10.8.16 — Washington, DC
It’s been a full five weeks now since I’ve returned from Canada, 35 days of people asking, “So how was it?” or exclaiming, “Your pictures … ugh … amazing.” And I’ve had a difficult time putting into words, much less complete sentences, the place I experienced with friends Rach and Crespo alongside. My answers have gone something like this (summarizing here):
Spectacular. At every turn.
BLUEEEE lakes.
Jaggged peaks.
STUNNNNING
Rach first threw out the idea of visiting Banff and Jasper national parks last winter. After our 2015 Alaska trip — “Operation Yo Bear” — we knew we wanted a sequel adventure. Rach, always the explorer with an expansive knowledge of the world’s most beautiful places, proposed the idea. I did the basic research on the small sliver of the Canadian Rockies in Alberta. I bought maps. I added a couple books. And it didn’t take long to realize this place would provide an almost overwhelming amount of hiking and camping opportunities to satiate our collective thirst for adventure.
On a Sunday afternoon in May — just days after returning from a Death Valley/Joshua Tree adventure — I bought us a round of Compass Coffee and we sprawled out on the hardwood floor of Rach’s place to finalize the trip. We hit “confirm” on our flights to Calgary (as usual, Crespo somehow booked a different flight for one leg of the journey), and it was official. Now for the actual planning of the trip.
A Saturday night in May found me taking over an entire table at DC’s Union Market, three maps spread out in front of me as I attempted to figure out which hikes — out of hundreds — we should do during what I knew would be a super fast nine days. I grinned inwardly as a family sitting at the end of the table got in a heated discussion about the NBA (the things that entertain me). Memorial Day found me at the Compass Coffee on P Street (sense a theme here?) doing more map work before calling Parks Canada to book our campsites:
Lake Louise for two nights.
The backcountry of the Skyline Trail in Jasper for two nights (incredibly popular sites that go quickly)
A shuttle from Jasper to the Skyline Trail
And we would fill in the rest
By early June, as I began a month dominated by work, I felt confident we’d be able to stay in the places with the most appeal despite adventuring in late August-early September — a popular time in the nationals parks. The nice thing about preparing for this trip was that we’d done this before. We had most of the equipment. Rach and Crespo knew they’d be sharing Rach’s two-person tent and that it would work out. We all knew how efficient Rach’s Jetboil would be at boiling water. We know the importance of head-to-toe rain and snow gear. We knew, from our Alaska experience, what weather might hit us. We mostly knew each other’s tendencies and how to annoy each other (plenty on that throughout this post). Most importantly, we knew that we were more than capable of spending 10 days together, mostly in the backcountry, without completely driving each other crazy.
But I worried. Well, at least a little. As July turned to August and one summer hiking trip (Portland) blended into the next (New Hampshire), I finalized our day-by-day hiking plan and there was one clear-cut difference from 2015: We would be walking a lot more. We took in A LOT in Alaska, but we only hiked serious miles on five days. We totaled about 43 miles. On this trip, the plan was to hike eight or nine consecutive days, and do double-digits on many of our treks. Every time I saw Rach in August, I needled her — you ready for this, I asked? I worried about Crespo’s typical bumps and bruises. I tried not to overdo it myself at our November Project workouts, knowing how many miles I’d be slogging north of the border.
Miles, not bears, not anything else, stayed top of mind until Friday, Aug. 26 when I walked the three blocks to Rach’s and we jumped into our ride to the airport. We picked up Crespo at the Department of Commerce and despite my best efforts to be an idiot (including, apparently, trying to check in for our WestJet flight as a child), we made our first plane to Chicago. A layover, overpriced airport drink and many giggles of anticipation later — wearing our “Yo Bear” red hoodies that Rach ordered for us, an unexpected and brilliant idea — we boarded for Calgary, Alberta, the last leg of a journey several months in the making. Canada beckoned.
YO, BEAR.
Friday, August 26 — The arrival
We arrived around 9:30pm MST Friday night, quite the upgrade from our 12:30am landing in Anchorage the year before. Teresa, a woman we’d never met, picked us up. Yes, that’s right. I had been connected to Teresa through Tanis, a November Project friend who lives in Edmonton. Teresa does NP in Calgary and being a member of the tribe (aka, as cool as they come; not worried about picking up three strangers and hosting them), she graciously — that’s an understatement — scooped us from the airport, drove us back to her place, served us celebratory welcome drinks and spent an hour chatting up Canada with us … all the night before a race. Incredible.
Saturday, August 27 — The first hikes
After a good night’s sleep, we threw everything back in Teresa’s car and she drove us to an A&W right across the street in NE Calgary from the Hertz where we’d pick up our car. It wasn’t available at 8am, so we grabbed a very cheap breakfast (organic coffee included!) while taking over an entire corner of the business with our four gigantic bags and three smaller backpacks. Yeah, we a had a ton of stuff. Even though our car rental wasn’t until 10am, I decided to walk over to the Hertz at 9 to see if we could get the vehicle early. And yes, all I can say is CANADA. Take the nicest person you know in the United States and add a shot of espresso to their geniality. That’s a typical Canadian for you. The car guys were more than happy to provide me with the keys to our Toyota Corolla.
From there, we made quick work of our Calgary errands so we could head to the mountains early. First, a brief stop at Canada’s version of REI, MEC, for fuel, bear spray, and freeze-dried dinners (eight each) plus a few other items. A note on bear spray: we took it more seriously than the year before. This is not to say that we thought there are more bears in Banff and Jasper than in Alaska. Rather, we only hiked two days in Alaska by ourselves with the chance of seeing a grizzly. On this trip, we would quadruple that. Also, we were just a year smarter. So we all huddled around the store clerk at MEC as she described, step by step, what we had read up on several times. We would be ready if the most unlikely of circumstances occurred — a bear sighting AND bear attack. We left MEC with a new bear spray, giving us two including the other unused one Teresa lent us.
Next, we pulled around the downtown corner in Calgary to Safeway for food, knowing exactly what we needed. Breakfasts — oatmeal and raisins for me. Lunches — two things of cheese, crackers. Peanut butter because, gosh darn it, this Safeway was mediocre and lacked sunbutter, and Nutella to supplement the PB with gluten-free raisin bread. Some candy (Rach and Crespo went Snickers, I went Reese’s bars). And a big thing of gorp to share. Done! Finally, we found ourselves a liquor store, bought a handle of Canadian whiskey, and we were on the road to Banff National Park before even lunchtime. It was quite the improvement in efficiency from the year before when we didn’t depart Anchorage for Denali until mid-afternoon.
The drive from Calgary to Banff is about an hour and pretty nondescript. The roads were mostly clear, and the only notable thing I remember from that drive was stopping for a pee break (a regular thing for Rach and me) at an exit that only had a casino. So yes, we set foot in a casino on this trip. Didn’t see that coming, did ya?
We arrived in Banff townsite a little after 1pm and, spur of the moment decision, decided to warm up our legs with an ascent of Tunnel Mountain. For several minutes of driving on a winding, up-and-down, narrow road, I wasn’t sure we’d find the trailhead. But just as I was about to give up, a crowded parking lot beckoned. The 1.5-mile hike up Tunnel Mountain (5,543 ft) was not one on which we needed the bear spray. The gradual trail was packed with casual hikers of all shapes and size. We joined the crowds in the mid-60s weather. Rain looked like it could arrive any minute, but we weren’t worried. A scamper back to the car would be quick. Near the top, we came to an outlook with our first great view of the trip — as I stared at Tunnel’s massive and smooth neighbor Mt. Rundle (9,672 ft), I immediately thought of Yosemite’s Half Dome. There was a striking resemblance. Minutes later, we gained Tunnel’s crowded summit and sat for our first cheese and crackers lunch of the adventure while taking in the view of Banff townsite and a cloudy, overcast sky to the north (for some reason, Rach and Crespo later thought this was just a snack; no, guys, cheese and crackers is a legitimate lunch!).
A postscript note on Tunnel Mountain: The views from its summit were beautiful, but when we look back on this trip it’s almost forgettable. It just doesn’t compare. The other thing I’ll remember about Tunnel is how many kids shortcutted the switchbacks and how many fake paths had developed on the trail because of that. Not cool, kids (and teach ‘em better, adults!).
A light rain had started to fall as we reached the car, but it didn’t deter us from our second hike of day 1. We drove north out of Banff and jumped on the Bow Valley Parkway that runs parallel to the Transcanada Highway northwest out of the town. As we drove north, ginormous peaks began sprouting up on both sides of the road. Yes, nature was taking over. We were low on water as we arrived at the Johnston Canyon trailhead, so I pulled into the campground on the opposite side of the road and a nice Canadian (shocker!) at the booth refilled all our Nalgenes and Camelbacks for us. Since Rach and Crespo hadn’t realized that cheese and crackers was lunch, they decided to eat a PB&J at the trailhead in the rain with the runny Safeway peanut butter. The result with these messy two was what you’d expect — peanut butter all over clothing items, the rain only spreading it.
