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| The camping area along Frog Pond Ridge. |
Light from the full moon pours into my tent perched on a
mountain ridge at an elevation of 940 metres. Four other tents are scattered nearby.
I’m not the only one crazy enough to camp in near freezing temperatures at the end
of September.
I try to relax and fall back asleep, but my mind won’t stop
focusing on the fact that soon I’ll be forced to get out of a warm sleeping bag
at 6:30 am (I am not a morning person), then tackle an 80 to 90 metre near
vertical drop into a steep and partially exposed saddle.
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| The gully before the Frog Pond camping area. |
But this hike felt different. I knew there were some steep, exposed sections and I knew that getting a good sleep was key to avoid getting height-induced vertigo (which happened on a Strathcona Park hike two years ago). The pressure was on to fall back asleep. But it didn’t happen.
“I’m so pumped for the hike today!” says my boyfriend Mirko,
shortly after the alarm goes off.
I give him the bad news that I had a bad sleep and suggest
he hike to the glacier on his own. But eventually he convinces me to give it a
try – and it didn’t take much convincing after a strong cup of coffee. After all,
this hike has been on our adventure list for a couple seasons, and getting
access to the trailhead isn’t easy.
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| The drop after the Frog Ponds. Photo by Mirko Freund |
Getting to the trailhead involves driving through a maze of logging
roads. The biggest hurdle, however, is
getting access to Comox Lake Main – the main arterial feeder for logging
in the area. Controlled by a logging company, the road is gated and closed to
the public during specific hours. There is often no public access during the
summer (due to wildfires), which is why we didn’t end up on the trail until late
September.
Hiking to Frog Pond Ridge is an accomplishment in itself since it involves a two to three hour slog up a steep and often narrow trail through the forest. Sometimes it feels like the crumbly switchbacks and strenuous rope sections will never end. Then suddenly, you’re on top of the world in an open alpine ridge and treated to views of the sparkling glacier in the distance.
Fast forward to the next day – completing the remaining 4 km
and 600 metre elevation gain (with a day pack) to the glacier that, unlike most
coast glaciers, is visible from the Comox Valley on a clear day.
I’m soon confronted by the gnarly 80 to 90-metre near
vertical drop that kept me awake at night. Clinging onto a rope, I slowly slide
down the rock ledges, then take a moment to look at the wild terrain that
surrounds me – a somewhat narrow, exposed ridge with cliffs on either side.
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| The exposed ridge connecting Black Cat Mountain. |
I try to keep my nerves in check as I scramble up a rocky ledge, the edge of the cliff getting too close for comfort. It feels like I’m being pulled towards the cliff, setting off a terrifying and crippling height-induced vertigo. I whimper like a baby as I try to push forward. But soon it’s impossible to go any further.
“I wish I never came with you today,” I say. “This feels
like mental torture.” My hands are shaking as tears stream down my face.
Despite the spectacular scenery, the only thing I can look at is the ground.
Turning around is never an easy decision on a backcountry
hike, but I had no choice since the fear became more intense the further we
went. I’d still like to experience walking on the Comox Glacier some day, but
next time I’ll just take a helicopter.
WATCH: Frozen with fear on the Comox Glacier hike: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=iFmRBWTG0-Q
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| Views of Frog Pond Ridge and Century Sam Lake. Photo by Mirko Freund. |