Finding the Top of the World

Norway Day 8 - Kinn

2010-05-19T19:00:00.000-06:00

This is an after-the-fact transcription of the journal I kept on a two week trip to Norway.

May 19, 2030, 5:10 pm
The Hjornevikbua Restaurant, Florø

What a long day. The alarm went off at 5:30 and I was up slowly. I think I was too early, as I had to wait until the restaurant opened for breakfast. I just got a bowl of cereal and bolted it down, not at all sure about timing. Of course I was silly early at the ferry.

I asked a passerby about the ferries, and she pointed out the sign on the back of each, much like the route sign on a bus. Easy enough. OK to board early? Yes? No? Anyone? Jeez, how unsure can I get?

I walked into the passenger cabin and sat down. Ten minutes later another guy got on. And then we were off. This boat could probably seat almost a hundred but there were just the two of us.

I took a few pictures of the islands sliding by, but the windows were pretty scummy from the sea spray.

The guys who drive these things are pretty talented. When we pulled away from the dock, we turned in a space not much bigger than the boat itself, then backed into a berth to load something on the back.

We arrived at Kinn and there was the same deft handling of the ferry. We seemed to roar up at full speed, and at the last minute we slowed to a standstill inches from the pier.

The ferry worker lived a ramp across to the pier, and I asked for a pickup in the afternoon. Then I set off down the road. The only car had delivered a child to the ferry, probably heading to school at Rognaldsvag. It had left ahead of me to park in front of a house. That was all the traffic I had to worry about.

The road took me past several houses and small farms. Sheep lounged here and there.

There was a large farm where the road bent westward around the north side of the island. Across the road was a grove of trees, through which a stone wall wove. I suddenly began to see stone walls everywhere.

The lane continued between well fenced fields, sheep grazing between the road and the shoreline.

I saw the peak of the roof of the church first. Then around the bend, the gatehouse and that marvelous split mountain, Kinnaklova.

Nothing quite prepares you for the first dramatic glimpse of that mountain. It doesn't look quite real.

I walked up to the first building, a cottage like place. Past that, the gatehouse. It's a dramatic structure in its own right.

Iron gateposts are on each side of the arch, but there is no gate to open. I later found the gates beside the stone arch, perhaps awaiting repair.

Through the gate and mere steps was the front door of the church. The front porch looks quite modern, probably a recent addition to accommodate modern locks and an alarm system.

The rest looked like whitewashed plaster over stone. The church seemed larger than I imagined, dominating the setting. The rest of the scene seemed smaller.

I walked through the surrounding grave yard, looking at the names on the markers. Some headstones were too badly weathered and lichen encrusted to make out.

I walked around the church and found a collection of headstones, probably awaiting restoration work. There are likely many more graves than the ones that are marked.

The ramp up to the stage built for the annual Kinnaspelet pageant was gated and a sign asked that I go around the outside of the yard. At the corner behind the cottage, a farm fence met the stone wall of the church yard with a small gate.

I walked through and along the stone wall, and climbed on the stage. It's huge, very wide and with multiple levels. At the back, several levels looked like they could accommodate tiers of seating.

AT the far edge of this structure, the mountain rose sharply. This steep meadow had several natural shelves and benches, mostly tufts of vegetation, where the majority of an audience would sit.

I climbed above this to a juniper carpeted outcrop, and took a few pictures. The I descended back to the stage. The path from the gate toward Kinnaklova was obvious from above.

I followed the path along the base of the cliff that was the face of Kinnafjellet, the central mountain of Kinn. It was damp in spots, a little marshy.

About half a kilometre on, there was a series of stone walls, like an abandoned settlement. More likely they were corrals for the sheep. A little farther on, another stone wall ran from cliff face to sea, and in it was another small gate.

Not long after that, I reached the base of a boulder strewn slope, covered with lush vegetation and dotted with sheep. The slope isn't visible from the church, being hidden behind Kinnafjellet, but it's obvious there is a gap between the two mountains.

