Whistler Museum and Archives Society

Kayakers as Glacier GaugersKayakers as Glacier Gaugers

July 21, 2026 Whistler Museum 0 Comments

Featured Image: Lyall Featherstonehaugh paddles the Cheakamus River on May 11, 1980, during a demonstration organized for the Whistler Chamber of Commerce to showcase kayaking opportunities in the Whistler area as part of their May Day celebrations. Whistler Question Collection.

Longtime Whistler kayaker Shawn ‘Puddles’ Hughes left me with an interesting concept: he said he viewed his paddling as a way of “recycling the snow.” In the winter he skis, in the summer, he rides the snowmelt down the rivers – sporting an intimate balance with the hydrological cycle. However, the notion of balance is perhaps, now, better replaced with the term ‘dance’ or ‘positioning’…because, as Hughes has experienced firsthand, over the decades, the waterflow levels and patterns have been changing.

I was fascinated. The impact of glacial recession on local skiing and snowboarding has garnered attention with the closing of the Horstman Glacier on Blackcomb for summer camps in 2023, however this was the first time I had had reason to consider the impact on other non-on mountain sports. As the Whistler Museum actively continues to gather oral histories from a generational cross-section of local kayakers, I extended the question to Archer McLeay, a pivotal advocate within and for the paddling community: a relative newcomer on the scene, having lived in the Sea to Sky for 5 years, moving here, however, for the kayaking.

I asked McLeay, if in his handful of years here, he had witnessed the impact of glacier recession in the waters. He unequivocally answered: “It’s drastic.”

This aligns with Hughes’ deduction that “after 40 years of visually watching this, we’re in some trouble.”

McLeay elaborates “ideally … you get a huge snow base, and that’s what’s traditionally happened. […] Normally, there’s just a massive amount of snow up here. It all melts pretty consistently throughout the year, and you should get like a nice long season.” But that has been changing.

“The Cheakamus has got a way bigger glacial head bond, so that one tends to flow all year, regardless of what’s happening,” McLeay remarks. Hughes concurs, “Cheakamus is pretty safe because it does have a fairly big pack, but no, it’s still shrinking as quickly as everything else.”

McLeay continues, “But for all of our snowmelt rivers [the Callaghan is the main one], the snow will melt, and then after that, it’s just feeding on the glacier. So if you have a big heat wave, it’ll come through, and then the snow melts a lot faster than the glacial water, and then you’ll end up with just glacial melt running for the rest of the year. And so the season’s shorter. There’s less water to go along, and then if there’s a heat wave, it’ll just shorten the season just, boom, just in half.”

Hughes breaks it down simply: “when you take a big piece of ice and you keep shrinking [it] down, there’s some part of the day when it’s not going to flow as much as it did when the ice is big. So what’s happening is there’s a thing that I’ve diagnosed as looping…” Hughes premise on looping is based on discovering what the main source of the flow is. His curiosity was sparked after a section of water that he would consistently launch into a 1 pm every day, only became ‘attackable’ at 4 am. He wanted to understand the fluctuation: “Where’s the water really coming from? Cause there’s three rivers that feed this and the gauges we’re reading, it goes up at midnight and then peaks at four in the morning and then starts dropping and it’s gone by like 11.” He had noticed it going from a “concrete amount of water” to dribbles by August. “I did 31 four in the morning attacks on that to really investigate what was going on.”

Observations persist around many of our waterways, bringing a whole new meaning to rapid and rapidly (e)racing.

The Callaghan “tends to flow out”, McLeay notes. He speculates, “a few years ago, I imagine there would be a big enough glacier to feed the river, but now it’s just melted.”

The ‘Fitz’, too, is affected. “Last couple of years we’re running off the glacier.” Hughes points to its dwindling headwaters. Fitzsimmons Creek feeds the Green River. It also is the source for snowmaking – and that demand is steadily increasing. “Imagine what’s going to happen when this thing really tails out because, man, it’s not that far off…”

Just, imagine.

