I woke up in Alberta a little before Yann and Frederic, my French friend and his son, started stirring. We were in "The Hat" or Medicine Hat which has the unfortunate slogan, "The Gas City". Hopefully not related to bean consumption. After breakfast at the Perkin's down the street we made our first stop: the tallest teepee in the world. I don't think it should count, really - it's made of steel has crossbeam supports and everything - but nobody seems to be contesting their claim so we'll let them have it for the moment. The highlight here for my visitors wasn't the teepee nor even the nice valley it overlooked but instead the gophers running rampant in the grasses. The gophers were even brave enough to sneak food from the entrance of their holes which Fred squatted beside them. Soon, though, the gophers and the hat were in the rearview mirror and we headed southeast towards the Alberta side of Cypress Hills. There's not much to stop and see in the Alberta park but it is a pretty nice drive and certainly a good introduction to the park. And to be fair, there were some beautiful lakes rimmed with wildflowers that we drove past on the way. But soon we were off the pavement and trucking along gravel roads and one texas gate and a small brown sign later and we were back in Saskatchewan again.
On the Saskatchewan side, our first stop was Fort Walsh, an old Northwest Mounted Police (later to become the RCMP) fort established after the Cypress Hills Massacre sounded alarm bells in the east. The massacre, incidentally, occurred when some of the American wolfers whom had been sneaking over the border to hunt lost some horses and decided it was the Nakota Indians. Canada, of course, was intent on peaceful coexistence with the natives rather than all-out war as plagued the wild western US, and a bunch of massacring Americans coming up north was a real threat to the peace - not to mention sovereignty. So our first Prime Minister, Sir John A. Macdonald, formed the NWMP and sent them marching west to bring peace and order. History lesson finished, the fort looked pretty cool from above and apparently is not only restored but furnished with actors in period costumes living out daily life. But our final day was too packed with sights and we were left no recourse but to admire from afar and travel north. We were going to stop by Harris Lake so Fred could frolic and I assumed it would be on the same road as the conglomerate cliffs which overlook the lake, but was wrong. The cliffs turned out to be scenic and entertaining enough for him anyway, and then we rode off to our lunch destination: The Cypress Hills Winery.
Yes, that's right. There's a vineyard in Saskatchewan and in fact it is the only one between BC and Ontario. They don't have a lot of success with the locally grown grapes but they're trying and what they can't grow the import and make into a nice wine anyway. As well, there are some pretty surprisingly good fruit wines (from someone who doesn't much care for fruit wines) and most importantly at the moment, a place for Fred to run and us to eat. By the time we left, bottles in hand (thanks Yann!), we were reenergized for the many miles still ahead. I wish I could tell you it was a short trip to our next stop but in truth we would do about 700 km that day plus stops all over. So we bee-lined it straight up the 21 highway to Leader and when we got there we didn't immediately turn right to the Sandhills. I, in my unfailing overambition, decided to check out a landmark on my map called Checkerboard Hill. I knew nothing about it and we almost abandoned it as yet another failed attempt to get off the beaten path but we found it at last and the views were well worth it. We also saw the beginnings of yet another thunderstorm forming along the prairie and didn't stay too long. There was a sign for the largest barn in North America just down the road - apparently it had taken 40-something railcars of lumber to construct - but we drove and looked and looked before coming to the realization that it was the old SITE of the largest barn in North America. Fascinating. Then we drove back through Leader and on towards Sceptre where my other plan was foiled due to flooding and road construction: I thought that after visiting the Great Sandhills it would be nice to cross the Saskatchewan River on a small ferry but there was neither time nor certainty on that road and it was abandoned.