Yo, bear?
Thankfully, Johnston Canyon was another tourist trap where the chance of seeing a bear was highly unlikely. I don’t even remember if we took the bear spray. Maybe? Anyway, we donned our rain jackets and joined the throngs on a level trail that took us 1 mile to the lower falls and then another half mile to the upper cascade. The trail’s catwalks offered both viewpoints from below and above the falls, and a patch of moss adjacent to the upper falls made the view even more spectacular. A bridge at the lower falls allowed us to take in the cascade from both a distance and up close. As we completed the 3-mile trek, the rain picked up. We were soaked and a little cold as we returned to the Corolla a little after 6pm. It was time to get to our campsite at Lake Louise.
With rain continuing to fall, views were obstructed on the drive north to Lake Louise but that didn’t damper our enthusiasm. We’d had our warmup. Tunnel and Johnston were cool hikes with splendid beauty, but now we were getting to the good stuff, the main course. As we pulled into the Lake Louise campground, a massive site that’s just five miles from the lake, the first thing I noticed was the fence — an electric fence circumnavigates the campground to keep grizzlies out. In the week leading up to our trip, I’d regularly checked the trail conditions website for Banff and a posting informed readers that bears in the area around the campsite were very active and hikers needed to make a lot of noise or simply stay off the trails. I had wondered how that might affect our campsite, but now we had the answer. Not at all.
By the time we reached our site, the rain was gone and it was nearly 8pm. So after setting up camp quickly in the wooded area, we made the obvious dinner decision to cook our freeze-dried meals at the lake. We jumped back in the Corolla and made the short drive to Banff’s most popular place. Walking down the short path and emerging from the pine trees to the site of that blue lake and the backdrop of the mountains is one of those experiences that I’ll always struggle to describe. One needs to experience it for themselves. My eyes adjusted to a scene from a horror movie before the monster creeps out of the woods. A completely still, blue lake with a dock of kayaks reflecting a distant glacier and a sky pocked with post-rain clouds. The foreground for my photos: a single, skinny pine tree and a shoreline of basketball-sized stones. We weren’t alone as many families and a few couples who were probably staying at the fancy Fairmont Inn, which stands tall above the small lake, enjoyed the views with us. After taking several photos, we settled on a bench at Louise’s edge as dusk enveloped us. We got the Jetboil and my stove going, boiling lake water for a delicious freeze-dried meal. I added a cup of tea with whiskey, an impeccable drink combination I’d learned about a year prior in Alaska’s Denali. We stayed until it was pitch black and we were alone. The only thing missing were stars, as the sky remained overcast. Outside of that, we couldn’t have asked for more.
A short walk through the dark later, utilizing our headlamps for the first time, and we were back at the car. A short drive later, and we were back at the campsite, crawling into our tents content from an action-packed first day in Banff. Now what would our first FULL day in the park bring?
Sunday, Aug. 28 -- Jumping right into things
The forecast for our first full day in Banff National Park was promising, and the plan was to fully take advantage of it. This meant a hike up the Mt. Bourgeau Trail just north of Banff townsite. I hustled Rach and Crespo out of their tent a bit after 7 and we scarfed down a breakfast in the early morning chill. I wasn’t sure if our hike would end at Bourgeau Lake (9.2 miles RT), Harvey Pass (12 miles RT) or the top of Mt. Bourgeau (14.9 miles RT), but I wanted to give us as much time as possible on the mountain.
We got our act together and were on the trail at 9:51am. The weather was tame, maybe in the low 60s, as we started walking through dense forest. And that was the story of the majority of the first 4.5 miles. We passed and then were passed by a few other small groups of hikers, but we mostly hiked alone — meaning that this was our first “make noise” test of the trip. Crespo and I carried the bear spray canisters in our belts. Since it was our first full day, we had a whole wealth of topics to talk about. We caught up on the previous year of our lives, told stories from trips, and generally kept the chatter going all the way to Bourgeau Lake. Less than an hour into the hike, we emerged briefly from the woods for a limited cloud-striped view into Bow Valley and of the high peaks to the north of the Bow Valley Parkway. We crossed over a couple streams a few miles up on the moderate-grade trail and then I was pleasantly surprised when the pines cleared and we approached the lake.
Bourgeau Lake at 6,915 feet is a basin set against the towering wall of Mt. Bourgeau that shoots up vertically from its southern shore. The east side of the small lake is its most visited, as you can make your way over rocks to water’s edge. After finding a rock good for sitting, I turned around and the views back north were opening up. Oh, this was getting good! We had hiked 4.5 miles and gained nearly 2,500 feet. The crazy thing? That mountain above us was still a 2,600-foot climb. Would we be able to attain it? I didn’t know at that moment, a bit after 12:30pm, but I certainly wasn’t ready to rule it out so I encouraged us to get moving after scarfing down a nutella and peanut butter sandwich and some gorp.
The 1.5 miles to Harvey Pass were absolutely spectacular. We soon left the woods and ascended a steep scree slope. That wasn’t easy, but the awards at the top made the heavy breathing worth it. Suddenly, we were walking on easy ground in a meadow full of colors (I’m sure a week or two later, it was even more eye-popping; autumn hadn’t quite yet arrived). We wended our way up what became a flat dirt path to the left, passing the first small Harvey Lake. The trail was easy enough that I could let my eyes wander in all directions to take in the distant mountain peaks that were popping up here and there, and here and there! A short climb later, we reached the second Harvey Lake, nestled just below us to our right at the base of yet another peak. At the end of the small lake (a strong baseball player probably could have thrown a ball from one end to the other), a man alerted me to an unsigned junction. Turn left for Mt. Bourgeau, he said matter-of-factly.
I had no doubt. And neither, it seemed, did Rach and Crespo. It wasn’t even 2pm yet. We were going for the top, some 1,6000 feet above us. It was time to climb up that ridge we had craned our necks to see from the basin below.
There’s no official trail up Bourgeau, but it’s been hiked enough that it’s not to difficult to follow in previous hikers’ footsteps. Plus, a sense of intuition will take you in the right direction (aka, up). We meandered our way up the loose rocks, one step after another. I was a little tired, sure, but for being over 8,000 feet and for having climbed more than 3,500 feet, I felt good. The scenery certainly helped. About halfway up, we came to a flat portion with a perfect outcrop from which to gaze down — straight down – at the lake below, and admire the mountain ridges in all directions. How could this get anymore spectacular, I asked myself, as I walked out onto a small slab of determined snow that had somehow survived summer.
The final ascent was a slog up a steep slope of packed-down loose rock. The footing wasn’t bad, but the elevation sure made us earn the peak. I reached the top of Bourgeau a bit after 3:30pm and Crespo and Rach joined me shortly thereafter. Upon gaining the summit, one of the hikers we had encountered earlier let a congratulatory yell and alerted us to the fact that four countries (the U.S., Canada, Colombia and Germany) were represented by the people now all at 9,616 feet. The top was a long, somewhat narrow ridge with a diminutive weather station tower at one end and a cliff with multiple outcrops to explore on the other. There was no shortage of views to admire from the top, but as is often the case, the sense of accomplishment dwarfed them — the views and scenery had been equally expansive and brilliant on the way up.
We lingered until a bit after 4. By that point, the air’s chill was getting to me and a few ominous clouds hinted at possible inclement weather nearby. Sure enough, as we began the steep climb down, a light rain started to fall and we stopped to pull out our jackets. By the time we were back at Harvey Pass, the precipitation was gone and was replaced, momentarily at least, by a rainbow. The late-afternoon light in the sky and shadows cast by Bourgeau and the surrounding peaks made the views even more spectacular than on the ascent. I couldn’t help myself taking more photos. I don’t think we encountered a single hiker on the way down, enjoying the tranquility of the evening but also remembering to make noise in the woods (it’s a little tougher when you’ve walked close to 15 miles and climbed 5,000 feet. We resorted to singing, specifically our favorite sports on TV theme songs. For the record, the NBA on NBC by John Tesh is the winner).
We got back to the parking lot about 8:10pm, conked out from a 10-hour first full day of hiking. After stretching in the parking lot, Crespo dropped his head on his backpack and I handed him the bottle of whiskey from the back seat. A nice swig was well-deserved. Maybe two. So was pizza — well, at least for the gluten-eating crowd. So with some research work in the Lake Louise area, we ended the night eating dinner and reminiscing in a dank, mostly empty building usually reserved for employees at the Fairmont and other Lake Louise businesses. Monday would bring more adventures, but for at least an hour nothing but food and sore muscles consumed us.
Not surprisingly, falling asleep once back at the campsite was the easiest part of the day.