I climbed this to the col, the sheep chasing each other up slope ahead of me. From there, they worked their way up slope against Kinnafjellet. It looked awfully steep, but they had no problem with it.

I peeked over the top to discover a trail leading down. But I wanted to climb that cleft. So I descended the way I came, and worked my way over to the bottom of that slope.

May 19, 2010, 6:40 pm
The Quality Hotel lounge, Florø

This town just shuts down in the evening. Neither hotel restaurant is open, so I ended up back at the Hjornevikbua restaurant, where I went last night. Except looking over at the restaurant in this place, it looks to be open now.

The climb up the cleft was no different than any other scramble, technically. As usual, I didn't see the trail until I was halfway up. It was a nice climb.

At the top, I looked down at a dead end. It seemed that the base of the rubble slope ended at the water and now way past the vertical walls of the cleft itself.

The col in the cleft seemed no more than fifteen metres wide, and three boulders the size of a Smart car dominate. They are quite visible from the church.

I didn't sit too long. The wind was picking up and it had a definite chill. It was weird up there because each side was a sheer vertical wall. Usually there is some upward sloping at the sides of a col, but this was straight across, and straight up.

I started back down. It's a steep slope and I found my Keen hikers weren't quite up to the terrain, missing the side support that my old beat up Garmont boots have. Except for those few moments, they've been a great comfortable shoe.

I took it slow and careful, and got down without a problem. I would have liked to go further around the mountain to the north, but it was pure muskeg from mountain base to the water. A real swamp.

I went back to the first col, and climbed again. The sheep were still well up the slope against Kinnefjellet. I walked their trail over the top and down the other side.

Halfway down, a stone wall cut across the entire slope. It must have taken ages to build. A gap in the middle had no gate.

The path lead down the left side of the south face of the slope. Across the way on the back side of Kinnaklova, an enormous cave came into view.

I would guess the cave was thirty metres wide, close to half that high at the mouth. It was under the left side of a large arching overhang, not even taking up half the space under the arch.

I walked down to a fence and discovered a small cave there, not nearly as dramatic.

The big cave was spooky. None of the rock fall laying around was new, so the whole structure was probably stable. I made my way toward it.

I had climbed to a point directly under the midpoint of the overhang, and probably still had thirty metres to go before I would be at the cave proper. I just didn't feel comfortable going any farther.

I took several pictures, then made my way around to the path back to the top of the col. And then retraced my steps back to the church.

My climbing had taken the entire morning and I reached the church at noon. There was a bench against the wall, sun washed and sort of out of the wind. I lay down on it, and napped for about half an hour.

I woke just before 12:30 and heard footsteps on the gravel path. The lady who is the church caretaker said hello before stepping inside and closing the door.

I took a few more pictures in the noon light, and then slowly walked down the road. I still had three hours to wait for the ferry, so I was in no hurry.

I noticed all kinds of stone wall on the walk back. The wind was picking up even more, and it was cold even with the sun.

Across the way, the mountain behind Rognaldsvag had acquired a gob of foggy cloud on top, and the wind was pushing it around.

At the pier, I kept walking, determined to follow the road to the other end.

There was a long straight channel at the end, pointing south east, and at the far end a light house marked where it met the sea. I checked later and it's the same lighthouse I could see from near the cave. So I almost went all the way around the whole island.

I had over an hour still to wait for the ferry. Actualy I'd filled the day pretty well. I was expecting to have at least two hours to wait given that the island was so small.

The wind was getting really cold now. Thick cloud blew off the mountain behind Ronaldsvag, only to dissipate almost immediately.

On the pier, I found a somewhat protected corner in the concrete wall. The sun had warmed the concrete so it wasn't too bad. But that wind sucked the heat from my body.

Just before 3:00, a water taxi arrived and two people began unloading boxes and packages. A local backed a tractor down the pier with a small trailer attached and with the help of the taxi pilot, they unloaded a yellow white casket. Then the two taxi passengers followed the tractor down the road toward the church, while the taxi sped off. It was a sad little procession.