So we drove south and found our way - aided a little by my iPhone's GPS - to the Great Sandhills which were again unmarked and again owned by ranchers generous enough to let strangers visit. The thunderstorm was coming in pretty quickly and time wasn't on our side but we did spend a good 45 minutes there climbing up sand dunes and looking out at the prairie and the thin layer of grass that - as one website put it - is all that is keeping this place from being the Sahara. The Great Sandhills were not what I expected but were beautiful in their own way and I think deserved more time than we had to offer them. Large dunes suddenly burst out of the prairies like bubbles of earth and mesh inexplicably into the landscape of grasslands around them. It's hard to believe this is only a two hour drive from home and I've never been here but it is the nature of all things we hold close to be taken for granted. We eventually wound back down the dunes and into my car and drove a bit before parking to watch the thunderstorm rolling in with what looked like some dangerous potential-tornado clouds. I was waiting and waiting to catch some lightning and finally did get a good bolt before we bolted back into the car and away from the deadly mosquitoes. It had just started to rain whereupon a bit too much door slamming had jammed my passenger side window open. So I sped once more as the storm was at our heels until the water on the highway forced me to slow significantly or risk hydroplaning, but soon we were able to speed again and the rain turned to a drizzle and not too much water got in the car. Eventually, Yann tried the window again and we mercifully managed to get it closed before arriving in Kindersley around 9:00 for dinner.
It was already dark and dinner was overdue and pretty good for a small restaurant on the TransCanada (I think it was the Eastside Cafe?). We were not going to get to Saskatoon before midnight and I felt bad - poor Frederic had been a really good sport and hardly complained a word for how hard I pushed both him and Yann and now we had a late night entry into Saskatoon happening. Both he and Yann slept in the car (which made me feel a bit better) right until we pulled into Saskatoon at 11:30. Megan, a friend and fellow traveller/couchsurfer, had graciously offered them the place to sleep that I didn't have and though she would not be awake to meet them we had arranged a way to get into her house and she gave me directions on where to show them not having even spoken a word with either. It is for people like her that I am proud to be from Saskatchewan. The welcome to Saskatoon at night was a little anticlimactic given all they had heard and what little there was to see at that time of day but we were winding up the road trip portion of the adventure. Perhaps the climax was watching what could have been a funnel cloud near Leader, or climbing to the top of a Great Sandhill. Maybe it was the incredible sunset on the Alberta border or the sudden vistas of Cypress Hills. Or maybe it was just simply being in the car, with Frank Black (or Edward Maya) playing and driving along the empty roller-coaster roads of Saskatchewan with a good friend and his awesome son. In any case, the reality is that this wasn't the end of the French Connection for the next morning I would be picking them up to begin our tour of Saskatoon, the Paris of the Prairies. Maybe it's still to come...
The waning days of the Canadian expedition were upon us. We studied the maps, looking over our options. The Kootenays had a pretty nice hike along a ridge, though that meant 180 degrees of rock wall. Banff didn't seem to have any very exciting hikes without getting into multi-day treks we lacked time for. And Yoho had the Iceline Trail which seemed a good way to get in some alpine meadows, glaciers, waterfalls, and exercise all at the same time. So we set sail for Yoho early in the morning, encountering the Spiral Tunnels on the way there. These are a series of tunnels in the mountain that essentially spiral down gradually so that the trains can lose or gain elevation without a steep grade. Many trains and lives had been lost on this stretch before turning to the Swiss for a solution and since the 30s it's been working beautifully. As we watched the train reappear above itself and the front of the train cross over the back, we didn't realize we'd be wishing for a similar device on the Iceline trail later that very day.
After arriving in the parking area for Yoho and fixing lunch, it was time to see off. The first stop was Takakkaw Falls, Cree for Magnificent, and that it was. At around noon it was a good time for photographs and Dan and I spent some serious time with our cameras putting off the hike. And then the Iceline Trail was upon us. Most people do not do the trek in the way that we were setting out. Going to Little Yoho via the Iceline Trail meant a very steep ascent to the mountain tops and then an undulating ridge walk before a moderate descent. In contrast, the lower path allows a first day (fully laden, by the way, with all the food) of gradual climb in the shade of the valley floor to the campground at Little Yoho followed by a second day with a moderate ascent and a steep descent. Makes a lot more sense, yes, but for the sake of lighting in our photos we went the path less travelled.
