Tag Archives: BC rivers

Alfred Waddington and the Bute Inlet route

Bute Inlet

Bute Inlet

Major W. Downie and his partner Alex MacDonald were the first to officially explore the Bute Inlet. In June 1861 Downie travelled the Homathko River, that flows from the Chilcotin Plateau to the coast. Downie travelled the Homathko River by canoe and foot for a total of 33 miles when a steep canyon forced him back.

Alfred Waddington, a merchant and a promoter, was excited at the prospect of a possible new route to the gold fields. He convinced his fellow merchants in Victoria, who faced competition from New Westminster, to give Downie’s route along the Homathko River a chance.

Alfred Penderell Waddington was born in London, England in 1801 where he attended school. After his father died in 1818 Waddington moved to France where his brothers had business interests. In 1850, he set his sights on California and the gold rush there. Waddington sailed to San Francisco in May and set up a wholesale provision firm which was soon profitable. Upon hearing of the Fraser River gold rush in 1858, Waddington came north to Victoria to set up another grocery firm.

Alfred Waddington

Alfred Waddington

By the end of the year, Waddington had published his observations in a book titled, The Fraser Mines Vindicated; Or, the History of Four Months. In his book, Waddington was optimistic about future gold prospects and wrote “it is beyond doubt that the other kind of dry diggings exist plentifully in the north…”

On September 19, 1861, Waddington left Victoria on the steamer Henrietta, visited the head of Bute Inlet, made friends with certain native people in Desolation Sound, navigated by steamer for 8 miles up the Homathko River and then by canoe for some distance beyond. He left five men to explore further while he returned to Victoria.The five returned to Victoria near the end of October.

Within a week, Waddington arranged for a second party. This included Robert Homfray, a surveyor who had worked for the Colonial Survey Office under J.D. Pemberton. Homfray was in charge of the group which consisted of three HBC voyageurs – Cote, Balthazzar, and Bourchier, along with Henry McNeill and two natives.

Homfray and his crew set out on October 31, 1861. Nine days later they reached the entrance to Bute Inlet. Here they were kidnapped. Fortunately, they were rescued by a chief of the Cla-oosh people whose village was in Desolation Sound. Homfray convinced the chief to guide them through the Homathko River valley.

Robert Homfray told of one log jam, twenty feet high and half-a-mile long, stretching right across the river. They proceeded up the rapids, manhandling the canoe over slippery log-jams, often up to their waists in water. He could look up and see the blue ice of glaciers above the steep walls of the river. The chief turned back. Then the weather turned bitterly cold and the ice froze on their clothes, their beards and hair. After almost losing their canoe when the tow rope broke, they decided to cache it, and proceeded on foot.

Just when they were coming to the end of their food, they encountered a tall Native, his body painted jet-black, and vermillion-colored rings around his eyes. He was pointing an arrow straight at them. They were able to convince the Native that they were friendly and they needed food. After giving them a dinner, they were told to return the way they had come. For Homfray and the others the trip back to the coast was worse than they could have imagined.

Their canoe was wrecked in a log jam, and most of their supplies lost. They salvaged some gear, including matches and two axes. It took them four days on a makeshift raft to reach the head of Bute Inlet and their buried provisions. They had to eat with their fingers and shared one empty baking-powder tin for drinking.

After riding half-way down Bute Inlet in a hollowed-out log, they were eventually rescued by the same Cla-oosh chief who brought them to his village. He later helped them return to Victoria. They had been away two months.

Waddington was more determined than ever to pursue the route. Before Homfray and his party returned, Waddington wrote a letter to Governor James Douglas and described  the Homathko as a “fine level valley, from two to four miles wide, and navigable for forty miles from the mouth for steamers of four or five feet draft . . . without a single rock or other serious impediment”.

Homathko River

Homathko River

Gold Rush Sternwheeler Captain

A sternwheeler captain was an important figure in the gold rush. Sternwheelers plied the rivers and lakes throughout BC for nearly a century from the early 1850s.