MILES HIKED: 14.9
Monday, Aug. 29 — Moraine Lake, Wenkchemna Pass
In preparing for the trip, we had been told by park rangers that the parking lot at popular Moraine Lake fills very quickly in the mornings. So we made it a priority, even after our long first day, to get to Moraine — just 15-20 minutes from the campsite — before 9. After a winding, uphill drive, we arrived around 8:30 and didn’t have an issue finding a spot in the large lot. Time for breakfast. We gathered all our food gear (stoves, fuel, oatmeal, teas, coffees) and walked down toward the world-renowned body of water that sits at 6,181 feet. At water’s edge, we stepped on and over several large logs along with other morning visitors — the place was already bustling.
Maybe it was because of the time of day and/or being at lake level, but Moraine’s color, initially, didn’t jump out. It was a blue, but not an OH MY GOD blue (much more on this later). We walked a ways down the shore and found a somewhat secluded place for breakfast. Crespo and Rach forgot something, so I boiled my water and had my go-to tea and oatmeal by the time they returned from the car. I was my typical impatient, thinking about our hike for the day. At least the scenery was special. As I took a final sip of my peppermint tea, I gazed up at just a few of the “Ten Peaks” range of mountains and their receding glaciers high above the water. Stunning.
And then we reached the junction. A few people passed us and turned right for the more-popular Sentinel Pass Trail; I liked the fact that we took the less-traveled and, from all accounts, just as spectacular (and not more difficult) Eiffel Lake Trail. It didn’t take long to impress. The flat path opened up quickly, offering sensational views of Moraine and many of the 10 snow-capped peaks. (Pause: OK, you’re probably thinking, Didn’t it ever get boring of looking at the same views? Answer: NO NO NO. Every 50 feet provided a different perspective, a constantly changing lens through which to look at the lake and the mountains.)
The flat trail soon emerged from the scrub and we could see EVERYTHING in front of us: Eiffel Lake, the winding ridge trail, and a couple miles and a little elevation farther ahead, Wenkchemna Pass — our destination. I’ve said it before and I still believe this: It’s easier to hike and forget about any aches or pains when you can see where you’re trying to get to. That’s why hiking out west has always been mentally easier for me than climbing the Appalachians. Anyway, in this setting, it was darn near impossible to think about anything negative or focus on any pain or discomfort; the beauty overwhelmed such thoughts. On the narrow ridge trail that sliced off to our left toward the lake and peaks (but not dramatically) , I found a place with a few flat rocks where we stopped for lunch a bit after 1pm. We’d been wearing short sleeves all hike, but I threw on my puffy jacket for the break. The weather really was perfect, several puffy clouds accentuating an otherwise blue sky.
The trail stayed a few hundred feet above Eiffel Lake and then curved around its backside before beginning the climb to the pass. We passed a spot where cold water gushed down over a rock and Crespo bent over for a drink; I didn’t stop him — everything was so pure. We also walked around several patches of majestic moss, providing an impeccable foreground for photographers shooting toward the lake and mountains back to the east. I also should mention the momentus mountain that appeared to our right as we climbed, a granite tower shooting up into the clear blue sky. My eyes fixated on this figure before returning to the trail and the beauty on the other side.
Ubiquitous, utmost, unimaginable beauty. That’s how I’d describe it.
At 2:55pm we came to a sign marking Wenkchemna Pass, the hike’s turnaround point and the border between Alberta and British Columbia. I walked a hundred feet west to, I think, assure entry into B.C. Two provinces during a day hike — not too shabby. Everything about the spot was perfect (the stunning views to the east of behemoth Mt. Temple at 11,624 feet; the Valley of the Ten Peaks; the closest of the 10 and its smooth ridge that I imagined scaling to a pencil-sharp summit; the lakes below; I could go on…), so we lingered for an hour or so. Crespo took his shirt off. Rach appeared to doze off. We all took dozens of photos. And we met a couple from Boston who shared their whiskey as we discussed our respective plans for the rest of our trips in the area (it was already becoming clear to us that it’s hard to go wrong).
We left Wenkchemna around 4 and enjoyed a leisurely descent. Rach outclassed me, climbing a rock we had admired on the way up. The ridge path was as enjoyable on the way down, and we watched as a couple marmots peeped out from the boulders below us. There weren’t many spots on the relatively open trail where we needed to make a lot of noise, but we did let out some “Yo Bears” and had the spray handy. As we walked down the switchbacks on the Larch Valley Trail, I realized that our original plan to hike out, drive more than half an hour, and then hike 1.2 miles to camp at Hector Lake wasn’t feasible. It was too late. So I hatched a new itinerary that included staying at Moraine for dinner, camping at Mosquito Creek campground off the Icefields Parkway, and then doing Hector the next day. It worked out very, very well.
Why? Because looking back now, I can’t imagine not experiencing Moraine from up high like we did that night. We took our freeze-dried meals to the popular lookout that lies above the lake’s northern edge and gazed in awe at the color of the water below us. We’d gotten a sneak peek of it during our hike, but now we could see the whole thing with the backdrop of the 10 peaks. So THIS was where everyone takes their Instagram photos! (Note: I feel perfectly fine embracing the “tourist spots” as long as they’re not the only thing we do; so since we had hiked close to 12 miles earlier, I soaked up every minute of our time at this hot spot.) As the sun set behind the clouds, Moraine slowly darkened, and we finished our meals and sipped whiskey (mine with tea), we chatted up a young man who was the only person left besides us. Wesley was 18 and on his way to starting college in Victoria. He was driving west with his parents. At one point he asked us for advice, and we were in agreement — explore as much as possible and enjoy the incredible beauty the west has to offer. Man, how I wish I could be 18 again armed with the knowledge of how incredible hiking is, especially in places such as Banff.
When we couldn’t see anything anymore, we finally packed up everything, navigated with headlamps the short trail back to the parking lot, and got back in the car. We stopped in Louise at a gas station for a few necessities for the next day — chocolate milk, of course — before heading north on the Icefields Parkway. What I’ll remember from that short drive is how pitch black everything was around us. Our phones quickly lost service. We might’ve been driving, but wilderness surrounded us. We didn’t have much trouble finding the campground, and set up our tents a bit after 10pm. That’s when Rach realized that she didn’t have her headlamp. An exhaustive search proved futile, so she concluded she’d left it at Moraine. I gave her the keys before crawling into my tent (this was just the beginning of Rach earning her self-proclaimed reputation to lose things; she and Crespo would return south early in the morning to hopefully reclaim the headlamp before we continued our adventures).
I sure hoped she’d find it, because we’d spend the next night away from our car’s lights.
MILES HIKED: 11.6
Tuesday, Aug. 30 — A lake, a pass, a marmot, and camping on a lake
I awoke Tuesday morning to an empty campsite. I groggily turned on my phone to find out it was a few minutes after 8. Peaking outside my tent, the car was gone. It appeared Crespo had gone with Rach to (hopefully) retrieve her headlamp. I was alone sans food, water or anything besides a warm return to my sleeping bag. Thankfully, after a walk to the campground’s bathroom, a return lined up with my friends pulling into our campsite. Rach had the headlamp. But now a bigger issue loomed — she couldn’t locate her wallet. Goodness!
We weren’t going to worry about it, at least too much, at the moment, however. It would turn up, right? After an initial futile wallet search, we ate a breakfast at the cold, damp campsite before stuffing everything back in the car and heading just a bit north to the Helen Lake Trail. Our plan for the day, despite a late start close to 11am, was to hike 3.7 miles to Helen Lake — set below captivating Cirque Peak — and then continue to Dolomite Pass with splendid views of Lake Katherine and surrounding mountains and lakes. I secretly harbored a desire to scale Cirque (9,820 feet), but I also knew that after the previous two days’ miles Rach and Crespo probably didn’t share my feeling. Also, we had a 1.2-mile hike in the evening to Hector Lake after all this. It was going to be an action-packed day.
Our biggest initial challenge was the need for water. We had but maybe two liters total, but the map revealed a crossing just a couple miles into the ascent. As it turned out, we passed a small stream within 10 minutes that had sufficient flow to be treated. The first two miles of trail provided a moderate, winding ascent on the hottest day of our trip yet (despite us being our farthest north). We passed by a large patch of barren, scarred trees on our left (more on that spot later) and then ascended through pines until views began opening up back to the south of Crowfoot Glacier. Sufficiently sweating from the midday sun, we came to a sharp left turn in the trail — having gained about 1,500 feet — and the trail flattened out as we began hiking on a ridge trail that made a beeline for Cirque Peak.
We passed a few streams, stopping at one to filter more water, admire the yellow wildflowers growing everywhere, and bask in the early afternoon sun. After a final stream crossing, this one the biggest by far, we climbed a bank and entered a beautiful meadow landscape. A month earlier, it was likely scattered with wildflowers but it still showed off in late August. We climbed very gradually, Cirque slowly becoming bigger as we neared, until Helen Lake (7,795 feet) came into view and we reached its banks. The lake, while lacking the color of Louise or Moraine, was artfully tucked in at the base of what looked to be a steep southern slope of Cirque. A couple other groups of hikers sat around its shores, enjoying the midday sun rays and tranquility. Rach found a lone rock close to the water that worked well as a chair and she settled in. We hung around for a while, eating lunch and admiring the surrounding scenery. We could have settled for calling it a day and taking a slow approach back down, but I knew there was so much more to see!
