Serenity – 2025

Floe Lake was a hike I’d wanted to do for several years. It’s part of the epic Rockwall Trail. A year prior to this trip, my wife and I spent three days tackling the other half of the Rockwall, but couldn’t score camping permits for the much-desired Floe Lake. When registration for backcountry sites opened again in 2025, I tried once more to get permits for the larch season. I managed to snag a single site for early October (a little late for peak larch, but usually still good for some colour) and messaged my buddy, Matthew, to see if he was game to spend a couple of nights at the lake, do some photography, and hike to Numa Pass – just so I could say I’d seen most of the Rockwall Trail.

The day of the hike arrived, and the forecast called for scattered showers; the wettest model showed only about 7-8 mm of rain, not enough to keep us from our destination. The beginning of the hike wasn’t too bad, but by the time we reached the switchbacks leading up to the lake, the rain had really set in. As often happens in the mountains, the weather proved unpredictable. The forecasted “showers” became a downpour that switched on and off for several hours. When we arrived at camp, nobody was there but us – a strange phenomenon for such a busy place (but maybe people were smarter than us, as you will soon see). We dropped our packs, set up camp, and prayed our gear would dry out before bedtime.

As we ate supper under the shelter of what quickly became our favourite tree (we spent many hours there), the sky opened up and dumped a deluge on us. What I hadn’t noticed when pitching the tent earlier was that I’d set it at the bottom of a small hill. All that water rushed down and flooded our tent pad – the partially buried logs Parks Canada used to frame the site acted like a dam, backing that water straight into our tent. Everything was soaked: sleeping mats, bags, clothes. And with temperatures hovering around zero, steady rain, and humidity at 100%, we knew there was little chance anything would truly dry. We debated ending the trip early, but also knew the trail we’d climbed would be muddy and treacherous in the dark. So we tossed some hand warmers into our bags, put on our only dry clothes, and hoped to survive the night.

Because you’re reading this, you’ve probably guessed we did. The next morning, I “woke up” after a long night and headed to a spot I’d scouted to try for sunrise photography. With the weather, the light never materialized, but later in the morning, as we were finishing breakfast, fog rolled over the lake and created beautifully dramatic conditions. Obviously, part of me would have loved a nice sunrise with colourful sunrise skies, but secretly (sorry, Matthew), I was crossing my fingers for something just like this. You don’t get conditions like these in beautiful places when it’s +20°C and sunny; images like this come with adversity, and that’s part of why this image – and others from this trip – mean so much to me.

To purchase a luxury fine art print of this photo, please use the button below.