soft tissue damage. The ligaments and muscles required constant work, first re-establishing the gross motor movements and then the fine ones. As his arm healed, his general physical condition improved, and soon the two began to go for walks in the evening. Later he was well enough to walk with Phyl to the BCMC meetings in town.
Don talked, haltingly at first, of his war experiences. He had not wanted to go to war; in fact, he struggled with his conscience for some while, but the responsibility proved too great. On 27 June 1915 he climbed alone. This day was the day of decision. “As I stood on the snowy summit of Cathedral Mountain I found it very hard to renew my resolve to enlist until a strange coldness crept down over the mountains, as though their aspect declared, ‘Unless you are worthy to make this sacrifice you are unworthy to frequent our shrines.’”
Two days later, Munday enlisted as a private with the Scout Division of the 47th Infantry Battalion. Scouting was a job that suited him well. His mountaineering background, his map reading and use of compass, and his other orienteering skills held him in good stead. A scout’s business was to see that the men got to the places they were supposed to when they were at the Front and to get them back again. This meant Munday had to “take their position” so he could find it again upon return. He had to know exactly where they were physically on the ordnance map and then “scout out” the area into which they had been ordered to advance, noting all the hazards, such as enemy gun emplacements and trenches. Then he had to guide the men forward to their destination, whether it be a visible geographic site such as a ridge or hill, or more likely than not, just another muddy indefinable spot in a sea of blasted land devoid of landmarks. Coming back from one of these ventures on 24 October 1917 at Passchendaele in Belgium, he was hit with a shell and wounded. Passchendaele, the last major offensive of the war, was also one of the most horrendous. In this battle alone, 15,654 Canadian soldiers were killed or injured. Munday, like so many others, was patched up on the battlefield and eventually shipped home,
Although repeated surgeries repaired much of the damage, he couldn’t use his hand for all functions. He could not grip or pull his fingers together. In the early days of recuperation, what would be a lifetime disability was especially challenging for this man who was passionate about strenuous outdoors activities.
In August 1918 Munday was granted weekend leaves from Royal Columbian Hospital, and unbeknownst to the officer in command (O.C.) at the hospital he immediately commenced weekend hikes. He was still a patient at the hospital and not yet discharged from the army. Some of the nurses (and Phyl) knew his plans but chose not to distress the O.C., for it would certainly have meant trouble for all. As a matter of fact, Don’s first major transgression on weekend leave was at the invitation of Phyl and Peggy Worsley. These two had earlier made an attempt to explore an area accessible from Alouette Lake but ran into logistical problems that they had not anticipated. Access to the area was dependent upon the good wishes of a power company gauge-reader stationed at the lake. He controlled the canoe and was reluctant to permit two unescorted young women into the area. Evidently he relented, but only late in the day. Phyl and her friend were unable to do more than reach the base of Mount Blanshard that weekend.
Well, they thought: Why not invite someone we know, who happens to be male, as an escort? Thus, Don Munday found himself tramping the shadowy trail along Alouette River, autumn leaves swirling and fluttering in the breeze. The three slept on the lakeshore in front of the gauge-reader’s cabin, having successfully negotiated with him to carry them the next day by canoe across the lake. The hike took them westward to a ridge paralleling the lake, through heather and stunted alpine trees. On they went, and the afternoon was half spent before they began the ascent of Mount Blanshard (elevation 1706 metres). They believed that they would climb the reddish tooth of the summit and return before dusk. So confident were they that they only brought along with them a few scraps of chocolate and no lights. They left the remainder of the supplies in a camp struck on the heather. The climb was strenuous: steep cliffs covered with a good deal of matted growth – scarred, contorted tree trunks of subalpine conifers with trailing branches at knee height. Climbing over these wiry obstacles was not often practical, and struggling through was not only hard on their clothes but took more time than they realized. Don had his compass and always knew where they were, but travelling was a little different as they had to avoid difficult left-hand pitched routes because of Don’s hand. He couldn’t use it to full strength, and he was still in the midst of treatments. The three climbers finally got to the summit in time to see the sinking sun cast the shadow of the mountain in a slim violet wedge for miles across the forested fringes flanking the Fraser Valley.
But they made it. To prove their ascent – which was the first one recorded – they took photographs of themselves on the summit and built a rock cairn. Climbers left evidence of their ascent usually in the form of a signed and dated note with their names. This note was sometimes encased in a glass jar, or tin box, protected from the weather and placed beneath rocks on the summit. In this way, future climbers knew that others had preceded them. To pose for one of the photos, Phyl had to hold a handkerchief at a curious angle to cover the devastation to her clothing from the climb! Off with the packs, Phyl, Peggy, and Don slid to the ground and congratulated themselves on their efforts. They were not as fresh as they thought and yielded to the temptation to stay too long on top. By the time they began the descent, light had faded. There was no moon. In the darkness they could not distinguish one essential bit of the route, and it was soon unsafe to continue. The only place to spend the night where they would not be required to stand up was on a ledge just wide enough to sit upon with their legs dangling over the sharp edge above a long drop below.
Despite the uncomfortable positions, they slept. At first light they resumed their descent. The homeward tramp to get the last train developed into a dull grind. Phyl and Don saw Peggy Worsley off at her train stop outside Haney and exchanged weary goodbyes. The train continued its journey along the valley heading west. Rest was not possible. A weekend holiday crowd had made the train late, and it was packed with passengers. Phyl and Don had to stand in the jammed aisle, heavy packs on the floor between their legs. The train arrived late at the station, and they missed the last streetcar in New Westminster. Sore beyond belief, Phyl took her boots off and walked in her stocking feet. Don walked with the automatic movement of a soldier, but literally went to sleep on his feet, again and again. Not a single automobile was to be seen. No police patrol car (which might have stopped to question their clumsy movements and perhaps taken pity on them, or transported them back to the hospital). Ascending Mount Blanshard was not a wise weekend activity for a recuperating soldier, but it was typical of Munday: he continually pushed his limits and by example encouraged those around him to do the same.
1. Now called Mount Fromme, elevation 1175 metres.
6
Romance Above the Clouds
In the summer of 1919 Don and Phyl were on a club hike on Mount Baker in Washington State. There were three of them in a group, and they climbed with an air of confidence – they were not roped together. Midway on the ascent they encountered a section of moraine – the mass of loose rocks deposited by a glacier – on the edge of a steep, washed-out creek gully.
“Aahhh.” Phyl was instantly on alert. The sound came from Don on the moraine above her. She moved instinctively and with remarkable speed. From her position on the upward slope Phyl sprang to place herself several metres below on a rock outcropping, and she braced herself for the impact. He’s going to go over the edge. Please God give me strength to hold on to him. Don’s footing gave away completely and he was tossed out from the moraine slope. His body flipped over in mid-air above her. Phyl reached out to grab him and managed to pull his weight towards her, against the slope, in a desperate move to prevent his certain fall to the bottom of the gully. But just as his feet came down near her, the ground she was standing on broke away as well. As she held Don, Phyl began to lose her balance. Don clung to the rocks beside her and it was
