biodiversity

Tech Binding turns 40

The story of one of the most important inventions in ski touring history  

I attached Alpine Trekkers to my downhill skis the first time I went ski touring and clicked in with my clunky Alpine boots. It was 1997, and I was probably lifting more than 10 pounds of gear with each stride. I was also young, fit and ignorant enough to think the system was amazing. Until one day a Swiss mountain guide using Dynafit touring bindings left me dragging a mile behind him.

I can still picture those bindings. They don’t look that different than the ones on my skis today or the first pin binding introduced in 1984, as such “Low-Tech” bindings are unique among outdoor gear.

Besides the two wheels, today’s mountain bikes share little with the early off-road rigs of 40 years ago. Backpacks have gone from exterior aluminum frames to internal suspension systems. And while skis still have a tip and tail, everything in between has changed.

Meanwhile, the pincer toe, U-pin and boxy heels of today’s tech bindings are obviously descendants of the binding Fritz Barthel invented four decades ago.

“Laziness is the mother of invention,” says Barthel.

The story goes, in 1982, he and a buddy were driving back to Austria from a Mediterranean climbing trip and, on a whim, decided to ski Mont Blanc. When they reached the summit, they were exhausted and nearly didn’t make it back to the car. On the drive home, Barthel, an engineering student and lifelong tinkerer, wondered what he could have done differently. Low Tech’s 30th Anniversary

“I could have trained more to be in a better shape,” he told GearJunkie, a website. “But this was not really an option for me, as I’m a very lazy person.” It All Started With a Near-Death Experience: The Toe-Pin Ski Binding Turns 40

The logical solution was to design a lighter touring binding system. Touring bindings at the time worked similarly to today’s “frame” bindings with resort-style bindings mounted on a plate, or frame, that swivelled from a point near the toe. Barthel realized the key to a lighter setup was the relatively new introduction of stiff plastic ski boots. It would eliminate the need for a heavy frame. The problem was the connection.

After many iterations, Barthel developed a system that used metal pins at the toe that coordinated with notches on a boot and a similar connection at the heel that spun out of the way for climbing.

“At the time, everything had to be called ‘high-tech’ to be successful,” Barthel says. “But, what should this lightweight, mechanically simple binding be called? Low Tech, of course.”

By 1984, Barthel had a working prototype and a patent for his Low-Tech system. He shopped the idea to all the big boot and binding manufacturers, but they were put off by the unusual-looking binding and the fact shoppers of the new bindings also required new boots.

“I still have all the rejection [letters] of all the companies,” Barthel said. “There was no official interest.”

Eventually, Dynafit permitted him to retrofit the binding connections into its boots, with the catch that Barthel had to buy them first. Dynafit.com

His dad, an avid backcountry skier, raised some money, and Barthel turned his basement into a workshop. At first, sales were slow. Then, some ski-mo racers saw the advantage, adopted the system and started winning races. Soon, Barthel was manually retrofitting 1,000 pairs of boots a year. It was unsustainable for a home-based business, and Low Tech was finally enticing enough for the more prominent companies.

In 1990, Dynafit licensed the patent, took over the boot and binding manufacturing and renamed the Tourlite Tech system. (Thirty-five years later, Barthel continues to consult with Dynafit about their bindings and boots.)

As the system gained popularity among the growing ski touring community, Dynafit became synonymous with “tech” bindings. Barthel’s original patent expired in 2006. Overnight, several ski brands introduced their versions.

One of the first was Vancouver-based G3 or Genuine Guide Gear. In the mid-2000s, an alpine touring binding fit well with its mix of avalanche safety gear and telemark bindings. Its first offering, the Onyx binding, sought to alleviate concerns that the tiny pins weren’t reliable or robust enough for hard downhill skiing. It looked beefier and had lateral release values, similar to the DIN settings on resort bindings. It has since been replaced by more minimalist models that the new owner of G3 will continue to sell. G3 is back online and ready for another lap; see G3 Bindings.

The Onyx was a precursor to the Marker Kingpin, which had a pin-style toe but an alpine binding-style heel. Salomon and its sister brand Atomic eventually adapted the idea further with the Shift binding. It uses a pin-style toenail for skinning and a traditional alpine attachment system for the descent, Marker Kingpin Bindings, 2025.

Low tech is now catching on in snowboarding. First, individual riders milled pin connections into their soft boots or created their own “franked systems” out of alpine touring gear. Today, there are several brands, such as Phantom Snow. Voile and Spark R&D, who design and manufacture tech-style boots and bindings specifically for split-boarding, see Cripple Creek Backcountry.

The dozens of tech-style bindings on the market mostly stick closer to Barthel’s original goal of making ski touring lighter and more user-friendly. The latest company to get into the pin binding game is Tyrolia with its new Almonte 12 PT. They look and function very similar to the originals but are lighter, safer, more reliable and easier to use. As such, Fritz Barthel is one of the key architects who made ski touring the approachable and accessible sport it is today. I thank him every time I skin past someone sweating uphill in a clunky frame binding or, worse, Alpine Trekkers.

Written by Ryan Stuart – @Ryan_Adventures

Year of the Glacier

The United Nations has declared 2025 the International Year of Glaciers’ Preservation. Let’s face it: it’s a hopeful declaration. Between about 100,000 and 11,000 years ago, most of North America was frozen beneath ice three kilometres thick in places. Known as the Wisconsin glaciation, it was the last major ice age to grip the northern hemisphere. Time must have practically stood still in this virtually lifeless landscape. It’s no wonder that humans would adopt the word “glacial” as a metaphor for things that move ponderously slowly.

However, that metaphor is melting. The glaciers we know are vestiges of ancient geological history, and they are rapidly leaving the ice age. Human-caused climate change is accelerating this exit. Unless we can limit global warming to a few more tenths of a degree, we’ll lose two-thirds of the world’s remaining glaciers by the year 2100.

