Travels in Cascadia: Howe Sound and the Challenge of Living (and Mining) in Vertical Places, Part 2

Howe Sound, the southernmost glacial fjord in western North America, is a fascinating place to explore. We've already looked at the journey by ferry that we used to get there, we've looked at one of the toughest hikes I've ever taken for a bird's eye view of the sound, and a look at some of the engineering required to live in a vertical place.

Today's post is about resource extraction. That mountains have formed here at Howe Sound suggests that huge forces have acted in the interior of the Earth, and the tectonic activity is very often accompanied by mineralization. The rocks here include ancient marine sediments and volcanic rocks that have since been metamorphosed. Hydrothermal activity leached out metallic ores over a wide region and concentrated them in spring deposits on the ocean floor. The ores included iron, zinc, gold, silver, and arsenic, but most of all, they included copper. The ores were discovered in 1888, but it was sixteen years before the ores could be mined and processed because of the remoteness of the region and the difficult terrain. In 1904, the Britannia Mine began production, ultimately becoming the biggest copper mine in the British Empire.

There were extraordinary challenges in developing the mines, not the least of which was the steep terrain, and the lack of access. Landslides and flash floods were constant hazards, and two events were notable: in 1915 a slide demolished one of the mine camps, killing 56 people, and in 1921 a flash flood killed 37 individuals. The mines themselves were dangerous (as they always are) with 98 fatal accidents over the 70 year history of the mine.

The mine was certainly productive, however. During the 70 years the mines operated, ore totals included 650,000 tons of copper, 137,000 tons of zinc, 17,000 tons of lead, 500 tons of cadmium, 188 tons of silver, and 15.6 tons of gold. The gold alone would be worth $750 million at current prices. My rough calculation of the price of the copper the mine produced is $3.4 billion.

The closure of the mine in 1974 was devastating to the local community. Not only were the jobs suddenly gone, but the 130 miles of underground tunnels exposed sulfide minerals to the atmosphere, and acidic waters laced with heavy metals were draining down the hillsides and into the otherwise pristine waters of Howe Sound. The mine was one of the worst point sources of pollution in all of Canada. Mitigation efforts have been ongoing for years, with water being treated to remove the metals, leaving a toxic sludge that is put back into the old mine tunnels.

The community that remained faced the future of many mining boom towns: loss of population, despoiled water and massive scarring of the landscape from mining activity. Instead of dying away, the community hit on the idea of creating a museum out the remnants of the mining complex. One of the biggest problems was the concentration mill, the 20-story-tall factory just above the coast, and visible from the highway (see the first picture in this post). It was dilapidated and falling apart, but funds were secured to replace the windows and the siding in the early 2000s. With the arrival of the Winter Olympics in 2010, much of the museum complex was in place.

Our tour was well-done. They recommissioned an ore delivery tunnel near the concentration mill to serve as a model of the underground workings that are actually found mostly in the mountainsides upstream. The drilling equipment was reconditioned into working order, along with the mucking machinery. The drilling demonstration was LOUD (we were warned specifically to cover our ears), but it really brought home the kinds of conditions the miners had to work in. I have little doubt that many of them had serious hearing problems later in life. I don't know what Canada's version of OSHA is called, but they would never allow the miners to work without ear protection today.

They also demonstrated the carbide lamps that were used for lighting in the mines for many decades (above). Better than candles, certainly, but I would want some bright flashlights, and a bunch of them. Being lost in a totally dark mine (or cavern) is one of my serious phobias.

I deeply appreciated one aspect of the tour that most people might not...they preserved untouched one of the core shacks from the mine. I've seen only a few of these, and the ones I've seen were much smaller. One might wonder how the miners knew which direction to build their tunnels to reach the richest ores. They drilled thousands of cores into the mountain to sample the rocks so they could map out the ore bodies. The core shack preserved tens of thousands of these cores.

The interpretive signs even helped a bit in allowing students and tourists to look for the desired minerals in the cores (below).

The last part of the tour was apparently debuted not long ago. They used a multimedia presentation showing how the ores were treated in the concentration mill. "Presentation" sounds kind of droll and boring, but it wasn't. There was some surprising humor, for one. I won't spoil all the surprises, but one incredible bit was how they played the sounds of the mill at the volume it would have been in real life. I was struck once again about how the miners would have suffered hearing loss whether they were employed underground or working in the concentration mill.

