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imagination was a bit much, but maybe you’ve
seen domesticated cats play with a mouse. I’d
not like to be in the mouse’s shoes, out on the
trail.
The most dangerous animal was a Moose. How
strange, I’d have gone for a Cougar, or a Bear,
but he thought Moose were, huge and totally
unpredictable. He had come across a small group
of them, 6 to 8, in a swampy area, and like he did
with the Mountain Lion, he backed off, this time
toward a tree. As they were interested in him, he
climbed. They came to the tree and for four
hours the Moose kept him treed before they
wandered off.
Arlene and I had had an experience like that in
Yellowstone, just a week or so ago. We were on
a hike when we came across a mother and calf.
As we look back on it the young Ranger with us
freaked. She stopped us cold, and backed off 50
feet or more down the trail all the time
whispering to stay quiet and find a place, a tree to
hide behind or even climb. We waited, watching
until the two wandered further into the dense
forest before moving on; making a wide circle
around their last known spot.
I’m just guessing again, but her reaction should
have told us that we were powerless against such
a wild beast. That her canister of pepper spray,
she kept for protection, may work on bears
would be useless on Moose.
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It was getting late in the day and we headed back
to our Time-Share. We’d had a really nice time
with our cousins, and were invited back for
Sunday dinner.
In the meantime we needed to go over to Lake
Farragut where the Navy, of all services carries
on submarine research. This is one of those
lakes, like in Switzerland, that continues straight
down from the mountain into the water. It is
very deep water, and has almost no shoreline.
The Navy used to train recruits there, but now
it’s an ultra secret base. It’s used to test silence
and spooky things like sonar, propellers, and the
exterior plates, on our subs. The plates are like
rubber and cause noises to be absorbed by them,
thus making them ultra silent. The sonar of
course has to cut through the multiple layers of
the sea to determine where and what kind of
sound its picking up.
It’s called the Naval Surface Warfare Center, and
is the Acoustic Research Detachment.
I went prepared with my ‘Chicago’ fast attack
submarine baseball hat that Dan gave me when
he graduated from Submarine school in Groton,
Connecticut. It was his first sub assignment. I
was sure that with it, and some salty talk we’d get
a tour of the facility.
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It didn’t. The guard at the gate was polite; glad
that our son was in the Navy and a submariner,
but not so impressed that he would let us into the
facility.
We had to settle for driving around the outside
grounds, and having a picnic at the nearby State
Park.
In the afternoon we drove along the Priest River
to the lake. It was a fun drive, along a remote
dirt road lined with ponderosas. The lake was
clear as crystal, and no one was around. We
could see 20 feet or more into it, yet not one
trout. I thought they liked cold water. It
happens so often that we have an idea about
these things and it never pays off. The cold
water and trout are only one example. Another is
swampy land where any self respecting moose
would be having breakfast, yet we never see them
around those places.
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Sunday came and we returned to Sandpoint for
dinner. It was like going to see a family member,
they greeted us warmly. Gordon and I began
talking about the Lewis and Clark Expedition. I
had just finished reading an account by Stephen
Ambrose where there were no large animals in
the Bitterroot Mountains. Gordon got up and
went upstairs. He returned shortly with an
original version written by Meriwether Lewis.
Like a surgeon he agreed, and read a few excerpts
from the text, and then disagreed about another
thing I’d mentioned and read another excerpt.
He said he was sure about them, but wanted to
check it out before mentioning them.
Wow! I thought, if he wanted to be so accurate
about Lewis and Clark, he must have had his
hands full with administrative paper work. We
talked some more, it was delightful.
Meanwhile Arlene was in the kitchen with Cousin
Ann preparing dinner. She came out to tell me
about the potatos we would have. Now we are in
Idaho, and potatoes are king. Oprah Winfrey
had a law suit against her for dissing Idaho
potatoes. So we weren’t going to say anything
about them. Yet, Arlene was beside herself.
Cousin Ann was using powdered instant
potatoes.
Gordon hearing that we were having potatoes got
up again and when he came back he had a video
to show us. He is a collector, and a clever one at
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that. He has volunteered at the local Goodwill
for several years and now is in charge of the
place. He thereby is the first to see anything that
comes through its doors. As a collector it has
served him well.
He slipped the video into the VCR and up
popped an episode of ‘The Antique Road’ show.
The special presentation for the week was
‘POTATO MASHERS’ and Gordon was the
collector they interviewed. He had over 200
different Mashers. Every imaginable kind.