Helm Glacier is one of them. Nestled on the north face of Gentian Peak, near Garibaldi Lake, the Helm has been studied more than almost any other glacier in southwestern BC. Federal government scientists started taking measurements there in the 1960s when it covered an area of around 4 square kilometres. Today, it covers just a square kilometre, and it’s not long for this world, says Mark Ednie, a geologist with the Geological Survey of Canada.

The Helm is one of dozens that Ednie monitors in the Western Cordillera of Canada, from the Rockies to the Coast Range. He visits all of them twice a year: once in the spring to measure snow depth and snow density and once in late summer to measure ice melt. Combine these two measurements, and you get something called “mass balance,” a metric that describes whether a glacier is growing or shrinking.

“It’s usually in the negative column,” Ednie says.

You don’t need to be a geologist to know that most of our glaciers are disappearing; you only need to spend a few summers in the mountains and open your eyes.      

Scientists divided a glacier into two zones. The accumulation zone occupies the higher elevations, where the ice remains snow-covered year-round. Below that snow, or firn line, is the zone of ablation, where more snow is lost than accumulates and is often bare ice.

A healthy glacier is growing and is in constant motion. Snow in the accumulation zone feeds the formation of ice, which flows from the upper to lower reaches of the glacier.

Since Ednie started visiting Helm Glacier in 2018, there has been no accumulation zone. Whatever snow falls in winter is long gone by the end of summer.

“So, it means the whole glacier is melting,” Ednie says.

It’s a similar story for most of the glaciers he monitors. And worse for ones like the Peyto Glacier, a dying appendage of the Wapta Icefield in the Rockies with data going back to the late 1800s. The effects of anthropogenic global warming are compounded by ash from massive forest fires. Ash darkens the glacier and reduces the albedo effect, or the surface’s ability to reflect the sun’s energy. The result is an even faster rate of ice melt.

In some ways, Ednie’s work is similar to that of the palliative care business. He makes the rounds to ailing glaciers and takes measurements, the way a nurse dutifully takes the vitals of a terminally ill patient. They know the end is near, but they do it just the same.

Hundreds of millions of people worldwide depend on rivers originating in high mountains. In western Canada, melting snowpack contributes most of the flow to rivers with mountain headwaters. Glacier melt, on the other hand, is responsible for a small portion of streamflow, less than five percent on the Bow River, for example. However, it’s a significant contribution. Melting ice gives streams and rivers a pulse of water during the year’s hottest months. There’s a reason glaciers have been called the water coolers of the earth; they store moisture for when we need it the most. When these water coolers vanish, it will have cascading impacts on irrigation, drinking water, fish habitat, and how we manage water.

Despite the dim outlook for glaciers, even anemic ones like the Helm in the Coast Mountains or the rapidly melting Peyto are still beautiful. Earth’s history is written in the layered, turquoise-coloured walls of a crevasse like the rings of a tree. Glaciers appear, for the most part, still and silent. Yet they are animate, moving imperceptibly by the pull of gravity as they scour, claw, grind and shape the underlying rock over thousands of years into the rugged landscapes we cherish.

Next to scientists like Ednie, who poke and prod glaciers for research purposes, mountain guides, perhaps more than any other people, have a profoundly intimate relationship with glaciers. As a Squamish-based guide, Evan Stevens has lived and worked in Sea to Sky Country since 1998. Stevens has witnessed phenomenal changes in the Coast Mountains, but in a brief period, it doesn’t even register in geological terms. Moats and bergschrunds are bigger and more complicated to navigate. Glaciers like the Serratus in the Tantalus Range are so shattered and broken by late summer that they are almost too dangerous to travel. Where ice retreats, unstable ground is uncovered, creating new rockfall hazards. In other cases, melting alpine permafrost is causing mass wasting events, like the cataclysmic landslide that ripped from the north face of Mt. Joffre near Pemberton in 2019.  According to Stevens, most people think about the toe or terminus of a glacier when it comes to glacial recession. It’s easy to benchmark a glacier’s retreat. However, the diminishing thickness, perhaps less noticeable to the naked eye from year to year, profoundly impacts mountain travel, particularly at that threshold between rock and ice. As the ice thins, the glacier pulls away from cols and mountain passes. What once was a straightforward descent on skis or boots can become a technical descent requiring rappels to reach the glacier.

“As guides, we’re always thinking about plans A, B, C and D and making decisions on the fly. But in some cases, the decision is simple – not to go. The seasons are getting shorter, and some areas have higher hazards. It’s grim,” Stevens says. “I guess it’s not changing what I do, but it’s changing where and when I do it.”

Speaking to people like Stevens and Mark Ednie, you get the sense that travelling across glaciers these days is as much physical as it is nostalgic. It strikes at something existential to mountain people: the disconcerting notion of an alpine without glaciers.

“Don’t get me wrong. It’s alarming, but it’s also scientifically fascinating to imagine what we would have seen hundreds of years ago and what we will see in the future,” says Ednie. “I have two young daughters, and I want to make sure they see some of these places before they’re gone.”

Written by Andrew Findlay – @afindlayjournalist

Mountainbikeaneering

The Blanket Epic
By Marty Schaffer | Blanket Glacier Chalet

Blanket Glacier Chalet is known for its snow. With an average spring snowpack of 5 meters, backcountry skiers have been enjoying the terrain for over 30 years.

Growing up at the lodge, I know every square inch of the area like the back of my hand….every tree, cliff and secret glade.  But I have only spent this time with the area blanketed in snow.  It was always a pipe dream to bring my mountain bike up in the summer to explore the area I call home every winter.  Access has always been the limiting factor.  We’ve tried hiking in before…successful 2 out of 3 times after 12-16 hours straight of bushwhacking or crossing big complex glaciers.  The reality is that the only access for both summer and winter is by helicopter ride from Revelstoke.