Sternwheelers were popular because they had a flat bottom which made the craft buoyant and their wooden construction made them easy to repair. During the gold rush, passenger accommodation was the bare minimum. Passengers were sometimes asked to help load wood for the boiler, fight a fire on board, or use their blankets to plug a hole in the hull.

Collisions and explosions weren’t uncommon and many sternwheelers were also holed by dead trees floating in the rivers or became lodged on bars.

Competition amongst sternwheeler companies was fierce and despite the dangers of navigation, captains often raced their sternwheelers against their rivals.

Captain William Moore

Captain William Moore first came to BC in 1852 when he piloted a sternwheeler to the Haida Gwaii (Queen Charlotte Islands) at the time of the gold rush there. He survived several bankruptcies to become one of the longest entrepreneurs in the business. In 1859 he had a sternwheeler built, Henrietta, which was one of the first to arrive at Yale. Later, he built the Alexandra which was intended to be the largest on the coast. It wasn’t profitable, however, and Moore lost the boat to creditors.

He got a government contract to build a pack trail from the Stikine River to the gold bearing creeks and charged two cents a pound toll. Flush with money, he returned to Victoria and ordered a new sternwheeler, Gertrude, to be built which he ran on the Stikine River. He tried several times to return to the Fraser River with other sternwheelers, but each time he lost business to the competition.

Several times, Moore was accused of carrying excessive steam. On one of his sternwheelers, the Western Slope, the steam guage was registered 40 pounds low. In addition, one safety valve was wedged shut and couldn’t release without first blowing out the floor of the cabin above. The second valve hadn’t blown even with 40 percent more pressure added over the limit. Moore and his chief engineer were each fined $200.

What happened to Sapper James Duffy

Billy Ballou's Express

Billy Ballou's Fraser River Express

Every time Billy Ballou came to Victoria, he stopped by the British Colonist newspaper and had a chat with the publisher and editor, Amor de Cosmos.  Ballou didn’t care how or why someone would make up a name.  He was more concerned in getting his message across.  Cosmos relied on him for word on what was going on in the gold diggings and Ballou saw an opportunity to get his own message out and air his grievances.  They both disliked the current government.

Even though it was about ten degrees warmer in Victoria, Ballou still wore his thick coat. He looked around taking in the changes. New streets had cropped up where there used to be houses.  As if to prove the point, he spied a family carting their possessions followed by a couple of men rolling their house along.

The floor boards squeaked with each step he took.  Ballou sat down in front of Cosmos’ desk covered in printing paper. Cosmos wearing a heavy apron, yelled hello from around the corner.

“How is Rock Creek?” Cosmos asked as he took off his apron and settled down at his desk.

“It’s still the richest gold diggings in the colony.  Dunbar has been having a rough time of the road though, and he tells me that he’s about had enough.  I told him his contract is for one trip a month and he said he won’t do it. Not unless he’s paid more, but the governor won’t budge.”

“Hmm. How is the road?”

“It’s in rough shape according to Dunbar. He says if it weren’t for him and his mule train going back and forth, no one would know where it went.  But the snow is deep, almost thirty feet in some places, so I don’t blame him for wanting a respite from the delivery.”

“What about the government mail service?”

“It won’t be running.  I did the last Express run for January.  It’s too icy to get anywhere or do anything.  Any miner that’s got himself stuck there probably is saving his money for food and liquor.  Provisions are high at Similkameen and Rock Creek and just as scarce. Mail has to be the last thing on their minds. What does the governor want us to do – get killed falling through the ice? Rock Creek is completely frozen and you can only go so far on the Similkameen without encountering blocks of ice. It’s one of the fiercest winters I’ve lived through.  Just as I was heading down the whole regiment was carrying one of their own down to New Westminster. Froze to death on the Harrison trail.”

Cosmos eyes widened. “One of the Royal Engineers?”

