On the last Saturday in July, 2013 myself and Spring and two other likely companions, Ben and Cody, reached the summit of Welch Peak in the Cheam Range of British Columbia. The scrambling is airy and exposed but fun. There is just enough solid rock to scramble on to make you forget the crumbling piles of choss or as I decided to call them “death skittles” which is all the loose sand and pebbles atop otherwise good rock (definitely inspired by the fact I was munching on actual Skittles all day).
On the Friday night we decided to camp on an old Forestry Road near the trailhead. This proved to be the mental crux of the trip. An overactive imagination and past negative experiences leaving a vehicle overnight in the vicinity coupled with having to camp at a pullout littered with shotgun shells, broken glass and shrapnel embedded trees made for a somewhat restless nights sleep.
The next day we reached the summit of Welch Peak. It was a long day, with moments of sheer bliss, pupil dilating terror, brow furrowing frustration and pure comradery in the face of tribulation. At times it felt like we were struggling and wrestling against the mountain but ultimately, as we departed from the summit, and toasted stream chilled Ale back at the trailhead, we felt that the mountain had given us far more on that day than it ever could have taken from us.