I’ve spent years contemplating flying my bike in to see what it would be like to ride around the Chalet. Then came the pipe dream of actually riding my bike out of the Chalet to Revelstoke.. Laughing over the idea with good friend and long-time adventure buddy Chris Rubens, we thought we had to give it a go…but quickly second-guessed ourselves if we should. Even the night before we flew in, we had doubts about even bringing the bikes. The trip consisted of two days; on the first day, we would fly in, ride the area, and then develop a plan for next summer’s infrastructure upgrades. The second day, we rode our bikes out to Revelstoke via the northern section of the Gold Range Traverse. It is a multi-day ski mountaineering traverse that has grown in popularity and requires perfect springtime conditions for its technical route finding and glacier travel.  I completed the traverse only twice, several years ago. Nervously reviewing terrain photos from years past and closely zooming into Google Earth terrain features, we figured we’d give it a shot. In the worst-case scenario, we would have to tie our bikes to our backs and slog out….or just call for a helicopter pick up.

We had two good weather days, so we decided to go for it.  The night before was spent strategically packing our camel packs with glacier travel gear and sizing out mountain bike shoes with crampons.  We met at 5 am to break our bikes down to fit into the small Jet Ranger.  At first light, we took off from the Glacier Helicopters hangar.  A lightning storm to the west was going off as we landed on the summit of Castor Peak. As the heli took off to the east back to Revelstoke, we stood silent, watching the sun break through the clouds for an incredible sunrise.  After our bikes were put back together, we rode the 800m vertical down towards the Chalet. We linked up one rock slab to the next as we descended. What an incredible experience to be riding our bikes down terrain we thought we knew so well. It was that same feeling of stoke as if we were skiing that blower powder, hooting and hollering over every roll.

The rest of the day was spent filled with youthful adventure. Freedom, like the first time you learned to ride a bike with you and your best friend. A backyard filled with a new adventure around every corner. We would spot a cool terrain feature and giggle our way over to ride our bikes on it. From riding off a summit to connecting the most interesting rock features right up against a mighty glacier, we were ecstatic that this silly adventure wasn’t just working…but might be the best mountain biking of our lives! There was no need for a trail or to even follow each other. As far as the eye could see was solid rock that we could free-ride to wherever we wanted to go.  We would ride past an alpine lake, drop the bikes and jump in fully taking our breath away. Or find a half pipe of rock to follow each other down. As the day drew to a close, it was time to head back to the chalet to take the measurements we needed to plan for next summer’s building. Exhausted by covering more terrain than we would on an average ski touring day, we fell asleep early, nervous for the next day of travel back to Revelstoke.  Thoughts of impassable crevasses or loose rock along ridge features limiting us from making it home dwelled on us.

The next morning started early.  We made it to the col between Castor and Pollex Peak after fooling around on the longest and steepest rock ride we’ve ever ridden.  We jumped on our bikes from the col to ride the small pocket glacier losing elevation.  Easily steering clear of the crevasses, we giggled at the thought of never riding our bikes on such a feature before.  From the toe, it was quickly evident that our previous very rideable terrain was now over.  Moving over broken rock and snow, we found ourselves at the bottom of the Big Apple Glacier.  With very little firn snow left we put our bikes on our backs and crampons on our feet.  On the steep ice, we were stoked to have the crampons.  From the summit of the Big Apple or Mulvahil was our first major route decision. Try and cross the heavy, crevassed, and steep Mulvahil glacier, or attempt the ridge scramble with our bikes on our backs.  The gaping hopes on the glacier easily steered our eyes to the ridge…which wasn’t much of a gimmie.

The more we put our bikes on our backs the more we developed efficient systems of strapping them to our backs.  While scrambling along the knife edge ridge, we had our frames and one wheel strapped to our backs. One wheel was used as a walking object, and the other to find handholds to pull us up and across exposed sections. From the summit of this subpeak, it hit us as to how much ground we still had to cover and just how little riding appeared ahead of us.  The terrain eventually mellowed out, and we jumped on the bottom half of our last glacier to ride straight down, covering distance quickly…we couldn’t believe how it actually worked out.

After crossing the Begbie Lakes we were taking much longer than expected.  By the time we had made it to the base of Mount Begbie, it was getting late, and fatigue was setting in.  An hour-long large boulder scree walk below the Begbie Glacier found us at the top of the traditional hiking route climbers take to get to the Begbie summit.  We laughed and were stoked that we could ride our bikes again. Following the rock cairns, we rode into the Begbie campsite. The last remaining power gels were pounded, and we started the steep switchbacks down. STOKED to finally be riding without hiking, we hit the road before dark. Rolling down the highway home never felt so good.  It was dark when we cheered our beers at the Big Eddy pub.

There was no doubt in our mind that we would be back to ride the rock around the Blanket Glacier Chalet.  But the ride-out does not have to be done again. This summer of 2017 marks the first time that the Blanket Glacier Chalet will offer short 3 and 4-day mountain biking trips to the area with access by helicopter. All programs will be guided by certified ACMG guides consisting of small groups. Guiding will ensure respectful and low impact alpine travel on this ecosystem. With such a sensitive alpine ecosystem, riders will be riding their bikes on routes consisting primarily of rock. We will incorporate minor glacier travel using ropes and ice axes on some of our glaciated terrain to access certain terrain features. When guests are not mountain biking, the Chalet area has 3 lakes filled with rainbow trout, with a canoe and a couple of for use. And if the conditions permit, we will ski on the Blanket Glacier, just as they did in the early 80s, using a rope tow to maximize laps.

Keep an eye on the Blanket Glacier Chalet and the BLBCA website for upcoming details on these exciting and adventurous trips!