Those like dough separators, a handle with wires,
those with a single wire twisted around like a
snake, some with wooden handles of every color,
light green with cream stripes, red, yellow, and
those with metal stems.
By the time the video was finished he had
brought out several Mashers for us to look over
and hear how different each one was.
Dinner was a smashing delight, if not mashed by
hand we still had Idaho potatoes with our
German brockworst, and Kraut with a rich bottle
of Johnsisburg Leibfraumilch wine.
We had a grand time visiting with them, and
hoped that some day we would be able to return.
It was time for us to pack up and head into
Canada. We’d leave the next day on our way to
Alberta, and Banff.
No problem getting up this morning. It’s 4:30
am and there’s a couple of buses loading schools
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kids across the parking lot. 70 kids are never a
quiet undertaking. And yes the sun is up already.
It’s a straight drive up route 95 to the Canadian
border. We’ve packed, had breakfast and are on
the road.
Our journey has taken us across the south into
Texas and Colorado to Sally’s and Yellowstone,
and Idaho. We’ve been gone for a little over a
month, about 6 weeks and it’s been terrific. Both
of us are on our game, and ready to move into
the long treck through British Columbia, and the
Yukon. Boy! that should be something, Sergeant
Preston and the Royal Mounted Police.
HEAR WE COME!
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10 THE CANADIAN ROCKIES
BANFF, ALBERTA, AND BRITISH
COLUMBIA’S ICE FIELDS
We’re pretty excited about entering Canada
today. I left the pepper spray back in Blanchard,
Idaho which now makes our border crossing
safe. Cousin Ann had told us that after the first
100 miles all the rest would look the same, so she
suggested going to Jasper and stopping there. I
don’t think we’ll do that. The trees are tall and
spindly, many are Fir some are Black Spruce.
Arlene is munching on an apple as we drive
along.
Here we are at the border. We’ve been in a
forest for sometime now, with no buildings or
ranchs around. The 2-lane road separates with a
small brown shed in between, where Canadian
Customs is waiting for us. This should be quick
as there’s no one else around. She greets us and
walks around the Van, as if inspecting us. ‘Do
you have any fresh vegetables or fruits with you’?
Arlene replies, that we don’t except for a couple
of apples. ‘Oh! Well you can’t take US apples
into Canada.’ Arlene asks what we should do?
Our customs agent replies ‘You can either eat
them, just pull over to the side there, or you can
throw them into that barrel.’
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Okay, we each ate one apple, and the other three,
along with the cores went into the barrel. There
wasn’t any searching of our stuff, or anything.
We were pretty lucky. We’re on our way!
HELLO CANADA!
We’re traveling along Canadian Route 3 and 95.
Beside us is a silt filled river, with run off from
the mountain snow packs. It has turned the river
waters grayish white, like the pond at Oasis State
Park back in New Mexico. Yet when we come to
a lake where silt settles the lake becomes emerald
green. It’s spectacular. The Canadian Rockies
are steep, barren at the top and snow covered. It
is spectacular.
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We won’t get to the headwaters, but very close.
It’s the Columbia River. The very one that meets
with the Snake River and divides the states of
Washington and Oregon and was the pathway
that Lewis and Clark took to the Pacific Ocean.
We had been at the headwaters of the Snake
River in Yellowstone, near the Tetons. Living in
the East all our lives we believed that all water
flows into the Atlantic. You can imagine how
strange it is to adjust to the rivers flowing west
into the Pacific. Even going over the Continental
Divide, several times, just didn’t explain it. We
were still confused.
This was a long drive, today, Friday, June 13,
1997. Arlene has driven for awhile and I slept. I
usually do when she’s driving but she never
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sleeps while I drive. Too bad as she would be
even more charming with a little more rest.
Sleeping is hard because these Rockies are so
breath taking. The colors are spectacular; rivers
and lakes are green or blue or white and gray, and
the trees with their green spring foliage.. The
shear sides of the mountains is beyond
description. They resemble pieces of broken plate
glass sticking in the sand at about an 80 degree
angle as they raise up into the sky.
We were pretty tired when we arrived in Banff.
It was late, and even though it was a major
destination for us we decided to drive on to our
campground, Tunnel Mountain. It’s just outside
of town, and although flat it’s still in the middle
of these awesome mountains.
The camp had several surprises. It’s big over 250
sites. It was as large as those in Yellowstone.
But instead of Buffalo roaming around, there
were plenty of wild Elk grazing. We needed to
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be careful, even though they seemed content, and
left campers alone. We’d find them everywhere;
in camp, downtown, on the golf courses, where
ever there were people or grass.
