, Kimberley mountainpestle.com
SOLAR COUNTRY ENERGY
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Qualified and experienced, our team of experts is based in Invermere and services all of B.C. and Alberta. We have over 3.5 megawatts of installation experience over the last five years — the equivalent of powering 350 homes annually.
We’ll show you the production potential of various options, clearly explain how it works, and take care of every step in the process — and we provide free estimates!
STEEP N’ DEEP XC MTB RACE. anythinggoeseventseries.com
Sept 17-21
9TH ANNUAL ELK VALLEY PRIDE FESTIVAL. City Hall Grounds. ferniepride.ca
Sept 20
ANNUAL DIRT DIGGLER DH MOUNTAIN BIKE RACE. Dirt Diggler Trail
Sept 27
HIGH ROLLER MOUNTAIN BIKE POKER RIDE. fernietrailsalliance. com
Oct 5
FERNIE HALF MARATHON. James White Park. ferniehalfmarathon.com
Oct 11
ANNUAL THANKSGIVING AT THE BARN. Montane Barn.
Oct 11
YUKON BLONDE. The Northern Bar & Stage.
Oct 13
TOMBSTONE TOURNAMENT. Fernie Golf Club.
Giggin’ in Golden Great Lake Swimmers share a powerhouse Canadian bill on October 28 with Elliott Broad at the Golden Civic Arena. — Adam CK Vollick Photo
Oct 3-4
CRANBROOK WITCHES MARKET. Cranbrook History Centre.
Oct 18
ULTIMATE COLLECTIBLES MARKET. Cranbrook History Centre.
Nov 6
FOREIGNER – THE JUKE BOX HERO TOUR. Western Financial Pl.
KIMBERLEY
tourismkimberley.com centre64.com
Aug 23-24
BLACK SPUR ULTRA. Kimberley Alpine Resort. sinistersports.ca
Sept 27-28
KIMBERLEY COMMUNITY FALL FAIR. Marysville Arena.
Oct 18
ABUNDANCE HOLISTIC HEALTH & YOGA FAIR. Kimberley Conference Centre. abundancefair.ca
35TH ANNUAL SHOW & SHINE. Springs Course, Radium. columbiavalleyclassics.ca
Oct 25
TRICK OR TREAT. Downtown Invermere.
Nov 15
WILD N' SCENIC FILM FESTIVAL. Columbia Valley Center.
Nov 29
LIGHT UP CELEBRATION AND SANTA CLAUS PARADE. Invermere.
GOLDEN
tourismgolden.com/events/ calendar
Aug 20
SCENIC ROUTE TO ALASKA. Golden Civic Centre
Sept 12-14
GOLDEN ULTRA. Golden. goldenultra.com
Oct 1
TOO MANY ZOOS — CARAVAN TOUR. Golden Civic Centre
Oct 18-19
GUIDE DAYS FOLKFEST. Edelweiss Village & Resort, Golden. edelweissvillage.ca
Oct. 28
GREAT LAKE SWIMMERS + ELLIOTT BROOD. Golden Civic Centre
Fixing Food - Episode #6
Entrepreneurs - Episode #34
A gas-station turned healthfood store in Kimberley serves up fresh juice and local food.
Finding Freshwater - Episode #22
Featuring a conservationist from Invermere who is leading freshwater conservation in the Basin.
Going Underground - Episode #26
Meet a Fernie-based caver who is exploring the deepest cave in Canada
Kootenay Meadows in Creston feeds the Kootenays from their organic farm.
Hill of Beings
For some, a rowdy highcountry adventure is the bomb. For others, a mountain view from the couch is pretty much perfect.
People come from all over the world to experience the Canadian Rockies. They ski, they snowboard, they mountain bike, they even climb ice. When they find out I was born and raised in the Rockies, their eyes light up.
“Wow,” they exclaim. “So lucky! So, what do you do in those mountains?” My re-
mountain man for a father, invited me on their family’s multi-day backcountry hiking trip. Luxury of luxuries, we were actually dropped by helicopter behind Bull Mountain to set up our base camp from which we’d stage our hikes.
As the helicopter flew away, my friend's father
bridge over deadly, frigid glacier water. Make sure to step exactly in my footprints and do not deviate from the path in any way. Isn't this fun?”
“It's very important that you carry your bear spray with you at all times. The chance of seeing a grizzly is very high, so make sure that you are never, ever without your bear spray, even at night when you leave the tent to go to the bathroom. Isn't this fun?”
“This is the emergency beacon. If anything should
THIS IS THE EMERGENCY BEACON. IF ANYTHING SHOULD HAPPEN, YOU JUST PRESS THIS BUTTON TWICE AND OUR DISTRESS CALL WILL BE RECEIVED WITHIN 24 HOURS. ISN'T THIS FUN?
sponse usually confuses and disappoints them. “I look at them. From the comfort of my living room. They look great, though.”
There was a time in my life when I was motivated to update my Kootenay credibility by engaging in some backcountry hiking. One hike was enough to cure me of that desire. A friend with an extensive alpine resume, and a serious
gushed, “Isn't this amazing? There are no other people here! We have it all to ourselves! We're not going to see any other people here the whole time!” It was at that moment I realized how much I like people.
“We're going to have so much fun!” As it turns out, he and I had different ideas of fun.
“We're going to hike across this melting snow
happen, you just press this button twice and our distress call will be received within 24 hours. Isn't this fun?”
I don't mean to be harsh; lots of folks find this fun. So, did I? It was a memorable experience which I treasure. Was the mountain lake we camped next to stunning and gorgeous? Yes, but not any more stunning and gorgeous than Lake Moraine, which you can take a bus to and
admire from a café. I realized that I'm just a different sort of mountain person.
Don’t get me wrong: I'm happy to voyage down a dirt road, out of cell phone service and away from electricity, and camp out next to a lake and eat campfire meals.
I'm not interested, however, in carrying everything on my back in order to do that — I have a vehicle for this purpose. I have no problem sleeping in a tent — if I can bring my two-inch-thick Ikea foam mattress to go inside it.
I'm grateful to have been born in such a beautiful place, and the mountains are definitely my therapy. If I'm feeling sad or depressed, staring at Rocky Mountain peaks makes me feel so small and insignificant, in the best way possible.
I feel the enormity of time and the inconsequential blip of my lifetime in comparison, and my daily stress and worries melt away. But the backside of Bull Mountain didn't offer me anything more epiphanous than the view from Cranbrook’s Eager Hill.
I wouldn't do it again, but I'm glad I did it. If only for the reason that when I drive on Highway 3 out by Wardner, I can point to Bull Mountain and say, “Do you see that ridge up there between those beautiful peaks? I took a crap up there.”