Fully satiated and relaxed from our chill time, we strapped our day packs back on and headed around the right site of the lake toward the zigzagging trail up the headwall to Dolomite Pass (note: this portion of the trail was badly eroded and people clearly hadn’t helped it by taking a few different routes up the loose rocks. It was a salient example of how a trail can quickly become unrecognizable. On our way down, Crespo and I moved some rocks in an effort to block the incorrect route that we had just descended). Once we reached the headwall and the terrain flattened, we continued a ways before coming to an unmarked intersection. Without thinking, we took the right fork that slowly began ascending the loose rock trail. Pretty soon it became clear that our path, while taking us to a cool overlook, was unofficial. The path to Dolomite Pass was below us.
However, it was already 2:15pm and a descent back to the fork and then past Lake Katherine to the pass would have been close to 2 more miles (before turning around), so we decided that with the spectacular views we already had from the outlook, skipping the pass wouldn’t be a disaster (note: of course I was disappointed not to reach our destination, and I expressed disappointment to Rach and Crespo; inwardly, though, I knew we had no realistic chance of getting to the pass and having time to return and hike into Hector Lake before dark).
Exposed on the ridge, we were hit by wind gusts that had been nonexistent at the lake. We took turns walking out onto an overhang where we could sit, dangle our feet, and gaze for miles toward Bow Valley and surrounding snow-capped peaks. That was the view to the south and east. Below us just north lay Lake Katherine, sparking in the mid-afternoon light. And then, of course, back to the northwest rose Cirque, a mountain with burnt-orange and clay layers of color that I couldn’t divert my eyes from. I’ll climb you next time, Cirque.
As we were about to depart the lake, another group approached. One of them asked us how long we thought it would take to climb the peak (two hours up and down? I guessed — at least). And then another told us some news — they had seen a bear on their way up. A BEAR! After months of thinking about and preparing for a possible grizzly encounter, this was the first we had heard of one on our trip. The group informed us that they’d seen one off the trail in the patch of dead trees near the base of the trail. Noted. We would be ready to sing and make all the noise!
After taking the wrong path down the headwall back to Helen Lake, we discovered a different, slightly smaller, more amicable animal chilling in the grass above the shoreline and just a few feet from the trail. Yep, you guessed it, a hoary marmot! This was not, I should mention, at all surprising (the best animal photo I’ve ever taken, by a longshot, was of a marmot on the slopes of Mt. Rainier). Still, we and about 10 other people stopped for a few minutes to take a zillion photos of the little guy who ate grass and fussed about without a care in the world. Oh, how I love marmots!
The rest of our descent was uneventful, except for the acquisition of a German hiker. Yep, that’s right — when we reached the largest stream crossing at the end of the meadow, we came upon a young woman who asked if she could join us for the descent. She had been told about the bear and smartly didn’t want to go down alone. The 19-year-old woman, appropriately named Helen, was spending a couple months exploring the Canadian Rockies by herself. How awesome is that? Europeans know how to travel and explore, that’s for sure. Crespo quizzed Helen on Germans’ perceptions of certain soccer players, we sang Adele and Justin Bieber, and we slowly and loudly walked through the bear-sighted area without incident (although a part of me wanted to see the guy). Knowing that Helen didn’t have a ride back to where she was staying at Lake Louise, I was mentally preparing myself at the bottom to tell her we’d take her (which would make our evening attempt to reach Hector before darkness very rushed) but thankfully a couple that finished their hike around the same time was going that way and we bid Auf Wiedersehen to our new neighbor.
It was somewhere between 5-6pm (I somehow forgot to log a time!) when we laid out our stuff in the trailhead parking lot and began thinking about what we’d need for our first night camping in the backcountry. Rach and Crespo had their tent; I had mine. We all had sleeping pads and bags. We had two stoves and fuel. We had freeze-dried meals. We had some but not a lot of whiskey. We had the bear spray (obviously). We had bug spray. Thankfully, we all had headlamps for the first time that we’d really, really need ‘em. We didn’t have Rach’s wallet, but that was OK (there was no lakefront store, hah hah). And, of course, we had a bunch of layers of clothes. Good to go!
On the short drive south past our campground of the night before and to the unmarked parking area for Hector Lake, Rach, from the backseat, told us nonchalantly, “Hey, I found my wallet.” Wait, what?? Yep, it had been in one of the backseat door’s open pockets. Go figure! Anyway, it was nice to have that somewhat important item accounted for before our camping trip. When we reached the parking lot we knew to be the trailhead, I was surprised to see four or five other cars. Ah, man, I said, “I thought we were going to have this place all to ourselves!” I mean, Hector Lake was on maps and there was a real trail to it; still, it wasn’t highlighted in the guidebooks I had bought for the trip and I hadn’t seen a whole lot about it on the web. Plus, to reach the lake, one needed to ford a somewhat formidable section of the Bow River. All these cars must mean that the ford is a piece of cake, right?
Wrong! After about half a mile of gradually descending through a dense forest and over many mini, barely decipherable streams, we emerged from the woods to a very loud body of water and HOLY SHIT, that was a FUCKING RIVER! The ranger on the phone just days prior had told us the river might be up to our knees but passable. At first glance, it appeared to be at least knee height in most places with a strong current, too. I was worried. I wasn’t sure we could do it. Thankfully, my comrades were more optimistic. My issue was that I didn’t have extra shoes or hiking poles. Crespo had poles to help stabilize his bare feet on the slippery, odd-shaped rocks beneath the surface. Rach had that crucial extra pair of shoes for much easier walking, plus poles. I had nothing. Well, except for some ragged, community river-crossing shoes. Yes, a pair of roughed-up sneakers dangled from the branch of a bush on the shore. Clearly, they’d been worn many times by river crossers. I picked them up and my heart sank … size 9! I usually wear 13s, or 12s at the smallest. No way could I fit into 9’s. But Rach encouraged me to at least try them on, so that I did, bunching up my toes as tight as possible. They were incredibly uncomfortable, but they would work for crossing a 75-foot river. I was the third to go, and the community kicks made a huge difference with each step from rock to rock. The current was strong, but I never felt in danger of falling in. The water was cool but not ice cold and felt good on the legs after our warm day hike up to Helen.
Having achieved the river crossing, I took off the shoes and hung them from a tree branch; I hoped they’d still be there the next morning for our return trip. On the half mile hike from the west shore of the river to Hector Lake, we encountered several small piles of bear scat. Hmm. We sung, we threw out a bunch of “Yo, Bears,” and we wondered if the bears were just chillin’ at the lake waiting for us. Yes, of course that was it. Hah! And then we finally came to a clearing and guess what greeted our eyes — yes, that aqua water color again.
Hector Lake.
The moment I set eyes on Hector, I knew it was special. The body of water, probably 10 times the size of Louise or Moraine, had that same tranquil quality and water hue. It was the impeccable lake to camp out by. We just wouldn’t have it to ourselves. The first clearing we came to had two tents and a young, friendly German couple sitting out making dinner. When we scrambled down a short path to the shore, we encountered a group of five or six American college kids having a grand old time — two of them were swimming, while the others threw bags of beer cans in the water to stay cool. They were friendly and full of life and offered up their space as a communal bonfire and dinner spot. We headed back up the trail in search of campsites. One of the most clearly marked sites — just a stone’s throw from the water but with only partial views because of tree cover — was already taken by a couple and their beautiful border collie Sophie, but an adjacent site was empty. With only so much light left in the sky, we decided to take it and quickly set up our tents.
Then we returned to the lake with our dinner gear and man, the lake was splendid. The overcast sky wasn’t going to produce a great sunset, but that really didn’t matter. The stillness of the water. The mountain peaks jutting up beyond the shore particularly at 3 and 9 o’clock, and the ridge beyond 6 o’clock. The scene was incredibly beautiful and as we noticed that now three parties had set up their tents along the narrow shoreline and that there remained open spaces, what happened next wasn’t surprising. “Let’s move our tents,” Rach suggested. I couldn’t argue with her. Moments later, there we were carrying our shelters down the overgrown path, through the brush, to the lake. We were doing this! We set them up on the small, sandy beach seemingly a safe 20 feet or so from the shore. That taken care of, we got water boiling and joined the gathering crew on logs around a bonfire just down the beach from us. Our communal time was short but enjoyable. I talked sports with the kids who were from Milwaukee and Minnesota, and we passed around the whiskey as darkness enveloped the peaceful lake. But that wasn’t the case for long, as not long after dusk, the sky began sprinkling on us. As it picked up, we all scattered for our tents. So much for social time. More like bed time.
