Sky Pilot Awaits: Your Next Summit Challenge in Squamish, BC
Eleven years ago, everything changed for Sky Pilot Mountain. Before that, this 2,083-metre peak—the highest in the Britannia Range near Squamish, British Columbia—was a remote scramble, accessed only by intrepid mountaineers who either dirt-biked up a forestry road until it turned into a trail, at about 1,000 metres of elevation; or even more audacious folks who challenged it on foot from sea level.
But in 2014, the Sea to Sky Gondola opened and anyone with a day pass could now be whisked 885 metres upwards from Highway 99 to the Sky Pilot trailhead (among other activities at the gondola lodge). Sky Pilot became more accessible than ever before—which was both good and bad.
With a much lower barrier to entry, folks who lacked a dirt bike or the energy to climb 2,000 vertical metres (and back) could now attempt this scramble. But with more foot traffic up the peak—well, not everybody’s going to show up prepared. At least three people have died on Sky Pilot in the past 11 years—and there are multiple rescues every season.
Regardless of the luxury of a gondola car, the majority of the route is still a demanding 15-kilometre out-and-back with 1,200 metres of vertical gain. And from about the halfway point on, it becomes a true scramble—with icefields, scree slopes and a collection of “no fall zones” to keep your heart rate up. (As if the exertion wasn’t enough.)
As such, guide and Helly Hansen ambassador JF Plouffe is showing us the way today. Plouffe is a local legend in Squamish—and a mountain guide with more than 20 years of experience. He explains why folks looking to summit this iconic peak should contact a guide like him first:
“Hiring a guide allows you to navigate the technical terrain and manage the exposure. And also, time management—you can leave the gondola, climb and get back in time to catch the last ride,” he says. “Plus, you’re learning a whole bunch. So, in the future, you can use this knowledge to climb other peaks. It’s a day to climb the peak—but it is knowledge for a whole season.”
Testament to his guiding determination and his fitness level, he casually mentions he’d summited Sky Pilot the day before to “see the conditions.”
Guides are wild like that.
Leaving from the gondola, the hike begins along the same logging road Plouffe and his friends dirt-biked on years before. There are even a couple of bikes parked en route; testament to the way some locals are still going Old School on Sky Pilot. It’s a mellow introduction to what will be one of my biggest days out since my kids were born, about five years earlier.
Most of my kid-free hiking these days is squeezed into a sneaky morning. We’ll be out about 10 hours today, taking our time as the route turns to a scramble, and using our harnesses, helmets, ice axes and micro-spikes—all essential gear for the summit push.
“Because of the gondola, it is super accessible for a lot of people… People think it’s therefore easy. Sky Pilot has some technical terrain. It has glaciers and crevasses… It has a headwall and some rock climbing,” Plouffe continues. “At first, it’s a gentle trail, then when we arrive on the glacier, it really starts. It goes from a Jack Johnson song to Iron Maiden!”
It’s a weekday, and a cloudy one at that, so Sky Pilot is seeing far fewer people than it does at peak times. We encounter a couple groups early on; one running from a wasp’s nest buried in the forested trail on which we began and soon we spot another trio of hikers when we break out of the treeline and onto an icefield.
We look like an Everest Ascent Team next to these three twenty-somethings staring at Sky Pilot’s summit, some 600 metres above us. They’re in t-shirts, with only one of them wearing a backpack and all three in running shoes. The sound of falling rocks signals us to strap on helmets and we break out our axes and spikes to ascend the snowfield as it curves upslope. The other trio has none of these items.
It’s situations like these where guides, not gatekeepers of a route but well-meaning associates, may simply ask a passersby, “Do you have a plan to get down?” Plouffe tells me sometimes it’s enough to make a person think twice about going further. Today, it seems to have some effect.
I’m thankful for my knee braces and the protein-packed snacks and water I have in my Helly Hansen Resistor backpack. At 45 litres, the pack may seem too big for a day trip, but between the helmet, the ice-axe, the spikes, ropes, snacks, food, water and some basic survival equipment—and the compression straps to snug it all up—it’s not. Plouffe, our guide, has emergency bivvies and a suite of safety equipment, but if we were going un-guided, we’d need to consider the chance of a sudden summer squall trapping us overnight.
The weather seems stable, for now. But it’s moody. We’re not expecting disaster, but no one is. As such, we’re also using gear equipped with RECCO reflectors—specifically the backpack and my Verglas Infinity Shell Jacket 2.0.