But, the biggest surprise was the 1930 and 40
jalopies. They filled the camp. Their Easter egg
colors many with matching trailers. Of course it
was a convention and most of them came over
from Calgary, which was only 90 miles away.
Never-the-less we hadn’t expected them.
We settled in easily and slept well. Saturday we
headed into Banff, to get acquainted with the
neighborhood.
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It is easy to see why Banff is such a tourist draw.
The winter skiing must be amazing, just look at
Mt. Norquay’s slope. We parked and walked
around, past city hall, a few Elk grazing in the
park, and downtown to the Hudson Bay
Company.
In the past The Hudson Bay Company was the
primary outpost and trader for the English across
Canada. They provided a link for Mountain Men,
and Pioneers, to the east coast, and over the years
were the only outfitters to survive.
It’s still a trading post, but it’s been updated to
look like J.C. Penney’s, or Sears Roebuck. On
the ground at the entrance of the front door was
a Hudson Bay wool blanket, stretched across the
sidewalk. It was one of those famous striped
ones, with its trading value in beaver skins woven
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along one edge. The stripes are the companies
colors Red, Yellow, Green and Black on a winter
White background.
Hudson Bay shows how strong and rugged their
blankets are by letting everyone tread on them all
summer long. It’s early in June, the blanket has
been out all month and they plan to leave it there
until October. Meanwhile everyone entering and
leaving walk across it. Will it last until then, or
will it be torn to pieces by the traffic? I suppose
they will pick it up once or twice to wash or dry
clean it but it will surely last until October. The
blanket makes a great advertisement.
I’ve had an experience with Hudson Bay blankets
when growing up. It began in the early 1940’s
with a double bed blanket, and continued
throughout my high school and early college
years. It probably would have lasted longer, but
through abuse moths got to it and sometime in
the late 80’s I tossed it out. After about 40
years. Imagine a blanket lasting that long today.
A few months lying on the front sidewalk
shouldn’t have any effect on it. In fact maybe
Arlene and I should buy a couple of blankets
and have them made into Hudson Bay striped
coats. There’s a tailor down the street that makes
them. They would be real snappy, and we could
use them because we’re headed for the Yukon
and the Artic Circle.
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Banff National Park is in Alberta. It’s the First
National Park in Canada and the second in North
America behind Yellowstone. Banff is a small
bustling town inside the Park. It is in the Bow
Valley, with small streams and beaver damned
lakes, high steep mountains with pastures, snow
and several man made lakes which are bluer than
the sky.
Banff was originally established by the Canadian
Pacific Railroad, when they built their version of
the Continental railway. Later they built a series
of chateaus, to encourage Easterner’s to come
see the beautiful Canadian Rockies.
Highways all across North America follow the
natural geological paths, usually these are
waterways, rivers, and lakes, and valleys defined
by the mountains and over the passes. Originally,
they followed wild animals paths like deer, or
buffalo, which over the years were further
developed by cattle, ranchers and farmers. It
wasn’t until the steam engine was invented that
we broke away from these geological pathways,
with railroads.
We’ve been traveling on a diagonal across the
United States. That has kept us from traveling
long distances on the major historical highways.
Usually they run east and west and some north
and south, but rarely diagonally. So we crossed
Route 6, and 66, and drove for a short while on
the Santa Fe, and Oregon Trails, seldom staying
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on them for long. In Canada it may be different
as we’re heading parallel to the mountains,
toward the Yukon and Alaska. We will eventually
travel the Al-Can Highway. But, for now the
highway we followed into Banff did use these
historical pathways. Now we followed the river,
where animals and railroads preceded us.
We walked outside of town to the Vermillion
Lakes, a series of three shallow interconnected
swampy lakes. The three to five feet deep water
was crystal clear and provides a natural habitat
for lots of animals. As we walked along a coyote
came out of a tunnel. The tunnel was made for
wildlife crossing under the highway to the water.
The coyote loped along the hillside ahead of us.
We watched an Osprey perched on the top of a
dead tree. It had a view of the entire lake below
it. They are known to be excellent fishing birds.
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Further away, within binocular range was an
Eagles nest with a couple of eaglets.
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A pair, had a couple of chicks in their nest. One
adult would fly away then the other returned to
feed the babies. Their nest was huge and unruly,
about six feet in diameter, made of sticks and
branches. It reminded me of an oversized
Robin’s nest. Bald Eagles return to their nests
year after year, which is surprising as it gets pretty
cold here and they are known to migrate. In
Florida we have plenty of Bald Eagles.