The concentration mill is big from the outside, but it actually felt even more immense from the inside. The effort that it took to separate the metal from the mineral ores is astounding. One comes away with an appreciation for the many ways that technology has made our collective lives easier. And it will make it harder for me to ever throw away a recyclable metal object.

They allowed us to wander a little bit around the ground floor of the mill, and I was able to pick out something sort of unique. In the wet environment, copper carbonate stalactites have formed on some of the girders!

All in all, a great experience. If you are ever in Howe Sound, consider the tour at the Britannia Mine. Information can be found at https://www.britanniaminemuseum.ca/.

Travels in Cascadia: The Toughest Hike I'll Ever Do...Stawamus Chief in British Columbia

Note that I didn't say the toughest hike YOU will ever do. Every hiking experience is individual, and this one left me...breathless. Stawamus Chief is one of the most popular hikes in the Vancouver-Squamish region of British Columbia, and when we passed through the area last July, I knew I needed to give it a shot.

Stawamus Chief is a granite dome that rises more than 2,000 feet above the east end of Howe Sound, the southernmost fjord on the west coast of North America. The dome actually has three summits, the 1st, 2nd, and 3rd, and the trail climbs to the first summit in a little over a mile. That doesn't sound so bad, does it?

The beginning of the trail is pleasingly flat, rising gently through the Stawamus Chief Campground. The wide flat trail offered no clue about what would follow. I know it sounds dramatic, but from the moment one takes the first step upward as the trail starts the climb in earnest, the trail is relentless and steep.

Some of the steps are on wood stairwells, but the rest of them are large uneven stone blocks that I found challenging. And there are no breaks. Many trails are steep, but most all of them have short breaks were the trail is level for a few steps. Not this one. It never stops climbing.

I climbed higher and higher, and grew more exhausted with each step. The thought was slowly building in my head that I was no longer young, and that some trails were simply too tough for overweight 60-somethings. But then another thought immediately followed: this quite probably was the only chance I would ever have at making the summit. Who could know if I would ever be here again, and with time marching on, my ability to climb would no doubt degrade with age. It was probably the toughest hike I would ever do (in the future sense). I decided I had to do it, and kept going. And going.

Everyone's experience will differ, of course, and some younger and healthier people would not have that much of a problem on this trail. Part of my own worries weren't so much the climb, but the descent. All of those huge steps had to be repeated, but going down, and I worried about the impact on my knees and ankles. But I had already come so far.

Stawamus Chief is a granite dome, and the resemblance to Half Dome in Yosemite Valley is unmistakable. One of the things about Half Dome is that it was never covered with glacial ice. The dome took it's iconic shape from exfoliation of the outer slabs of granite. The corners and edges snapped off as the pressure of burial was released upon exposure to the surface. Glaciers at the base quarried away the fallen rocks.

Stawamus Chief was different: as I approached the summit, a most unusual rock emerged from the trees. It was a boulder perched on a granite platform. It was a classic example of a glacial erratic, a rock left behind as the glaciers that flowed over this surface melted away. Unlike Half Dome, the summit of the Chief had been covered by glacial ice. And not just a little...the ice here was over a mile thick!

In the end, I didn't make the true summit. The young men in our group reported that another twenty minutes and 200 feet of hard climbing remained ahead. I just wasn't up to it. But I did make it to the summit ridge, which provided a stunning view of the eastern end of Howe Sound. From this elevation, the glacial origin of the fjord was obvious. And I was happy to be where I was. Elated, even. And thrilled to be alive (literally!).

The knees and ankles took the expected pounding on the way down, but no lasting damage was done. I would live another day, and take on the next challenge. It could well have been the toughest hike that I would ever do (in the future sense; I've done some really tough hikes over the years), but the neat thing about life is that you never know what comes next. Maybe I won't do this trail again, but there are many other trails and challenges ahead. Again, that sounds dramatic, but finding one's limits is always an exercise in drama.

Travels in Cascadia: Howe Sound and the Challenge of Living in Vertical Places, Part 1

We didn't fly over it, so I've clearly needed to borrow this image from Google Earth.

We have (slowly) been reviewing our geological exploration of British Columbia back in July, and when I last posted we had reached Howe Sound, the southernmost fjord on the west coast of North America. We arrived by ferry at Horseshoe Bay (from Vancouver Island), and then spent two days exploring the museums and parks of the city of Vancouver. But now we were headed into the interior, and needed to follow Highway 99 along the south side of Howe Sound.