Norway Day 7 - Exploring Florø

2010-05-18T22:00:00.000-06:00

This is an after-the-fact transcription of the journal I kept on a two week trip to Norway.

May 18, 2010, 8:10 am
The restaurant in the Florø Comfort Inn

Another great breakfast. I hope I'm walking enough to work it off.

It occurs to me I'm sort of mis-labeling my posts. Yesterday was Constitution Day, but I wrote about the 150th anniversary of Florø. Today I'm writing about Constitution Day, but it's the day after.

I went out and watched the Children's Parade, and took lots of pictures. It appears that all the schools got into the act as there were banners for each school, each grade, and even each class. It took almost an hour for them to pass, and they had a marching band leading, and another at the end.

Afterwards, people mostly followed in the wake of the parade, so I went along with the crowd. Down Markegata, down a couple of blocks, then up the hill toward the church. By the time I got that far, people were disbursing in all directions and the crowd was thinning out.

Eventually everyone all but disappeared. I would have thought they might end up at a fairground or something. But the town just quieted down and people disappeared.

I went around again, past the tourist information centre to check the map in the window. And then embarked on a walk along the road that loops around the west end of the mountain in the middle of town.

It was a quiet walk. I met a few people, dressed in the traditional clothing, going the other way.

It's a beautiful town. The rain has stopped just before the Children's Parade, and I had my light jacket on. It was starting to warm up as the cloud dissipated.

Past the sports stadium, the road was high enough that I could see out to the far islands to the west. With the slop of the land, most homes have a fine view.

I got to the road from the airport and retraced the path back to the hotel.

By now it was a little after noon, and I started searching for someplace for lunch. A pub near the hotel served only drinks. I went farther down and found a lunch counter that servers burgers and fries and stuff.

There were a couple of other places, but they were more like actual restaurants and I thought I'd save going to those for dinner. I'm trying to go someplace different for every meal, but it's a challenge in a small town.

After lunch, with the centre of town feeling nearly deserted, I went exploring some more. By the other hotel, I found a public building, basically public washrooms and a laundromat. It had a large map on the wall outside and I remembered the Maritime Museum. I went searching for it.

About half way back toward the airport is a hiking trail that leads past the museum. I found it, and followed it as it descended into bush, not looking too well used, but easy to follow.

On the right was a narrow swampy gully, and across the back yards of houses, eerily quiet. On the left was a rock wall, and above on top of it were more back yards.

Eventually it came to a soggy, abandoned looking playground with a path cutting across from one side to the other. A stairway climbed the cliff to the left. I followed the path to the right, between two houses and onto the street.

At the end of this residential loop was a sign pointing down a narrow lane that ended in parking lot, and beyond, a couple of large buildings on the water's edge.

There was no one around, and a paper on the door I suspect said it was closed for the holiday. Peeking through a window, I saw all kinds of small boats and a stuffed seagull standing on some fishing nets.

Past the museum, a path wound along the edge of the water and over the rock. The setting is quite lovely. The museum is on the water, with a pier. SEveral outcrops and islands dot the water. All are very green and lush after all the rain.

I followed the path to a short bridge to an island. The path wound over the rock at the west end of the island, but there was a fence across, and goats grazed beyond. A short path led to the gate, with signage probably saying Keep Out.

On the other side, a longer and larger bridge lead to another island. This bridge was quite high, and I discovered that it was originally a draw bridge. The railing was designed to fold inward where two massive hinges in the deck showed the edge of the moving section. A frame held up cables from the far end of the raise-able section. Quite ingenious, and unused. The railings were nailed into place with heavy spikes.

Tomorrow would be the time to explore further. I retraced my steps back to the residential loop and then to the main road, rather than follow the path again.

Pm tje ,aom rpad. [ep[;e were beginning to appear again, in an obvious hurry. When I passed the graveyard is when that cannon went off again, twice, at 4:00. End of the workday?