“A sapper named Duffy from the Columbia detachment.  Someone said he was sent down there for supplies in the middle of a snowstorm.” Ballou shook his head, “it’s a helluva way to go. They probably would have buried him there had it not been for his wife, Alice I think her name was. She put the boots to old Moody.”

Cosmos furrowed his brow. “What about the others in his party?”

“It’s all hush hush. But I can tell you there are some rumours flying around.  One of my packers heard that the others had left Duffey on the trail to stay with the equipment or supplies while the others went ahead for help.  He had lost his rank as Corporal over some new trail he surveyed for the Governor along Cayoosh Creek last fall.  His superiors claimed they didn’t know a thing about it when Colonel Moody got the report and exploded. I doubt Duffy’s superiors were in the dark but they blamed the whole thing on him and demoted him to Sapper.”

Cosmos scratched out some notes. “It sounds as though Mr. Douglas wanted to undermine the authority of Colonel Moody.  I was present at a Royal Engineers gathering at the Fort and I can tell you it was a relief when one or both was absent; such was the tension between the two of them.  The next time I have the opportunity, I will ask the Governor of his role in all this.”

Ballou stood up from his chair, “I’ll be looking forward to reading about it. You can tell him Ballou never lost a packer.  I deliver the mail but not at the expense of someone’s life.”

Ballou left and strolled down the street.   He knew he would have to let someone in government know about the undeliverable mail, but it could wait knowing he had done the right thing.  He opened the door to the American Saloon and stepped inside.

Sapper James Duffy and the Cayoosh Creek Trail (from royalengineers.ca)

Cattle Drive to the Cariboo

Cattle Drive (photo from Klondike Cattle Drive by Norman Lee)

July 1861

Patrick Gannon set out north with almost a hundred head of cattle.  He had lost five since he had wintered the herd in the valley near Walla Walla and each loss was a painful reminder of the risk he had undertaken.  Everything he had was invested in these cattle. Things were so dire in Oregon that he had to just walk away from his ranch; the beef prices were so low that it wasn’t even possible to make ends meet.

Originally, there were three others with Gannon on his first cattle drive north, but after a few days, one of them left the group.  He wanted to get paid, but Gannon couldn’t afford to pay anybody until they reached the Cariboo, a place that wasn’t on any map, but where the gold seekers were hitting pay dirt and willing to pay at least fifty cents a pound for beef.  There was Jake the cook, Phil, and Gannon.  As the cook, Jake’s job was to set up camp and get the meal started so by the time the rest of the group arrived, all they had to do was take care of the horses and find some feed for the cattle to graze on.

Some days they could go ten miles a day and others twelve.  The challenge was keeping all the animals going in a straight line, otherwise if the first one started to stray from the path, the rest would follow along.  After leaving Walla Walla, they had to cross the Snake River which took two days of going back and forth. Cattle couldn’t swim like horses.  Jake rode out in front and the rest of them followed along the trail through the Grand Coulee then crossed the Columbia River.  As luck would have it, he came across a group of miners, mostly former militia men, who volunteered to accompany them as they headed north.  The miners were well armed against any possible attack; Gannon had himself witnessed the carnage around Yakima. After the miners left them, he was advised to keep following the brigade trail – once carved out by the Hudson’s Bay Company and still well-worn.

While they were on the trail, they ran into Manuel who said he used to be a packer with the Hudson’s Bay Company and he knew the trail well.  Gannon welcomed him to join the group.  It was hard to know how long the others were willing to stay travelling with the cattle. Gannon figured it was only a matter of time before they got bit by the gold bug.

Gannon figured Jake was taking a few side excursions to pan for gold in the rivers, barely just setting up camp in time for the rest of the crew as the cattle came lumbering along.  When the others were out of earshot, Gannon said a few words.

“I notice the horse is foaming at the mouth. Must’ve been quite the ride.”