Photos / Video download

Workplace Mental Health

The Changing Landscape in Backcountry Lodges

Since the emergence and ultimate retreat of the COVID-19 pandemic, there has been a great deal of focus on workplace mental health and well-being for employees across all industries within the province. COVID-19 has had a permanent effect on how the hospitality and tourism industry trains and cares for its people.  During the pandemic, travel restrictions and border closures, changing public health orders, quarantine measures, risk and exposure to illness, frequent documentation for new hygiene protocols, and access to quality Personal Protective Equipment all impacted organizational culture, social supports and changing expectations for staff in the industry.

But what unique factors within remote backcountry settings may make prioritizing employee mental health and well-being challenging? How might we promote stress resilience and well-being amongst our teams as we emerge from the pandemic?

Foremost, the nature of our work defies the conventional 9-to-5, Monday-to-Friday routine. Irregular hours and extended shifts are par for the course, with seasonal fluctuations adding another layer of complexity to our schedules.  

Moreover, the remote and sometimes difficult conditions of lodge life can contribute to heightened levels of stress and anxiety. The isolation lack of social interaction, and especially when separated from family and friends, can amplify social and emotional issues among our teams. Being separated from broader community support systems for extended periods can take a toll on mental health, particularly for those predisposed to it.

Transitioning to and from the remote lodge environment can also pose adjustment difficulties, requiring workers to adapt to vastly different living and working conditions as they return home to their communities.

In some cases, workers may turn to alcohol or drugs as a coping mechanism. In many cases, the culture of having a drink as a way to relax and decompress from work has long been a part of the culture of the hospitality and tourism space. The lines between social substance use and dependence can quickly become blurred. Living and working in close quarters with the same group of co-workers can also lead to interpersonal conflicts, exacerbating psychosocial stress.

For workers in high-risk industries like backcountry guiding or avalanche forecasting, traumatic incidents or accidents in remote areas can lead to high levels of operational stress injuries. Moreover, accessing mental health resources can be challenging in remote lodges and rural, tourism-dependent communities, where options may be more limited.

Research shows that when teams have a supportive social ethos, clear leadership and structure, and mental health and wellbeing support woven into the organization’s fabric, staff performance improves immediately.

One model for thinking about how to better manage teams that work in a stressful environment is the 13 factors of psychological health and safety in the workplace, created by the Mental Health Commission of Canada (MHCC) as best practices for supporting the mental health and psychological safety of workers in various professional sectors.

As we emerge from the COVID-19 pandemic (an incredibly volatile and unpredictable time for tourism), it is imperative that we not only recognize our pivotal role in driving the success of our industry but also prioritize the well-being of our workforce. Utilizing frameworks like the 13 factors addressing unique psychosocial challenges, and providing access to necessary support systems, we can ensure a healthier and more resilient workforce, ultimately enhancing organizational performance and upholding the standards of excellence synonymous with backcountry hospitality and tourism. 

This may look like offering staff access to mental health literacy training, improved communication strategies, critical incident stress management and promoting stress resilience within our teams. By offering our staff the necessary space for focused debriefs, reconnection and respectful communication, we are taking small, but important steps towards improving the overall experience of our staff and guests as they live, work, and recreate together in the backcountry. 

About the Author:
Lexie (she/her) is a Registered Clinical Counsellor (RCC)  based in Vancouver, British Columbia. Montira Mental Health was born out of Lexie’s own experience as a hospitality manager at different backcountry lodges across British Columbia. Today, Lexie works to fill the gaps she observed by providing specialized mental health support for those employed within the hospitality and adventure tourism space. 
Find out more here: Montira Mental Health.

Experience Mother Earth

Reconnecting with Nature

Listening to a CBC What on Earth episode with Laura Lynch on Feb 4th, 2024 (42:45 mins), I was reminded of discussions in the classroom when I taught an Environmental issues class at Thompson Rivers University. The student conversations about climate change and feelings of hopelessness or helplessness were similar to the student experiences described in the CBC interview with Jason Brown, an instructor and researcher in the Department of Humanities, the School of Resource and Environmental Studies at SFU. Students question their own destiny, whether to have children or not and the relevance of finishing a degree when their future may be slipping away. As a professor and a baby boomer, I found these conversations of helplessness and eco-anxiety about the future heartbreaking. After all, I was privileged to be born in the ’60s when the idea of climate change was not a daily topic of conversation, nor was it an immediate threat to my future.

My generation of baby boomers reaped the benefits of nature and propped up the neoliberal ideology and capitalist systems that regard consumption and growth as the formula for well-being. In this context, nature is regarded as something outside of ourselves, something we are not part of. The result is a complete unravelling of ecological and cultural connections to nature.  

As Robert Pyle (1993) points out, “one of the greatest causes of ecological crisis is the state of personal alienation from nature in which many people live” (pg. 145). This ever-increasing alienation from the natural world results in an “extinction of experience”. The consequence of this embodied alienation not only impacts individual health but also frames our connections with and behaviour towards nature. (Baldwin, 2018). Part of the student’s frustration is knowing that we must consume and behave differently. Yet, they see other generations, community members and political leaders still oblivious to or unwilling to recognize the need for change. The dominant narrative stays the same.

Addressing current climate change problems seems daunting on a global scale today, but there is a growing movement to rebuild our understanding of and relationship with nature at the local level. When we connect with nature in the places where we live, work, and play, the importance of our interconnectedness with nature becomes more evident. Creating a sense of connection to place also facilitates and empowers community members across generations to engage in conversations of care that often result in action-oriented initiatives.

On the Canadian Government’s Citizen Science portal, numerous science projects are happening in local communities that welcome citizen participation in documenting wildlife observations, weather patterns, and pollinator species, to name a few. The projects combine the benefits of being in nature and advancing the collective knowledge of the many ways species and ecosystems respond to various impacts.

On the PaRx website, hosted by the B.C. Parks Foundation research indicates that kids and adults who spend more time in nature are happier and healthier. The PaRx prescriptions for nature is Canada’s first national initiative to promote prescribing time in nature for lifelong health benefits. Time spent in nature can also enhance efforts to restore care between people and the natural services we take for granted. Nature also needs our care and attention; action-oriented initiatives at the local level can be empowering. 