For kayakers, glaciers are more than distant icefields—they’re the source of every rapid downstream. As the Whistler Museum continues documenting the history of paddling in the Sea to Sky, these oral histories are becoming more than stories about sport. They are records of a landscape changing within a single generation.

Whistler’s Whitewater River Runners:Whistler’s Whitewater River Runners:

July 14, 2026 Whistler Museum 0 Comments

Dipping our toes into the rushing waters of the local kayaking history

Featured Image: B.C. Kayak Championships on the Cheakamus River September 21, 1980. Whistler Question Collection.

Whistler and the Sea to Sky boast some of the best Class 4 and 5 whitewater river runs in the world. However, this facet of our local sports history/destination is often overlooked or underpublicized. Our ‘Triple Crown’ of the Callaghan, the Soo and the nucleus of it all: the Cheakamus, draw people from near and far. As do the Ashlu and Elaho. Whistler is speckled with stories of people who came here to kayak and stayed here to kayak.

The Whistler Museum has begun gathering oral histories from local kayakers and will be running several pieces related to the history of the local scene – dating back to the inception of the Whistler Kayak Club (Kayaklub) in the 1980s – to the river and water changes witnessed over the decades. Kayakers are firsthand gaugers of glacial recession… because, as Whistler’s whitewater scene grows, simultaneously, we are losing our flows….

Shawn ‘Puddles’ Hughes moved to Whistler in 1977. He has been kayaking here for 40 years, bitten, as the expression goes, “by the river vampire.” Hughes was first exposed to the sport in 1986, when the Nationals were held on the Cheakamus. Prior to that, there were a select few locals running and racing on the rivers, but not many.

Hughes was a founding member of the Kayak Club, formed in 1988 by a handful of riverrats in order to acquire the necessary funds to clear a choked-up part of the Upper Cheakamus. Hughes points to Don Butler, of Captain Holiday’s Kayak, as being one of the key instigators of the idea to clean up the “dodgy” section. As Hughes explains, riparian regulations were different then (this, pre-the BC Forest Practices Code) and logging would take place right up to the water’s edge. Logs and debris had no buffer and rolled right into the river, leaving jammed messes of snags, snarling passage. Such as was the case with the Cheakamus.

The extremely unofficial ‘official’ Club was successful: procuring $2500 from the municipality and the same amount from the logging company, to clear the river; an amount which Hughes animatedly relays “was like $20 000” today. It was more like $11 000 in the present-day economy – but suffice to say, it was enough to rent equipment, rig a Tyrolean Traverse and pay people for 10-12 days to clear the canyon (just below the MacLaurin’s Crossing Suspension Bridge, connecting the Farside and Riverside trails). “To this day, I’ve never seen anyone lowered down with a chainsaw … cutting … off a rope in this like hostile environment,” recalls Hughes.

The excavation of the Cheakamus by river-suspended aerials, along with wild water maneuvering, undertaken by this crew not only cleared the way for the river (and prompted a subsequent flood of attention), but it also became the start of new careers for these talented few. “We all went into the movie business and ended up doing safety and rigging” and kayak stunt work. The Cheakamus would become a destination site not only for river navigators, but for Hollywood filmmakers, too.

“All of a sudden … word gets out, you know, there’s people from Washington, there’s people from all over the world that are actually honing in on this thing. And our little group would act as liaisons and people would call and that’s how we did it.”

How they did it and what they did in the late eighties, was they helped plant the seeds for a rich, supportive culture to begin to take hold in the valley. “Kayaking has a camaraderie … it’s strong,” reflects Hughes – upheld as one of the few remaining OGs still paddling and mentoring younger generations. “Like most of our crew has passed away. The ones that were kayakers, they’re just gone.”

At 68, Hughes paddles daily. At the time this piece went to press, he was on Day 90-something-and-counting of river runs this season.

Fishing (with) questions — Part 2Fishing (with) questions — Part 2

July 6, 2026 Whistler Museum 0 Comments

Feature Image: A view of Garibaldi Lake from Mount Price in 1960. Fenner Collection.