Unfortunately, it didn't make much difference. The skies were hazy from BC Forest Fires which eliminated any great panoramic vistas we may have captured. Additionally, a lot of what we wanted to capture was actually UP the ridge rather than down, meaning we'd timed our hike all wrong. Nevertheless, it was a beautiful hike along what felt like dozens of glaciers at a high altitude in great weather. Not so great for hiking with 20 kilos on our backs, but great in that it was sunny, hot, and aside from the haze, clear skies. We were frustrated repeatedly by inaccurate trail markings, almost all in blatant contradiction to our map which had deficiencies all its own. How this is possible in the age of GPS is beyond me, but this has been a recurring and embarassing theme throughout the national and provincial parks we visited. Nevertheless, while demoralizing to our ego (it only said 5 km, it HAS to be over THIS ridge) we did eventually arrive, 11km later, in Little Yoho.
The campsite was nice and we met some cool people travelling from all over the place, but as the sun went down fatigue overtook us and we were out like the proverbial light. The next morning I woke up earlier than Dan and got coffee, tea, and breakfast going. After a hearty bowl of oatmeal and bananas we pulled up stakes and hiked back out the lower trail, 9km, past Laughing Falls and one of the highlights of the trip. A biiiig black bear, in the woods, no more than 20m from us. Dan heard the crack and held his hand for a stop and we stood listening and looking into the shadows until the shadows moved. I started to open my camera case and Dan looked at me sharply. "What are you doing?!" he asked. "Getting my camera," I impertinently whispered back. It was a waste of time perhaps, but it could have also been an excellent shot. The bear inched towards us and we backed away. It ventured further and we took our leave. But at last, in the middle of the forest, no roads in sight, and we had seen a wild bear. Yoho had delivered what every other park (aside from Jasper, which compromised with a cub near the roadside) failed to deliver.
From Yoho, we stopped at our old campground in Lake Louise for a quick shower then drove up to Banff, picked up a few groceries for today and tomorrow, and set up our camp, unfortunately, at the camp far out of town. It was huge and it was absolutely empty. We basically had 1500 campsites to ourselves. Or at least at first. We did get some neighbours, including a creepy old man with a van that looked like it might have been an accessory to various crimes over the years. Did I consider sleeping with a knife? Yes. But we slept and awoke alive as you may have guessed, with nary a blood-curdling scream the whole night. It was now August 30, the last day. In fact, I was flying home that evening at 9 PM. So we had a pretty relaxed last day. We walked to, and up, Sundance Canyon which was more of a stroll than a hike. And we enjoyed the end-of-summer warmth by relaxing alongside a nice and quiet lake (the name of which I don't remember) while in the car, Dan's computers burnt my photos onto DVDs.
Returning to the city was mostly a relief. It had been a great two weeks, we'd gotten a lot of exercise, seen a lot of beautiful places in Canada, and lived a pretty simple life. It was a great time. But I was happy to be back to civilization, to know that I would be sleeping indoors for the first time in two weeks, with all the comforts of home. As great as it was, we kept up a pretty hectic pace and I was ready for a little sedentary activity. Dan and I went for some pasta at a restaurant near the airport and said our farewells. He was off to the border for Glacier National Park, and I was on a plane for Saskatoon. That is, after a little time in the Chinook Lounge enjoying the sunset, a bag of chips, and the better part of a bottle of wine. Night fell, and outside the garish orange light of the city a vast wilderness awaited.
It was nice to be home. Sept 1 was my birthday and I had a few quiet drinks with some friends after going out to dinner with the family. Sept 3, Franz Ferdinand was in town, and I attended with John, Leona, Kirk, Darren, and Larissa, forced to sell my last two tickets because I don't have enough friends with good taste in music. Too bad, because it was amazing. Such a great show! But ridiculously hot, standing outside after when it was still 25 Celsius, the open doors felt literally like an oven, people escaping drenched in sweat. Larissa soon after left for Mexico again, to work in a resort and probably more importantly visit Julio. And the rest of September and October disappeared in a blur as I prepared for the next big trip: half a year in Central and South America. Leaving October 28.
