Wandering the Drummond Icefield

As I sat in my office, pondering the tiny pack on the floor next to me, I couldn’t help but wonder if I’d gone a little too far this time. As regular readers of explor8ion will know by now, I’ve been slowly transitioning into an Ultra Light proponent for quite a few years now. I think I may have finally arrived. 😀

After seeing Phil with a 24 litre UL pack the weekend before on our Kellwasser & Little Brother excursion, I realized that I needed to get serious about my own UL setup for these kinds of “smash and grab” overnight trips. I’ve used a “sort of” UL setup for the past few years but there are usually some non-UL components that manage to sneak in. Well, this time I was determined to go full UL. No compromise.

There are several key bits of gear and personal evolutions that allowed me to fit everything for a 2-night trip into my new Black Diamond Distance 22. Yes. A 22 litre pack was going to have to hold and carry all my gear for a 3-day trip. Including food. Here’s some of how this worked;

1. OMAD. My “One Meal a Day” discipline allows me to carry (and eat) much less food on short trips than most people. For better or worse, I only needed 4 granola bars and one dried meal a day along with a few mints. Black coffee to start things off in the morning with lots of water consumed during the trek and maybe a mint or two to keep me sane.
2. Zpacks Plex Solo Tent. Modern UL tents are ridiculous. I mean c’mon. 348g for a fully waterproof, surprisingly roomy (I’m 6’ tall) shelter?! It packs down to nothing. Amazing.
3. Neo Air Uber Lite sleeping pad. I’m not even sure these are made anymore but my version packs to the size of an orange, weighs nothing and is pure comfort. How the heck did they do that?
4. Rab Mythic Ultra 360 sleeping bag. Packs to nothing. Weighs next to nothing. Warm enough for 3 seasons.
5. Mammut Kento Light HS waterproof jacket. This has to be one of the world’s lightest waterproof, breathable jackets. It’s incredible.
6. Patagonia Houdini pants. I was worried about the waterproofness of these - they aren’t technically rain pants - but I figured they’d be “good enough”. They are windproof.
7. Esbit Titanium Stove & Solid Fuel system. Likely the biggest change in my backpacking system. I’ve written about it before, but compared to liquid or Isopro systems it’s a huge space and weight savings.

That’s pretty much the bulk of what allowed me to fit everything into the Distance 22 pack. I always wanted to try a runners pack for multiday trips and now I was excited to do just that. I bought two 500ml Solomon narrow soft body flasks for water and managed to fit my BeFree water filter cap on one of them to allow safe drinking. (Of course, as usual, I didn’t actually carry very much water since we were literally walking IN or beside water every day.)

When researching for an UL backpack, I kept reading that the Distance 22 was at the very edge of what was practical. After using it, I can confirm that rather than the space, it’s the weight that is the limit for this bag.

If you are thinking about putting more than 10 or 12 TOTAL pounds (including food and water) into it, the Distance 22 will not carry comfortably. Even with my very limited food weight, the pack carried much better on day 2 (hardly any gear needed for the day trip from basecamp) and day 3 (most of the food eaten).

I think I could just barely manage a 4-day trip with this setup but day 1 wouldn’t be the most comfortable carry I’ve ever had.

As we hiked along the trails of Skoki I was constantly amazed at the size - and presumably weight - of the backpacks we were seeing. Surely equipment has evolved beyond the 60-80 litre backpack nowadays? Maybe not.

I know many folks argue that we are giving up comfort and / or safety to go UL but I don’t agree. I carried down booties for the tent, a small first aid kit and didn’t even use all my warm layers. I had toque, gloves and rain gear. Heck! I even brought deodorant (might not next time). Phone charger, headphones and a pillow that doubles as a waterproof bag provided plenty of camp comforts for me. Ok, ok. Enough of the gear talk already Vern. What the heck were you and Dr. Phil up to this weekend?! Let’s get into that.

Many years ago now - over a decade in fact - the good doctor and I spent 1.5 days ascending Mount Drummond in the upper Red Deer River area, just past Skoki in Lake Louise. We loved the area so much that we were back a few years later to tag two more summits towering over the Drummond Icefield - Pipestone and Cyclone Peak.