Last week’s article focused on how spotting a school of Rainbow Trout in Garibaldi Lake lured me into a local fish-fact-finding mission around the stocking history of the local Whistler Lakes. Alta Lake’s fishing history was shared, and now we pick back up with Garibaldi’s….

In 1928 – a year following the formal establishment of Garibaldi Provincial Park (a 195, 000 hectare protected area) – 5000 ‘eyed egg’ Rainbows were released into the lake. The subsequent year, 12, 500 eggs were released. The eggs were transported by horseback up to the nearly large lake encompassing an area of almost 10 ㎢at 1467 metres of elevation. Mountaineering and pack-hauled camping holidays were becoming popular in the area.

These were the only two times, 1928 and 1929, that Garibaldi Lake was ever stocked. Differing from other (lower) lakes in the area, Garibaldi Lake never had any fish living in its waters to begin with. As the Museum reported in ‘Frontier Fish’ (2011):

“Garibaldi Lake was formed relatively recently (geologically speaking) when a massive lava flow from Mount Garibaldi slammed into a glacier and was frozen in its tracks, leaving behind what is now known simply as The Barrier.

This vertical wall blocked off an ancient valley that subsequently filled with water to form Garibaldi Lake. Since the lake’s outlet flows underground through The Barrier to become Rubble Creek (named after the frequent landslides falling from the Barrier’s unstable volcanic rock), no fish population was ever able to colonize Garibaldi’s glacial-fed waters.”

Further, according to a report in the Vancouver Province newspaper, after the catch of 3 mature trout from Garibaldi Lake in 1933, the paper then declared the lake the ‘second’ successful stocking of a barren lake in British Columbia. The Museum has not been successful in sourcing information as to which may have been the first.

The introduced fish survived and have uniquely adapted to the freezing mountain waters.

The cast of vibrant colour caused by suspended glacial silt in the lake has dazzled people for ages. There had been talk and plans to build a chalet on the edges of Garibaldi Lake – following the 1945 opening of the Diamond Head Chalet at Elfin Lakes (also in Garibaldi Park). The Brandvolds, operators of the lodge, envisioned a connective series of huts and lodgings connecting the gems of Garibaldi. Though no other lodges were built by them, for two years during the 1960s, Queen Charlotte Airline operated a hostel on the edges of Garibaldi Lake.

According to an article first published in Westworld in 1976, and subsequently reprinted by the Hollyburn Heritage Society, “A helicopter company trained its pilots for high altitude flying in that area and then provided an air-drop service for food and luggage, so that sides of beef came falling out-of the sky with red streamers flying.” At this time, the fish population would have been well-established in the once-devoid-of-fins lake.

Other Whistler fish-finding facts:

Alpha and Nita (both first stocked in 1926, with 12, 000 Rainbow eggs)

Lost (first in 1937 with 3000 Rainbow)

Loggers (1984, with 500 Rainbow)

Callaghan (1975 with 10, 000 Rainbow fry)

Madeley (1984 with 340 yearling Rainbow)

Jane (1987 with 2000 Rainbow)

Showh North and Showh South (4×4 access only via Cougar Mountain – recognized as a fly-fishing gem; first stocked in 1986 with 500 and 300 Rainbow each).

Green Lake has been stocked five times, the first in 1924 with 5000 eggs and lastly in 1973 with 100, 300 Rainbow fry).

Cheakamus Lake (first stocked in 1926 with 20, 000 eggs. The lake has been stocked four times, the last in 1951).

Other fish varieties of fish in Whistler’s waters include Dolly Varden and Char/Bull Trout.