Jake shrugged his shoulders, “he just got excited, there was a bear coming out of the bush a ways ahead. I tried to shoot it but I missed and it ran off.”

“Speaking of bushes, I sent Manuel ahead to pick some berries.”

Jake grumbled around and set about making his regular meal which he called ‘flapjacks’ and beans.

Things went smoothly as they went into the Okanagan Valley. The bunch grass was plentiful there and it wasn’t difficult to find water for the cattle.

Once they left the Okanagan, good grass wasn’t easily found.  Gannon sent Phil and Manuel to scout some decent bunch grass within a reasonable distance of their camp and many times they returned with grim faces.  There were plenty of nights were the cows went hungry and when this happened, they became restless.  Gannon could see they were getting thin, but the best bunch grass had already been eaten by previous cattle. Some of them strayed into the woods and couldn’t be found. Another he found with its hooves in the air after eating a poisonous plant he hadn’t seen before.

Along the way, he encountered gold seekers, some of whom who offered some flour for a “side of beef.”  Gannon shook his head.  “Not unless one of them comes up lame.”

After a supper of flapjacks, Gannon and Manuel went to count the cattle and make sure the surviving ones were there while Phil hobbled the horses and removed their packs while Jake cleaned up.  Sometimes other miners would join their camp in the evening and Jake would shuffle out some cards and start a card game which occasionally led to an argument.  Gannon stayed out of the games, especially the ones where they would gamble their money on.

Gannon enjoyed talking to the gold seekers and find out any news they had heard about.

“Where are you headed?” Gannon asked one of the miners.

“I’m going to try my luck at the Bonaparte River then Big Bar.”

“Where’s Big Bar?”

“Around Lillooet. Lots of gold seekers are doing well there.”

By the time they reached Fort Kamloops, Gannon had lost seven more cattle and the horses were too weak to ride.   When he inquired at the fort, he was told he could let his cattle graze for a dollar per head.  It was a lot more than he could afford so he was forced to hand over three of his heifers.  The HBC clerk commented on how thin they were, “but we’ll have them fattened up in no time.”

They stayed for a full day and two evenings.  They all joined the clerks for some Hudson’s Bay rum but Gannon returned soon after to keep an eye on the cattle.  There was no fence to keep them in and he didn’t want to have to spend hours searching for them the next day.

As it turned out, everybody was too drunk from the night before to get going until mid-day.  Gannon had to ask Phil twice to remove the hobbles from the horses but it was too much for him to bend over so Gannon had to do it himself.  Then he took each one and tossed them onto the ashes of the campfire.  Nobody said a word until they were ready to set out on the trail and Jake couldn’t find his Colt revolver and had to look for it.

Jake was adamant.  “I have to find it. It’s been with me ever since I left Missouri.  I’m not going any further in this country until I find it.”

Nobody wanted to take on the role of cook, so it was a relief when they ran into Jules Barry at Savona’ s ferry crossing . Barry was from Texas and he said he had spent some time in California, working on a ranch.

Barry surprised Gannon by telling him he could make more money selling his herd to a rancher.

“I know of a few people who are thinking of setting up a ranch up here. I could make some inquiries while I’m on the trail. It’s almost September, do you think you can honestly make it to the Cariboo before winter?”

Manuel was doubtful and Phil was irate.  Both had counted on their share of the profits, but it was apparent to anybody that the cattle were getting thin after the constant walking.

Gannon’s only concern was finding good grassland.  Manuel told him about an area he recalled near a place called Hat Creek.

“Donald McLean retired last year and he’s started a ranch there.”

Surprisingly, Phil and Barry both argued to keep going until Lillooet.  What if the ranch wasn’t there?  Manuel conceded that he had heard about some good grazing land to the north, but the question was, would the cattle make it there? They were getting thin and every day was hard on them.   Even the horses were wearing out.

Gannon sided with Manuel, “we’ll follow the Bonaparte River and stop at the Hat Creek Ranch.”

