Whirlpool, Little

✕

The last weekend of May 2026 was unfortunately characterized by rain, rain, and more rain - and has made this season a frustrating one for scramblers looking to escape the popular trails for remote areas and higher altitudes, thanks to the amount of snow it left higher up. Given how unpredictable Rockies weather usually is (if you don't like it, wait ten minutes), I decided I'd head to David Thompson Country for Saturday the 30th despite Environment Canada insisting that it was gOiNg To RaIn AlL dAy at the Cline River. DTC is usually a bit drier than other areas of the Rockies, and often ends up mysteriouly passed over when rainstorms hammer the rest of the alpine.

With no objectives in mind and no beta reviewed, I hopped in my car and enjoyed the drive up the Icefields. The clouds certainly looked foreboding but showed no signs of letting loose. I estimated they were hovering around 2600m and noted that I'd have to pick a summit lower than that if I wanted any kind of views other than fog. I pulled onto HWY 11 around 1300hrs, and started looking as I cruised down my favourite stretch of highway in the Rockies. Corona Ridge was clearly out, as was anything in the Siffleur Wilderness. Resolute wasn't even visible amidst the clouds, and meanwhile - what was this?

I pulled over to check my map, and realized I'd spotted an unnamed eastern outlier of Mt Hensley, just west of the Landslide Lake trail. It certainly looked passable, and I noted an OpenStreetMaps route that stopped partway up it, with the summit further along the ridgeline at approximately 2600m. Bird in the hand, two in the bush, all that - it looked like a fun day, so I hopped out of my car, let my family know where I'd be via satellite, and started fighting my way northwards through aging deadfall and blowdown.

The approach starts out as obnoxiously stacked blowdown. Long trekking poles make balancing much easier here. The approach starts out as obnoxiously stacked blowdown. Long trekking poles make balancing much easier here. ✕

After reaching the ridge, things improve substantially and become little more than an alpine stroll. After reaching the ridge, things improve substantially and become little more than an alpine stroll. ✕

I trended northwest and found an easy route through a small cliff band, reaching a grassy ridge and following it upwards there. I noted a faint but consistent trail, eventually spotting a small cairn indicating that - to my surprise - this was not a sheep trail. This eventually petered out, as I headed closer and closer to the summit on dirt and an occasional scree patch.

Well, clearly somebody's been up here for something...? Well, clearly somebody's been up here for something...? ✕

Firm meadow is interrupted by easy scree slopes. Firm meadow is interrupted by easy scree slopes. ✕

I found myself increasingly impressed by the views as I ascended. For such a diminutive little peak, this outlier has some impressive views on offer even partway up its ridge. Unfortunately for my body, I ended up a bit too distracted, and caught a small tree branch between my pole and legs.

The fall that ensued was nothing short of comical - a perfect, slow-motion tipover where you know you're going down, you know you can't help it, and your body can't even compute how to free itself and cushion the impact. I came down hard on my knee, putting a good and fairly bloody dent in it. Thankfully the wound was shallow and my pride was the most wounded part of my body, so I pressed upwards.

Overcast views towards the many remote summits of the Siffleur Wilderness Area.

Overcast views towards the many remote summits of the Siffleur Wilderness Area. ✕

Scree eventually gave way to a forested creek. I went for a brief bush and creek-whack through it, before emerging in a gully with some old slide debris and a few overhanging cornices higher up that looked just about ready to drop. Rather than expose myself to possible overhead hazard, I headed climber's right for a bit and contended with a loose boulder field similar to that found on Two O'Clock Peak. I likewise did not particularly fancy being crushed by a fridge-sized limestone rock in a bad mood, and took my time working up this before heading back climber's left.

Looking back from time to time, I noted that there was incoming rain visible over the Icefields, but in true DTC fashion it just sat there for well over an hour without moving. I was pretty confident I'd get away without being poured on whatsoever.

I soon found myself on steep, loose scree funnelling upwards into limestone slab, with more loose rock above that looked ready to come down on me if I pulled the wrong amount of scree out from under it. After getting it to wobble threateningly above me, I noped out to climber's left in a hurry, choosing a more favourable but still moderate gully upwards to...

I emerge from my bushwhack to mild slopes with some questionable cornices at distant left where the terrain narrows. I emerge from my bushwhack to mild slopes with some questionable cornices at distant left where the terrain narrows. ✕

The stacked plates at center shifted when I started the scree below my feet moving. Thanks, but no thanks. The stacked plates at center shifted when I started the scree below my feet moving. Thanks, but no thanks. ✕

Oh.

I found myself on an extremely pleasant grassy knoll directly below the summit ridge, with little more than a boulder-field bash and one or two obvously penetrable cliff bands in between me and it. I noted the terrain descending from the knoll to the west was extremely pleasant and should meet up with my ascent route just before the bushwhack, and saved that for later, choosing not to think about the time I'd "wasted" with my chosen route.

I made quick work of the mostly-easy ascent to the ridge, and popped out on top to views of the summit proper just a little further across. Looking back, I noted that suddenly the rain had started moving my way, and I might not be in for a great time after all.

Easy scrambling leads SSW from this point before merging with my ascent route. Easy scrambling leads SSW from this point before merging with my ascent route. ✕

Approaching the ridgeline. Note the cairn at upper right. Approaching the ridgeline. Note the cairn at upper right. ✕

Looking along the ridgeline towards the summit at center. Looking along the ridgeline towards the summit at center. ✕

I hurried across the summit ridge as fast as I reasonably could, keeping close to its apex despite my wariness - the massive cornices on the east side of the ridge gave a false sense of security I did not want to lean into, and I had no idea whether the drop-off was sheer or not. The cloud level - maybe 10-20 meters above my position - didn't help either, as it was impossible to focus on and I inevitably started feeling dizzy any time my eyes strayed from the ridgeline.