Eagles are scavengers, and not good fishing birds.
They would rather steal a fish from an Osprey
than catch it themselves.
As we passed the second of these three lakes a
wedding was being held along the shore. What a
beautiful place for a wedding. We waved, and
cheered to them, and kept walking. Before we
got to the last lake we passed a huge anthill, at
least six feet high. Arlene climbed around it, but
didn’t disturb any of the trillions of ants that
must have lived there.
By the time we got to the third lake we were
talking about renting a canoe and getting a fishing
license. The water was so clear we could see the
new hatchlings swimming near shore, and larger
fish going from pool to pool. These didn’t look
like trout to us. Their long noses made us think
they were some kind of bottom fish. What I
always called a ‘Sucker’. They’re not indigenous.
It’s a shame they were brought into these waters.
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We had time to make a late, late lunch at the
Banff Springs Hotel. This is one of the Hotels
that the Canadian Pacific Railroad built to
encourage folks to travel west. It’s huge and on
the south slope of the town. We passed the
tennis courts, went in the grand entrance and
slipped to the side where we found a small café.
We had a delightful lunch, some wine, quiche,
and more wine. Feeling pretty good we left. On
the way out Arlene noticed a painting she had a
copy of at home.
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It was time for a plunge in the spring water. But,
not before Arlene had a chance to get all dressed
up and decked out in her Canadian finest. This
suits Arlene to a tee. She’ll be our own Royal
Canadian Mounted Police woman.
The hot springs was discovered in 1885, and
became the center attraction during the 19
th
century. A large swimming pool and bathhouse
have been erected and it’s really unique. It’s fed
from warm water through a huge pipe. The
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mineral water pours in and out all day long,
keeping it pretty clean.
Around sunset, which might be 8 p.m. or later in
the summer, a bell rings announcing the closing
of the pool. 15 minutes later the bell is rung
again, and the pool begins draining. It’s probably
important to head for the showers at the first bell
in the winter. We found it a good idea for the
cool evening.
Within a half hour the pool was empty. No fuss,
everyone is out, or freezing to death. The next
morning the pool is filled again with the warm,
mineral, spring water and the cycle begins all over
again.
Despite getting there late we were able to soak
and swim until we turned into prunes, before the
last bell rang.
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What a great day!
We’ve decided that our campsite should be rated
3 ½ out of 5. It has hot water for showers, the
sites are separated, although close they are flat,
and there are flush toilets.
Banff and much of the Rockies are in Alberta.
The Continental divide separates the Continents
water shed as well as the two provinces, British
Columbia and Alberta. For Alberta and the
Great Canadian Shield it is the source of most of
their water. That makes it easier for Alberta to
gather and collect water politically, as it’s all in
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their province. For us it’s an opportunity to visit
some of these damned lakes. At one point we
will be at the headwaters of the Saskatchewan
River and a month or so later we will travel to the
end of the river as it wanders some 450 miles
before pouring into Lake Winnipeg at Grand
Rapids, Manitoba.
We’re heading toward Lake Minnewanka, and
Lake Johnson. These lakes epitomize the beauty
of the Rockies with their deep blue color, alpine
green forests, and steep snow covered mountains.
Lake Minnewanka is large, and attracts lots of
different visitors. The water is so clear that we
saw several divers with buoys. No motors are
allowed on the lake so the divers paddled kayaks
out and moored them to the buoys. A number
of fishermen, sat in donut shaped buoys, like
intertubes. They moved around slowly, casting as
they went.
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Big Horn Sheep had eluded us throughout
Colorado, Wyoming, and Idaho. They must be
pretty scarce, as we understand Idaho has a
$100,000 license fee to hunt them. And even
after that, there’s a lottery to choose a few
licenses. But now we would see lots of them.
This young fellow was wondering along the dam
while backing up traffic for miles. We parked on
one side of the dam and watched him. He would
walk along, stop, look around, turn around and
go the other direction, back and forth, until we
got tired and left him still on the dam.
We came across another Big Horn Sheep later.
This one had a harem of 10 ewes. They were
sitting along the side of the road, chewing their
cuds and sunning themselves. We watched again
for a long time, and after a while the females got
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up and moseyed up the hillside into the forest.
The bull just stayed, he actually looked like he
was eating stones and dirt. He was quite
content.
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It was at this point that we first encountered a
tourist that showed no fear for these large
animals. As we watched, this young Asian couple
with a small baby drove up. The mother with
baby in hand backed up to within 10 feet of this
beast while the father took pictures of them. The
Bull just kept chewing his cud. Thank goodness.
