Issue link: http://digital.canadawide.com/i/126959
"I love this country. We have such a rich heritage, so the idea was to get people experiencing the landscape with some background about the events that shaped that history," Summits founder and organizer Dave Jorgenson had explained last night, over a beer at the boisterous Bear's Paw Café in Wells he runs with wife Cheryl Macarthy. It all began on a whim seven years ago, when Jorgenson placed a cookie tin containing a bead at the peaks of seven different mountains. Whoever claimed all seven beads, he announced, would earn a complimentary slice of homemade cranberry cake at the Bear's Paw (a token incentive, but clever). From a dozen or so cyclists in 2007, that whim has now evolved into a backwoods destination event drawing almost a hundred riders annually from around the province – with all profits from the event going to Friends of Barkerville's trail restoration projects and ongoing efforts to preserve the historical and natural heritage of the region. OUR EAGER PACK WHEELS UPWARD, rustic wooden monuments scrolling past in my peripheral vision – the Joe Denny Saloon, Barkerville Hotel and Government Assay 1sale 26 W E S T W O R L D >> p24-27_Seven_Summits.indd 26 SUMMER 2013 Office. Some of the characters A treasure hunt stunt It's the last I'll see of my endurwho populate Barkerville for at the Bear's Paw Café ance-athlete-of-a-brother for (left) by proprietor Dave the event's duration. visitors are also around – the Jorgenson (right) is An hour and a half in, the tipsy lawyer already in full now a marquee event in slurred-speech character, the the backcountry around pack has spread out and I fall in Barkerville and Wells. with Pat Turner, an emergency blacksmith, a couple of hurdygurdy girls and legendary Judge Matthew doc from Prince George and able trail mate. Begbie ambling his portly frame toward the On a course broken into a series of hiking courthouse. In the distance, where historic and biking sections, we reach the first transiwooden buildings give way to forest, the tion at the Groundhog Lake snowmobile back of Pete's yellow jersey is fast receding. cabin and stash our bikes, then scramble up a slope of lichen-slick boulders. On the ridge above, fir trees have been twisted by the elements into stunted forms known as krummholz, and grasses are still frosted with last night's icing-sugar layer of snow. In the distance, the glaciated peaks above the Bowron Lakes are speckled in a gorgeous soft light filtered through a watery fall sky – catching shoreline aspen groves already turning latesummer gold. "I heard about this race last year and liked the idea of a low-key, grassroots event," says Turner, his breathing ragged, when I ask the inevitable question that plagues any aspiring endurance athlete: "Why bother?" From the peak of Mt. Agnes, our first summit, we drop into a meadow where crimson bulbs of Indian paintbrush nod under the morning's heavy frost. In 30 minutes we've traversed dreamy sub-alpine meadows to the next ascent, Bald Mountain. Trailside is the scat of woodland caribou. Rare in these parts, the ungulates belong to a local herd, an estimated 15 individuals precariously close to disappearing themselves, just as the human population of nearby Barkerville vanished almost overnight with the collapse of the Cariboo gold rush in 1865. We descend speedily on slick, mossContinued on page 27 Andrew Findlay 13-04-26 10:03 AM