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.