Today, all anglers 16+ in British Columbia must hold a valid BC Freshwater Fishing License. Regulations for local lakes vary: know before you go and cast your line…

Fishing (with) QuestionsFishing (with) Questions

June 30, 2026 Whistler Museum 0 Comments

By Bronwyn Preece. Featured Image: Alex and Myrtle Philip at Rainbow Lodge on Alta Lake, 1940s. Philip Collection

Last week, I was standing on a rock on the edge of Garibaldi Lake, staring into the clear turquoise waters. All of a sudden, a school of fish – Rainbow Trout – some big, some small, with purple backs and black specks swam and kept circling by. I was entranced.

Two young anglers also shared the same shore with me, casting their lines into the glacial pool.

My friend asked if I knew if the lake had been stocked. My initial response was ‘unlikely’. I mean, ‘Up here? A 9+ km hike up from the trailhead, with no road and just under 1000 m of elevation gain…how would they? By helicopter?’ There certainly wasn’t anyone hiking fish or fry up this trail… or, not now… And yet, I had caught myself in my not-knowing… and my curiosity was hooked…

Making my way back to Whistler, I would pass through a valley speckled with bodies of freshwater: from the volcanic potholed divots around Brandywine to the highway-skirting of Alpha, Nita, Alta and Green. Lakes with fish. Lakes with stories. Lakes holding the lures of different fishing histories…

Whistler was first a fishing destination. Rainbow Lodge was the first ‘resort’ to open in the valley in 1915. For $6.00 you could have a weekend ‘Fisherman’s Excursion’ – a package which included travel on the Pacific Great Eastern Railway from Vancouver to Alta Lake and back and accommodation at the Lodge. The lake was said to be teeming with fish. The fish that were likely being caught at the time were Cutthroat Trout. Subsequent lodges and accommodation geared towards fisherman subsequently sprung up around Alta Lake.

Alta Lake was first stocked with fish in 1923. According to the BC Ministry of the Environment’s FIDQ – Fish Inventories Data Queries page: 30, 000 Rainbow at the ‘eyed egg’ stage were released into the lake that year. Rainbow Trout are an invasive species and subsequently altered the ecosystems of our local lakes. Despite this knowledge, the release of Rainbows into our local waters would continue until 2000.

Kokanee Salmon were stocked for the first time in Alta Lake in 1939.

Myrtle Philip of Rainbow Lodge fishing in the 1920s. Philip Collection.

As the decades passed, fishing remained an important sport and pastime. An announcement in the 1959 Alta Lake Community newsletter proclaimed that the Fish Derby prize would be $10 for the largest Rainbow trout caught in Alta Lake “by any legal method.” In 1988, in the ‘Whistler Summer Guide’ (a supplement to the Whistler Question), the paper reported: “When Whistler Mountain was known as London Mountain … the fishing was fantastic. […] Generally the fish were not that big, averaging about 30 cm, but they were plentiful. They’re just as plentiful today.” Now, in 2026, local fishing guides still exist.

Since 2000, Alta Lake has been stocked with Cutthroat (almost annually, with a few years skipped) since then. Consistently, for the past ten years, Alta Lake has been stocked with 350 yearling Cutthroats and operates with a strict fishing quota. Multiple varieties of fish are caught in its waters. The lake has been stocked 52 times between 1923 and 2026.

But, what about Garibaldi Lake? In 1928 – a year following the formal establishment of Garibaldi Provincial Park (a 195, 000 hectare protected area) – 5000 ‘eyed egg’ Rainbows were released into the lake. The subsequent year, 12, 500 eggs were released. The eggs were transported by horseback up to the nearly large lake encompassing an area of almost 10 ㎢ at 1467 metres of elevation. Mountaineering and pack-hauled camping holidays were becoming popular in the area.

Garibaldi Lake… image taken by the author on the trip that inspired this two-part article.

Next week, Part II of this article will dive deeper into Garibaldi’s Lake’s intriguing fish-related history and some statistical records with regards to Whistler’s closer and other lakes…

*Please Note: In the newspaper printed version of this article (and its initial publication on the blog) it was stated incorrectly that Alta Lake now runs on a catch and release system. Apologies for the mistake, it has been amended above and a note of correction will accompany next’s week’s article in the paper.