INTO THE SLIPPERY MIST

from Pacific Yachting - March 2023

Engine Confusion

A cruise to Princess Louisa Inlet’s Chatterbox Falls nearly ends in catastrophe

By Wendy Hinman

BEFORE HIKING, WE grinned next to a big yellow sign that read:

“Caution: Access to Trapper’s Cabin. This route is not maintained or signed. It is strenuous and potentially hazardous. The hike to the cabin (elevation 550 metres) is about two hours one way.”

It would be tough, but we were avid hikers, eager to tackle the steep trail.

My husband Garth and I planned a three-week cruise in BC with catamaran owners Laura and Brian. During our second week, friends Jim and Debbie joined us in Nanaimo. It was late October, so we urged them to bring warm clothes and be ready for an adventure.

Then news warned of a “bomb cyclone”: A forecasted atmospheric river could intensify into what’s also known as a winter hurricane. We studied the Windy weather app and zipped across the Strait of Georgia when winds were light. Our goal was the protected, cathedrallike setting of Princess Louisa Inlet—miles from anywhere. Reaching it requires winding nonstop up a long fjord and navigating through Malibu Rapids during slack water. Princess Louisa’s mile-high cliffs, peaceful setting and gushing waterfall attract many ambitious boaters each year. The Waggoner Cruising Guide describes it as the “Holy Grail” for cruisers, and even after 34,000 miles of offshore cruising, it remains a favourite place of mine. During a typical summer, dozens of boats line the floating dock or tie among a slew of mooring balls. In late October, we had it to ourselves. Even the Malibu Club Young Life Camp appeared deserted. Mist clinging to the mountains and waterfalls streaming down the fjord’s granite walls awed us the afternoon we motored in.

BY MORNING IT was dry, so we discussed hiking the rugged trail to the trapper’s cabin. Though it was my third visit, the ominous warnings had previously deterred me from hiking it.

After breakfast, we got distracted testing a new drone to capture video of Chatterbox Falls. I prepared pumpkin soup for a hearty post-hike dinner. Then as the others installed a new outboard engine battery, I took a short solo kayak paddle to the roaring falls. When I returned, everyone was eating lunch and talking about the hike. I was surprised everyone still wanted to go.

I donned layers of foul weather clothes and stuffed my feet into wool socks and boots, loading my waterproof backpack with a water bottle and extra clothes. Earning my nickname, “travelling squirrel,” I also threw in snack bars, almonds, my cell phone, a flashlight and tissues.

We began hiking at 13:00 and Garth noted we should turn around by 15:30 to make it down before dark.

“We have no cell service, no VHF signal, and we’re alone, so if we run into problems, no one will rescue us,” I added.

Brian concurred, “We’re not trying to prove anything here. If anyone wants to turn around, we’ll all turn around.”

WE STARTED UP the trail, grabbing onto tree roots and branches, stepping through dips carved by water. It was tricky but exhilarating. Sometimes we couldn’t see the trail, then spotted a pink ribbon to reassure us. Mostly the trail went straight uphill like a ladder. We scrambled up mossy rock outcroppings, sidestepping fallen trees—every obstacle a potential handhold. We grew overheated and peeled off layers, tying them around our waists or stuffing them into our packs. The brilliant green of the dripping moss and fresh scent of evergreens filled our senses.

“What an amazing hike!” Jim said. “Nothing like home.” Jim and Deb brought warm clothes, ski gloves and hats they rarely needed in Southern California. Only Garth and I wore full foul weather gear and boots, while everyone else wore rain resistant coats and pants with sneakers. Warm from our exertions, we guzzled water, then re- filled our bottles in an icy stream. Adrenaline and excitement fueled us onward.

ABOUT TWO-THIRDS of the way up, at a steep stretch where a split tree had fallen across the path, Laura said, “This might be a good place to turn around.”

Garth looked at his watch. “We’ve been climbing for an hour and a half. We’ll need to turn around in about 45 minutes anyway.” I shrugged. After a brief pause, we used the split tree to pull ourselves up the rock face, hurrying to catch the others.

Increasing rain dampened my enthusiasm. There was no hint the trail would level out, nor any indication of an impending view. Only Garth’s neon jacket seemed visible through the foliage.

“What time is it?” I asked Garth, pausing to gulp water and catch my breath.

“15:08.”

“Hmm,” I said. “I’m concerned about getting down before dark. If we have problems, we may need extra time.” Garth nodded. I was also worried about hypothermia, since I was already cold and I had on more clothes than anyone.

After a moment, I surrendered to my misgivings. “I hate to be Nervous Nellie, but we don’t have much light left and it might take a while to get down. Let’s turn around.”

“We’re heading down!” Garth shouted toward the others.

We heard a distant “OK!” Garth and I turned and heard scrambling behind us.