And that’s when things got interesting. I can’t remember exactly how many times I woke up in the middle of the night to what resembled a raging storm outside my tent, but the lake was angry. No more peacefulness. Even though I knew we had given ourselves a lot of dry sand on the beach, it sure didn’t sound like there was much room between my tent and the waves hitting the shore. But hell no, I didn’t want to step outside and get soaked, either! Things came to a head at 2am when Crespo called out, “Jake, we have to move your tent.” That was all the direction I needed. Having slept in my rain pants and raincoat, I slipped out of my shelter into the steady rain — thankfully, it wasn’t a downpour and the temperature was mild — and Crespo and I unstaked my tent and then pushed it as far back on the shore up against a bunch of pine trees as possible. Yes, I had branches sticking into the side of the tent, but it also had five more feet of separation from the waves. It took me a while, but I eventually dozed back asleep.
MILES HIKED: 11.2
Wednesday, August 31 — From storm to tranquility
And when I awoke, tranquility at Hector Lake had returned. At 7:30am, I crawled out of my tent into stillness. A layer of mist sat above the water, bisecting the surrounding cliffs that cast reflections on the lake. Bundled in all my layers, I walked down the shore, stopping every 30 feet to take photos as the composition changed. Once I reached the last lakeside campsite, I tiptoed around the corner to a completely still arm of the lake set against a grassy shoreline with a layer of fog rising above pine trees on the opposite shore.
I’m failing at describing the scene here, but you’ll have to trust me that everywhere I looked, I was in awe. I could see light from the rising sun attempting to peek out from below the heavy layer of mist. I heard slight footsteps and Daniel, one of our new friends, approached, equally impressed by the scenery (and he lived in the area; this couldn’t have been too new to him). As I walked back toward my tent, I saw the the couple with the dog Sasha taking out one of the three communal canoes on the shoreline. Some of my favorite photos from the morning are of them in the middle of the lake, dog in the middle seat, cast against the mist and cliffs in the background. Gorgeous beyond belief.
Rach and Crespo were still asleep, so I boiled a pot of water and made breakfast and several cups of tea for warmth, all while admiring the constantly changing beauty. The rest of the morning was slow going, but appropriately so as it was hard to leave such a place. We eventually got around to taking one of the canoes into the middle of the lake. The vessel had clearly gotten a lot of use over the years, as the middle seat was busted up. But Crespo found a way to sit delicately on it, Rach took the stern, and I sat on the one sturdy seat with an oar in hand. As we paddled out from shore, the water’s turquoise hue became even more pronounced. We were living a dream, in the middle of the most beautiful lake surrounded by mountains. This was the kind of place on magazine covers, the kind of experience that I’d highlighted on magazine pages and on “DO THIS” lists for years!
Finally around noon, much later than originally planned but rightfully so, we packed up our gear, bid farewell to our new friends, and hoisted packs on our backs for the hike out. The shoes were where I’d left them, ready to aid my second river crossing. On our way out to the car, we passed a few groups of people already making the trek into the lake. It was going to be a busy Wednesday at Hector Lake.
…
I won’t write a whole lot about the drive from Hector to Jasper, but I’ll summarize it this way: it was the most spectacular three-hour drive of my lifetime. Jagged mountain peaks dotted both sides of the Icefield Parkway, with a glacier here and there. We passed dozens of pull-offs where tourists leaned on railings, took selfies, and peered out at the high peaks with binoculars around necks. Yes, you could experience tremendous beauty in Banff and Jasper national parks without walking a mile. But what fun would that be? The most entertaining part of the trip was when we hit a construction zone not far from Hector and while waiting in a long line of cars, got out of ours for some push-ups and burpees. A mini November Project workout on a highway in Alberta — nope, not weird at all!
We pulled into the town of Jasper in the late afternoon, hungry and also in need of a mini shopping mission to prepare for our biggest hiking expedition of the trip: three days and two nights on the Skyline Trail. We handled our hunger well, settling in at the Jasper Brewing Company Pub & Eatery. After consuming burgers and beers — our first non-boiled-water meal since Saturday — we made quick resupplying stops at the local grocery and liquor stores. Among the purchased items: Cheese (lots of it) and crackers; Snickers bars (several of them); chocolate milk for the following morning (I wasn’t doing coffee on the trip because of stomach issues, and the delicious milk was the next best option).
(Note: props to Rach, who bought us 30 of our favorite Bobo bars in DC before the trip. They would more than last our time in Canada, taking care of any need to search for energy bars.)
The chores taken care of, we returned to the car and headed north. My original plan for the day was an afternoon 5-mile hike up and down the Sulphur Skyline Trail about an hour north of Jasper. But obviously that wasn’t an option after 6pm. So we instead opted to get our campsite set up at the Snaring River Campground, a 20-minute drive north of town, and then continue north from there (a drive that included a sighting of 15 elk off the side of the road) to the Miette Hot Springs — located at the same spot as the Sulphur trailhead — for our first shower of the trip and then a good long soak for all the aching muscles. This was exactly what we needed. Crespo and I rotated between the four pools — two hot, two cold — while Rach stayed in the heat (there’s no better feeling than going from ice cold water, to cold water that doesn’t feel that cold because it’s warmer, to a warm pool, and finally to a hot one!).
Feeling refreshed, clean and (maybe) ready for our next, biggest adventure of the trip — and certainly most challenging — we got back on the road for a drive through the pitch-blackness south to our campsite. I was exhausted, more than ready for my sleeping bag. It wasn’t raining when I crawled into my shelter a bit before 10:30pm, but that meant nothing. Rain had fallen all but one night of our adventure, so I fully expected the same overnight. Plus, the forecast was iffy for the first day of September. Things were about to get real interesting. Alarm set for 6:30am because we had a LOT of packing and re-organizing to do before a 9am shuttle to catch from the north trailhead of Skyline to its southern terminus, I turned off my headlamp and called it a night.
It felt like we had already experienced a full trip’s worth of adventures, and yet we had four days left. What in the world would they bring?
MILES HIKED: 0 (off day)
Thursday, Sept. 1 — Skyline Trail, part I
The rain really messed with us Thursday morning. Normally, I don’t mind rain at all and often enjoy it, but … we needed to pack for three days and two nights out in the wilderness without getting essential gear wet. So when I awoke to my 6:30am alarm and the pattering of a steady rain outside my tent, I knew we’d have an interesting time preparing for this hike. After peeing, I crawled back into my shelter and and got in the fetal position, hoping mother nature would calm down. No. Such. Luck. At around 6:45, having still not heard a peep from the other tent, I knew moves needed to be made.
I exited the shelter in rain gear from head to toe, walked over to Rach and Crespo’s tent, and told them it was time to get up. Our saving grace was that just across the campsite road from our site stood an old shelter with picnic tables. We’d need to utilize it for all our packing. So one load after another, I moved all my gear under the shelter. A couple minutes later, Rach and Crespo joined me. I won’t get into all the details from the next hour and a half except to say it was a mad dash to A) Figure out where all our stuff was; B) Make sure we packed everything we thought we’d need for the 27.4-mile journey; and C) Keep everything dry.
Somehow, someway, we did all that, also scarfed down breakfast, and were on the road by 8:40. We reached the crowded northern trailhead of the Skyline Trail at 8:50, a full 10 minutes before the shuttle. And we needed that entire time to once again make sure we had everything and to hang all our wet clothing from the car’s windows, effectively turning our Corolla into an unrecognizable smelly box. We hopped on board the bus with a hardy-looking group of hikers who looked much more prepared than us. But they didn’t have Crespo’s muscles, so he was the guy tasked by the older bus driver to lift everyone’s pack into the bus’ rear. Good job, Crespo!
The ride down Maligne Road was a bit bumpy but also beautiful. For the first time on our trip, autumn was very present. The tree leaves were beginning to change colors. About 10 minutes into the trip, I realized I had forgotten to bring a credit card and/or cash from my wallet; Crespo and Rach didn’t have money, either. I didn’t think we’d need it, but I still internally punished myself. What else had I forgotten?
The two hours after we arrived at the southern trailhead, at Maligne Lake, were not fun. I think we’re all partially to blame. (Note: Rach and Crespo trusted me, like with the Alaska trip, to plan out all the hikes. They didn’t ask many questions and didn’t know specifics about mileage and campsites before the trip.) The gist of our quarrel was this: Rach didn’t like how little we were hiking on the first day compared to the next two days (4.2, 9.0 and 18.6). The reason we had such a short day was because when I had booked the highly popular campsites in late May, the most ideal ones for the trip — Snowbowl (capacity: 8 tents) and Tekarra (capacity: 8) — weren’t available. Thus, I took the next best sites, Little Shovel and Watchtower. The problem with this, of course, was a very short first day and an extremely long third day.