I couldn’t watch, we had seen too many nature
films with these sheep beating each other crazy.
We drove off.
From that time forward we would see many,
particularly Asians that were attracted to these
large mammals. Many, showed no fear or
consideration for the danger they put themselves
into. Who knows why, maybe, because they have
so few in their own countries.
Lake Johnson is much smaller. We hiked
around it and had a picnic. That was great fun.
We even came across a couple of young ladies
sun bathing. They were even more attractive
than the sheep, and fishermen.
In the middle of the forest, on the far side of the
lake I found a swing.
These Canadians are something. They surely
have a different idea about how to use their
National Parks, forests and wilderness. I also
think they have a different view of law and order
than we Americans.
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They abide by their laws, while we tempt ours.
Here was a grand but not abused example of
their ideas. We would see it again and again in the
way they left their campgrounds and campsites.
Usually, clean, without trash, like they found it,
ready for another camper. They seem more
considerate of other campers.
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It was another full day. We were really enjoying
being here in Banff. It was a beautiful place.
The evenings were pretty cool. Which suited us
fine, as we hadn’t encountered any mosquitoes,
and left the windows down a bit while snuggling
under our toasty sleeping bags. We slept like
logs.
Mt Norquay overlooks the Bow Valley and the
northern side of the town. It’s the primary ski
area. If it was winter we could be sitting in a
sidewalk café in town, bundled in our new
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Hudson Bay striped coats, sipping a vodka
daiquiri and eating chips and avocado dip while
watching the international set tumbling down the
slopes. That would be okay, but it’s not winter
so….
We drove up the mountain, about three quarters
of the way to the ski lodge. It was very steep,
then out for a hike around the meadows. Arlene
our chief spotter noticed on a higher pasture a
group of sheep. With the binoculars she saw
several dozen. They looked to be grazing in the
afternoon sun. We would never get near them,
as they were too far away. These slopes were now
used for grazing, but during the winter for skiing.
Although we didn’t see any chair lifts, maybe,
the skiers, if they dared, would take helicopters
to the top. Who knows?
We crossed one meadow into some woods and
out onto another. The grass was thick, and there
were lots of squirrels running and chasing each
other around. They were really playful, these
Columbian squirrels, which much larger than our
domestic grays. They are tunnel animals, which
is a good thing, as it gets really cold. They
ducked into the tunnels and popped up
elsewhere. They seemed so happy that spring
had come.
From here we could see Banff in all its glory.
The town is easy to pick out. Just beyond it on
the far hillside was the hotel and springs. Two of
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the Vermillion lakes are on the right side, and
beyond them is the Canadian Pacific Railway.
A freight train, with over hundred cars, passed
through the valley. As it reached the town it
blew a mighty whistle that we could hear all over.
If you are into trains this is your place. Arlene
likes the whistles and at night we can hear them
in camp.
Banff is a wonderful place, but we shouldn’t
confuse ourselves by thinking its any place for
older folks. It’s a 40’ish town and country. One
might think that unless you were 40 or younger
you need not come here unless you owned
property or were employed in town.
Here are a few of examples. Across from our
campsite are 8 youngsters, who are kicking a bean
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bag around like a soccer ball. They have been
out all day and there’s no sign of them losing any
steam. When asked what they planned to do
tomorrow they were going rock climbing. Today
they had been hiking and rafting on the river.
Boy, where does the energy come from?
Going up the Mountain we were passed by a
couple of cyclists. That would be enough but we
were also passed on the way back down. More
energy than either of us can ever remember.
One more example is of a couple of women
campers. They came in and set up their tent by
pounding their tent stakes into the ground with
rocks. Rocks, not a hammer, they used rocks. I
suppose if they had a fire they would split the
logs with their bare hands judo style.
I mentioned the new cars that were replicas of
old ones. There were at least 40 of them, all
different colors and sounding like 1940 Chris
Craft motorboats. That’s a soft muffled sound
that few manufactures have been able to emulate.
They blasted the campground with 1950’s rock
and roll.
It’s really neat to see all the energy of these
young people. We’ll do okay as long as we keep
ourselves under control, and don’t try to live our
past lifestyle.
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It’s Fathers Day and Arlene has made me a
wonderful breakfast; oatmeal, coffee, toast, pink
grapefruit juice, orange Metamucil, and our
vitamins. Sounds good doesn’t it. It sounds like
every breakfast we’ve had since we’ve been out.