Following the Bonaparte River turned out to be a much slower process than Manuel had anticipated, as he had travelled several years before by canoe.  The nights were getting cooler and the leaves on the popular trees were turning yellow.  Their relief came when they came across a much smaller river which Manuel called Rivière de la Cache.  There was ample bunch grass for the animals and Gannon made sure they well fed and rested before they continued again.

In another fifteen days, they arrived at Hat Creek.


During the years from 1858 until 1868 over 22,000 head of cattle crossed the border at Osooyos Lake and were driven up the Brigade Trail into the interior. The Colonial Government of British Columbia was aware of this inland route and its potential for revenue. A customs duty of one dollar per head was established and, in 1859, William George Cox was dispatched to Fort Kamloops to intercept livestock and merchandise and charge appropriate duties. (from livinglandscapes.bc.ca)

Surviving Pine River

Pine River

May 15,1860

“Goodbye,” Chloe whispered to her husband, Edward. His eyes were barely open and there was a sickly pallor about him. She could smell the illness that had spread from his wounded hand. Chloe knew she had to get help soon, or Edward wouldn’t live.

She was weak with hunger. It had been so long since they had enjoyed a meal; she had tried to get food but it had been a difficult winter. First there were the storms. It had been a brutally cold winter and Edward’s musket had become irreparably damaged. At the time he had been still optimistic that they had enough provisions to see them through until Spring, but then a tree fell on their canoe, breaking it in half. Edward set about trying to repair it but to no avail. She wanted to help him build a raft, but he insisted that he do it alone. “It’s important to rest,” he told her. Weak and tired, Edward was chopping a branch from a tree to use for the raft, when the axe slipped and nearly severed his hand. Chloe did her best to help him, but his suffering continued.

Chloe took the baby in her arms and held her small, frail body against her own.

Seven and a half weeks ago, her baby had been born, fat and healthy in their cabin. Edward had celebrated the event by writing a note in his diary. “March 31, 1872. “Born this day a girl with vocal cords in fine working order.” Every day, as Chloe counted and portioned out the dwindling supplies.

When they were still building the cabin, Edward would get out his diary and read aloud  what had happened a year ago on a certain date. It was almost a year since they first met in her traditional territory. The sight of white men passing through was becoming a familiar one so she wasn’t surprised when she first caught sight of Edward in a canoe. She remembered how he smiled at her and waved with his paddle. At that moment, his canoe had become stuck on the shallow bottom and he wobbled the canoe from side to side. Her brother Jean offered him a long pole with which to propel his canoe forward and the Englishman was effusive in his gratitude. He came ashore and they struck up a conversation.

His name was Edward Armson and he was from England, bound for the “gold diggings” in British Columbia.

“My wife died last year,” he lamented. “All my family is deceased except my sister.”

Chloe felt sorry for him. Jean asked him how he planned to make a living. “You can only pan for gold when the water is low. At certain times of the year, you have to do other things like trapping. Do you trap?”

“I’m good at hunting, but I’ve never trapped before. I’ve heard the gold diggings are quite prosperous, aren’t they?”

Edward stayed around for several days and after which it became clear that Chloe wanted to be with him.

“Why don’t you come too, Jean? We can see the country together.”

Jean agreed and the three of them set out in a canoe, with Edward in the front, Chloe in the middle and Jean at the back to steer.

Over time, it became apparent that Edward wasn’t an outdoor person like Jean or Chloe. He was a good student though and he was eager to learn.

By the time they reached the Peace River in the early spring, Jean decided that he wanted to explore the country on his own. Edward and his sister would be fine, he thought.

“Meet me here next Spring when the last of the snow has melted,” he had said. Edward wanted to set a specific date, but Chloe knew what her brother meant.

The river was free of ice and the snow had finally melted. This day had finally come.
As she held the baby her trembling arms, she saw the last of the snow had finally gone. The snow that had hidden food from their sight and kept them cold had melted to reveal wet, muddy earth. She imagined her brother was out there somewhere.

