Exploring the Chilcotin on Horseback A Spectacular Holiday

By Heather Warren

Last year I decided it was time to take my first vacation on horseback. After a lifetime of riding in hogfuel arenas and flat country roads, and I was eager to experience the mountain backcountry on horseback. So my husband, young daughter and I headed for Spruce Lake Wilderness Adventures, an outfitting company that offers holidays in BC’s South Chilcotin high country.

An experience tailored to our needs was a must: my husband and seven-year-old daughter weren’t really up to more than a day ride, while I yearned for a couple of days in the saddle. So they decided to stay at the ranch’s guest cabins while I went on a three day ride into the mountains.

The guest cabins are located across the road from the ranch of the husband and wife team that operate Spruce Lake Wilderness Adventures, Casie and Warren Menhinick. We arrived in the late afternoon, and after a friendly welcome and orientation, we settled into our cabin, declining their kind offer of a dinner at the ranch, opting to cook our own dinner on the gas stove and turn in early.

The next day was exciting as I packed up my gear and waited for Casie to pick the rest of the guests up and drive us to the Spruce Lake Trailhead. Warren and a hired hand had already ridden the horses to the trailhead earlier that morning, saving us tenderfoots a few hours in the saddle that first day, and allowing us a leisurely morning. My family came along for the ride and it was an exciting, bumpy trip up some rough roads which got my daughter’s eyes gleaming with excitement.

Casie, a cheerful, personable woman, told us a little of the history of Spruce Lake Wilderness Adventures on the drive up. Warren’s family had been in the area for many years, coming originally to work in the nearby Bralorne gold mine. When the mine shut down in the 70's, Warren’s father, Barry, bought the ranch. Warren grew up guiding and riding the backcountry, and has taken over the operation of the business.

When we arrived, Seb, the hand, was helping organize the horses. He and the Menhinicks quickly and efficiently “tacked and packed” the patient horses while the guests watched the process with interest. Casie briefed Warren on the meals she had prepared for the trip. Each one came with a menu for the cook, Christa, who was waiting for us at the Spruce Lake Camp. In no time at all we were ready to go. There were a few butterflies in my stomach as I tried to peer down the trail to see where it led.

All the horses were in glossy, sleek condition, the picture of health. They had been pastured on the lush grass of the flats of Carpenter Lake near Gold Bridge. “You’ll be on Whiskers”, said Warren, indicating a chestnut with four white socks who looked like he belonged in a show ring rather than a pack string.

I walked over and gave Whiskers a pat and eyed the western tack. The boots I was wearing dated back to my teens, which is the last time I’d ridden western. I’d been donning English caps ever since.

I shouldn’t have worried. When we finally mounted, I found that I could get on with some dignity intact, and settling into the tack, it felt very comfortable and secure. It was a sparkling, sunny day, and the roar of Gun Creek added to the excitement I felt to be starting the journey. We said our goodbyes, and my family headed back to the ranch with Casie. They would be spending their time going on day rides, sailing on Tyaughton Lake and visiting historical sites in the area.

The first leg of the trip was to Spruce Lake, where we would pick up our cook and assistant wrangler. We were bringing her a horse and then we would be heading up to Trigger Camp, where we would ride out on a day ride to the ice pack of the mountain pass.

With mixed feelings I bade farewell to my family and off we rode down the trail. Gun Creek blazed far below, and our horses picked their way sure-footedly along a rocky path. Although Whiskers responded sensitively to my aids when I tried him at the start, I wisely realized that he knew better than I how to properly negotiate such terrain. I decide to trust his judgement and sit in the middle of the saddle and try not impede him in any way. Further up the trail, when I asked him to stop and leave the group in order to take photos, I realize just how well-schooled he is as he obediently executes my commands.

Our first break comes after a only an hour or so of riding. We tie the horses to nearby trees and stretch out on the grass, not sore yet but hungry enough to be glad to stop. What a lunch Casie has prepared! There is foccacia bread, with luncheon meat to put between it, chocolate bars, homemade rice crispy seed squares and fresh fruit...at this rate, Whiskers will be groaning under my weight at the end of the ride. It was an awesome meal, and the horses got the apple cores. All of the horses were placid, stocky types, with no issues. Warren was kind and careful with them, constantly checking their tack and rigging at each stop.

Soon we turned away from the creek, winding through the forest, and had our first water crossing, fording Eldorado Creek. The horses paused to drink, and easily waded through the shallow, swiftly moving water. After riding adjacent to yet another watercourse, Gun Creek, we veered away from its forested banks and entered some spectacularly different terrain: slopes of brilliantly-coloured alpine wildflowers - nodding Wild Onions, Forget-Me-Nots, Lupins, Indian Paint Brush, Balsam Root and many more species that I did not recognize. It was early July and the mountainsides were alive with blooms and scent. Butterflies of all shapes, colours and sizes flitted from flower to flower. The mountain vistas spread out in front of us, and we stopped for photographs while our horses cropped the lush green grass at the side of the trail.

As we made our way through the waving fields of flowers we spotted a grouse and several deer. Eagles circled above us. Spring had definitely come to the Chilcotin.

After a few more hours on the trail Spruce Lake opened up like a postcard in front of us, pristine and beautiful. Christa, the cook and wrangler, greeted us happily with hot coffee, fruit, juice and snacks. The two dogs at the camp rejoiced in Warren’s return, and followed him around, determined not to let him out of their sight again.

Dinner is a steak grilled over the fire, a massive salad and cake for dessert. Warren entertains us with tales of family get-togethers at the lake, where everyone in his family learned to swim, canoe and fish. We stay up by the fire chatting, but the cool night air and the tiredness of the trail quickly overtakes us, and soon I am climbing into my tent house, a canvas tent on a wooden platform. There is a wood stove with kindling and wood beside it, but I am so tired I am grateful to just roll into my sleeping bag. The foam underneath is comfortable, and the cold night air acts as no sleep aid can. Within minutes I am sound asleep.

The next morning, after a hearty breakfast, we set off for Trigger Lake Camp. I’m happy to find that my aches and pains have vanished in the night. The dogs run joyfully in front of the horses. As we climb higher, we pass through pine forests broken by clearings of grassy meadows of wildflowers. Several times we traverse rock slides, the horses picking their way sure-footedly, finding the path that’s hardly visible to our eyes.

We ride alongside Gun Creek, which leads us to Hummingbird Lake, a sparkling glacier-fed body of water. We’re stripped down to tee shirts in the warm sun, but the lake has hunks of ice in it and snow pack can be seen in the mountains above.

Back on the trail, the forests thins and we are now looking at slides and boulders. Soon we cross a small creek and the horses eagerly step forward as they recognize Trigger Lake Camp. The rustic cabin is nestled in a mountain valley, dwarfed by the peaks around it. The horses are corralled, dinner is put on, and we put our gear in the bunkhouse. Tents are offered, but the bunkhouse is safe and cosy and we all opt for a roof over our heads. We have another fine dinner and dessert, swap some tales and when the light wanes we head into the cabin for the night.

The next morning we set off for the trail to Warner Mountain pass, leaving the trees behind and climbing up into the granite and slides. We stop at the start of the pass for photos and a rest. It is truly breathtaking, and I marvel at the fact that horses can be ridden into such country. We all agree that the photos won’t do it justice, but we click away, hoping to capture the grandeur and magic of the place.

Heading back to camp, there’s a quietness that arises from the knowledge that we’ll be heading back to civilization tomorrow. I resolve to make the journey to Trigger Lake Camp again in the future, this time with my husband and daughter along for the ride

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