Canada’s a big country. And if I may be so bold to say, it’s a beautiful country. So for a road between two places to be considered a must-do in this country, well, that’s quite a big deal. For it to be consistently considered one of the top 10 drives in the world, well, frankly, it’s a little difficult to swallow. It’s a big world out there and I like to think that I’ve seen a fair amount of it. Notable drives for me are the road to Andalsnes and beyond to the fjords in Norway, the road to Vang Vieng from Luang Prabang in Laos, the cobblestone silk road from Shangri-La towards Tibet in China, the dirt and sand 4-wheel-only Gibb River Rd through the Kimberly of Australia, and while the Great Ocean Road is an obvious choice from that country, I’d nominate the road south of Kalbarri over top of it. This is some tough competition and as much as I’ve travelled, I haven’t scratched the surface of the globe yet. So tough to swallow, yes, but then you consider the beauty of Banff and my newly discovered appreciate for the splendours of Jasper. And you think that this is a road that connects these two great parks along the spine of the Rockies, passing glaciers, azure rivers, mirror lakes, and waterfalls and you realize that not only is it possible... it’s downright obvious.
And better still, it’s on the agenda. As a very plump cherry on top of this proverbial cake, the weather was perfect. Simply perfect, and this coming from Dan, who hates a clear blue sky because it makes his photos too boring. It was a warm mountain morning, the clouds from last night were breaking apart and going their separate ways, and we were on the road again. I won’t bore you with every single detail, but if there was a place to stop on the way, we would. It was as simple as that. There were certainly places along the way we never hiked in order to take advantage of this day and see the road in its entirety, but we stopped and considered every time. No serious hikes today, however. It was all road. The road itself was photo worthy. It climbed inexorably up, only to plummet down equally fast. It came around in large loops and switchbacks, so that you could see it wind its way down from you and cut along the valley floor like the contrail of a jet engine. It crossed rivers, came all but right past the bottom of the Athabasca glacier, endured metres upon metres of snowfall (in other seasons) and still here it lay, a thin ribbon of civilization. Which is the reason that several of my photos (including one of my favourites – a panorama of the North Saskatchewan River) include or even focus on the road. In case you were wondering.
We stopped many times along the way, many many times. Sometimes it was to look at (or photograph) distant mountains or waterfalls, sometimes for a hike and sometimes just for a little photographic leg stretch. The landmark site on this trail is without a doubt the Athabasca glacier. My grandpa remembers it coming right to the highway but it is nowhere near anymore. Even having receded well back into the mountains, it is still grand, flat, and – although they discourage it – walkable. We parked, had lunch, and then set out up the glacier. There are definitely cracks, and I won’t deny a little unease at crossing near them or even near the small melt streams that amble down the glacier’s face, but plenty of people were walking around and taking their chances aside from us, and both Dan and I have done some glacier hikes in the past. All told, we were probably on that glacier for two hours and it was beautiful. The melt streams I mentioned glowed an iridescent blue, almost unbelievably. As we climbed higher the air blowing over the ice grew cooler but the sun was shining and it was a perfect day for not only our drive but also our climb. The view across that valley was beautiful but hard to capture and soon we were farther along than even the guided groups were venturing and it was time to turn back. But not before some silly photos attempting to look cool and jumping across melt streams.
The second highlight, was crossing the North Saskatchewan River at Saskatchewan Crossing. The colour was like any other river in this part of the world: spectacular. By the time it comes through our neck of the woods, it is a dark blue but here it practically glowed. It somehow made me appreciate the great water we have back home (even though it is the South Saskatchewan that flows through Saskatoon) to see it here in pristine and untouched form. I also managed to get one of my favourite photos on the entire Canadian Expedition right here on this bridge. You’ll have to trust me that it looks great at full size. We also had a lot of fun stopping along the lakes and vying for the best photo, a contest I may have been doomed to lose from the beginning. To be fair, I did initiate the inclusive of the purple flowers into the photo, but Dan had the best technique and he got a great photo of one of the lakes with distant mountains reflecting and of course purple flowers in the fore.