Over the years, B.C Parks has used revenue from the B.C. Parks Licence Plate Program to fund community-led conservation and recreation projects. As visitation to our parks increases, the need for more conservation efforts also increases. According to the BC Parks Blog, over 90 community-led projects supported BC parks in 2023, and demand for funding in communities is increasing. Projects include marine debris cleanup, species monitoring, trail maintenance, education programs and eco camps, to name a few.

Numerous non-profit organizations, clubs, community groups and neighbourhood associations seek to engage students and the broader community in collective actions to deal with the impacts of climate change. The value of engagement at the local level is knowing we are in this together.  As we navigate an uncertain future, it is often easier to have hope if we are part of local community initiatives that strengthen our connections to place. It is hard to care about something if you don’t feel like you are a part of it, and that includes nature.

“Remember how beautiful things can be when you pay attention” – Student quote, 2018

Robin Reid
Retired Associate Professor, Tourism Management Department
Faculty of Adventure, Culinary, Arts and Tourism
Thompson Rivers University

Leave No Trace-Canada

Belongs in the backcountry

Fresh snow is a gift in many ways. As a skier, the one I like the best is how it wipes the slate clean. With a snap of Jack Frost’s fingers, the slopes can go from tracked up to pristine.

The one downside: I think these resets change our perception of our impact on the environment. When there’s no snow our footprint is often, literally, obvious. We leave tracks and break branches. When we drop something, it sits there waiting to be picked up. But in the winter, our tracks will disappear with the next snowfall and, later, melt away. Vegetation is safely cushioned below the snow. And drop a wrapper or an orange peel in the snow and it can quickly disappear.

I think that’s why many people don’t think of Leave No Trace (LNT) during the winter. LNT’s seven principles outline guidelines for minimizing impact while recreating, camping and travelling responsibly. The concepts were developed by federal land managers in the United States in response to increased use of backcountry areas during the 1960s and ‘70s and formalized by the Leave No Trace Centre for Outdoor Ethics in 1999. The U.S.-based non-profit now works to educate the public, conduct research and promote the message. There are LNT chapters in countries around the world, including the volunteer-run Leave No Trace/Sans Trace Canada (LNTC).

LNTC is increasingly promoting the principles beyond the backcountry to everywhere and all seasons. They have always guided operations at backcountry lodges. LNT principles are integral to creating an atmosphere of immersion in the mountain environment. They’re why remote lodges minimize their garbage and switch to renewable power or invest in wildlife stewardship. And LNT is a core ethic to any wilderness guiding, including in winter.

A few years ago, the grassroots non-profit Winter Wildlands Alliance worked with the Leave No Trace Center for Outdoor Ethics to tweak the seven principles into a winter-specific code of ethics. The result goes beyond minimizing impact to a general guideline for approaching any day in the winter backcountry.

1. Plan and prepare
It’s number one because proper planning prevents poor performance. The first principle helps with all the following ones. It starts with who you’re going with, where you’re going and what to expect, including reading guidebooks and trip reports, bringing a map and navigation aids, checking forecasts, knowing rules and access restrictions, and packing for the weather, conditions and emergencies. Winter adds avalanche knowledge, including bringing and knowing how to use safety gear. With a busier backcountry, it’s also about dispersing: travelling in small groups and at less crowded destinations.

2. Travel on durable surfaces
More important in the summer is usually about avoiding walking and camping on sensitive vegetation. When there are more than 15 centimetres of snow, which is enough to protect the most sensitive vegetation, the principle shifts to picking safe routes away from dangers like avalanche paths, cornices and open creeks. It’s still worth considering vegetation, particularly in shallow snowpacks.

3. Dispose of waste properly
The only thing you should leave in your wake is ski tracks. Pack out any trash, including wax shaving and fruit peels and cores. It takes years for them to break down, especially in mountain environments. When it comes to human waste, bury it at least 20 big steps from regular travel routes and at least 70 steps from creek beds and lake shores. Avoid peeing on lakes and in gullies.

4. Leave what you find
This one speaks to the whole idea of LNT: to allow the next person to have the same experience as you. Don’t collect plants, rocks, or historical or cultural artifacts so the next person can enjoy them as well.

5. Minimize campfire impacts
In the summer this is about campfire scars and forest fires. In the winter, think of it as a nudge to use stoves, lanterns and headlamps. If you are going to have a winter campfire, only use dead and downed wood that’s smaller than your wrist. Burn it to ash and spread the ash around. This is also a good point to add to cabin etiquette. Always leave huts and cabins better than you found them and don’t leave food or trash behind.

6. Respect wildlife
Winter is one of the hardest times for wildlife. Disturbing them forces them to burn more calories and can move them away from their prime habitat. Observe from a distance and never feed them. Dogs are man’s best friend, but the same can’t always be said for wildlife. It’s best to leave dogs at home.

7. Be considerate of others
As the backcountry gets busier, the final principle is becoming increasingly important. It starts with how you park and step aside when taking a break. It extends to holding back on the yodelling and wearing earbuds. Some people like the music on the track, but crazy as it may seem, not everybody wants to hear the Barbie soundtrack. This respect extends to landowners, both public and private. Ask permission and obtain the right permits before entering.

With these principles in mind, I find myself better prepared and having more fun on my ski days. Especially those special fresh snow days.

Written by Ryan Stuart – @Ryan_Adventures

What Is An Old-Growth Forest

What is an old-growth forest?

BC is home to some of the world’s last remaining old-growth temperate rainforests which contain some of the largest and oldest living organisms on Earth. Trees here can grow up to 300 feet tall and 20 feet wide and live to be upwards of 2,000 years old! The world’s largest western red cedar, the Cheewhat Giant; the world’s largest Douglas-fir, the Red Creek Fir; and the country’s largest Sitka spruce, San Jo’s Smiley, are all found on Vancouver Island, BC. These forests are critically important ecologically, economically, and culturally and are not replicated by the second-growth tree plantations that are fast replacing them.

