My day begins in the early hours of dawn on the edge of downtown Vancouver. I set out in my vehicle, and before the engine has had time to completely warm up I cross the Lion's Gate Bridge, high above the shimmering waters of Burrard Inlet. In my rearview mirror I can see the contrast between Vancouver's skyscrapers and the dense cedars of Stanly Park. After a few minutes of driving along a freeway I reach the start of B.C.'s famous Sea-to-Sky Highway, which winds along the Pacific's breathtaking Howe Sound on its way towards Whistler. Half an hour down the highway I park my vehicle in a roadside pull-off at the head of Deeks Lake Trail, which is marked only by a small unassuming wooden sign.

I strap on my large hiking backpack and plunge into the shadows of a dense second-growth forest of Cedar and Hemlock. After a series of switchbacks, I emerge on a rock bluff, now 500 feet above the ocean. The bluff offers a spectacular panoramic view of Howe Sound and the surrounding mountain ranges. After pausing to enjoy the beauty, I get back on the trail, which soon comes out onto an active logging road. I quicken my pace as the road slopes its way up the base of the mountain, and am accompanied by the tunes of songbirds and the constant chattering of squirrels. After 45 minutes of walking, the road thins and veers off to the right. A hiking trail emerges, heading straight up a difficult slope.

It requires an enormous amount of energy to force myself and my heavy pack up a steep, rough trail covered in slippery roots and loose rocks. A never ending series of spider webs strung across the trail verifies that I am the only person hiking today on this part of the mountain. After a relentless climb, I emerge upon another spectacular sight. I am now standing among the massive trunks of an untouched old growth forest, above the reach of logging. Trees normally get smaller and thinner throughout a hike as the altitude increases, but these ancient giants dwarf the second growth forests below. The trail edges up to Deeks Creek, which cascades along a series of waterfalls, some of which are over 100 feet high. The foaming white water leaves a heavy mist as it pounds into boulders below, confirming that native trout could have never migrated up this creek to the lake. Although Deeks Lake is an ideal habitat for trout, it was only through human intervention that the species ever arrived in its pristine waters. Soon after passing the waterfalls I reach the crest of a ridge. Deeks Lake sits below me in an alpine bowl, surrounded by jagged peaks. I sit down on a giant boulder at the edge of the lake and begin inflating my float tube with a light-weight bicycle pump. After a few minutes I am suddenly surrounded by a cold mountain fog and can only see a couple feet in front of me. I then feel a new breeze emerge, and just as suddenly as it appeared, the fog disappears revealing the warm blue sky above. By the time the mystic fog has rolled in and out 2 more times, I have my float tube ready, waders on, my fly rod set up, and have kicked off from shore.

The glacier-fed waters of Deeks Lake are frigid and crystal clear. Looking into the water I can see every detail of the rocky bottom 20 feet below, as well as a multitude of Rainbow Trout swimming around. The trout see me as well, and keep a cautious distance. Within a minute of casting out I feel the energetic tug of my first fish of the day. It jumps clear out of the water several times, and on its last lunge manages to throw the barb-less hook. Within 2 minutes I have another one on. This one is unable to throw the hook as I gently pull it in. I grab the fish by the bottom jaw and easily remove the barb-less hook. The under-side of its gills are a deep crimson red, characteristic of a sub-species called Cutthroat Trout. As I release it, the foot long trout kicks off in a burst of energy. I can almost sense anger in the fish at having its day disrupted.

I continue fishing for about an hour, catching and releasing enough trout that my hands are now numb from exposure to the ice cold water. Deeks hasn't been stocked with new fish for years, but as a legacy of the different times it was stocked, the fish range from the Cutthroat variety to ordinary Rainbows, which are decorated in bright silver and have no red marks on their gills. In small lakes, the growth of trout is often stunted due to a lack of food and living space, but Deeks Lake has a surprising diversity in its population. The average fish is small, but they range up to a very impressive size, suggesting that there are abundant sources of food and plenty of deep water. The presence of larger predator fish keeps the population healthy and thriving.

Back on shore I deflate my float tube and pack up. Before leaving, I take out a telescoping spinning rod and cast out a barb-less single hooked Mepps. The trout are attracted to the shiny metal just like insects attracted to light. In the pristine water, the spinner provides an opportunity to view dozens of fish as they chase the lure right to the shore. On one cast, a fourteen inch rainbow bites down on the lure, hooking firmly in its bottom jaw. As it begins to struggle, a much larger trout of perhaps 18 inches takes immediate concern. The larger fish appears agitated. It swims over and smashes into the lure and actually dislodges it, freeing the smaller fish. In my years of trout fishing I have never seen anything like that. The fish of Deeks Lake seem to have a profound understanding of fishermen that defies all logic.

On my way down the mountain I stop along the path to pick a container full of small wild blueberries. They are barely half the size of the domestic variety, but each small berry contains much more flavor than one of their larger agricultural cousins. On the ground, a large pile of bear dung indicates that I am not the only one enjoying the hillside's sweet blueberries. My hike continues uneventfully down the mountain and I eventually arrive at the bluffs that overlook Howe Sound. As I scale a short rock wall and step out where the trail flattens, I pick up a black object in my peripheral vision. I spin around and find myself staring face to face with a medium sized black bear. I immediately grab my knife and pepper spray from the top pouch of my pack. I speak directly to the bear with authority in my voice, just like a person would to a stray dog. I tell it to go away, and it responds by barreling through the undergrowth, straight down the side of the mountain.

Knowing where the bear has gone, I cautiously round the next corner in the series of switchbacks, and once again am standing less than 50 feet from the bear. Again it reacts by barreling straight down the mountain, and again I meet it face to face at the next switchback. Thankfully it takes a diagonal path down the mountain this time, and five minutes pass before our next encounter. The trail has a straight stretch angling down to a creek, right near the highway. The bear is now standing on the opposite side of the creek, very much aware of my presence. Due to the thick undergrowth, I have no choice but to walk along the trail straight towards the bear, who is no longer in the mood to budge. I get within 10 feet of it before the trail bends again and comes out onto the highway. I reach my truck in a full sprint, full of adrenaline and still clutching my pepper spray. Thus ends another enjoyable day of trout fishing during Deeks Lake's short alpine summer.

Karl W.