We weren’t done with the area around Mount Drummond. In 2018 we tackled the even more remote and obscure Mount McConnell, hiking 39kms in 12 hours with 1300m height gain and 800m height loss just on our approach day. We ended that smokey apocalyptic trip with an ascent of Tilted Mountain and a very cool moment with a grizzly. And remember - no UL setup for either of us yet at this point! 😮

I remember looking through the smokey haze at the incredible cliffs coming off the summit of Mount Drummond as we ascended McConnell and feeling small. Feeling small is something you’d best get used to if you do any of the aforementioned trips.

Believe it or not, I still wasn’t done with the Drummond massif! In 2022 I hiked and scrambled Forgotten Peak with Sara Mclean. Our view of impossibly high waterfalls plunging hundreds of meters off the north end of the icefield were stunning. And then? Only a week previous to this trip, Phil and I once again stared at huge cliffs dropping down from the northern end of the Drummond Icefield as we exited Little Brother Peak to the Pipestone River valley.

You may have guessed just what we were up to the following weekend but in case you haven’t, here’s a map.

Phil first mentioned exploring the Drummond Icefield and some of its unnamed northern summits years ago. Honestly, I didn’t think much of it or have great expectations for the venture. Sure! I thought it might be scenic (remember - I’d seen this area many times), but I simply wasn’t feeling it. The amount of effort vs the reward seemed skewed for some reason.

And then, as often happens, I got inspired. After a wonderful trip the weekend before, with the prospect of waiting until mid-August or later for the next one with Phil, I was up for pretty much anything he wanted to get after. Yep. He was back banging on the Drummond Icefield drum! Goddammit Phil! 🥁 I finally caved and we made plans.

I picked Phil up in Canmore. His immediate and unrestrained comment on seeing my tiny pack sitting on the back seat was appropriately irreverent and made it all worth it. 🤬😀

We proceeded up Hwy #1 to the always busy Fish Creek parking lot near the Lake Louise ski hill. In a surprise move, we both didn’t feel like biking a steep 4 kilometers up the ski-out road and set off on foot in cool morning air.

Conversation flowed freely at this early point in the trip and revolved around the strange naming of the area. Although we were hiking up Corral Creek, the parking lot is known as “Fish Creek”. What the heck? Where is “Fish Creek”? It’s all a giant mystery folks. Don’t over think it. We soon passed through the Lake Louise ski resort at the top of the road and proceeded up a very familiar, well used, trail to Boulder Pass.

If I’m 100% honest I wasn’t feeling it yet at this point. I’ve hiked and skied this darn trail SO MANY TIMES over the years! It all started way back in 2005 with a 72-hour peak bagging fest with my brother and cousin, but it’s been almost yearly (or more) ever since.

Don’t get me wrong - there’s a reason I’ve spent so many heartbeats in the Skoki area of Banff National Park. It’s gorgeous. Especially in the fall when the larches are shining bright, this area is almost not possible to beat in terms of scenery. But it wasn’t fall and the larches were a “dull” green. I wasn’t inspired just yet. I’ve seen green trees and tired trails before.

We agreed to hike past the Skoki Lakes on approach rather than the much less scenic hike over Deception Pass. Despite some lingering snow patches, the hike went by quickly and soon we were meeting a surprising number of other trekkers past Zigadenus and Myosotis Lake. There were even some hardcore folks taking a dip in Myosotis at 1100 hours! Neither of us felt it was quite that warm! 🏊

We descended through the keyhole down the headwall to Skoki Valley and followed the trail all the way to Skoki Lodge before turning back up the creek to the trail leading off to Jones Pass. Lots of memories in here, including a few where we thought we were encountering bears but both turned out to be dear instead.

Despite enjoying the conversation and the tiny pack, I still wasn’t jazzed at this point. It was all just a long plod through way too familiar landscapes. Yes I know. I’m spoiled! I’m OK with that. There is a point, no matter how beautiful, that an area gets too familiar for its own good. The conversation helped speed things along and as we passed through the Red Deer Lakes campground my badittude started to improve.