Why are old-growth forests important?

  • They’re home to unique wildlife and biodiversity, some of which are found nowhere else on Earth.
  • Provide clean water for communities, wild salmon & other wildlife.
  • Store vast amounts of atmospheric carbon to help fight climate change.
  • Support First Nations’ cultural values.
  • They are pillars of BC’s tourism industry.
  • They are important for human health and well-being.

What is the state of old growth in BC?

Old-growth forests were once abundant in British Columbia, but after more than a century of aggressive logging, less than 8% of the original, productive old-growth forests (sites that produce big trees) remain in BC today. Shockingly, these magnificent forests continue to be cut down to the tune of tens of thousands of hectares each year. The endangered old-growth forests that remain are a global treasure in urgent need of protection.

What conservation progress has been made?

Under relentless pressure from the Ancient Forest Alliance, the BC government has recently taken some great steps toward protecting old-growth forests after decades of mismanagement. These include appointing an independent science panel that identified 2.6 million hectares of the most at-risk old-growth forests that should be deferred from logging while long-term conservation plans can be developed; launching a 300-million-dollar conservation financing mechanism to support the creation of new Indigenous Protected and Conserved Areas (this is key, as the support of local First Nations governments is a legal necessity for old-growth protection); committing to double the protected areas in BC from 15% to 30% by 2030; and most recently, signing a landmark BC Nature Agreement with the federal government and First Nations Leadership Council which will see over a billion dollars aimed toward the conservation, stewardship, and restoration of lands in British Columbia — a historic leap in the right direction! These are profound, game-changing achievements that deserve to be celebrated.

What still needs to be done?

Some critical policy and funding gaps remain that the province must address. These include making sure that conservation financing funds are now linked to protecting the most at-risk old-growth forests through “ecosystem-based targets.” Conservation financing should also be directed toward supporting sustainable economic development in First Nations communities in place of old-growth logging jobs and revenues. Short-term “solutions space” funding is also needed to help offset potential lost revenues for First Nations to help enable the deferral of the most at-risk old-growth forests in their unceded territories. Finally, any new protected area designations created by the province must also maintain proper standards and permanency (i.e. no commercial logging, mining, etc.).

Where can I visit old-growth forests?

On Vancouver Island, the town of Port Renfrew has become known as the “Tall Trees Capital of Canada.” It’s home to the famed Avatar Grove, Big Lonely Doug, Eden Grove, the Red Creek Fir, and other fabulous forests to visit. For the more adventurous traveller, the nearby Walbran and Carmanah Valleys offer incredible rainforest getaways. Cathedral Grove, en route to Port Alberni, is Canada’s most famous and visited old-growth forest, with its towering Douglas-fir trees and beautiful redcedars. Around Vancouver, be sure to check out some of the old-growth trails in Stanley Park and Lighthouse Park. For those in the interior of BC, Ancient Forest Provincial Park outside of Prince George is a wonder to behold!

How do I get involved?

The Ancient Forest Alliance is always looking for the support of individuals, groups, and businesses across the province as we lead the push to protect endangered old-growth forests. We encourage people to visit our website to learn more and join our newsletter to keep up to date with the latest pictures, videos, and stories! You can also search and follow us on our social media channels, whether it’s Facebook, Instagram, YouTube, etc.

After more than a decade of hard work, our efforts are starting to pay off in major ways, so join us as we work to finally preserve these ancient and irreplaceable ecosystems for generations to come!

Written by TJ Watt – Ancient Forest Alliance

Politics of Place

How do we reframe the conversation of sustainability?

In 1996, my Master’s Thesis at the University of Calgary explored the concept of sustainability. It included terms in the glossary such as biodiversity crisis, ecological sustainability, ecosystem management, landscape and resource approaches and Western value systems. I look back on this work and ask myself, have we made any progress in understanding what we are trying to sustain? 

In the early 1990s, when writing the thesis, global warming and climate change were not part of the mainstream narrative. Nor were the scientific warnings that humanity would be approaching the limits of a finite planet by the 21st century. Perhaps this was because we were focused on a conventional, unsustainable expansionist worldview in which nature was valued as a resource for human use. Today, the dualist set of values that separate humans from the natural world, normalized in modern society, is devastatingly affecting the planet’s ability to support humanity.

While the concept of sustainability has been around for a very long time, it was in 1987 when the Bruntland report coined the term “sustainable development,” giving impetus to economic conditions and opportunities to protect the environment and meet the needs of current and future generations. Within this context, balancing the social, economic, and ecological dimensions of sustainable development was deemed necessary to address the problematic development trajectory that humanity was pursuing.  

However, for the past three decades, economic valuation systems focused on short-term growth and profit maximization have needed to catch up in accounting for the value of a healthy planet and the well-being of humanity over the long term. The result is that we are currently pushing up against the limits of a finite planet with only a tiny window of time to correct our trajectory and embrace a world in which we wish to live now and in the future.

Where do we go from here? While the political dimension of sustainability is not highlighted in the literature, it is an essential consideration if we are serious about pursuing sustainability as a framework for the future. The political decisions made today about safeguarding biodiversity, ecosystem health and species at risk need to be actionable locally to avoid the devastating outcome of the sixth extinction at the global level.

As many have suggested, there is still time to turn things around, but it will require transformative change – a paradigm shift. This is not without complications, as many societies and institutions globally and locally have different understandings of sustainability as a concept and how it should be achieved. Let’s face it: sustainable development is a muddy term open to interpretation. Fundamentally, questions of what we value and what we want to sustain play an important role in understanding and improving our planetary conditions.            