Which I have hardily enjoyed too.
She’s special. I have discovered over the last 18
years that she learns how to do some things each
time she does them. It’s like the first time for her
every time. From time to time I’ve wondered
why she wasn’t a little faster mixing pancake
batter, or stirring the right amount of oatmeal
into a bowl. But, once I discovered that it was
the first time she had ever done it, and realized
how perfect she wanted to make it I could easily
understand what she was doing. She is on a
lifelong adventure, and I’m just lucky enough to
be able to be her companion for some of the trip.
Happy Father’s Day!
We have become entranced by the Canadians,
their Rockies and Banff. If our trip into this
wilderness continues in this manner we may want
to stay forever. Today we thought we’d drive up
the Ice Fields Highway to Lake Louise. When
ever we’ve read or heard anything about Banff
It’s always included Lake Louise. So we’re going
to see for ourselves.
There’s no rush today, so we will take the back
road, Route 1A instead of the Trans-Canadian
highway Route 1. We’ve learned, by looking over
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our maps, and by actually driving these roads out
west that there are not nearly as many ways to get
from one place to another. Here in western
Canada there are even fewer roads to choose. I
suppose if we choose the wrong one we could be
off on a tangent for miles and hours or even
days. Fortunately, there are only two roads that
run up to Lake Louise and they both have the
same end point about 50 miles away.
The traffic is light, as we drove along the older
road, which follows the Bow River. We stopped
several times to admire the scenery, and at one
point came across a sign that would lead us to
Moraine Lake. It wasn’t far up the twisting road
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that followed a flooded creek gushing with water
where we found a parking lot and a couple of a
National Park buildings.
Beyond the buildings was the lake, a smallish blue
green jewel, bound by steep mountain peaks,
covered with streaks of snow. It was
magnificent.
They call the peaks, the Valley of Ten Peaks,
which are famous for their beauty. So famous
that they are on the back of the Canadian twenty
dollar bill. The color of the water is said to be
from the glacial rock flour, creating a green we’ve
only seen here in the Rockies.
The lake has a shear side, where the mountains
climb vertically up from the shore, It may be
possible to hike along that side, but it’s covered
with landslide boulders, and isn’t our cup of tea.
The side we chose to hike was wooded and
sloped at an angle allowing room for a trail.
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It was one of those trails that wound back and
forth, up and down the mountainside and down
along the lakeshore. The ground was soggy, but
not really swampy although several small rivets of
water caused us to detour off the pathway. We
kept going, putting our hands under our fleece
pullovers, to keep them warm. Without the sun
it was chilly.
There were a lot of fallen trees on the forest
hillside. Not so many that the sun could
penetrate onto the ground, but more than I’d
expected. I suppose this forest isn’t logged.
When left to grow and mature on their own they
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eventually did. The dead ones are left on the
ground to deteriorate and cycle through a natural
process.
At the far end of the lake, we came out on a
watery shelf, where it casscaded down over an
old landslide of boulders and small trees. It was
colder and a stiff wind blew down from the
canyon sides. It began to snow, reducing our
sight. Large flakes blowing in the wind. SNOW!
It was grand.
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We hung around for a while believing that it was
a squall. Yet, it was time for us to reconsider our
nonchalant attitude about where we were and
what we were doing. What I mean is we haven’t
looked at the weather once since leaving
Yellowstone, nor have we given any thought to
the bears. It was time to take these things
seriously. We were and had been in bear country
and we should always keep that in mind.
On our hike we never passed anyone on the trail,
nor did we spend a lot of time singing or talking
loudly, announcing our presence. We were
however on the right side of the lake. The side
where all the wild animals would choose to be,
except for the goats, and sheep. They actually
prefer the rocks.
On the other hand, the weather here is
unpredictable, and in a moment we could be
covered with inches or feet of snow. We should
be more alert to the weather, particularly snow.
Our rule should be two tiered. If there is snow
forecast we should stay in camp. If we are on the
road when it begins to snow we should get off
immediately.
Creating rules are a way for us to keep in mind
that we are foreign to these lands. They help us
remember how we might act toward certain
things or about things that we know very little
about. Our lives have been quite different living
on the east coast with so many ‘modern’
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appliances, and prepared things, for us. We of
course don’t butcher our meat, it’s packaged. We
don’t grow our own vegetables, they come to us
either frozen or bagged. We get our gasoline
from the corner station, not from a 300 gallon
barrel, outside our barn. Our roads are plowed
for us and there are few wild animals in our
neighborhood.