When Jim and Deb caught up, Jim said, “Brian thought they were nearly at the trapper’s cabin and wanted to push on a few minutes to see if they could see it.”

I felt uneasy. I’d turned around, hoping everyone would.

WE LATER LEARNED that Brian and Laura made it to the trapper’s cabin ruins alongside a waterfall where only a few logs and bedsprings remained. They stayed a minute, took pictures and turned around. Wet and cold, they hurried to stay warm and catch the rest of us. That’s when Laura slipped on a wet root and tumbled. She slid headfirst down solid a granite face, and 40 feet past Brian she skidded to a stop in a tangle of brush. She cried in pain as Brian helped her up. He later reported that she’d been panting, saying it felt like a heart attack, a broken rib or a punctured lung.

At 15:50, Brian reported via walkie-talkie that Laura had fallen but could walk. Jim climbed back up to help. I remembered a sign at the base of the falls noting lost lives. If only we had turned around sooner…

Garth, Deb and I shivered as the rain intensified. Donning more clothes, we discussed what to do. Could we even help Laura? We could only hear static through the radio, so we followed Jim back up the trail. Turning around meant we’d likely be on the mountain after dark.

WHEN WE REACHED Laura, I pulled my neck gator over her head to help keep her warm. Laura shuddered and moaned with each breath, her eyes unfocused. As steep and narrow as it was, I wasn’t sure how we’d carry her, but clearly we had no choice but to get her off the mountain as quickly and safely as we could. Fortunately, her legs weren’t injured and she could walk.

Brian said. “I know it hurts, baby, but you could die up here if you stop. You need to do this.” Laura nodded and we helped her stand.

Though we still had daylight, most of our descent would be in the dark. Besides my flashlight, only Laura had a headlamp. Each carried a cell phone we could use if necessary, though in the rain they’d be unlikely to last.

Jim suggested he and Deb hurry down to grab flashlights while there was still light to see by. We agreed and they raced off.

The rest of us picked our way, single file, down the mountain, limited by Laura’s injuries and pain. As darkness fell, our progress slowed. I scouted for trail markers and decent footing while Brian and Garth supported Laura through each painful step. Her breath was laboured and she moaned softly. We offered encouragement but because the incident happened near the top, it was a long way down.

Rain pounded and water flooded the trail. We plodded through frigid, shinhigh water that spilled over my boot tops and soaked my socks. Water rushed over bare logs, rendering them slicker than the mossy rocks. Pebble-strewn gullies we’d followed uphill were now raging creeks. Landmarks reminded us how far we still had to go—harsh reminders of our earlier naiveté.

Laura’s headlamp failed and we relied on Brian’s cell phone. After hours, I spotted a glow—Jim returning with flashlights. The time it took him to return indicated the distance yet to cover. It seemed endless as we slogged onward.

We finally reached the boat at 20:30, long after dark; we’d spent eight hours on the trail, five after Laura’s injury. Everyone was exhausted and soaked to the skin with cold October rain. Brian helped Laura out of her wet clothes and gave her something for the pain. We debated options. Being unfamiliar with area medical facilities made decision-making difficult and we still had no cell or VHF signal to contact the outside world.

WE LEFT PRINCESS Louisa at daylight, when we could safely get through the rapids. Once we had a cell signal we made calls and Laura’s son alerted the Coast Guard as we navigated toward civilization.

Flight logistics and weather added to our stress. Deb and Jim were scheduled to fly home from Powell River the following morning, but the harbourmaster at Powell River confirmed our fears that getting there would be impossible because a gale raged in the Strait of Georgia.

“The ferries have all been cancelled and this port isn’t safe at the moment,” she said. “Go to Pender Harbour. There’s a hospital in Sechelt, a half hour by road from there.”

Shortly after we reached Pender Harbour’s Madeira Park, EMTs sent by the Coast Guard came aboard and assessed Laura’s condition, which led us to think she could wait until dawn to visit the hospital.

When Laura finally received a thorough assessment 36 hours after the accident, X-rays and CT scans showed that she had three broken ribs, a broken sternum, two punctured lungs, and a fracture offset in her spine (T4 /T3). For the care she needed, she was transferred to Lions Gate Hospital in North Vancouver. Yet because of the pandemic, Laura was trapped on a gurney in a hallway for nearly seven hours. Another test later uncovered a fracture in the C1/C2 area of her spine as well. A sobering diagnosis.

SEVEN DAYS AFTER her accident, Laura finally made it home wearing a neck brace. She survived, but recovery required months of healing and possibly a spinal fusion. We’ll never stop thinking about how close Laura came to irreversible injuries. Clearly, it was foolish to undertake such a challenging hike in cold, wet weather late in the day in an isolated area. We compounded our mistake by not turning around when some of us expressed misgivings. I am haunted by the naïve photo of us smiling next to the caution sign.

It’s an adventure none of us will ever forget—or want to repeat.