Howe Sound is, as noted earlier, the southernmost fjord in western North America. A fjord is a glacially carved bay, and as such has nearly vertical rock walls sloping down to the waters of the bay. This kind of topography entails serious engineering difficulties for anyone who wants to live in, travel through, or mine in the fjord. Prior to the 1960s, the only form of transportation to the inlet of the bay at Squamish was by water. A railroad was completed between Squamish and Vancouver in 1956 (after a delay of something like 40 years), and the first iteration of Highway 99 was carved out of the walls of the sound between 1958 and 1969. When Vancouver was selected as the site of the 2010 Winter Olympics, the highway was widened to four lanes to provide access to Olympic venues in the Whistler area.

The development of transportation corridors led to the development of a few small towns and villages along the route. And that caused problems in this steep countryside. We stopped in the little village of Lions Bay to have a look at a perilous situation.

The dangers of the steep mountain slopes are clear. In 1915 and 1921 a short distance to the east at the Britannia Mine and Britannia Beach, mudflows killed nearly a hundred people. The community at Lions Bay faced the same danger, and in 1981 a debris flow took out highway bridges, leading to several fatal accidents. In 1983, boulders and mud roared down Harvey Creek, destroying a number of buildings and killing two people.

Thus it was that we were looking at a strangely shaped Harvey Creek as it appears today. The channel is lined with boulders, but they are cemented in place. Upstream, a dam is visible, but the dam has holes at the base, and is not capable of holding back water. It's not designed to store water at all, but to stop the forward movement of debris flows coming down Harvey Creek.

In our next post, we'll have a look at the Britannia Mine, the largest (and perhaps steepest) copper mine in western Canada.

For more details about the geology of the Sea to Sky Highway and the engineering challenges, check out: http://quimpergeology.org/wp-content/uploads/2018/03/Sea2Skytour.pdf

Travels in Cascadia: The Southernmost Fjord in Western North America: Howe's that Sound?

Our journey through the Pacific Northwest and British Columbia continued. We had spent several days on Vancouver Island, exploring Goldstream Provincial Park, Mt. Douglas and the Mutton Rocks of Victoria, Sitting Woman Falls, and the gabbro oceanic crust of East Sooke Park. It was now time to head back to the mainland and our goal was to explore the geologic environments of Howe Sound, the southernmost glacial fjord in western North America.

We would spend several days looking at this fascinating geological environment. To get there we would need to take a ferry from Nanaimo on Vancouver Island back to the mainland at Horseshoe Bay inside Howe Sound. We just missed an earlier ferry, so we cooled our heels for a couple of hours in the tourist traps at the ferry terminal. Our attention was distracted by a pair of otters hiding out in the shade beneath the ferry building.

After a few hours we were underway, leaving behind the fairly muted glacial topography of Vancouver Island, and heading towards the decidedly more mountainous country of the mainland. The main contrast was that glacial ice sheets covered Vancouver Island, but the mountains rose above the glaciers on the mainland. We could see the city of Vancouver off to the south.

As we scanned the horizon from the upper deck of the ferry, we could see that we were still definitely in the land of volcanoes. Off to the east we could just make out the lower flanks of Mt. Garibaldi, one of the northernmost of the Cascades Volcanoes. Garibaldi is one of the most unusual of the Cascades because a large portion of the edifice was erupted onto a glacier. When the glacier melted away at the end of the ice age, the flank of the volcano collapsed into the adjacent valley in a series of huge debris flows.

Mt. Garibaldi, with Howe Sound in the foreground

The clouds were playing hide and seek, and mostly 'hide' with the summit of Mt. Baker off to the south in Washington. The glacier-covered peak of Mt. Baker is geologically young, and the mountain seemed on the verge of erupting back in 1975, but it fizzled out to the disappointment of geologists and to the relief of everyone else.

Mt. Baker, partly hidden by clouds, from Howe Sound

My favorite sight from the ferry ride was of the Black Tusk or t'ak't'ak mu'yin tl'a in7in'a'xe7en in the language of the Squamish people, who considered the strangely shaped peak to be the landing place of the Thunderbird, a principle figure in First Nations mythology. In geological terms, the mountain is a deeply eroded stratovolcano, once like Mt. Baker or Mt. Hood, but now a spikey remnant of the original cone

The Black Tusk from Howe Sound

As noted before, Howe Sound is a glacial fjord, a deep bay with steep flanks that was carved by glaciers. It is a bit difficult to pick out the entrance from the Strait of Georgia because it includes several islands. The sound is 26 miles long, ending at the town of Squamish at the upper end. The urban center of Vancouver is just south of Howe Sound where there is more level ground.