In December 2022, countries gathered in Montreal at the UN Biodiversity Conference (COP 15) to finalize a global agreement to halt and reverse biodiversity loss by 2030. In Canada, only two provinces, Quebec and British Columbia, have committed to protecting 30% of their provincial land base by 2030.  

The nearly million square kilometres of B.C is not mapped correctly or understood. How can we make good decisions about habitat protection and biodiversity if we don’t know what is happening in the landscape holistically? To address this concern, the province of British Columbia allocated $38 million in April 2023 to support a LiDAR data-based mapping program of landscapes for all of B.C. While a more modern mapping tool is helpful, it is only as good as the following political decisions. For too long, B.C. has prioritized timber supply over other values on the land base, such as ecosystem protection or species at risk.

If we are serious about meeting the goals of biodiversity, ecosystem resiliency, species at risk and mitigating climate change, we must rethink land use decisions. Adopting a landscape approach that prioritizes biodiversity and ecosystem health requires better communications across governments, ministries, communities, and industries. In other words, we need to include the right people at the table.

The recently signed historic, tripartite agreement between the BC government, Federal government, and First Nations leaders, valid until 2030 and supported by $1 billion in joint funding, will hopefully transform how land use decisions are made in B.C. The agreement includes commitments to conserve enough old-growth forests “to support the recovery of 250 spotted owls and restore 140,000 hectares of degraded habitat within the next two years” (The Narwhal). This agreement is significant and timely in supporting commitments to protect 30 percent of the land base in B.C. by 2030. It also highlights the importance of money, partnerships, and political will in transforming the direction of biodiversity and ecosystem health decisions.  

In 2023, I am hopeful that we are finally on the path to overhauling how land is managed in B.C., and a new collaborative framework will result in a paradigm shift that values nature conservation.    

Robin Reid
Retired Associate Professor, Tourism Management Department
Faculty of Adventure, Culinary, Arts and Tourism
Thompson Rivers University

Living Lakes Canada

A changing landscape: High elevation fieldwork at Talus Lodge

The summer of 2023 is unfolding as predicted with dire drought conditions worsening across most of British Columbia. The early, rapid snowmelt combined with a hot, dry May set the stage for what’s already declared the worst wildfire year on record in B.C. and across Canada.

According to the provincial government’s zero to five drought level rating system, 82% of B.C. watersheds are sitting at drought level 4 or 5, meaning negative impacts on communities and ecosystems “likely” or “almost certain”. Evidence of drought is seen in increasing water restrictions, low flows in rivers and streams, stranded fish, extreme fire danger, and severe wildfires.

How are alpine headwaters impacted and what does this mean for human communities and ecosystems? Living Lakes Canada’s High Elevation (HE) Monitoring Program aims to help answer these questions. After a successful pilot year in 2022, the program is expanding throughout the East and West Kootenays in 2023, with six stream and nine lake monitoring sites.

Select lodges with the Backcountry Lodges of British Columbia Association (BLBCA) are working with the program to collect valuable alpine data by hosting climate stations, sharing snowpack data, and supporting lake monitoring efforts. On a recent fieldwork trip to Talus Lodge, a participating BLBCA lodge, the HE team witnessed the impacts of climate change. 

Situated on the Continental Great Divide, Talus Lodge stands at an altitude of 2,300 metres amongst a scattering of small alpine lakes. This year, the ice melted off the lakes three weeks earlier than usual, making it the earliest ice-off recording of the last six years. Anecdotally, the lodge’s staff spoke about enjoying early summer ski turns last July, whereas this July the slopes are bare. An archival photo from 1916 shared with the HE team shows a glaciated basin behind Talus Lodge. Today, there are little remnants of this glacier. 

Left: Photo provided by Mountain Legacy Project.  Right: Although this photo was taken at a lower vantage point, you can see that the glacier has all but disappeared at the back of the basin. LLC Photo. 

During this field trip, the HE team installed monitoring equipment at both the north and south Talus Lakes. This included level and barometric loggers near the shore to measure changes in water level. To measure changes in light and water temperature, pendants were suspended between an anchor at the deepest part of the lake and a buoy floating at the surface. The data collected will inform watershed management and support climate adaptation strategies. All the data is housed on the Columbia Basin Water Hub database. 

The HE Monitoring Program has also launched a citizen science project with the Alpine Club of Canada. Anyone can help by joining the High Elevation Monitoring Program – Living Lakes Canada project on iNaturalist and uploading pictures of flora and fauna they spot within the program’s monitoring locations. These include Kokanee Glacier Provincial Park, Fletcher Lakes, Fishermaiden Lake, Macbeth Icefields, Ben Hur Lake and Shannon Lake in the West Kootenays and Talus Lakes in the East Kootenays. This project is creating a valuable inventory of plant and animal species to better understand climate impacts on alpine biodiversity.

Learn more by visiting the HE Monitoring Program page. For questions, contact the High Elevation Program Manager at heather.shaw@livinglakescanada.ca.

Living Lakes Canada is a national non-profit organization based in the B.C. Columbia Basin working towards the long-term protection of Canada’s freshwater.

Contact – Nicole Trigg, Communications Director – 250.409.4433 [email protected]a

Summer Arrives Early

BLBCA member lodges are transitioning early

With warm weather upon us, many lodges are already open. Don’t miss your chance to grab a spot and get your headstart on a thrilling BC summer.

As the days get warmer and the snow melts away, members of the Backcountry Lodges of British Columbia Association (BLBCA) are preparing for the upcoming summer season. This involves long hours of hard work, planning, and preparation to ensure that visitors have a safe and enjoyable experience.

The first priority of the BLBCA is to ensure that the lodges are safe and comfortable for guests. Members of the BLBCA inspect the buildings for any damage caused by the winter weather. They check electrical systems, plumbing, and other mechanical components to ensure that everything is functioning properly. Additionally, they ensure that furniture, bedding, and other amenities are in good condition, clean and well-maintained.