My biggest mistake in preparing for the hike was that I hadn’t realized that the north trailhead wasn’t at the end of the trail but was actually at the terminus of Signal Mountain Fire Road, which added 5.3 miles to our hike. There’s a big difference between 13.3 and 18.6 miles. Anyway, Rach wasn’t happy, and when Rach isn’t pleased, she takes action. So instead of starting out on the trail, we walked over to the Visitor’s Center by Maligne Lake. Rach wanted to see if we could change our campsite reservation to some combination of Snowbowl, Tekarra or Curator, which was more ideal than Watchtower. The issue? Our phones had no service. And we had no methods of payment (I really wished I had money, because the smells emanating from the cafe were killing me; I couldn’t eat any of the food the tourists kept walking past me with).
I settled for lying down on my backpack and reading while Rach and Crespo worked on their plan to use the gift shop’s phone. Thankfully, I had a great book (“The Art of Racing in the Rain”) because the minutes passed slowly. At one point, Rach came out to mention that they were talking to a guy who knew the area and said we could probably get a spot at a site even if told they were full. She said some other stuff, too, but I simply wasn’t in the mood. I just needed to hike, to get away from these people, to return to the woods. In retrospect, I had created the whole mess with subpar planning, but at that moment I was just irritated. The crown jewel adventure of the trip was not going well. I ate a sandwich. I ate a bar. Food and book were the only things getting me through the experience.
Finally, my comrades came back to me with the new itinerary: We would stick to Little Shovel the first night, and then on the second day we’d stay at Tekarra — even though we hadn’t been able to book it. This would make Day 2 a long but doable 15.9 miles and Day 3 just 8.5. We finally set out on the trail for our easy 4.2-mile jaunt at 12:26pm. I was happy to finally be in the woods. Temperatures were cool enough for a longsleeve shirt but far from cold. The grade was very mild and flat in parts as we walked under large trees and an overcast sky. We knew the forecast for the entire three days was iffy. I harbored no illusions of seeing puffy clouds set against a blue sky anytime soon. Still, I tramped with an anticipation of what the scenery would be once we emerged from the trees — most likely early the second day. I might have poorly planned the campsites, but I knew from solid research that the trail’s views were stunning and expansive. I just hoped we’d have them!
Just over a mile into the hike, we took a short spur trail to Mona Lake, a small beautiful tarn set against a nice if not jaw-dropping mountain background. We took our time boiling water for tea and devouring a cheese-and-crackers lunch. We were in no rush, of course. We’d make our campsite with plenty of time before daylight waned from the sky. About a mile past Mona, we came to a stream crossing and began to feel a steady rain that had been threatening for a while. It was time to don the rain jackets. That’s when we also met Raffeal, a nice German kid backpacking in Alberta who joined us. As we ascended gradual switchbacks in the light rain, Raffeal told us about his travels and hiking adventures both in Europe and Canada.
We reached the campground around 4pm and only one of the eight sites was taken. We said our goodbyes or see ya laters to Raffeal, who was continuing up to Snowbowl, and then we set about choosing the coolest of the sites. We decided on #2 and #3, the two most exposed but also the ones with the best somewhat obstructed views of nearby mountain peaks. From where I erected my tent, I could see through the pine trees a few jagged mountains several miles to the west. We set up our campground under gloomy but not necessarily ominous skies. It was difficult to know what was coming our way; we certainly didn’t anticipate a storm.
The rest of the evening was enjoyable. I’m not used to being at a campsite with so much time to spare and, to be honest, the thought before this experience wasn’t appealing. However, what I learned was that it’s nice to take your time doing the things that make camping a unique experience. I climbed down the steep, muddy bank to the tiny stream to filter water and get more water to boil. I visited the very interesting toilet, which was basically a huge barrel beneath a wooden platform (want more information? Ask Rach, Crespo or me). I used the neat rope system to put our bag of food out of harm’s way. Then I got our bag of food down. It was dinner time.
Another great aspect of the camping experience is meeting people, and we enjoyed our freeze-dried meals and tea whiskey while standing around a table and trading stories with three guys — Ty and Mike, a couple, and Tony, whose girlfriend mostly stayed in their tent as the air chilled — who had myriad hiking experiences to share, including from Alaska. We stayed out until past 9 as the sky turned to black. By then, too, a light rain (shocker!) was falling. We packed up everything, leaving just a few items such as stoves and mugs on the table, and headed to our tents for much-needed sleep before the big hiking day. Tony and Mike mentioned possibly hiking the ridge with us the next day. We agreed to discuss in the morning. I read a bit in my cozy sleeping bag before passing out.
MILES HIKED: 4.2
Friday, Sept. 2 — SNOWWW AND DEBATE
It’s funny what a week of waking up to inclimate weather will do to you. It becomes the norm. You barely even think about it. So during the few times I woke up Thursday night into Friday morning, I barely even thought about what exactly was transpiring — or falling — outside my cocoon of a 2008 $69 tent. Rain. Yeah. Whatever. I’ve dealt with this for a week!
But then I woke up for a final time, a little after 8, needing to pee. I went through the usual awkward process in my small tent of fidgeting to sit up, then unzip the tent and fly, and whoa, hey, what was that white stuff? SNOW! We knew this hike was going to bring out the coldest weather of the trip. We knew the forecast wasn’t great. Still, there’s always that initial shock of seeing snow for the first time during a season when you simply don’t expect it. At all. So that was my reaction.
It was beautiful. I gazed around at the snow-covered pines, a big grin on my face. Winter on Sept. 2! We’d witnessed it four days earlier during our Alaska trip, but hey, that was a bit farther north. Rach was outside of her tent, her red raincoat on, and she had a very different reaction to the snow. She wasn’t happy! We both retreated into our shelters. That’s when I noticed the puddle at the base of mine, and also just how wet a good portion of my sleeping bag was. Clearly, my crummy, old tent had been weighed down by the snow and the water had leaked in. Oh, well. I lay where things were dry and read my book, waiting to hear sounds from site #3. Nothing. One chapter after another. Man, I loved that book!
Finally, around 9am, I called the resting period over. It was time to make some moves and decisions. A couple minutes later, Rach emerged from their tent, explaining that her backpack was completely drenched. Her and Crespo’s shelter had not fared much better than mine. Everything was wet. Rach was upfront. She was done camping. There was no way she’d spend another night out in this weather with wet gear. I could tell she wasn’t backtracking from her stance. As I took down my tent, blowing in my hands to give them feeling before removing each stake, I thought about our situation.
Yes, I absolutely wanted to finish the Skyline Trail and I knew we could. But I also understood Rach’s point and I didn’t exactly relish the idea of another night camping, either. So, with it still pretty light out, I proposed hiking all the way out in one day. If we got an early start and went our usual two miles per hour, we could be done by darkness. And think of the stories we could tell, Crespo added, trying to convince Rach. As we packed up our shelters and wet pads and sleeping bags, that was the plan. Another night out sacrificed for more miles.
But then we walked to our dinner area of the night before, where there was no sign of the friends we’d made, and Rach changed her mind: she wanted to go back the way we’d come and just get out. She was miserable, she said. The thought of a long day without any views and a wet pack on her back — forget it. She said Crespo and I could go on and she’d go back. Of course, that was a non-starter for us. Hiking alone in bear country in adverse conditions? Forget about it! Another couple was also up and came to eat at our table, but they were heading the same way, with plans to camp at Curator. The more our debate went on, the more I realized there was no way I’d completely win. We weren’t finishing the Skyline. I needed to make another compromise.
So I proposed the idea of a 15-mile day that would take us up the Skyline and then down the Watchtower Trail — past the campsite we had initially planned to stay at — and out to Maligne Lake Road, where we could hitch a ride back toward Jasper. We ate breakfast. Rach was still not into it. She wanted out. But thankfully, we both had Crespo, the peacemaker, and he was able to convince her that we could do it and it’d be a fun day. I won’t say we were in great spirits or happy with each other when we headed out at 10:15am, taking the trail west, but a deal had been brokered. We were on our way.
It didn’t take a long ascent for us to emerge from tree cover on the snowy trail and to an expansive world of white. The trail. The sky. The snowflakes falling from the sky. It also didn’t take too long to warm up. My hands were beginning to thaw. The views weren’t nearly as far-reaching or spectacular as I can imagine they are in good weather, but don’t tell me peering left, right and ahead at a snowy landscape of hills and mountains dotted with pine trees isn’t beautiful. I enjoyed every step.
Rach’s mood improved, too, as she warmed up. We stopped at a couple stream crossings, during a flat section of the trail, to chat with two other groups of hikers. We crossed paths multiple times with the Curator-heading couple, and got them to take our picture. The snow had stopped falling and the mid-morning temperatures were rising. I gazed all around at large peaks shrouded in clouds, wondering what they looked like when in the clear but also enjoying them as is. We passed by what appeared to be abandoned Snowbowl Campground, with no sign of Raffeal. We could only assume he was well on his way to Tekarra.