The sound is full of geological delights. We would spend the next four days in the immediate vicinity. That's where we'll pick up the story next time.

A Look Back at Ten Years of Geotripping: Vagabonding on Dangerous Ground, an Exploration of Cascadia

In 2015 I wrote a blog series about driving through the "Most Dangerous Plate Boundary" in the world, but it was actually about driving through a fossil subduction zone that is exposed in the Coast Ranges, Great Valley and Sierra Nevada of Central California. In the summer of 2015, Mrs. Geotripper and I took a long journey along the entire length of a real "dangerous plate boundary", the Cascadia subduction zone, that extends from Northern California to British Columbia. The trip coincided with a media explosion over the very real possibility of a magnitude 9 earthquake along the Pacific Northwest coastline. This resulted in another blog series, Vagabonding on Dangerous Ground. Here is a compilation of the journey...

This was posted on September 13, 2015...

I've finished a new blog series on our exploration of the Cascadia Subduction Zone, so I've compiled all the posts in chronological order so you can get the story the correct sequence. Thanks for all the nice comments, responses, and corrections! Click on the orange titles for the post.

On the Road in the Pacific Northwest: The introduction and overview of the new blog series.

Following the Cascadia Subduction Zone on Highway 101: This post provided the geological background for understanding the hazards of living in the lands influenced by the Cascadia Subduction Zone.

In This Land of the Sasquatch There are Ancient Giants: The first leg of our journey took us through the range of the California Redwoods and the land of black bears that look suspiciously like walking ape-people.

The End is Coming (of the Cascadia Subduction Zone): The end of Cascadia is a slow process, but the zone is disappearing slowly, being replaced by the San Andreas fault. It's also a look at one of the loneliest beaches in California.

A Geologist Walks Onto a Bar in Cascadia: Exploring the unique baymouth bars along the Humboldt county coast.

Northern California's Tsunami Central: Crescent City has a tragic history of tsunamis, especially the one in 1964 that took a dozen lives and destroyed the marina and downtown areas.

This "Dismal Forest Prison" and other problems exploring the Northwest: The Pacific Northwest was particularly difficult to explore and map, at least if you weren't part of the indigenous culture. Here are some accounts of the discovery of Humboldt Bay by land.

Into the Land of Sand, and Exploding Whales: Between Coos Bay and Florence, Oregon, is the longest stretch of sand beaches and dunes in the Pacific Northwest. Yeah, and the whale thing...

Into the Realm of the Devil (and Sea Lions): There are a lot of things named for the devil on the Oregon coast for some reason. And some incredible sea caves occupied by sea lions.

Putting on a Happy Face at Dismal Nitch and Cape Disappointment: We reach the mouth of the Columbia River, where Lewis and Clark reached their goal. It's undergone a great many changes over the years.

Into the Rainforest, Seeing Something Strange...Rain: We explore the Hoh Rainforest in Olympic National Park for the first time, and encounter something strange, at least this year: rain. There was also a fire burning in the rainforest. That's not normal.

The Diverse Landscapes of Olympic National Park: Olympic is one of the most diverse of our national parks, with alpine glaciers, rainforests, and coastlines. It's spectacular.

The Salish Sea and the Strait of Juan de Fuca: Glaciers and tectonics combined to form a seaway east of Vancouver Island and the Olympic Peninsula. It's a unique ecosystem quite distinct from the Pacific Ocean just a few miles away.

Stone Rings, Glaciers, and "Dinosaurs" on the Coast of the Salish Sea: Desecrated burial mounds, avian dinosaurs, and glacial landscapes. Victoria on Vancouver is both a beautiful city and a fascinating place to explore.

Exploring North America's Southernmost Fjord: We take the ferry to the mainland, making landfall inside of the southernmost glacial fjord in North America, Howe Sound in British Columbia (defined here as on the mainland, but connected to the ocean; opinions differ!).

Landing Place of the Thunderbird and the Grimy One, the Volcanoes of British Columbia: Black Tusk and Mt. Garibaldi two of the northernmost volcanoes in the Cascade Range. I missed them last year in the rain, but saw them this time.