Unfortunately, I was a touch too slow, and clouds and light snow rolled in about ten minutes before I reached the uncairned summit. I took a panorama, as is my tradition, and started heading back, hoping to cross the worst of the limestone slab and rubble I'd traversed en route before it got too slick.

Disappointing views thwart my dreams of an amazing alpine panorama as I arrive just too late. Much wow. Much view. Much sarcasm.

Disappointing views thwart my dreams of an amazing alpine panorama as I arrive just too late. Much wow. Much view. Much sarcasm. ✕

I realized pretty quickly that no, I would not be making a hasty retreat, and resigned myself for a potentially lengthy descent on slick limestone. I took my time picking my way across one boulder and bit of rubble at a time, not at all regretting my decision to get out and go scrambling but admittedly more than a bit miffed at the lack of views.

I paused at one point where a lack of cornicing let me peer over the ridge's east side at the Landslide Lake trail, which I want to go up this later year, and noted class 4 slide debris that may very possibly have wiped out the trail altogether, along with a completely snowbound saddle between my minor summit and Whirlpool Ridge. It'll be interesting to see what trail conditions are like this summer once the snow melts.

Debris from a huge class 4 avalanche covers the Landslide Lake access trail. I wouldn't be surprised if the trail has been destroyed. Debris from a huge class 4 avalanche covers the Landslide Lake access trail. I wouldn't be surprised if the trail has been destroyed. ✕

The Whirlpool Ridge saddle is still completely snowbound. The Whirlpool Ridge saddle is still completely snowbound. ✕

The fog briefly parted as I returned, and I was able to take a brief panorama of the area before continuing my descent. I decided to use the route I'd theorized, and after painstakingly picking my way down far more slick limestone than I would have liked (and nearly going for a slide that wouldn't have killed but would have hurt a LOT) I found myself surfing down pleasantly loose scree slopes in dense fog, with light rain coming down all around.

Fog parts to the southwest as I return along the summit ridge. Note the low and somewhat-dizzying cloud level.

Fog parts to the southwest as I return along the summit ridge. Note the low and somewhat-dizzying cloud level. ✕

Once I reckoned I was beyond the bushwhack, I started trending to skier's left, hoping to rejoin my ascent route and return to my car from there. I plotted a route on my phone that looked reasonable on satellite, and sent it to my GPS watch - which promptly crashed.

The photos I took on descent are probably the single strongest argument I can make for carrying redundant sources of GPS navigation in the alpine. In good conditions, when you can see the surrounding summits, you can make do without any navigation whatsoever. If you have a series of landmarks to navigate by and a paper map and compass, you are likewise set even in rainy conditions. But off-trail in dense fog, without landmarks to micronavigate by, GPS is the only workable option in most cases. Outside of using it, you can head downhill and hope you don't get cliffed out, or wait (potentially days) for the fog to clear.

Thankfully, after a few minutes of waiting and readying my phone for navigation just in case it didn't come back, my watch rebooted and I carried on.

Remind me where the heck I am again?

Remind me where the heck I am again? ✕

As I navigated blindly downwards with little more than a GPX route to guide me back to my ascent ridge, I heard a distinct, deep thrumming that I can only describe as a "wubbing" sound, and paused to look for it. Sure enough, after only a few seconds I spotted the extremely distinctive crimson air sac of a Dusky Grouse.

The bird seemed curious more than scared and allowed me to approach reasonably close, and I found myself wishing for a better camera than the 5x lens on my phone. Alas, in a post-COVID era where even a decent compact camera is $1000+, I am firmly locked out of that art form for the time being, and so contented myself with capturing the memory instead of something frame-able.

Wub wub wub. Wub wub wub. ✕

The fog was even worse in person. This photo is probably the best argument for carrying a redundant GPS unit that I have. The fog was even worse in person. This photo is probably the best argument for carrying a redundant GPS unit that I have. ✕

I continued my descent, learning the hard way that exposed roots also are fairly slippery and should not be trusted when wet, and adding a few extra bruises to my banged-up knee, which was now starting to complain about its earlier bruising. Thankfully my new rain pants held up to the beating extremely well, and it wasn't too long before I'd made it below the clouds and was strolling back towards my car along the lower ridge, with scenic views of the North Saskatchewan River ahead.

The clouds part once again, and I get a very different and yet still gorgeous view over the North Saskatchewan.

The clouds part once again, and I get a very different and yet still gorgeous view over the North Saskatchewan. ✕

On returning to Banff, I did a fair bit more research on this little unnamed point. I have to admit it intrigues me - the prescence of cairns all the way to the summit ridge, combined with the OpenStreetMaps trail, confirms I'm not the first person to at least get that far, and likely not the first to summit this diminutive 2600m point either. But try as I might, I cannot find any trip reports associated with the area.

Interestingly, the trail on OpenStreetMaps is labelled "Whirlpool Point Route". This is certainly not correct, as it is already taken. Whirlpool Point is a short hike along the North Saskatchewan River near the base of this ascent. With that in mind, I'm referring to this scramble for now as "Little Whirlpool", at least until I find a more appropriate name.

Naming conventions aside, Little Whirlpool is definitely in my top five scrambles to date. Charging off into the unknown without a GPX route or any form of other beta to follow, testing my routefinding skills, taking a few minor knocks, and emerging victorious at the end of it all made for a great experience, snow and rain or not. Even when wet, I'd rate my route as no more than upper moderate, and I think it'd make a pretty great half-day objective for more seasoned or determined scramblers.