And the final highlight caps the Icefields Parkway on the southern side: Peyto Lake. Named after “Wild” Bill Peyto (you probably remember the saloon named after him in Banff), this lake is probably the nicest among scores of world class lakes on the drive. We parked, made our way, waited for the tour bus of people to disperse, then hopped the fence to get some good photos. A German woman called out “Excuse me!” which Dan didn’t hear (though I did). Then “we’d like to take a photo,” to which Dan replied, “I’ll just be a minute”. At this point her husband piped up, “We’ve been here already for 10 minutes” and Dan, “No you haven’t. WE haven’t been here for 10 minutes” “Well, maybe five minutes” the man replied, but he’d already lost. Now, this isn’t a confrontation I’d like to have, and I definitely can appreciate wanting people out of your photo, but it seemed they were going a bit far. Dan’s responses were rude and I felt embarrassed, but then they were pretty rude to begin with. Why is their photo more important? We really had only been there for about two minutes and I’d already gotten out of the way behind a tree for their benefit. The more I thought about it, the more it was just kind of funny.
Anyway, we got our photo of Peyto Lake, though the light wasn’t ideal it was still pretty nice. Still, Dan wanted to come back in the morning for another photo and I was up for it. We had now entered Banff National Park, incidentally, and we found a nice campsite in Lake Louise then came back the next morning. I was shocked at how much more beautiful this lake looked lit from a different angle. In fact, I was shocked it could even look better than it had the day prior, but here was evidence. You can be the judge, too. From Peyto Lake, we drove down to Bow Lake to look around and then to Lake Louise. I had to the overpass many a time, turning to go ski the slopes at LL, but only once before had I been to the actual lakeside, when I was very young. I don’t really remember it even, but I have seen photos. So it had a sort-of familiarity that probably wasn’t merited but there it was.
We set out from the hotel at the base of LL to hike to the glacier that backs it, specifically The Plain of the Six Glaciers trail. It takes you along the edge of the lake and then up into the mountains for, you guessed it, a view of six glaciers up there (though I only saw five). There’s also a teahouse up there for anybody looking for an excuse to exercise that doesn’t involve scenery or photography, but we didn’t stay for tea. We had another walk to Mirror Lake off the upper trail back, so we didn’t have to double back on our trail. All said, it was 16 km on top of some early morning photography. The trail was nice and the hike was worth it, though next time I’m going to have some mountaintop tea. Maybe because it was tradition in Asia, maybe because I like the idea of doing something patently out of context on a mountaintop, like sipping tea, I’m not sure. But it felt wrong to skip it.
Our third day brought us to something that Dan had been looking forward to since the airport in Vancouver – Morraine Lake. In fact, I think that a friend’s photos of Morraine Lake are what brought Dan up to Canada in the first place. We caught Lake Louise at sunrise and were at Morraine Lake to take photos for the golden hour, which in this particular location’s case, was 10 or 11. Climbing up to the vantage point I took the unfortunate path of walking across logs in shallow water, not realizing until too late there had to be a better way. Which was right when I slipped in. I sloshed my way to the top of the rock pile that gives Morraine Lake its name and there was the million dollar view. Or should I say twenty dollar view – the view spread out in front of me is one that I’ve seen many (well, not as many times as I’d like) times before: on the back of our old $20 bill. A solid hour of scrambling and attempting different photos while trying to dry my socks and shoes and having a snack later, we were back at ground level and setting out on our next hike: a three hike combo of Larch Valley / Sentinel Pass / Paradise Valley.
The hike would take us over the back of Morraine Lake through an alpine larch valley (appropriately named, you see) to Sentinel Pass, which rose between two mountains and featured tall stalagmite-like pillars of stone rising like guards (or sentinels, if you will) watching both valleys. From there it was a scramble down some pretty loose scree to Paradise Valley which, to be honest, was a rather boring hike with a few nice spots spread way too far out and guideposts that displayed random numbers of kilometres. The whole deal was 17 km and we had to hitchhike back to the base of Morraine Lake. Well, by we I mean one of us (it’s scary to pick up one person much less two). Dan tried first and was on his last car before it was my turn when some people pulled over and drove him down the road where we were parked. Dan picked me up, again, and our last day was concluded. Tomorrow, we were crossing back into BC to visit Yoho National Park, then back to Banff for a day before it was time for me to get home and Dan back to the States.