All of these and many more have changed, not
only because were camping, but because we are
in a totally different environment. It’s just what
we want, yet we need reminders to be diligent of
our surroundings; to stay safe, and enjoy it. So as
we go along we make up rules that hopefully will
keep us safe.
It’s getting late in the afternoon, and we’ve been
here at Moraine Lake most of the day. If we plan
to get over to Lake Louise we’ll have to move
along.
Lake Louise is nothing like Moraine Lake. There
is another large Canadian Pacific Railroad Hotel,
the Chateau Lake Louise, lots of people were
around and there was a Nissan convention.
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Behind the hotel is the lake. It’s pretty greenish
waters are nice to look at, but the place is
crawling with tourists. We won’t hike around the
lake, in fact we’ll go inside the hotel and make the
best of it.
It’s a grand hotel, with a circular drive, and a
large entrance lobby decorated in 1930’s art deco
design. The art includes Rocky Mountain
animals, like Grizzles, Moose, and Mountain
Goats, and Frontier and Mountain Men. We
recognized some of the work by Carl Rungius.
He does large scale oils, which fit well on the
walls.
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In the back of the hotel was a large hallway lined
with chandeliers, down the middle and on one
side a glass wall with comfortable chairs and
sofas. Folks sat and enjoyed cocktails while
viewing the beautiful lake.
We were caught up in the grandeur of the hotel
the view, and after a couple of vodkas and wine,
settled down to a lovely dinner of Beouf
Bourguignon and a nice Pinot Noir. It was great,
but we must say two things, one is we’re
spending ourselves into oblivion. And two as
good as dinner was it didn’t match Laura Beth’s
Beouf Bourguignon.
We took our time driving back to our
campground at Tunnel Mountain.
We’re on our way, goodbye Banff and hello
Icefields Parkway. It’s a two-lane road that winds
its way north to Jasper National Park. It’s clearly
different than the Skyline Drive and Blue Ridge
Parkway, but its twists and turns are reminiscent
of Virginia.
As a youngster, in the 1940’s my family and I
drove from Washington, D.C. into the Virginia
Mountains to camp. That was my family’s usual
vacation. Pop would drive our 1938 Pontiac to
Charlottesville before checking the radiator.
They would always check the radiator, because
climbing the Mountain from Charlottesville to
the beginning of the Blue Ridge, and to the end
of the Skyline Drive, would cause our old car’s
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radiator to boil over. It never failed, three
quarters of the way up Route 29 we’d have to
stop at the natural spring on the side of the
highway to let the car cool down and fill both the
radiator and the large canvas bag that pop would
hang over the front of the car. It was all easy
going once we got on top; all down hill into
Waynesboro and out to Sherandoh Lake for
several weeks of camping, swimming and hiking.
One summer, we arrived at the nearest gas
station and general store to find an orphaned
bear cub. It was in a pen out back, and would be
fed and nursed most of the summer, before being
let go in the fall.
As we drove along there was a Black Bear cub
on a hillside. We stopped and watched it watch
us. It wasn’t sure about us; we were so much
bigger than he. He turned and scampered up to
the crest, and stopped looking backward once
more, then disappeared into the woods. We kept
our eye out for his mother, but never saw her.
A little later we came across another Black Bear
foraging in a field near the roadside. We have
neither seen nor heard much about Black Bears
along the way. They grow to be several hundred
pounds and although they don’t have the
reputation of grizzlies, they are fearsome animals.
They come in many different colors, so it’s
possible to see one, and it may be brown, or
grayish and think it’s not a black bear. They are
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not as big as grizzlies and don’t have the
distinctive hump behind the neck.
This bear happened to be black, and probably
weighed close to 300 pounds. It’s not easy to
guess its weight, because it’s so fluffy. We
watched it for a short while, before moving on.
It didn’t seem to be disturbed by us and never
bothered to look up.
The roadway and forest changed as we drove. We
were climbing and our vistas were more of rocky
mountaintops and the snowfields. We passed the
Saskatchewan River Crossing and moved on into
mountaintops and moraine valleys that were
scooped out by glaciers thousands of years ago.
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The curves of the slopes are cut from the
mountainsides like a giant scoop leaving a
rounded valley behind. That was so different
than the sharp profile of Mount Rundel in Banff
that looked like one side of it had been torn from
the earth.
You can see the wide swath the National Park
people cut between the highway and the forests.
That usually makes it easier to see while driving
along and reduces our chances of being surprised
by any animals planning to cross the road.
