Living Wild & Well: My Solo Backcountry Adventure Hiking Pedley Pass/Ridge Loop with the Tarn Detour

At 13+ kilometres and with unreliable elevation stats (the cumulative gain is substantial with the amount of up and down there is across the summit and ridge), this hike was more challenging than I anticipated.

It was also more beautiful than I anticipated.

Arriving in the parking area, I looked way up at the towering ridge line and wondered if that was where I was headed. Indeed, and then some.

I did it clockwise, opposite of what the map says. Good choice. Makes way more sense to me to do it that way, getting the most challenging part out of the way first and having the best views in front of me the entire time.

Gaining the summit is not a scramble, but close. Skinny, steep, and lots of exposure. Epic 360 views, and you can also see where you parked, which was a pretty rewarding feeling.

Coming up to the summit felt like an accomplishment—until I looked further and could see the saddle ahead that I would be dropping into and then climbing back out of. That's when I muttered, "Mother f@cker."

But the overlook on the other side of the saddle was remarkable, and the meadowy forest was magical. The whole thing has a vibe of Tent Ridge meets Monica Meadows: two of my favourite hikes.

Once descending from the overlook, there's an option to detour to a tarn, nestled back against a gorgeous rock slab of a mountain. I figured, why not. I came all this way.

The sign said it was only a kilometre and 50 metres elevation.

The sign lies. No surprise there. All hikers are liars, really. "It's only a kilometre. Just over the hill. Around the corner." You know.

As I dropped down, and down some more, I contemplated abandoning the detour. But fierce determination and stubborn will always sees me through. The tarn was very pretty, but the jury is still out as to whether it's worth adding an almost three kilometres to the trek, and the additional climb to get back up to the trail.

From there, it should be a cakewalk. Quick drop down and I'll be back at the truck. So, after a steep and what seemed like lengthy descent, the trail leveled out. I'm thinking, "Eff ya, parking lot's gotta be just up ahead."

Nope.

Plateau of deception.

Continue dropping, and drop some more, to the point that you've dropped so much that you start to seriously worry that you missed a junction somewhere along the way.

This is the part of the hike where Danette gets mad and just wants to be off the mountain. I'll usually say, "I'm gonna throw my poles off this cliff," or "leave me for the bears." But this day, leave me for the horseflies would have been more accurate.

Devious bastards. They quickly realized that I was a delightfully delicious sweaty mess. I couldn't even be mad at them. I really could have chomped something salty at that point too.

But alas, the trees break, and my truck never looked so good. I contemplated throwing myself down in the creek, but opted just to splash in it instead, knowing that I still had a good three hours ahead of me before I would be home.

I also contemplated stopping and napping on the way home. Maybe that would help me stop cursing out the summer traffic. I guess I was still mad. Nothing that a Hot Shots iced coffee and gluten-free banana bread couldn't fix.

Now, once I wrote this from the comfort of my couch, everything was right with the world again. Except for maybe my legs. I was worried about how the old girls would make out the next day, thinking “This might not be good, guys.”

But not so bad that it will stop me from hiking again. I think torturing yourself in the mountains is a mental illness that never really goes away. So, like, hey, maybe you want to join me sometime.

I really love this shit. Even when I'm ready to leave myself for the bears ... or horseflies.