AT the lake by the road, people stood in the middle and lined the wall on the side. The road looped into an apartment complex and people were everywhere but keeping this loop open. I could hear a band.

Soon a forest of flags appeared from around the corner This was the grownups parade, although there were kids everywhere. At least three marching bands, several groups with banners, young peoples groups too, motocross and one group wearing those red overalls I've seen everywhere.

After the parade, I followed the crowd again. Same gradual disbursement and eventually the streets were deserted.

I went back to the hotel and napped for a few minutes, after finding a pub behind the hotel. Nearly empty, and the only thing on tap was Hansa, but it was growing on me.

After the nap, I needed dinner. I discovered that all the restaurants closed early or all day, for the holiday. The only places open other than one pub and restaurant packed to the rafters was the fast food place I'd gone to for lunch, and the meat and chips place.

So I repeated the visit to the faux Italian. The place was almost deserted and the waiter and I repeated our meat and chips discussion. This time I got it without the Hollandaise-like sauce. It was a pretty good steak.

After that I walked to the other hotel and found a Ringnes in their lounge. I chased that with a Dalwhinnie and then went back to my hotel to do some laundry and to bed.

There was no cannon this morning, so it must have been only for the holiday.

I think I missed something yesterday. There must have been some place where people were gathering. The residential areas were very quiet but so was the downtown. People must have congregated somewhere.

May 18, 2010, 8:50 pm
The Hjornevikbua pub

I slept in a little this morning, there was no cannon to wake me up. I got up, and after breakfast I found the tourist information office, and got a map of the town.

A chat with the lady there got me a lot of information. Like, the time between the two parades yesterday, everyone was at some school with lots of activities. And after the second parade, there was a rowing competition on one of the lakes. I missed it all.

She called the lady who looks after the church at Kinn to see if I could get an ovff season tour. No dice; there's a funeral Thursday, and they are preparing for it tomorrow, so I can't get inside. But I am able to wander around the island on my own. So I have to be up for the ferry early tomorrow.

Then I decided to try the museum again. I walked down and found it open, and deserted except for staff. The lady who took my admission couldn't get the till to work so had to get change form the lunch counter.

The first part I went through showed some household furniture and ship models. Of course I had forgotten to charge the battery in my camera so at this point, it died.

Still, I wandered through an early 20th century household and checked out several styles of fishing boats. Lots of information about the early years of Flor&oslash:, but unfortunately it was all in Norwegian.

I went back to the hotel, plugged in the battery charger and went in search of lunch. Being a regular business day, places were open and not packed. I had a quick bite and went back to get my camera.

I headed out for the mountain east of town. The maps showed a hiking trail to the top so I set out in search of it.

I wend back to the museum and took the series of bridges and trails from there. A sound of sloshing in the water at one point startled me. I discovered a deer wading in the water by an old boat house.

No, sorry, after being at the museum, I followed that trail back to the hotel.

For the hike, I took the south side road. The school up that way had just got out, so lots of kids around. I came out past the south side, looking for a street that would take to the start of the trail to the mountain.

I walked past a swampy patch that the map showed as the start of the trail. It didn't look like there was a path anywhere there.

I walked up to another street that the map showed a path branching off and found it. But is just crossed a forested area to another crescent/cul-de-dac. The map showed that this might be reasonable so I walked along the street, looking for where the path continued. No sign.

A driveway branched up the slope, maybe not being a driveway but a path, and I ended up in what looked like someone's back yard. But there was a faint path from there, so I followed it and was soon in the forest.

I followed the path to the next cul-de-sac, and got lost for awhile. I found another path, which took me to another cul-de-sac. At least this one had an obvious marked path leading farther on.

This looked like the real path now. And there was a fair amount of climbing over rock and roots. Lots of we swampy paths, too. But then I was at another cul-de-sac. My map appeared to be seriously inaccurate.

