“I’m ready to swing a hammer”
“Fix Cliff Gilker!!!”
“One bridge down is frustrating. Three bridges down starts to feel personal.”
“Where’s that lady who reports for Roberts Creek?”
My first Cliff Gilker experience was on my birthday, during a snowy February visit to the Sunshine Coast. The park was a mix of winter wonderland and accident waiting to happen—bridges glazed in ice, kids sprinting across them with joyful, traumatic-accident-free recklessness, and me, a nervous mom on edge. Near the end, I wanted one perfect family photo. My daughter squatted like a troll in a hollow tree and gave a big thumbs down. I cried.
That tree became “the troll tree,” and that day joined hundreds more. Cliff Gilker is where we walk dogs, meet friends, bring visitors — even did our only family photo session there. Like many of you, I absolutely freaking love that place.
So when I saw the recent Roberts Creek Speaks! thread, I got it. I really did. But I also felt completely flooded. My brain just can’t jump in when things get that loud. It needs distance. It starts scanning for what’s not being said. And like a vital need more than a want, it says: There has to be more to the story.
So, I wrote this column to do just that—to find out more of the story, and share it. You might like it. You might not. But if it reveals something new, maybe that’s enough. Insight leads to better questions. Better questions can lead to action.
Why is the first bridge still out?
Fair question. One I’ve muttered to my husband many times. The first bridge was damaged during the atmospheric river of 2021. The SCRD applied for emergency funding and qualified — but our little park was up against major infrastructure projects like the Coquihalla. By the time they got to us, the money was gone. That delay alone cost about two years.
In 2024, the SCRD included Cliff Gilker bridge repairs in the 2025 budget. That funding — about $1.2 million — has now been approved. But…
If the budget’s approved, does that mean we’ll get a new bridge soon?
Nope. The money is there, but the project is stuck in a queue. The SCRD has over 260 projects on the books. Cliff Gilker is currently “below the line,” meaning there’s no staff capacity assigned yet. No shovel in the ground in 2025.
Can’t we just build it ourselves? That’s what we used to do.
It’s true — those original bridges were community-built with care and cedar (I think... I don’t actually know what type of wood, but I do like alliteration). They held up well. But they’ve reached the end of their life, and the world has changed.
Today, any new structure must meet modern safety and building standards: engineered designs, load certification, environmental and archaeological assessments, and shíshálh Nation approval.
Call it red tape — or call it care.
Modern standards make sure bridges are safe for everyone — not just the sure-footed. They reflect a broader understanding of what it means to build on shared land. Today’s infrastructure includes relationship, not just structure.
They just don’t want to get sued.
Uhh, yes. That’s true. They don’t. Government is one of the few entities you can still sue. A single lawsuit from a fall off a bridge that wasn’t built to code could cost the SCRD hundreds of thousands — or even millions. They’re risk-averse because they have to be.
So, what can we do?
That’s the question, isn’t it? One Kelly Backs, our SCRD rep, thinks about constantly. He knows there’s an army of big-hearted Creekers ready to pitch in. The challenge is figuring out how to channel that energy in ways that actually work — because building our own bridges just isn’t an option anymore.
The biggest barrier to progress now isn’t money or intention — it’s prioritization. And prioritization happens in boardrooms, not comment threads. Need to vent into a void? Facebook is perfect. Want new bridges? Come to a meeting. It sounds like almost no one goes. Imagine if we all showed up?
Find the calendar at SCRD.ca, read the agendas, attend a meeting — even virtually. It’s not glamorous. But it matters. And it’s how this work will get done. Put on your best “I’d rather be hammering wood into a bridge” novelty tee and come on down.
And let’s toot the horn of Kelly Backs while we’re here. He’s been waving the Cliff Gilker flag — often alone — in those boardrooms. He’s pushed for funding (yeah, that $1.2 million, NBD), fought to get the project on the map, and is actively trying to turn community frustration into something constructive. He’s on our team. Say “hi” at the Gumboot on a Saturday, or email him at [email protected].