I’m not sure exactly where things shifted, but as the trail began a steep section, taking us toward Little Shovel Pass and then the Watchtower Trail junction, I could tell that Rach, behind me, wasn’t happy. At all. My only response was to continue forward. We were doing this. We weren’t far from the junction. There was no turning back. The climb to Big Shovel Pass (7,500 feet) was tough, and visibility was low. We were truly in a winter landscape. When I reached the sign, I threw down my pack, raised my November Project Buff over my nose, and look around at nothing but white (and my hiking partners coming toward me).
From there it was only a half mile to the junction, and it was a snowy half mile. Within a few minutes, what would follow the junction became clear — a steep ascent to reach a ridge and then, most likely, down, down, down. I looked behind me to gauge Rach’s reaction to this. I kept going. I knew there was nothing to say. Just keep moving! I loved every second of the climb up — this was some legit winter hiking. We had the trail all to ourselves.
When we reached the ridge, the valley opened up below us. We had 8.3 miles left to hike, and it was all downhill. The first half mile was the trickiest, a narrow, slippery path that dropped off to our left. We were helped by a pair of recent footsteps in the snow. Leading the way, I carefully placed one size 13 boot after another into the already established prints, focusing on balance and occasionally pivoting into a sideways stance and bending my knees as I intentionally slid down the path. It was difficult, but also exhilarating — an adventure, for sure. When we reached a clearing where the trail flattened, effectively the terminus of the treacherous section, we stopped and ate one of the many Snickers bars at our disposal.
Maybe it was the candy or the end of the tricky section, but within minutes all of us were in great spirits — a feeling that would last for the final 7 miles of our day. That was a beautiful thing. And so was the section of trail to the Watchtower campground. Navigating only a slight descent, we crossed multiple streams. I stopped every now and then to turn around and gaze up at the partially visible rolling hills and mountains around us. Soon, the snow disappeared and we were walking through a meadow marked by occasional pine trees. I kept waiting for us to reach the campground, which was 2.1 miles from the junction. The farther we went, the more thankful I became that we hadn’t stuck with the original plan. Descending this far and then going back up to the ridge the next day would have been quite the task to start a long day.
A little before 4pm, we crossed a stream, walked through a grove of trees, and came to a clearing — the campground. Finally! We were all starving and the rain was light, so we found a little area with good tree coverage and set about getting water boiling for our freeze-dried meals (note: because we cut our hike short by a day, we had plenty of extra food to eat. And the more we ate, the lighter our packs got!). After a few minutes, a couple guys walked over from their campsite (yes, we weren’t the only ones on the trail!). The guys, whose names we never got but who had fantastic mustaches, were locals who worked in nearby mills and hiked as much as possible. It was fun trading hiking stories with them, and we passed around the rest of our whiskey after eating. We lingered, enjoying the company and the occasion, any negative feelings from earlier in the day completely gone.
The positive vibes were important, because the last 6.1 miles — especially the first three — were tough. Yes, the hiking was downhill, but it was also on a trail that was barely marked, with just the occasional mini cairn. We knew that the trail followed the stream for a couple miles, so after a not-so-easy crossing back to the waterway’s west side, we followed it, trudging through puddles and overgrown grass and bushes. Keeping anything dry was a lost cause. Staying upright was difficult enough. I didn’t see it, but I learned later that Crespo took a spill. We had tired legs. Crespo’s ankle was in rough shape. Our packs still felt heavy. But the positive vibes and laughter remained. That’s what got us through those miles.
Finally, the trail diverted from the water, heading west, and the going became much easier as the evening sky began to darken. We walked through a forest of tall, leafless trees, the path marked by long grass filled with yellow wildflowers. The lack of foliage allowed for views through the trees to the mountain peaks on the north side of Maligne Lake Road. All was quiet, our footsteps the only noise in an otherwise deserted forest.
At 7:52pm, we exited the woods to a parking lot. Our hike was complete, 19.3 miles in two days — 15.1 on the second. But our adventure wasn’t quite done. We still needed a ride back to the Corolla. And dusk wasn’t far off. We walked across to the north side of the road and dropped our packs. Without thinking, I lay down on mine and let Rach do the thumbing of drivers. Crespo, for some reason, walked down the road in the opposite direction. One car passed. Then another. A minute later, an RV pulled into the parking lot. They can’t be going for a hike this late, I thought. And sure enough, two minutes later, they pulled back out heading in the direction we needed to go. I continued to rest on my pack. Rach flagged them down. They slowed. They stopped. They weren’t scared off by our dirt and grit. They took us in!
They were Sally and Neal, a British couple traveling all over western Canada. We enjoyed their company — and the ride — and in 15 minutes there it was, our car with its aesthetic T-shirt drapings. We had made it back. It wasn’t how we’d planned it. Not even close, really. But things had worked out, we had still covered a decent amount of miles, seen some cool stuff, and pushed through difficult times. I wasn’t complaining. With that said, I need to do the Skyline Trail again. Maybe earlier in the year. From start to finish. With bigger views. With everything that had made me so giddy to do it in the first place.
Back in Jasper, we lucked out with lodging. The downtown hostel, despite the holiday weekend, had a few beds open up at the last minute. We booked them immediately. We showered. And then we walked to the same brewery from two days prior for a celebratory late-night dinner and brews. We were all pretty zonked, and I can confidently say that we all enjoyed our warm, dry beds back at the hostel.
Weekend luxury earned.
MILES HIKED: 15.1
Saturday, Sept. 3 -- Let it RAIN
We woke up Saturday to weather you’d expect at the beginning of fall in a small Alberta town — chilly rain. The biggest difference from the previous six mornings, of course, was that our tents were hanging up drying while we enjoyed the comforts of beds. Luxury: what a thing! While I still held a tinge of disappointment that we hadn’t completed the full Skyline Trail as planned, mostly I was happy for a relaxing, slow Saturday. Still, I wanted to get in a hike.
The plan: a small laundry run for our wet clothes, breakfast at the hostel-recommended Lou Lou’s Pizzeria, and then a drive back north to do the Sulphur Skyline trail to a summit with incredible views, followed by another dip in the Miette Hot Springs. The hiking plan, however, hinged on the rain dissipating a bit.
At the laundromat/office supplies store, I used cash for the first time all trip to get us tokens for the dryer. The meal at Lou Lou’s was as advertised, a filling omelette. By a little after 11am, at checkout time, our tents and sleeping bags and sleeping pads that we had left outside under cover overnight had dried, and we were ready to go. Efficiency at its finest! We embarked on the hour drive north again.
This time, we didn’t pass on the opportunity to stop at Jasper Lake, a true sight to behold. When we had zoomed past it Wednesday night, we had noticed an odd sight — people, in the middle of the large lake, standing just ankle-deep in the water. Yes, this huge body of water, over 6 miles in length, could be walked across without getting one’s T-shirt wet. We had a blast running through the middle of the lake’s shallow water and taking photos during a break in the weather. When we returned to the car and continued north, the rain picked back up. Sulphur Skyline was looking more and more unlikely.
And so be it. The hike would have been really cool, but it was steep and its main draw was the views. So doing it in a rainstorm just didn’t make sense. We settled for an afternoon in the hot springs. We struck up a conversation with a nice couple from the San Francisco area, trading stories of our favorite hiking locations and what remained on the list. Answer: A LOT.
In the late afternoon, we headed back into Jasper and enjoyed a delicious outdoor lunch in the town’s small downtown park. There’s nothing like boiling hot water for a freeze-dried meal and spreading out cheese and crackers on a park bench! The chocolate, of course, made it even better. By then we had decided that with the rain continuing to persist and showing no signs of dissipating, it would be best to stay at another hostel. The downtown one was full, so we drove south of Jasper a ways to the Athabasca Falls Wilderness Hostel tucked in the woods off the Icefields Parkways just across the road from the falls.
The hostel was perfect for our last night in the park. Rach and Crespo enjoyed a takeout pizza from Jasper while I ate my final freeze-dried meal. We sipped a little wine and played a long game of Scrabble in the hostel’s master building. By 11pm, I was zonked — it’s the non-hiking days that really wear you out! And I wanted all the energy available for our final full day in such a glorious place. Bed time.
MILES HIKED: 0
Sunday, Sept. 4 — Going out with a bang!
We got a later start than I wanted, not leaving the hostel until around 10am. Blame the sleeping-in bums I had to travel with! I wanted to get going quickly because there was a lot of hiking we could do and places we could visit on our way south. Time permitting. I also didn’t want to get back to Calgary and Teresa’s too late. She was, after all, graciously hosting us. And at least Crespo and I planned on getting up with her at 5:30 on Monday for November Project Calgary. So I could have gone for an earlier start.