She stood still for a moment then walked forward, one step at a time. She had to keep going, she told herself. She couldn’t look back at the cabin. The sun was a faint shadow through the leafless limbs of the trees, but it was a cloudless sky and it lifted her spirits.

The raft was still there, tied to a tree. For a few moments, she rested and checked the baby’s blankets, making sure no cold air could possibly chill her. The baby’s eyes were closed. She had become silent and gaunt like the rest of them. Chloe kissed her tiny fingers, hoping her warm breath would feed her. Then she climbed onto the raft, holding the baby closely.

Chloe stood up and pushed the raft forward with a long pole. It took all her strength.  The raft was swaying beneath her feet. Watching her baby closely, she pushed the raft forward again. A tremor suddenly went through her body as she lost her balance, falling backward into the water.

Her clothing was so heavy it weighed her down. Using all her strength she tried to pull herself from under the water. Finally breaking through to the surface, only to see the raft caught in a current and quickly disappear down the river and around a bend. The last sight of her helpless child made her try to swim faster, but the raft had vanished from sight.
Jean was thinking about his sister Chloe and brother—in-law Edward as he paddled up the Peace River in his dugout canoe. The last of the snow had melted, it would only be a matter of time before he saw them both. He wondered if their trapline was productive. It had been a cold winter and the pelts would have been thick. Every so often he would glance down the river, half expecting their canoe to come in sight but there was only a group of buffleheads in the distance.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw something unusual. Standing up, he could see a raft that was being pushed along haphazardly by the current. There was something on it too. Strange, he thought.

Jean got into his canoe and a minute later he had paddled to the raft and had pulled himself alongside where he was at eye level with a small bundle. Curious, Jean stretched over the raft with one foot in his canoe and reached for the tightly wrapped blankets and lifted it towards himself. He held his breath as lifted a cloth that covered the face of a baby.

Forgetting about the raft, Jean paddled with determined strokes towards his camp and carried the baby to where the campfire was still burning. He poured water into a pot and while it boiled, he quickly prepared a mallard duck he had just shot that morning and plopped it in the water watching the fat and grease bubble. When it was cool enough, he took a spoonful of liquid and let it sit on the baby’s lips. To his amazement, the baby’s lips moved and the duck broth disappeared. He gave her spoonful after spoonful and she swallowed each one.

The baby was still too weak to cry. What could he do? Gathering the baby close to him, he got in the canoe and paddled to where he had remembered seeing an Indian encampment.

They were still there and he called out a greeting in Chinook as he approached. Suspicious at first, they relented when he showed him the small baby. At first they thought it was sick but after delicately unwrapping the child, they talked amongst themselves and decided the baby was just hungry.  One of the women in the group gathered the small dark-haired baby in her arms and started nursing the infant.

The Indian women were full of questions, but Jean could only give them limited information about discovering the baby hours earlier on a raft. He thanked them and left.

Over the course of the next few weeks, Jean waited around for Edward and Chloe but there was no sign of them. Worried, he decided to venture down the Pine River and see if he could find them.  Where the Pine River merged into the Peace, there stood a fur-trading post put there in the last century, or so he had been told.

The birch trees were just starting to show some signs of new foliage he noticed as he paddled downriver. He kept a close eye on the shoreline, looking for a gravel beach or some sort of landing. He didn’t think that they were too far from the mouth, but he kept paddling onward.

Up ahead was a cluster of branches that must have been carried along with the current. As he approached, he saw a piece of red cloth snagged on a branch.

Jean brought his canoe closer and took the cloth. Just as he was about to get back into his canoe, he noticed some sticks near the shore that had become piled up and saw a piece of black leather. It was beyond his reach.

Bringing his canoe ashore, out of the corner of his eye he noticed faint deer tracks still visible in the soft sand. Glancing back on the spot he had noticed before, Jean found the piece of black leather. Reaching his hand into the ice cold water, Jean lifted a leather boot.