Even I couldn’t resist the pull of the Drummond massif as we hiked the scenic set of bridges over a tiny Red Deer River to the warden cabin compound and beyond. Someone had very recently trimmed the annoying willows next to the trail for the next km or so - that was very nice.

While Phil chased the source of an intermittent outflow stream (sometimes it’s there, sometimes it’s not), I crossed a sketchy log over the rapids and parked my a$$ under a tree at Drummond flats for a few minutes of quiet rest.

Mount Drummond loomed ahead and the glacier was barely visible - still a few kms north of my position. Birds chirped happily in the forest behind me and life was all good. I was officially into the trip at this point. 🐦 Soon Phil came scampering down the trail to join me and we started up the Drummond Creek drainage, looking for an appropriate campsite (yes, we had permits).

In a surprise to absolutely NOBODY at all, we had been noting since leaving the parking lot that we were going to be arriving at camp too early today. We realized too late that we should have made this a 1/2 or 3/4 day. We would be at camp at 1500 hours. Sitting in bugs and heat for 6+ hours, no matter how lovely the setting, was simply not going to happen. What to do with all that extra time?

You know what we did. As we completed the approach to a perfect site overlooking a lively Drummond Creek, we agreed that an afternoon romp up a south outlier of Mount Drummond was the perfect way to avoid the heat and the relentless bugs at camp. 🦟

After setting up camp we donned next-to-nothing packs and started a slow but measured attack up Mount Drummond’s SW flank. A short willow-whack led to lovely shaded forest but alas, the shadows didn’t last long.

Soon we found ourselves on hardpack moraine and a steep, loose drainage that were all too familiar despite an 11 year absence. At least we weren’t in a snowstorm this time!

After following a very steep and loose, somewhat dangerous feeling gully, we topped out under huge south rubble slopes leading to our summit. At this point it felt like we were getting somewhere and we deviated routes a little to suit our moods.

We weren’t close.

Holy cow! This little meaningless outlier was by far the steepest grind of the entire adventure! Endless rubble just kept going and going on this sucker. Looking back down at the lovely Drummond Tarn on a rubble plateau below didn’t help the legs - this thing was straight up all the way from camp.

Finally, 2 hours after leaving the Drummond flats, we topped out at a high col under the west ridge leading to the summit. Views past the east face were mind blowing and a little scary. This is the sort of terrain that makes your feet wobble more than usual and you have to look away before glancing back. Dark cliffs with lingering snow and ice plunged thousands of feet straight down to the McConnell drainage far below.

The peak justified itself over the next hour or so as we worked our way up the easy west ridge to more stunning views at the summit. I was hoping we’d have a good vantage over the remote Douglas Lake and did we ever.

What surprised me a little were the views the other way, down the Red Deer River towards Skeleton Lake and familiar eastern Banff peaks such as Prow Mountain. Mount McConnell stared back at us somewhat petulantly.

After lingering at the summit (no obvious cairn) we realized that time was ticking by and we’d taken much longer to ascend than originally planned. Our descent to camp was surprisingly fun and easy despite the steep, loose terrain.

Unsurprisingly, camp was still buggy but less hot now that it was 1930 hours when we got there. Supper was a quiet, reflective affair after a long day tramping through Banff wilderness.

By 2030 we were in the tents, listening to podcasts and settling in for the night. It was a good day and I drifted off around 2200 to the sound of the creek just below my tent.

We didn’t set alarms for the main event but were up at 0630 to tackle an exciting day on the Drummond Icefield. The night was warm considering where we were and we both slept well. I didn’t know what to expect from today. Sure! I knew we’d be wandering over rock and snow all day, probably with some decent views but I got far more than that.

We left camp at 0730, wandering up Drummond Creek and encountering bits of old camps and even some ribbons along the way. It seems like someone must ride their horses here on occasion?

As usual in the AM, we were full of piss & vinegar and didn’t suss out the best route on approach to the lower icefield. It all worked out in the end, but we found a much less willowy route many hours later on return.