In spite of the fact that I live only six or seven hours from Jasper, I have never spent any time in this national park. I drove through it once upon a time on the scenic road to Victoria, I think in 1995 or 1996. I remember wanting to drive because everybody was tired except me. But that’s irrelevant. Dan and I were here, now, and it was our plan to explore the park thoroughly. After stopping at the park ranger’s office for tips, we decided to hike Geraldine Lakes. We drove south towards them, the weather growing increasingly cloudy as we made our way there. After climbing a windy logging road, we set off but did not get very far before the rain started. We’d reached the first lake, about 3 km and decided to press on. With every step, the rain grew heavier, the rocks more slippery, but still we trudged. There was a loud crack and lightning lit the sky and that’s when it happened.
We decided to turn back. I hate to turn back, to give up, but it made little sense to continue. We could see up to the area we’d be climbing to reach the second and supposedly more beautiful Geraldine Lake and it appeared to be the epicentre of this storm. We turned around and hiked the other 3km back to the car. Nature: 1. Man: 0. Looking north towards Jasper town, the sky appeared clearer, so we backtracked to Mt. Edith Cavell, which was a pair of glaciers, one melting with icebergs in the melt pool, the other dripping more traditionally from countless pores into small streams, waterfalls, and rivers. We hiked the trail down to the melt pool and took a look around before we decided to scale the massive scree pile and see what we could see. Now, on a nice day this would be a great vantage point. All we could see was the storm clouds we’d outrun earlier come hunting like Black Riders in Hobbiton, sneaking but determined up the valley, shrieking with every lightning bolt at our prior escape. We got back to the car just as the rain began.
At this point we gave up on hiking for a day and wandered the streets of Jasper. While Dan was talking to a friend on Skype, I wandered around a bit, settling on an old steam train set up outside the train station. It was pristine and had that certain mechanical romance that only the more simple machines of that era can hold and nearby there was an interview going on. When I got home, I discovered that my grandpa had been the engineer for this train, at least for a time, and that was just sort of a surreal discovery. Eventually Dan finished on the phone and another restaurant meal was not in the cards. We popped by the grocery store and picked up a whole chicken and threw it into a stew with corn, beans, rice, and potatoes. It was hearty, hot, and declicious and we only managed to finish half of it which meant we’d have a nice lunch for tomorrow.
That next day was a monumental day. First of all, I discovered why people often rate Jasper higher than Banff. The weather was better and there were too many options to count for outdoor activity. We drove to Maligne Canyon, itself a beautiful drive, and that brings me to the second reason the day was monumental. I spotted my first bear in the wild. Sort of. It felt like a bit of a cop out to see it along the road, but we came across a cub foraging and chowing down on berries along the Maligne River. It was safely distant but we were on the lookout for a mama bear nonetheless. And finally, the canyon itself was pretty nice, though touristy, but using Dan’s tripod I got a pretty cool shot of these two waterfalls within it. We also drove to Maligne Lake, which drains underground into the canyon, and this late in the year, had almost entirely drained itself.
The Malignes (French for wicked, by the way) were nice enough, but they didn’t compare to other things we’d seen. Then we drove south again, stopping first north of Jasper at Pyramid Lake, which was actually very nice, and then at Five Lakes. We hiked in and came across a slough where, according to the map (which in typical Parks Canada fashion was terrible), there was supposed to be one of the five lakes. We climbed a hill and no other lakes were there to be found. So we backtracked away, assuming that like Maligne they’d dried up, though deep down we both felt it quite possible we were wrong and hadn’t reached them yet. We considered telling a family walking down with fishing rods that there was none to be done but thought better of it. We may be wrong, there may have been lakes, and we also faced the danger of bursting out laughing.
The last stop for the day was the lovely Horseshoe Lake, seemingly abandoned except for some locals, this pristine lake has great spots for cliff jumping and all around was a pretty nice place to hang out. We weren’t prepared for the cliff jumping but we did hang out and watch others and with the sun beaming down it was a nice spot. Certainly, if Five Lakes had been anything like this we would have probably stayed there. But we weren’t going to be staying anywhere for too long. After all, I had to be home for the beginning of September, a Franz Ferdinand concert, and my birthday. It was my last one in the 20’s after all. So the next day, Dan and I set off south towards Banff. This is no routine drive, it is regularly rated one of the best drives in the world and you can see why. Next time, on The Life of I.