Our first Ice Field was the Columbia. It is the
toe, or end of the Athabasca Glacier and the
beginning of the Athabasca River. Why its not
called the Athabasca Ice Field we don’t know.
There is a visitors center here, where we were
able to park and walk down and over to the ice
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and snow toe. The distance is over 1,000 yards
or 10 football fields from our parking lot.
What’s so amazing is that distance is how far the
glacier has retracted over the years.
We get the idea of how it was retreating, faster
and faster over the years. Here, Arlene stands
beside her birth year marker. It’s still on the
opposite side of the road from the Ice Field. We
still had several hundred yards to go before
reaching the snow. Behind her head is a pond
that is the beginning of the River. We had to
cross a fast running stream before approaching
the snow.
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I’ve mentioned how the Asian tourists have no
fear of wild animals and are drawn to them like
magnets. The Asians, particularly the Japanese
have had several good economic years which has
allowed them to do lots of world traveling. We
saw lots of them in Europe and here in the west.
Most American and Canadian tourists travel by
themselves, in autos or Recreation Vehicles, and
dress mostly in Levies, flannel shirts, and some
sort of hiking boots. What we would call casual,
but not the Asians. They dress nicely, as if they
were going to lunch in New York City. High
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heels, and silk dresses for the ladies, and sport
coats for the men.
Arlene and I watched as they climbed over the
rocky terrain toward the toe of the Colombia
Icefield. It was rough going for them, every so
often they would turn an ankle, slip or fall only to
pick themselves up an continue upward.
The closer we got to the Ice field the stronger the
wind blew down from the ice and snow. It was
cold and the closer we got the colder it was. We
felt the cold in our fleece pullovers, even with
our hoods tied down and our hands withdrawn
into the sleeves. We watched the Japanese
tourists brave the wind and rough ground. When
they got to the barrier, a rope that had been set
along the edge to prohibit tourists from going
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onto the snow they just ducked under it and
preceded onto the snow.
It’s well known that icefields and particularly
glaciers are dangerous and unforgiving. We’ve
read many mountain climbing stories in the
National Geographic magazine and seen many
TV shows with climbers crossing glaciers, and
cravats. We’ve been cautious in our adventures
on to the ice and glaciers.
Even though Arlene and I thought we were nuts
not to follow them. We hadn’t been in snow for
several years ourselves, and never on a glacier.
But then maybe we have more of a Canadian
mentality, about going along with the ‘rules’
rather than tempting them. We stayed behind the
rope, and no one from the other party fell
through.
Leaving the Columbia Icefield we drove beside
the Athabasca River. It was a broad, rocky, and
unruly stream, with many rivulets chris crossing
its bed. Yet not one of the streams seemed to be
the major current. This was called a braided
river. One in which the streams wander across a
wide riverbed, sometimes carrying lots of water
sometimes not. We were able to make out five
such streams in the wider part of our valley.
These braided, glacial rivers carry different
amounts of water at different times. They aren’t
like flash floods across our southwest, but change
according to the temperature. During the
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afternoon there is more water pouring off the
glacier than late at night. There is more in the
late summer, than spring.
We followed the river into Jasper, a small town,
which had a lovely grassy town park with spring
flowers. We wandered around a bit and went to
the Visitors Center before moving on over the
Continental Divide into British Columbia and
Mount Robson Provincial Park.
We had turned onto the Yellowhead Highway,
and climbed over the divide, down in to another
valley and back up over another pass. We were
now driving across the mountain ranges instead
of traveling parallel to them. These mountains
have been spectacular all the way along the
Alberta border. Yet they are not as high as the
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Rockies in Colorado. We haven’t had any trouble
driving over them in our van, and hope it will
continue that way.
We were now in Robson National Park, and
along one of the valleys we saw a Grizzly just off
the highway. It was in the field like so many
animals, busy looking for food, moles or ground
squirrels if it could catch them, as it was too early
for berries.
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Robson Provincial Park is on the Fraser River
and another large campground with flush toilets
and hot showers. We had a nice site, in the open,
with trees on both sides. We gave it a rating of 3
½ like Tunnel Mountain. We were beginning to
appreciate the openness of these campgrounds.
Back in the East open campsites means no
privacy, but out here with these wild animals
wandering through the camps it’s reassuring to be
able to see around your site. You’ll notice how
clean this site is. We’ve found them like this in
every Canadian park.
The camp was just opening up for the summer
season. Our host had arrived a couple of days
earlier, and already hung several humming bird
feeders. The birds hadn’t wasted any time
migrating from South America they flocked to
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