Controversial Stone People, Fire and Ice, and an Olympic Legacy: We made it to Whistler and the home of the 2010 Winter Olympics. The stone people were controversial, but the scenery was not. It was spectacular.

Seeing Volcanoes from the Inside Out at Siám' Smánit (Stawamus Chief): Glaciers and granite! Stawamus Chief is a dramatic granitic dome rising high above the end of Howe Sound. It was once the magma chamber of a volcano.

Our Tour of the Greatest National Park I Never Once Set Foot In: North Cascades National Park is a true primeval wilderness. No roads penetrate the park boundaries. But what incredible scenery!

The Geology that Explains Why North Cascades is a Park Divided: The Skagit River may be the most altered water course in the Pacific Northwest, but it provides 20% of Seattle's electricity. It splits a national park in two.

What's East of North (Cascades), A Brief Explore: North Cascades doesn't have all the scenery; the lands to the east are rather spectacular too, and offer some great geology.

Playing Hide and Seek with a Sleeping Monster: Mt. Baker is not the most active volcano in the Cascade Range, but it is capable of great mayhem. It even looked for awhile like it might blow back in 1975.


Danger Follows Us Home (As it does all of us): A Mt. Shasta drive-by (photo) shooting, and a wrap-up of the series. Danger is always with us no matter where we are. It's not to be feared, but respected and prepared for.

Vagabonding on Dangerous Ground: A Compendium of Posts

I've finished a new blog series on our exploration of the Cascadia Subduction Zone, so I've compiled all the posts in chronological order so you can get the story the correct sequence. Thanks for all the nice comments, responses, and corrections! Click on the gray titles for the post.

On the Road in the Pacific Northwest: The introduction and overview of the new blog series.

Following the Cascadia Subduction Zone on Highway 101: This post provided the geological background for understanding the hazards of living in the lands influenced by the Cascadia Subduction Zone.

In This Land of the Sasquatch There are Ancient Giants: The first leg of our journey took us through the range of the California Redwoods and the land of black bears that look suspiciously like walking ape-people.

The End is Coming (of the Cascadia Subduction Zone): The end of Cascadia is a slow process, but the zone is disappearing slowly, being replaced by the San Andreas fault. It's also a look at one of the loneliest beaches in California.

A Geologist Walks Onto a Bar in Cascadia: Exploring the unique baymouth bars along the Humboldt county coast.

Northern California's Tsunami Central: Crescent City has a tragic history of tsunamis, especially the one in 1964 that took a dozen lives and destroyed the marina and downtown areas.

This "Dismal Forest Prison" and other problems exploring the Northwest: The Pacific Northwest was particularly difficult to explore and map, at least if you weren't part of the indigenous culture. Here are some accounts of the discovery of Humboldt Bay by land.

Into the Land of Sand, and Exploding Whales: Between Coos Bay and Florence, Oregon, is the longest stretch of sand beaches and dunes in the Pacific Northwest. Yeah, and the whale thing...

Into the Realm of the Devil (and Sea Lions): There are a lot of things named for the devil on the Oregon coast for some reason. And some incredible sea caves occupied by sea lions.

Putting on a Happy Face at Dismal Nitch and Cape Disappointment: We reach the mouth of the Columbia River, where Lewis and Clark reached their goal. It's undergone a great many changes over the years.

Into the Rainforest, Seeing Something Strange...Rain: We explore the Hoh Rainforest in Olympic National Park for the first time, and encounter something strange, at least this year: rain. There was also a fire burning in the rainforest. That's not normal.

The Diverse Landscapes of Olympic National Park: Olympic is one of the most diverse of our national parks, with alpine glaciers, rainforests, and coastlines. It's spectacular.

The Salish Sea and the Strait of Juan de Fuca: Glaciers and tectonics combined to form a seaway east of Vancouver Island and the Olympic Peninsula. It's a unique ecosystem quite distinct from the Pacific Ocean just a few miles away.

Stone Rings, Glaciers, and "Dinosaurs" on the Coast of the Salish Sea: Desecrated burial mounds, avian dinosaurs, and glacial landscapes. Victoria on Vancouver is both a beautiful city and a fascinating place to explore.

Exploring North America's Southernmost Fjord: We take the ferry to the mainland, making landfall inside of the southernmost glacial fjord in North America, Howe Sound in British Columbia (defined here as on the mainland, but connected to the ocean; opinions differ!).