But once we got on the road, crossing over the parkway onto 93A for a long stretch and then taking a sharp left onto Cavell Road, all was good. In fact, all was great! The sky was overcast but it looked like rain would hold off. We wended our way up until we arrived at the road’s end and the trailhead for Cavell Meadows.
Our morning hike was spectacular from start to finish. We started a bit after 11am and, joining the throngs, we took the right fork of the paved path toward an outlook of Angel Glacier — a still decent-sized block of ice high up on 11,033-foot Mount Edith Cavell. Little did I know that when we reached the platform, we’d also have an alluring look down into emerald-green Cavell Pond and the chunks of ice floating on its surface. Taking in the sight of a pond beneath a towering rock wall and a glacier would be enough of an adventure for most folks, but it was just the beginning of ours.
After retreating to the intersection, we took a sharp right to continue up the Cavell Meadows Trail. As we gained elevation on the path parallel to the lookout trail, we stopped a couple times to climb the huge boulders to our right and get a view from above of the pond — beautiful places can be enjoyed from so many differing perspectives. Finally, feeling like we’d experienced a hike’s worth of beauty, we came to a sharp switchback in the trail and entered the woods.
For the next half hour or so, we enjoyed a re-entrance into winter. Within minutes, our boots were crunching over fresh powder on a trail guided by snow-covered pine trees. The sun peaked out from cloud cover, warming us as we walked. We came to a few intersections and continued left at each one, our sights set on the tallest peak the trail visited. Then we emerged from the woods and began a winding, steep ascent up the snow-covered path. As we dug our boots into the scree beneath the thin layer of snow, we passed dozens of people skidding down the trail. The descent didn’t look easy, but we’d take on that journey when the time came.
Amazingly, when we gained the apex of the trail, we were alone. We had the little summit and its breathtaking views to ourselves. I gazed around in wonderment. Behind us, to the southwest, stood the towering mountain and its shoulder-high glacier. Before us, to the east, a smooth snowy ridge beckoned, its whiteness glistening in the midday sun below a blue sky dotted with the puffiest of clouds. Multiple mountains in the Trident Range, including the closest Chak and Franchere peaks, poked their tips through the clouds to the northwest. What sights!
I was really tempted to drop my pack and frolic through the snow up to the nearby ridge, but I settled for hanging out and admiring the scenery. Everything was simply impeccable. Finally, a bit after 1pm, we began the descent, sliding down the trail. I used my feet-sideways technique often and allowed myself to glissade as much as I could. Every 50 feet or so, I stopped and looked over my shoulder at the blue sky and huge clouds in the wintry sky. Incredible! We stopped at the other, lower viewpoint, and took some more pictures of the glacier and mountain, which were both now completely out of the clouds. The emerald green. The rock wall. The glacier. And the pointy spires making up the mountain’s high points. All of that above a foreground of snow and pine trees was just spectacular. What more can I say?
We finally returned to the parking lot a bit after 2:30pm, fully content. We sat on the concrete, devouring a late second lunch of sorts (we hadn’t taken much on the hike, not knowing how far we’d go). The parking lot was packed. This was probably the third most popular place we visited behind Moraine and Louise. Around 3, we were on the road again, with plenty of road to travel.
…
The next three hours were the most incredible three hours I’ve ever spent in a car. I really believe that. The drive north had been beautiful, but it seemed like on the way south, everything opened up even more. The jagged, towering mountain peaks lining both sides of the road and off in the distance. The azure lakes below us, mostly on the west side of the Parkway. And as we left Jasper and entered Banff, the late-afternoon light. Everything about the drive was gorgeous.
Not that I didn’t want to exit the car.
Our final destination before returning to Calgary was Peyto Lake, which came highly recommended by Daniel, the baker from Canmore whom we’d befriended at Hector Lake. He had told us that when viewed from above off the Bow Summit Lookout Trail, Peyto’s shape resembled a wolf. Considering the path was just 0.7 miles long, it was a no-brainer to do as our final-day dinner spot. And man, was it worth it. After an easy walk, we reached the crowded platform and unbelievable views of the lake (note: well, I guess by this point in the trip, such things were much more believable; but you get my point). The lake did, in fact, look like a wolf, with the northern end making up the head. A wide, sheer cliff on the lake’s west side cast shadows across most of the wolf’s body, leaving just the head and ears bright underneath the 6pm sky. The lake’s color: an aqua on par with the hues of Louise and Moraine.
We wanted a little solitude from the crowds and room to cook our final dinner, so we climbed over the platform and walked down toward the lake a couple hundred feet to a nice, flat rock with equally impressive views and no other humans. We set to boiling water one final time, and Rach poured us cups of vino. As we waited for our freeze-dried meals, Rach set up her phone against one of the cooking pots and hit record: it was time to summarize our trip. We got through, I think, the first six days, but there was just too much to say. And we had food to eat. And still two more hours to drive. We would have to finish our video journal later.
Finally, a bit after 7, we packed up our dinner gear, enjoyed a short conversation with a guy from Oregon doing the whole traveling thing, and then set back on the trail for a final 0.7 miles. In all, we had walked nearly 70 miles during seven days of hiking with two off days. We had come close to 10,000 feet. We had touched feet in British Columbia. We had experienced warm weather, rain, wind and snow. And plenty of aches and pains, too. I couldn’t ask for much more.
The final drive back to Calgary, to no one’s surprise, was absolutely phenomenal, too, the sun setting on Banff’s high peaks as we passed the townsite and continued east. Even outside of Calgary, the roads were pitch black and stars dotted the sky. Oh, to live in such a place! We arrived at Teresa’s around 9:45pm and hit the sack a few minutes later. Crespo and I had an early wake-up call.
Monday, September 5: November Project and a quick pack
On our last day in Alberta, the province again showed off. This time, it was all about the people. First, Teresa drove Crespo and me and herself to November Project Calgary at 6:15am despite feeling sick. We enjoyed a hard-core workout with a group of beautiful, fun-loving, welcoming people as the sun rose on downtown Calgary. Then we went out to breakfast with the crew, getting to know leader Tammara and others over hot coffee and, for me, gluten-free pancakes.
Teresa wasn’t done being a saint, though. First, we stopped on our way back to the house to get sleeping-in Rach Tim Horton’s (you can’t do Canada without it, right?). Then, as Rach and Crespo furiously packed, Teresa — still ill — drove with me to return our rental car and back to her place. THEN, with everything finally packed, we piled all our backpacks into Teresa’s Corolla one more time and drove to Tammara’s house, where the NP leader so graciously tagged Crespo’s and my clothing with the NP Calgary “YYC” (the airport code). And, FINALLY, Teresa took us to the airport.
Canadians, man. They are the incredible. We can’t thank enough Teresa, Tammara, Daniel from Canmore, the woman who filled up our water bottles at Johnston Canyon, the man who gave Crespo and Rach all the sage advice about the Skyline Trail, the British couple with the RV, and everyone else who made our trip even more enjoyable — amazing, caring, sharing people.
Crespo was nervous about getting through customs and still making his flight, which was earlier than Rach’s and mine, but he survived. So did we, with plenty of time to spare. A layover in Chicago later, and we were back in DC by 10pm. Sure, the airline left my backpack in Chicago, but I wasn’t worried. It’d be returned the next day. I still had my phone, which provided all the reminders I needed of how epic our trip was with photos. Any of them. How could I possibly choose which to post and which to delete? Those would be the good problems I’d deal with in the coming days.
And how would I write about this adventure? I’ve tried to do it justice here, but I think I’ve failed. There really is only one way to experience such places as Banff and Jasper nationals parks (and all the parks around them; we heard a lot about neighboring Yoho during the trip), and you know what it is. Experience them. Disconnect. File away any worries you have from back home. Breath in the cool, mountain air. And just be THERE. In the moment. Inhaling the beautify of the lakes and peaks and trees and expansiveness. You might even seen a bear. Or at least a marmot.
And you won’t be disappointed. Ever. I can guarantee that.
Until the next adventure.
— Jake, 10.26.16
OPERATION YO BEAR, THE SEQUEL: By the numbers
1,726 — Times we said “Yo, Bear” (approximate)
69.2 — Miles hiked
55 — Pushups in the road while waiting for traffic
26 — Bobo bars eaten
24 — Cups of tea consumed by Jake (approximate)
22 — Elk
16 — Snickers bars eaten
10 — Meals at lakes
8 — Dehydrated dinners (each)
7 — Blocks of cheese
7 — Rainy nights
6 — Nights camping
5 — Meals eaten out
4.5 — Hours spent in hot springs
4 — Times Crespo took his shirt off in a cold place
4 — Partner planks
4 — Marmots
4 — Rainbows
4 — Things Rach lost or broke (headlamp, phone, jetboil, backpack)
2 — Hostels stayed at
2 — Outfit changes we brought
2 — Showers taken (each)
2 — Bottles of Canadian whiskey
1 — Bear sighting (that we heard about)
1 — Pika
1 — Snowbow seen
1 — Hitchhike
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