It belonged to his sister.
After he buried his sister, Jean sat on the beach and thought about her sad fate. What had happened? He should have come around in the winter, even if it meant making his way along the ice. She was all the family he had left and now she was gone. Where was Edward? How could he have let this happen?

He lit a fire and ate some of the food he’d brought with him. Then he slept under his canoe.
Around midnight, he heard some wolves howling on the opposite side of the river, their voices echoing off the high rocks.

The next morning, he awoke before dawn and got back into his canoe. He knew what he was looking for and he paddled steadily until the shore flattened out again.

There was a stand of birch trees along the shore and luckily their foliage was still small enough that it was easy to see beyond them. As he scanned the area, his eyes caught a large dark shape.

A huge pine had blown down, crushing the roof of the log cabin and obliterated the door.
Jean removed enough branches so that he could gain access to the interior. The door came away in his hands and he stepped inside.

Against the back wall was a make shift bed on which lay Edward. What had happened to Edward? Part of his hand was missing. A baby’s rattle was on the floor next to a square package wrapped in birch bark. He picked them up. There wasn’t anything else to retrieve. He blocked the front door as he had found it and left.
Jean went down to the river and washed himself. He untied the string from the birch bark and saw a leather-bound book. It was Edward’s diary. The script was so cursive it was hard to read at first, but the entries were short and to the point.

He read about their daily struggles, trying to find enough food. For several weeks, Edward had constrained himself to one meal a day in order that Chloe would eat enough. They named the baby Lily. She was a healthy child, he wrote. He noticed how the writing style changed from thick strokes to barely discernible lines. In the last page, Edward wrote:

“I am dying, effects of accident. Write Barstow and Blake, Solicitors, London, England. Wife and baby weak from starvation. Will try to meet Jean.”

Jean felt a lump in his throat as he paddled up river. Five days later, Jean found the Indian encampment and inquired about Lily. She was putting on weight, they said. He handed one of the elders the diary of her late father. They promised to give it to Lily when she was old enough.

He was going to return next year, he told them. Jean was going to paddle east to Saskatchewan. From there, he would find one of the Hudson Bay forts and give them a message to forward to Barstow and Blake, Solicitors in England.

Mount Robson: Fraser River Headwaters

In 1865, on their way through the Yellowhead Pass area, adventurers Milton and Cheadle wrote,

“On every side the snowy heads of mighty hills crowded round, whilst, immediately behind us, a giant among giants, and immeasurably supreme, rose Robson’s Peak.”

From this peak, a tiny trickle appears.  This is the start of the Fraser River and the beginning of its journey of almost 1400 km, growing ever larger as it collects water from its tributaries all the way to the Pacific Ocean.

Mount Robson was named after Colin Robertson, an official for the Hudson’s Bay Company who sent a group led by Ignace Giasson in command and the blonde multilingual Iroquois, Pierre Bostonais nicknamed Tête Jaune, as their guide.  Tête Jaune means Yellow Head in French and both the pass and the current highway bear his name.

‘Yuh-hai-has-kun’ or ‘The Mountain of the Spiral Road’ was the name given Mount Robson by the Texqakallt First Nation, referring to the layered appearance of the mountain.

Mount Robson from Northeast by Lawren Harris 1929

At 3,954 meters, Mount Robson, the highest peak in the Canadian Rockies is quite a sight. At its base lies the brilliant blue Berg Lake, fed by chunks of ice that have fallen from the glacier above.  The glacier has shrunk considerably since Lawren Harris made his famous painting.

John M. Sellar, one of the Overland party of gold seekers, bound for the Cariboo, who passed the peak on August 26, 1862 wrote these words in his diary:

“At 4 p.m., we passed Snow or Cloud Cap Mountain which is the highest and finest on the whole Leather Pass. It is 9000 feet above the level of the valley at its base, and the guide told us that out of twenty-nine times that he had passed it he had only seen the top once before.”