The creek was ice cold as we made the dozen or so crossings towards an obvious ramp system leading up to the icefield on center right (east) under towering cliffs under Mount Drummond.

At first the terrain looked intimidating but as usual once we got closer things broke down. We wandered past some interesting signs of previous human activity including a couple of old fire rings and hints of a trail. Just as the willows closed in we came to the end of the valley with a lovely set of water falls plunging down towards us. Not knowing which side of the valley would provide the best access to the icefield, we chose the right hand side for our ascent.

While researching the trip, Phil plotted route lines up and along the 4 easternmost, northern high points of the icefield. I went onto bivouac.com and told him that peak “DR4” might actually be the highest one of the bunch. We added it to the list despite its intimidating appearance both on satellite imagery and in my photo taken from Cyclone Mountain.

Of course, at this early stage of the day, we had no idea which of our plans would work out and which would prove foolhardy. This is the whole point of these trips and this is why we love them. Without any summertime beta (only a few ski traverses that we could find documented) we had no idea what to expect.

It turns out that the Drummond Icefield is a pretty darn magical place in the warmer months. Right from the creek, as we ascended the toe of the icefields, we encountered a beautiful falls winding its way energetically through giant slabs of smooth rock. From here things just got better and better despite a distinct smokey haze doing its best to ruin our views.

We took our time, knowing that we had all day to explore the area. Starting on smooth slabs (so smooth they reflected the morning sun), we slowly hiked up along a lively stream draining the still distant snow and ice. Finding fossils along the way slowed our progress which was very neat.

As we ascended I could see that despite hoping we could somehow avoid most of the Drummond Glacier, this wasn’t going to happen if we wanted to nab 2 or 3 of the more prominent summits at its northern end. We could spot an almost snow-free line to the first target (DR1) but the others looked like they would almost certainly require glacier travel.

This wasn’t a huge concern on a relatively tame icefield but caution would obviously be required if we decided to continue. We focused on “DR1” - one peak at a time! 🏔️

Following a series of ribs between snow and ice, we slowly inched our way up to a rib running N-S up to just below the west face of our first objective.

It was almost impossible to tell how high it was due to the surrounding terrain and the shape of the peak. We just kept going up and up and up.

Views off the west ridge to the north were stunning but the scrambling stayed easy. It soon became obvious that not only was “DR1” a lofty peak, it was a good 150 meters higher than any of our sources reported it and was almost certainly the highest peak on the Drummond Icefield other than Drummond itself. Cool!

As I approached a small summit cairn at the apex of our first mountain, I was shocked to spot a PVC tube sitting loosely beside the pile of rocks.

I’ve been on so many obscure (but official) summits with no register, and here was one sitting on top of an unofficial peak, ready to blow away! I was pretty sure it would be an old and scarcely populated register and sure enough, as I peeled back the damp pages there was only one previous entry. In 1988 a group from Edmonton ascended “DR1” on New Years Eve - an impressive feat considering the short daylight hours at that time of year. The register was too damp for me to add our names but I managed to wedge it tightly back into the cairn.

Unsurprisingly, despite the smoke, the views were pretty darn sweet from almost 3200 meters and we enjoyed memories of camping in the meadows far below the east face back when we approached and ascended Mount McConnell. That trip also involved smokey views, dammit BC - quit sending us your ash clouds! 🔥We could see Smoky Mountain (ironic, yes) and other remote giants in the Roaring Creek area.

After enjoying what turned out to be our highest point of the day, we conferenced on the rest of it. Despite planning what looked from space as a relatively easy stroll from “DR1” over “DR2” towards “DR3”, from ground level things looked slightly more complex. Funny how that happens. It’s not that we couldn’t get up “DR2”, it was a matter of priority. How badly did we want to? A band of cliffs looked problematic and a dramatic height loss / regain was going to be required to tag what was likely the lowest northern peak.

As we descended back to our N-S access ridge we waffled back and forth on our next objective. The glacier below was pretty darn big and obviously would have slots hidden under the winter snows that still covered most of the ice beneath.

Without rope or crevasse gear, we had to be smart with our route. At first we decided to hike right down to the toe of the ice before looping back up towards “DR3” but as we hiked high above the icefield I told Phil that I thought we could shortcut directly across it.

