Baden-Powell TrailPart 1: Lynn Canyon to Mosquito Creek

Early one bright morning in June, my young son Dylan awoke cheerfully by leaping onto me with big smile. I asked him, "What would you like to do today?" He pondered, and then blurted, "Go hiking!" His enthusiasm to share my interest moved me out of bed and towards the bookshelf for the Best Hikes and Walks of Southwestern British Columbia. We carefully considered our expedition at the kitchen table with me sipping coffee and he throwing scrambled eggs across the floor.

I confirmed that we would trek a 5 km portion of the Baden-Powell Trail from Lynn Canyon to Mosquito Creek. The trail is 48 km in length in its entirety beginning at sea level from Deep Cove. Extending high along side the North Shore Mountains it meanders through forest groves within the districts of North and West Vancouver. The iconic trail then descends from its highest peak of 1200 m towards the community of Horseshoe Bay on Howe Sound. The Baden-Powell Trail was forged in 1971 by 1000 Boy Scouts and Girl Guides commemorating the 100th anniversary of British Columbia. It bears the name of Robert Stephenson Smyth Baden-Powell who is credited as the founder of the Scout Movement in 1907. The trail it is distinctly marked by the posted blue fleur delise at its points of entry and intersections.

After a good breakfast I stuffed the child carrier backpack with the day's provisions. Eagerly we strapped on our boots and threw the items into the car. Traveling west on the Trans-Canada Highway from Surrey we were only 30 minutes away for our destination. Upon our arrival at the trailhead we were greeted by a menacing incline of wooden stairs that switchback upward into the forest. With almost 30 pounds of gear and toddler on my back the pace of our hike quickly moved into full swing. I bantered with Dylan about what we saw and heard as we navigated through the woods. He quickly learned that we were following the bright orange trail markers to stay the course. I encouraged him to locate them ahead and point us in the right direction. “Trail marker Daddy!” he repeated over and over until the next interest captivated his attention.

It was an estimated 2 hours to Mosquito Creek, and the terrain's level of difficulty intermediate. We took a few breaks en route to entertain ourselves without the constraints of the backpack. We shared the trail with mountain bikers who did not always yield and perhaps posed the greatest risk of danger. Cautiously, we paused at Kilmer Creek at the side of the foot bridge to throw stones and splash within the trickling water. Onward we later sat on a park bench juxtaposed over a narrow dell providing a strained view of Stanley Park through the treetops below. As we approached Mosquito Creek we could hear the rustle of the whitewater ahead and our anticipation grew as we clambered down the narrowing trail of precarious roots and rocks.

Spanning across the turbulent creek was a sturdy pedestrian bridge. Dylan asked to be let out of the pack and he began throw debris over the side of the bridge. The sun shone bright and the water shimmered as it churned cool air along its banks. Without an area to comfortably spread our self out we climbed over the rubble extending into the creek and then sat on a boulder for lunch. Within an area protected by large rocks it was safe for Dylan to continue his favorite pastime - throwing rocks in the water.

A half hour past and it was time for us to return given my that little trouper was long overdue his afternoon nap. He quickly went from irritable to asleep within the backpack, head resting upon his blanket and sucking loudly on his soother. My rhythmic steps kept him comfortably slumber as I followed the familiar route back to the parking lot. With 30 minutes of trail remaining Dylan awoke chirping “Trail marker, trail marker!” His motivation was timely since my legs were getting fatigued and my breathing labored. The steep pitch at the trailhead was more difficult heading back given my knees were jarred and my footing uneasy. Dylan was undaunted and continued to press me on until we arrived back at the canyon.

Five hours and 10 km later we were both beaming with pride, albeit exhausted. We were back on the highway and patiently enduring traffic on our way home. It seemed to me the passage we left behind was a world away. How awesome it was that we could escape our urban confines on a whim and then dwell into the hinterland. I promised Dylan that we would complete the entire Baden-Powell Trail before the summer’s end.

Video Clip: Mosquito Creek
Video Clip: Trail Markers

Boots, Backpacks & Dads That Go!

After an exasperating wet winter on the west coast the sunny warm weather finally arrived in May. My 2 year old son was expressing his preference to be outdoors and together we began to enjoy more walks in our neighborhood. We were eager to kick start summer; I took Dylan camping for 2 nights at Porteau Cove and Squamish Valley. He was naturally enthused by the sense of discovery persistently wanting to help his dad with the campsite, and spending hours exploring the rocky beaches and mountain rivers.

Our first day at Porteau Cove was a beautiful site as we camped on the shore of Howe Sound overlooking the peaks of snow high above the tide. Regrettably, we were inundated by the noise pollution created by the construction of the Sea to Sky Highway. I was relieved at 9:00 PM when the dump trucks had finished dropping their noisy loads into the hulls of the barges moored near by. Only a few moments later the tug boats ignited their diesel engines. A procession of machines began to beep and whistle from the lot behind the camp. Throughout the night falling boulders and machinery awakened us. At 4:00 AM I had some semblance of sleep, and then suddenly a locomotive screamed down the tracks with its wheels locked! Dylan calmly clung onto me for comfort and then quickly fell back asleep to my amazement. He was a happy camper first thing in the morning and appeared unaffected by the evening's ordeal. My plan of action was to bug out! I packed up the gear and loaded the car. I asked Dylan if he wanted go home and he snapped, "No, go camping." He wasn't prepared to give up on our expedition and so we moved farther up north into the Squamish Valley.

What was enduring had become solace. North of Squamish we found a privately run campsite near the Cheakamus River. It was clean and exceptionally quiet. There must have been only three campsites claimed and the remaining sat vacant. We found a sunny spot next to a landscaped green space, a water pump, and a path leading down toward the river. After setting up our camp and a brief power nap we then set off to explore the leisurely trails. We wandered a few kilometers and dawdled along the banks. Dylan was beside himself and could have thrown rocks into the river all day.

On our way home we stopped at Shannon Falls for another excursion. The scale of the waterfall as it cascade from 335 m above mesmerized Dylan. We were invigorated by its cool mist as it gently fell upon us. The path led us a short distance to the falls and the ashphalted route congested at times. Returning from the falls I was compelled to follow the sign post to the Stawamus Chief. At this crossroad the people continued to file towards the parking lot. We on the otherhand followed the lonesome gravel trail until it became rugged approaching the 700 m granite giant. We had not passed a single soul until we met up with the main trail in the next park. With my son on my back, I bore down and endured the steady incline encouraged by his little voice shouting, "Higher Daddy! Go Daddy!" Sensing the obstacles of exposed knotty roots, impeding large rocks and imperiling slops Dylan cautioned me, "Careful Daddy." Like a Master Yoda clamoring on my shoulders, he elevated me to a new level of endurance. Our camping adventure affirmed that we shared an admiration for our natural surroundings and strengthened our paternal bond.

Video Clip: Porteau Cove
Video Clip: Cheakamus River