Landing Place of the Thunderbird and the Grimy One, the Volcanoes of British Columbia: Black Tusk and Mt. Garibaldi two of the northernmost volcanoes in the Cascade Range. I missed them last year in the rain, but saw them this time.

Controversial Stone People, Fire and Ice, and an Olympic Legacy: We made it to Whistler and the home of the 2010 Winter Olympics. The stone people were controversial, but the scenery was not. It was spectacular.

Seeing Volcanoes from the Inside Out at Siám' Smánit (Stawamus Chief): Glaciers and granite! Stawamus Chief is a dramatic granitic dome rising high above the end of Howe Sound. It was once the magma chamber of a volcano.

Our Tour of the Greatest National Park I Never Once Set Foot In: North Cascades National Park is a true primeval wilderness. No roads penetrate the park boundaries. But what incredible scenery!

The Geology that Explains Why North Cascades is a Park Divided: The Skagit River may be the most altered water course in the Pacific Northwest, but it provides 20% of Seattle's electricity. It splits a national park in two.

What's East of North (Cascades), A Brief Explore: North Cascades doesn't have all the scenery; the lands to the east are rather spectacular too, and offer some great geology.

Playing Hide and Seek with a Sleeping Monster: Mt. Baker is not the most active volcano in the Cascade Range, but it is capable of great mayhem. It even looked for awhile like it might blow back in 1975.


Danger Follows Us Home (As it does all of us): A Mt. Shasta drive-by (photo) shooting, and a wrap-up of the series. Danger is always with us no matter where we are. It's not to be feared, but respected and prepared for.

Vagabonding on Dangerous Ground: Seeing Volcanoes from the Inside Out at Siám' Smánit (Stawamus Chief)

It's one thing to talk about a subduction zone from the outside, where one might see an oceanic trench, or a chain of volcanoes. It's quite another to explore the convergent zone from the inside out, by, for instance, standing under the volcano. Miles below the volcano. That's what one gets to do along the lower stretches of the Sea to Sky Highway between Whistler and Vancouver in British Columbia.

We were vagabonding our way through the landscapes of the Cascadia Subduction Zone between Northern California and the southern end of British Columbia. We were headed south towards home, but there were still some pretty intense sights ahead. As we drove down the Sea to Sky Highway back towards Vancouver, we had a chance to check out the awesome cliff of Siám' Smánit, Stawamus Chief at the head of Howe Sound. We got our first look of the immense cliff from several miles upstream at the Tantalus Overlook (below).

Stawamus Chief is a huge cliff and dome of granitic rock, specifically granodiorite (which chemically is a bit less rich in silica than actual granite). The chief has a height of 700 meters (2,297 feet), which is only a few hundred meters short of El Capitan in Yosemite National Park (900 meters, 3,000 feet). Interestingly, both names refer to "chiefs". The rock originated in magma chambers many kilometers below the surface of the Earth, underneath volcanoes that are presumed to have existed far above about 100 million years ago (the Cretaceous Period; dinosaurs would have wandered the slopes of these volcanoes). Tens of millions of years of erosion have removed the volcanoes and the many kilometers of intervening rock. We were quite literally standing within the internal plumbing of an ancient volcano!

One of the agents of erosion that has shaped Stawamus Chief was glaciation. We were at the head of Howe Sound, North America's southernmost glacial fjord, a spot where the ice stream was thousands of meters thick. The ice completely covered the "Chief" and eventually scoured and trimmed the edges of the huge rock.

In the 12,000 years or so since the ice melted back, the scoured and polished surfaces of the rock were weathered away, or buried beneath rock debris. Fresh looking glacial surfaces can be hard to find at times, but the 2010 Winter Olympics provided some excellent exposures here at Stawamus. How? The organizers widened the highway, and constructed a pedestrian bridge that provided access to the provincial park for people parking to the north.

The slopes in the Stawamus area were covered with glacial till and outwash deposits that hid the scoured granite surfaces. Engineers cut a low pass through the till. but they realized that the loose debris would be a road hazard. They carted away the till, exposing the beautifully carved and polished surfaces underneath.

Some of the till was still visible on the south side of the highway (below).

From north of the bridge, even more of the immense cliff could be seen. The mountain attracts legions of rock climbers, and we could see several of them inching their way up the rock face.

It was getting late, and the vagabonders had made no plans for the night. We continued down the highway, eventually finding accommodations in North Vancouver. The next day we would be making the border crossing back into the United States, where new adventures awaited. More to come!