He wasn’t entirely convinced right away, but as long as I walked in front Phil agreed to give the glacier crossing a try. I’ve been on countless glaciers in the Rockies and was pretty confident that as long as we avoided rolls and bumps we’d be safe. I was right. We picked a flat section of the icefield and slowly worked our way SW towards another rock and slab ridge running S-N to our second summit of the day.

We avoided several obvious holes before finally stepping off snow and back onto interesting rock leading up to the very easy “DR3” - another lofty summit over 3100 meters.

The smoke seemed to be clearing off a bit as we hiked to our second rock cairn. Immediately I spotted a very old register that was blown apart. It was a rusty can of sorts and I was disappointed that there was no register in it.

As I rooted around a bit more I saw a tiny film canister. Sweet! This would likely be another old record, and indeed it was.

In 1991 Jenny Lee and her dog ascended what she dubbed “St. George’s Peak” from Skoki. Theirs was the 2nd entry on the tiny slip of paper but I couldn’t tell if the two entries were from the same ascent party or not.

From “DR3”, “DR2” was lower and “DR1” was higher. Unfortunately, “DR4” was inconclusive from this vantage, meaning we had to go give it a look next. Being a consummate peakbagger is not always an easy life folks. 😀

Once again, our views from up here were sublime. Looking towards Forgotten Peak and Cataract Peak reminded us of more adventures. We could even spot peaks that we’d been on only a week previous.

Sometimes when I stand on a remote summit and gaze around, I feel exhausted just thinking about all the other trips I’ve done over the years. 😩

The hours were slowly ticking by as we descended easy south slopes of “DR3” down towards the expansive icefield below. As we hiked down I noticed a set of massive waterfalls at the north end and realized that these were visible on my ascent of Forgotten Peak back in 2022 with Sara.

It was so cool to spot them from above this time and to know where the route from the Pipestone River valley goes up to the Drummond Icefield. This is a well known ski traverse and must be some fantastic terrain in winter!

The crossing towards “DR4” went pretty easily despite some steeper rolls and bare ice necessitating short detours on route. As we traversed to the bottom of the south face of “DR4” I wondered if we’d suss out a route. The terrain looked steep and complex from space, from Cyclone Peak years earlier and now, directly from below.

Making things even more unsure was the simple fact that there was no way to tell from any vantage other than the summit, just where the highest point was. This is an issue only found on obscure peaks with very little (or no) beta. You can thank me later. 😀

Phil decided at this point that he was getting tired of the relentless wind and would descend to a hidden tarn and let me enjoy the last peak on my own. I wasn’t sure it would go, but I was here now so I started up the south face on loose scree and dirt to an obvious line of low cliffs that looked problematic.

I tried several lower breaks before backing down and trying one last possibility higher on the south face. A very short SC6+ traverse over a low cliff and I was through the rock band, heading steeply up to a summit above. I still had NO idea which summit was the highest, but my decision was made easy by the terrain. There was only one I was willing to try.

I left lots of cairns to find my way back down as I raced upward. Why race? There was a dark cloud overhead that was threatening rain and potentially thunder so I didn’t linger.

As I topped out on my 3rd peak of the day I wasn’t even surprised anymore to see not only a giant cairn, but a nalgene register sitting pretty-as-you-please within. I was surprised, however, to open it and realize that unlike the two old registers I’d opened already today, this one was from August 2025. “X” named this peak “Grampion” after his hometown in Austria.

So, was I actually on the highest peak on the “DR4” massif? I think so, yes. Anything to the west was lower, including a very dramatic outlier immediately beside me that kept my camera warm. The peak immediately east of my position looked to be very similar in height and way too terrifying to bother double checking. I’m going with “same” on that one. 🙂

It had only taken me around 40 minutes to ascend “DR4” and with dark clouds overhead and Phil waiting below, I didn’t linger long at the summit. I managed to sign the dry register and enjoy the relatively smokeless views before following my line of cairns back down the tricky southeast face and low cliffs.

