Pushing The Season Outdoors Worth A Peek At Off-Peak Times

Rewards of priceless proportions await hikers who step out of prime time.

The same can be said for paddlers, hunters, and other outdoor sports enthusiasts who aren’t locked into the rut of peak seasons.

Why hunt on opening day when the woods and marshes are substantially more peaceful later in the season?

Worse weather, less game, interference with holidays such as Thanksgiving and Christmas are the common arguments that win over the masses.

But such rationale could be lost on the shotgunner who bucks the trend on a cold December day and launches his pointer into a vast creek bottom littered with tracks, none of them human.

A cock pheasant bursts into the epically blue sky, the snow spraying like diamonds from its wings, the report from the gun heard by only the hunter and his dog.

One bird on a day like this will keep a sportsman tuned into the shoulder season forever.

Pushing the season isn’t always pretty, of course.

The great effort I put into planning an early April canoe trip on Montana’s Smith River did not pan out this spring.

The river was frozen.

But the possibilities were attractive. A state park ranger had told me his best-ever trip on the Smith was in the pre-runoff period of April several years ago. He woke one morning to a dusting of snow on the river cliffs and deer lining the shores. The river was low and clear and trees glistened in sheaths of white. A blast of sunshine later sparked a hatch of small insects that lured the river’s winter-weary brown trout to the surface - where his No. 20 Parachute Adams got a savage workout.

And his was the only boat on a river that’s jammed with people during the short summer floating season.

In fact, if you don’t draw a permit in the Smith River lottery, you can’t float the stream during summer.

That’s another benefit shoulder seasons offer. You often don’t need permits. If you do, there’s usually plenty available.

Craig Werner and I took advantage of this rule to land two permits for a mid-September hike on the most popular backcountry route in Canada’s Kootenay National Park.

Guidebooks say the best time to hike the stunning “Rockwall” route through the park’s high meadows and glaciered valleys is in late July and early August, when the wildflower bloom is peaking and the odds are best for good weather.

“But that’s the peak demand period for a backcountry permit,” said Ken Abbott, Kootenay Park warden. “The chances of getting a backcountry permit without applying 90-days in advance through our reservation system are pretty slim.”

Neither of our wives seemed to care much that we were leaving them behind for a six-day backpack into one of the most scenic areas in the Canadian Rockies.

“I think Lea was kind of relieved that she had other obligations,” Craig said. “The weather forecast isn’t great.”

“Ditto,” I said. “In fact, I think my wife gets a macabre pleasure out of seeing me off on a late or early season trip. It’s like a parent letting a kid screw up to learn a lesson.”

The wives’ reasoning seemed pretty sound as Craig and I hiked up the trail to Floe Lake.

An intermittent drizzle forced us in and out of rain gear. Water soaked through our hiking shoes three miles up the trail.

The first group of hikers we met said the weather had been grim. “Snow, rain, fog,” one tough-looking Canadian said at the Floe Lake Campground. “We were going to climb the peaks today, but we couldn’t see. It was colder than hell last night.”

We woke the next morning to the spatter of rain on the tent. Craig started weighing the options.

“We could bail out and do some day trips,” he said. “Or we could go home and get the yards ready for winter.”

Bad weather is never a major disappointment in the shoulder season because you expect it. One never goes hiking into alpine country in fall or spring with high expectations for perfect sunny skies and T-shirt temperatures.

Pushing the season is a gamble. But in a sense, the odds are all in your favor.

If the weather is bad, you bag out.

Luck into good weather, however, and you win big.

When the drizzle subsided around noon, Craig and I decided to continue into the backcountry and take our chances. The skies began to clear as we hiked over 7,820-foot Numa Pass.

For the next four days, not a wisp of cloud marred the view of peaks or stars. Windbreakers never came out of their pack pockets. Insect repellent went unused.

“This is better than winning the Lotto,” I told Craig.

Each day we had to cross high mountain passes where groups a week ahead of us had to slog in snow and whiteout conditions.

But we would drop our packs and wander through the meadows, scramble up the peaks, lay in the heather to watch Columbian ground squirrels and pikas for hours at a time.

And rarely did we see another hiker in the high country of Kootenay National Park’s most popular trail.

We pushed the envelope by staying an extra night at Helmet Falls campground to ogle at one of the highest waterfalls in British Columbia, and to dayhike to Goodsir Pass.

Not another soul was on the trail to spook the grouse or see the house-size blocks of ice thundering off the Goodsir Glacier.

The clouds didn’t return until we were one our way out.

Craig and I counted our chips while soaking away muscle soreness in Radium Hot Springs. We mulled over the possibility of pushing the envelope two weeks later, to see the larch turn yellow in the Rockwall’s alpine meadows.

We filled ourselves with a spectacular Mexican dinner at Alberto’s Restaurant in Bonners Ferry.

Then I decided to call home and check in.

“Hi, honey, just wanted to let you know we’re out of the mountains and I’ll be home around 10.”

“How was your trip,” she said.

“About as good as a hike with 9,000 feet of elevation gain can be, I guess. It rained. It was pretty cold in the mornings.”

“You poor dear. One of these days you’ll learn. Have you had anything to eat?”

“Oh, don’t worry. I had a quick bite.”

“Hurry home. It’s warm and dry here.”

“I’m on my way.”

Heading back to the car, Craig pointed out that I didn’t paint a particularly pretty or accurate picture of the trip.

“I didn’t want to ruin her fun,” I said.

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