RECCO partners with brands like Helly Hansen to integrate these reflectors into such things as apparel and backpacks. The reflectors—which need no power source and are effectively imperceptible by the wearer—can be detected at a distance by search-and-rescue via a RECCO detector. SAR can even dangle these detectors from a helicopter—meaning they can scan for lost souls at a rate of one-square-kilometre in six minutes; a particularly useful toolkit in the dense coastal temperate rainforest that surrounds Squamish.
A climb up the famous Pink Slab follows our completion of the snow-slope. It’s a Class 4/5 scramble/climb, depending how you look at it. Class 4 means you gotta climb it with your hands and feet. Class 5 means ropes. We use the latter method. The consequences of a fall are too high.
Last fall, Explore Magazine columnist Will Gadd wrote about scrambling—and the subtle dangers therein. (He noted there has been a tenfold increase in rope-free climbing and/or scrambling deaths in the US over the past 10 years.) As we chatted about his article, I mentioned I’d just returned from Sky Pilot.
“It’s full madness up there right now,” Gadd said, referencing the ever-increasing flocks of oft-ill-prepared scramblers who attempt this summit. In fact, following a rescue on Sky Pilot in June of this year, Squamish Search and Rescue issued this warning about the summit:
“Despite its popularity, Sky Pilot is NOT a trekking peak. It’s serious alpine terrain with a history of major incidents and fatalities. Rescues in this area are technically demanding and high-risk for our team. We are increasingly concerned that this terrain is being underestimated.”
I’m glad to have a guide like Plouffe at the lead. Summiting Sky Pilot is not terrifying, nor is it especially technical beyond being a big, tiring day. But as we finish the Pink Slab and walk along a ridgeline with death-falls on either side, I can see it’s no walk in the park.
“You have to be able to do [the climb] at a good pace,” Plouffe says. “If you’ve never scrambled before in your life, but have strong fitness, we can manage this climb. But without strong fitness, it won’t work.”
The final push sees us being passed by a couple of Gen Z trail runners, again, far less equipped than our team. They each solo-climb the last push—a Class 5 scramble by most standards. At least this duo, Squamish locals as we would learn when we congregate at the summit, seems competent.
Using ropes, we follow them up the Chimney, as it’s known, which leads us to the summit and what would surely be the most splendid 360-panorama of the Howe Sound, Stawamus Chief, Garibaldi Provincial Park and beyond.
But not today.
Thick coastal clouds have enshrouded us and the view is an eternity of white. It’s actually kind of cool—we could be alone in the universe up there, surrounded by mist. At least that’s what we tell ourselves now missing out on some seriously epic “big view” selfies.
But it truly doesn’t matter. We climbed a mountain today. We’re standing on a peak more than two kilometres above sea level. We got up safely and we’ll get down the same.
And that’s always awesome.
If You Go
Connect with JF Plouffe for guiding services by messaging him on Instagram at @jfplouffe
Learn more about the Sea to Sky Gondola at seatoskygondola.com
Trusted Gear
You won’t need mountaineering boots—but supportive, waterproof hikers that are lightweight and athletic are essential. Helly Hansen’s Ascender Mid Helly Tech Waterproof Hiking Boots ($240) are a great choice.
Layers are your friend—hiking in summer means a sweaty start, but by the time you’re on the snowfields, it can be downright chilly and the weather can change quickly. For pants, try the Helly Hansen Brono Softshell Pants ($140), which are light enough for summer but protective enough for scrambling rocks.
I packed a heavier three-layer shell, but since weight is of a primary concern when you’re climbing 1,200 metres, Helly Hansen’s Verglas 2.5 Layer Fastpack Jacket ($195), a lightweight but weatherproof unit, is a better choice. Pair it with the brand’s Loke Pants 2.0 ($140), a 2.5-layer Hellytech Performance seam-sealed rain pant. Together, they barely take up more room than a Nalgene.
Beyond this outerwear—wicking base layers (we like ones that also offer sun protection, like the Shine Solen Half-Zip Sun Hoodie; $70); plus a mid-weight midlayer, the 10 essentials, one-litre water bottle and a filter (there is water en route), food; plus a helmet, harness, ropes, ice-axe and crampons/micro-spikes… but those latter five items will likely be provided by your guide.
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