An essential job of the lodge staff is to ensure that hiking trails are secure and free of obstacles. They carefully remove any downed trees or obstructions in the path, repair damage caused by erosion, and update trail signs for hikers. Lodge staff keep an eye on animal behaviour and may close off some areas or trails if necessary. This helps to ensure the safety of visitors and wildlife while allowing people to enjoy their adventure.

In addition to standard trail maintenance, members of the BLBCA also need to ensure that their lodge is properly stocked for visitors. This includes having a supply of sumptuous food, fuel, and other necessities, such as recreational gear (climbing, hiking, SUPing, mountain biking) needed for whatever activity you are participating in, first-aid kits, and bear spray.

Of course, being prepared for the summer season also means being aware of the potential risks and challenges that may arise, such as wildfires, floods, and other natural disasters. It is essential for lodge members to be familiar with the possibility of human-wildlife encounters and to be well-prepared to address such issues in a humane, safe and responsible way.

Members of the BLBCA emphasize the importance of respecting the natural environment and viewing wildlife in their natural environs. Lodge members encourage visitors to enjoy the beauty of the backcountry without disturbing wildlife. #RecreateResponsibly is an initiative that encourages visitors to take responsibility for their actions and reduce their impact on the environment by practicing “leave no trace” habits.

By taking the necessary steps to prepare for the summer season, members of the BLBCA are ensuring that visitors will have a safe and enjoyable experience in the backcountry. With their commitment to #RecreateResponsibly, lodge members are helping to ensure that visitors can appreciate the beauty of the backcountry while protecting it for future generations.

Book at a BLBCA Member Lodge now, and don’t miss your chance to #unpluginBC.

The Incomappleux

New Conservancy Protects Rare Ecosystem

Walking among the giant cedar, hemlock, and head-high Devil’s club of the Incomappleux River valley south of Glacier National Park, it’s easy to forget that the Pacific Ocean is 500km westward.

The Incomappleux belongs to a unique forest spanning a moist wet belt that’s nourished year round by deep winter snowpacks in the Columbia and Rocky Mountains. Measuring 15,000 sq km in size, it’s known as the Inland Temperate Rainforest, and the newly established Incomappleux Conservancy protects 580 sq kms of it.

This is an important and hard-won conservation victory. Craig Pettitt, a founding director of the Valhalla Wilderness Society, is one of the conservationists who for more than a decade has been championing the protection of the Incomappleux and other remnant patches of inland rainforest like one at the north end of Duncan Lake. If it wasn’t for a blown-out logging road too expensive to repair and a remote location, the timber rights holder Interfor would have already harvested the forests of the upper Incomappleux.

How coastal rainforests have flourished for thousands of years so far from the BC coast results from an interplay of topography, latitude and climate interior that is found in few other places in the world. That’s why for mountain folks like us, the Incomappleux and other forests like it are particularly fascinating. Precipitation in the Incomappleux falls below the threshold of annual precipitation that defines a rainforest, roughly 1400mm per year. However, winter is the difference maker.  Weather systems, laden with Pacific moisture, collide with the interior mountain ranges and delivers a deep snowpack that compensates for the moisture deficit. This creates localized conditions that mimic a rainforest, especially at the foot of mountain slopes where moisture seeps year-round. Such forests have historically been spared from massive fire events, fostering rich biodiversity centuries in the making and allowing trees to live to a thousand years or more. In terms of species mix, biodiversity, climate, and feel, these forests are more Walbran Valley on Vancouver Island’s West Coast than the interior mountain ranges where pockets of this ecosystem thrive. So big deal, why protect them?  Well, such forests can generate tourism – people will travel to visit big trees. Tall tree tourism has become a thing in Port Renfrew thanks to the Avatar Grove.

But more importantly is that biodiversity is key for planetary health, and the Inland Temperate Rainforest is a richly biodiverse frontier of scientific discovery. In the early 2000s University of Alberta botanist Toby Spribille studied lichens in the upper Incomappleux River valley and catalogued more than 280 species, nine of them new to science. A survey of mushrooms in the Incomappleux identified 50 species, half of which are normally found only in coastal forests.

Dwayne Coxson, a University of Northern BC lichenologist, and botanists Trevor Goward and Curtis Bjork, both affiliated with UBC’s Beatty Biodiversity Museum, have been studying the interior rainforests of the Robson Valley, roughly between the communities of Dome Creek and Upper Fraser on the Yellowhead Highway. In an area that includes both Ancient Forest/ Chun T’oh Whudujut Provincial Park and the 50,000-hectare Sugar Bowl-Grizzly Den Protected Area, the team has catalogued more than 2,400 plant species, including dozens of new discoveries. What’s even more surprising is that not all of them are “mosses and lichens,” says Coxson. “Some of them are vascular plants [a broad group of plants with tissues for conducting water and minerals – like fir trees or wildflowers.] It shows just how little we know about this ecosystem,” says Coxson. “Globally it’s a very unique ecosystem.”

Similar temperate rainforests are found this far inland in only in two other places, southern Siberia and Russia’s far east. According to Coxson, though scientific understanding of these rainforests has advanced, precautionary land use decisions in BC have not kept pace.

This forest once covered more than 160,000 square kilometres and stretched 1100km from central Idaho through BC’s mountainous interior as far north Prince George. According to some estimates, more than a quarter of this rainforest has been clear-cut logged and less than 10% has been protected.

That’s why the Incomappleux Conservancy, which came about after Interfor gave up 750 sq km of its forest tenure in the area, is worth celebrating. The Nature Conservancy of Canada brokered the deal, which includes support and funding from Teck Resources, several foundations, the federal government and individual donors. It also required the participation of First Nations in whose territory the valley lies. In reality, few of us will ever see the Incomappleux Valley. But that’s okay; knowing that this treasure exists is reward enough. 

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