AS late baby boomers my husband and I long ago decided growing old gracefully was not an option. However, needing something more challenging than wearing purple with a red hat that doesn't go, we found ourselves on a seven-day hike of the Wells Gray traverse from Trophy Mountain to Battle Mountain in the Canadian Rockies.

Not for us the "wrinklies" coach trip through crowded tourist areas, transported from hotel to motel with just a few photo stops at set viewpoints in between. We hired a car in Vancouver and drove to Clearwater in British Columbia where we booked into a B&B recommended by the very helpful Ian Eakins and Tay Briggs of www.skihike.com, owners of the three huts we were hiking between over the next few days. We left our suitcases at the B&B in order to travel light, as everything taken into this magnificent wilderness has to be taken out again in order to preserve the pristine environment.

At the B&B we were joined by a plump young man from the Bronx who spent the evening washing and drying his flowing locks. The next day dawned to glorious weather and we were collected by our guide, Ken Matheson, an ex Mountie who closely resembled a huge grizzly bear.

The look on Ken's face said it all as the American trundled out dressed in designer gear with a suitcase on wheels and an enormous bag of toiletries. Ken gently reminded him we were going hiking in the wilderness and he would have to carry all his possessions on his back for seven days. He got a spare rucksack out of the van and went through the mountain of clothes, shoes and books, putting most of them aside. The lad looked on in horror and squeaked "How can I manage with just one shirt?"

"Don't worry, we'll all smell the same by the end of the week!" said Ken, as he threw out a hairdryer and vibrating hairbrush. "There's no electricity in these huts" he warned and turned his attention to the bag of toiletries saying: "Just take the bar of soap. There are no showers, just a small washroom with a sink you have to stand in to wash." We though the poor lad was going to faint.

We picked up the remainder of our group, a Canadian woman, a Dutchman, another English woman and a very fit looking German fraulein and set off for the trailhead. At this point the young lad looked nervously at the gradient of the hill we were about to climb and asked: "Is it far?"

Ken assured him today was a short hike of 4km to the first hut but it was quite steep. We set off at a snail's pace.

After half an hour of watching him struggle, Ken finally stopped and asked if he really wanted to go any further, whereupon he sat down and shook his head. Ken radioed back to base and took him back to the trailhead to await collection. It transpired he was still on sick leave following knee surgery. He had never been outside the city before and had been training for the trip by walking around the block a couple of times a week. We had gone barely half a kilometre but it was the furthest he had ever walked in his life.

On reaching the Trophy Hut, we were introduced to real pioneer living, although cooking, heating and lighting were all by propane gas - a luxury not available to pioneers. The sleeping quarters upstairs consisted of mattresses and duvets on the floor in two person compartments. The "outhouse" precariously balanced on a slope in front of the hut had the most incredible view of Trophy Mountain - a real "loo with a view". Paying a visit in the middle of the night I was privileged to see the Northern Lights - what a bonus.

As well as being an excellent guide and raconteur, Ken also proved to be a superb cook. We soon realised however that, in common with most guides, he was more than a little economical with the truth. His "guide speak" became the subject of much mirth over the next few days as we discovered "a wee grunt" was the kind of gradient where your nose touched the ground. "Hardly any bugs this year" meant only a million mosquitoes instead of a billion and "Tomorrow is a rest day" meant we only had to climb one mountain instead of two.

The Discovery Hut was reached on day three after a steep climb, an even steeper descent, bushwacking through impenetrable forest and a couple of scrambles over rocky landslides. By the time we reached the hut I was convinced I would never walk again. This hut was smaller than the first but much cosier. The sleeping quarters were a raised deck reached by ladder where, feeling very tired and drained due to the unaccustomed altitude, we all retired at 8pm. As we lay dozing, snug and warm in our duvets, Ken read us stories of the old pioneer days and I felt like Laura Ingalls Wilder from Little House on the Prairie.

The following morning we wandered around the meadow in front of the hut in glorious September sunshine. Ken told us the week before the meadow had been under a foot of snow and sadly this had killed off all the alpine wildflowers. We thought it was more "guide speak" until we read the comments of the previous week's visitors in the hut journal. It seems snow is not unusual at any time of year in this wonderful spot.

Having fully recovered from the exertions of the previous day, we climbed to the top of Table Mountain in the late afternoon to watch the sunset - heavenly. However by the time we got to the foot of the mountain it was pretty dark and, having only three flashlights between seven of us, we followed Ken like some strange blind caterpillar, our conversation reduced to monosyllabic warnings such as "rock", "tree root" and "bog". The latter was discovered by me, having fallen into one up to my knees, thus earning me the nickname of "Bogwoman" from then on.

Day five was definitely the hardest - 16 km of steep ascents and descents and a beautiful but seemingly endless walk round lakes, through forests and across meadows. I crawled up the steps of the third hut in Fight Meadow and collapsed in a heap on the floor, again convinced I would never take another step. However my body continued to amaze me with its recuperative powers and the following day, after one of Ken's restorative breakfasts, I was the only woman in the party to make it to the 7,800 foot summit of Battle Mountain. Even the superfit fraulein had given up at the col halfway up, so I felt really chuffed.

As we sat by the summit cairn, contemplating the incredible 360 degree view, Ken told us how annoyed he felt when people said they had to go "back to the real world" when, in his opinion, this was the real world. Sitting there looking back at the whole 65 kilometers we had covered over the last six days I understood exactly what he meant. I had enjoyed myself so much I didn't want it to end.

On our last day we went down a slope so steep my toes were crushed into the front of my boots. However the speed we generated galloping along the last two kilometers at the thought of a cold lager in the Black Horse Saloon was impressive. It reminded me of the final scene in Ice Cold in Alex.

Returning to the B&B we spent a thrilling day white water rafting on the Thompson River. Then we went canoeing on Clearwater Lake for three days, giving us the opportunity to rest our weary legs and feet and knacker the top half of our bodies instead. Camping overnight in tents brought back memories of school holidays long forgotten and the scenery was out of this world. We ended the holiday with a real sense of achievement and the most incredible memories as well as making some lifelong friends.

I can thoroughly recommend hut to hut hiking to any other intrepid fifty somethings who want beautiful scenery and remote wilderness adventure but donÕt want to carry the whole world on their backs. Wells Gray you have been warned - Bogwoman will definitely be back.

2003 prices: 7 day hut to hut trip $795.00 + 7% GST (Canadian dollars)

3 day canoe trip $395 + 7% GST White water rafting arranged locally Winter skiing from huts also available Contact: Ian Eakins & Tay Briggs Wells Gray Chalets Wildnerness Adventures Ltd P O Box 188 Clearwater British Columbia VOE 1NO Tel: (250) 587 6444 Fax: (250) 587 6446