Mount Buttle: Low Expectations Lead to a Great Day

Sometimes I head out on a trip feeling confident about what I’ll find, only to discover that reality is vastly different from what I expected.

Sometimes the day ends poorly. I’ve arrived at destinations with high expectations, only to discover that, sure, the sights are there, but nobody mentioned that finding parking would be nearly impossible and that I’d be competing with a thousand of other people for the same experience. Banff comes to mind here. Other times, I’ve set out on a hike expecting incredible scenery, only to find that the reality of the destruction on the mountain leaves those expectations in ruins. 5040, I’m looking at you!

Just a couple of friends heading outside to play

And then there are trips like my recent outing to Mount Buttle, where I started with rock-bottom expectations and ended up pleasantly surprised.

This wasn’t my first trip to the peak. I did it first back in 2015, during the winter that never was. Phil and I hosted a poorly attended club trip to the mountain, approaching from the Cowichan Lake side via Marguerite Main, south of the peak. It was a thoroughly unpleasant outing through overgrown logging roads, logging slash, and the occasional patch of first-growth forest before we finally reached a snow-blasted summit.

I wrote a trip report afterward, and about the only attention it received was from someone in the community who complained that their family owned property on the creek and asked us to keep out.

So why would I do it again?

Friends.

One of my hiking friends asked if I’d host a trip Mount Buttle for them. They’re always looking for something new to explore on the Island, and Mount Buttle was one of the few peaks they hadn’t visited. Despite my best efforts to warn them that the trip was, in my words, “really horrible,” I couldn’t talk them out of it.

After scheduling the trip, I started my routines. As usual, I checked the weather, mapped the roads, and pored over satellite imagery. And lo and behold, there had been recent logging on the north side of the mountain!

Approaching from the Nanaimo Lakes side would mean a longer drive into the backcountry, but it looked like we could cut at least 10 kilometres off the hike. Even better, the satellite imagery suggested that we might be able to drive to within striking distance of the ridge before having to deal with the bushwhacking.

An exploratory trip was in order. The weekend before our club outing, my kids and I headed out to investigate. We confirmed that we could drive to around 800 metres elevation along one of the K-branch spurs. Further examination of the satellite imagery suggested that if we followed the remaining overgrown road for about two kilometres, we’d eventually reach a cleared road leading toward the top of the ridge, followed by some first-growth forest.

I hatched a new plan. The revised approach did cost us a few participants, who decided that the trip was “no longer worth the drive.” Fair enough. But five of us were still keen to head out into a wet forest and see what Mount Buttle had to offer.

We piled into a single vehicle and wound our way deep into the valleys, eventually reaching the depths of K-branch. There, we parked, geared up, and prepared for the wet bushwhack ahead.

We donned our bushwhacking vestments, rain gear, and jackets before tackling our first objective: getting through the alder. The first five minutes were the worst of the day. The alder was thick, wet, and thoroughly determined to make our lives miserable. Eventually, though, I managed to summon my inner bear. I crouched low and found a bear trail winding through the alder along the old road.

Within 30 minutes, we’d cleared most of the overgrown road sections and reached the open road higher up. Our next challenge was a regenerating cut block. We could pick our way through some sections, but elsewhere we had to push directly through young evergreens and battle more than a few piles of windfall and downed trees before finally reaching the forest.

And oh, what a difference!

Once we entered the forest, I was genuinely surprised. We picked up an elk track and passed countless piles of elk, cougar, and bear scat. Clearly, we weren’t the only ones making use of this part of the mountain.

We wandered up the ridge through mostly open forest until we eventually emerged onto the open low-alpine ridge.

It was unreal. Of course, the beautiful weather helped, but the terrain itself was lovely. From here, the obvious north ridge was our route to the summit. Game trails led us through the landscape, and there were surprisingly few places where we had to struggle through the bush. Once or twice, we doubled back to find a better route, but for the most part, it was straightforward hiking.

After all the alder, logging slash, and windfall we’d fought through earlier, it felt almost luxurious. We reached the summit in about two and a half hours and settled in to enjoy the views, take a few humorous photographs, and drink multiple coffees. There was no need to rush. We had plenty of time left in the day.

A participant suggested we make the most of it by heading down to the northeast saddle and climbing a nearby subpeak. Why not?

On the way, we spotted what appeared to be a trap of some kind, along with signs that people had camped in the area regularly. After exploring the subpeak, we descended its northwest ridge to reconnect with our original route.

The only significant delay on the return journey came when we passed an elk skeleton. Naturally, this required a stop. We collected the skull, vertebrae, and antlers, and I helped myself to an antler, lashing it to my backpack for the journey out.

With nothing else to distract us, we retraced our steps through the forest. I have to admit, we may have been spoiled by the open terrain higher up. Even though we were following our original route, the forest seemed bushier on the way back than I remembered. And once we reached the overgrown road, I could no longer summon my inner bear. This time, I had to rely on my outer elk to muscle my way through the alder. What a day.

Would I return to Mount Buttle? Probably not. There are simply too many other peaks on the Island to explore, and we spotted several nearby mountains from the summit that caught my attention. Perhaps Mount Hooker is calling.

As for Mount Buttle itself, there were only a handful of hints that people regularly visit this area. We found a BC Survey marker, a survey rod, a tin can, what appeared to be a trap, and signs of occasional camping. Beyond that, the mountain felt wonderfully quiet.

Mount Buttle had every reason to disappoint me. I’d visited once before, and that trip had left me with little desire to return. But a bit of research, a different approach, and some good company transformed what I expected to be another miserable bushwhack into a fantastic day in the mountains.

Sometimes, the best trips are the ones you expect the least from.