From the bottom of “DR4” I followed Phil’s tracks over a scenic snow bank and then descended loose rubble and boulders to the hidden tarn below where he was lounging comfortably nearby.

Now all we had to do was exit back to camp. Easy right? NOPE. Since the day before, we’d spotted what looked like a scenic route back to camp, well to the south of the icefield. A high ridge rimmed by massive cliffs above and below looked like it might be a perfect way to end our day but there were some serious unknowns.

Firstly, how the heck could we access this ledge system from the icefield? Since earlier that morning, we’d both been keen on avoiding the west side of the icefield and now here we were, hiking it. Why avoid it? Cliffs, cliffs and more cliffs. From our ascent line it all looked pretty darn terrifying. The second issue with the ledge system was an obvious rockslide event part way along it, resulting in a choke point that could be difficult to get past safely.

Now that we were exactly where we hadn’t really planned to be, we had a key choice to make. We knew we could head east along the edge of the glacier over a series of ledges back to our ascent route. But that sounded boring, so we made the extremely dubious choice to work our way directly towards the high traverse and hope things just kept working out the way they had been so far today. Sometimes you just have to GO FOR IT (with fingers crossed behind your back). 🤞😀

The next few hours were explor8ion bliss. Some days are like that. Every time we thought FOR SURE we were encountering impassible cliffs, we found relatively easy routes down and through them. Rock walls towered hundreds of meters above us with waterfalls misting and plunging their way over scary exposures on all sides. Rock, ice, clouds and snow combined with some of the craziest views I’ve experienced in the Rockies.

It was almost impossible to capture the vast scale of the rock walls looming to our right as we snuck carefully down ledges and snow ramps below. More than once we were saved by lingering snow - letting us slide easily over terrain that would be smooth cliffs later in the season. Again and again routes opened up under us, sucking us towards a huge ledge parked half way up the cliffs below Pipestone and Cyclone mountains.

Finally, with one last sneaky plunge down a snow covered cliff face, we found ourselves homefree at the north end of the ledge.

Phil turned and asked me if I still wanted to try the ledge or start heading east at this point. We still had daylight so I said, why not try and he agreed. We set off and almost immediately came across a goat path with a couple of cairns along it. This seemed like a very good omen! As before, towering cliffs shed water into a small tarn as we walked through a magical landscape towards the chokepoint ahead.

As we approached the rockslide our route looked more and more difficult until we stood still and pondered things. It would likely go. There was an 88.8% chance that we’d make something work but a few of the steeper, looser sections gave us pause. What to do?

I told Phil we were only 15-20 minutes MAX from the north end of the ledge and could easily turn back at this point without much loss. We’d seen the impressive waterfalls and cliffs and scoped out the route ahead. Why push things further than we had to? He agreed and we turned back.

Descending near the cairns (maybe that’s why they were there) proved relatively straightforward if a little convoluted. We knew from our approach hours before which gully system we wanted to get into and traversed several intervening ones to get there. It was very important to hit the right one to avoid getting hopelessly cliffed out.

The route worked well and soon we were stumbling down a gully we’d spotted much earlier that morning, glad to be going down it rather than up as originally planned.

Phil led a much less willow-intensive route back to camp and 13 hours after leaving, we arrived back at our delightful bivy along Drummond Creek.

Our timing was pretty good. Just as we finished a late supper a small tstorm came roaring in over Pipestone Peak and chased us to our tents for the night. What an enjoyable day! Once again, the good doctor picked a helluva route that kept delivering views and adventure the entire day.

We woke at our site above Drummond Creek on Sunday morning and slowly packed up camp after wonderful adventures the day before. It was cloudy and cool - perfect for a long return hike back through Skoki.

There isn’t much to say about it. It was lovely as usual, but long and familiar too. I don’t mind days like this. We got what we came from the day before and now we were paying the price for a remote adventure.

We’ve done so many of these endless returns, honestly this one felt quite easy. Even hiking down the road along Corral Creek wasn’t the bear I thought it’d be without the bikes.

Within 5.5 hours of our camp on Drummond Creek we were striding into a hot, dusty parking lot at Fish Creek.