A boy on a bicycle asked if I was lost. He confirmed the things I was seeing on the map, that the path continued form beside a scholl down the street. I got down to the school but could see no path. A guy drove up and after telling him what I was about, pointed out where the path started. From there it was straight forward. More rock and roots, and swampy parts, until I finally reacked the summit, by a telecommunications tower.

I took pictures. All of Florø was visible, and the surrounding island. There was a telescope on the lookout that I played with. Farther down was a prominence that I walked to, near the path as it came up out of the forest. Someone had build a cairn with several metal name plates. I took pictures of all sides, and some day will translate them.

I started back down, meeting a few groups going up. At the school, I took the street to the north and down to the main highway. Following that took me back to the hotel.

After a short nap (I seem to need them regularly), I went out looking for dinner. I decided to try the place that was so packed last night. Tonight is was quiet and I had what was probably the best meal so far on this trip. Afterward, I wend downstairs to the pub for a pint, which is where I now sit.

After the first pint, I went to check out where to to for the ferry. Then back to the hotel to get my journal and back here for a pint to write by.

I gotta head back to the hotel soon. I have and early day tomorrow.

Norway Day 6 - Constitution Day

2010-05-17T10:00:00.000-06:00

This is an after-the-fact transcription of the journal I kept on a two week trip to Norway.

May 17, 2010, 9:00 am
The Florø Comfort Inn

It's still raining. I hope the sunny skies promised for Bergen reach this far north.

The plane broke through the cloud as it descended, and I recognized the islands from the satellite photos I've been looking at.

The landing was pretty standard. Taxiing back to the terminal, I could see a long flat building with a space in front the size of a soccer field, and two guys at either side wearing safety vests. We stopped by one of them, who began to service the plane as the props spun down.

By the time I had my stuff gathered, I was last off, and followed the few others to the terminal. Through a door, I was in a room with a short conveyor from the outside. I don't think it was too much bigger than the hotel room I'm in now. Out the door on the other side was a small parking lot, and a deserted taxi stand.

I walked over to the other door, to the departures area, much bigger with chairs and a lunch counter, to dig out my jacket. Then a quick look at the town map on the wall beside the door to figure out where I was going.

Since there was no sign of a taxi, I thought I might as well walk. As far as I could tell, it was about a kilometre and a half to the hotel.

The light drizzle was enough to spot the pavement. It was quite warm and it was a nice scenic walk. A little unnerving when there was traffic because there was no shoulder, and in some places fences and rock outcrops came right to the pavement edge.

When I was two blocks from the hotel, a brass band started up. I thought that was quite a welcome.

There was a pavilion tent set up beside the hotel, and people and umbrellas everywhere.

I checked in and then went out to look around. by then the sky had opened up, but people seemed not to notice, standing and listening to the bands and speeches, or wandering down the main street, Strandgata.

On May 16, 1860, Florø was incorporated as a town to service and support the herring fishery. Yesterday marked the 150th anniversary.

I strolled down Strandgata from end to end, down to the other hotel, and on to a warf where people were getting to tour a tall ship and what I think was a small military ship.

A few blocks away, I found a shopping mall next to a large dockside parking lot, cleared of everything except a large stage being erected in one corner. This was a lot bigger than the one in use near my hotel.

I spotted a souvenir shop selling "I Florø" tee shirts, so I had to get one.

Later, I decided I'd better get something to eat since all I'd had since breakfast was the lefsa on the plane.

I found an Italian style place, although I don't think Italian extended past the decor.

I didn't expect to have so much trouble with a menu. When the waiter finally got to me, I asked about a couple of items on the menu, but about all we got clear on was "meat" and "chips." OK then, steak and fries. It was pretty good.

Afterwards, I walked through the pouring rain back to the hotel. The crowd had almost disappeared, although a band was still on the stage.

At the hotel, I crashed for about fifteen minutes. Then what? Well, go walk around and see what there is. I walked out of the hotel to find the pavilion tent being dismantled. Another band was playing 90s rock, but there was no one there to listen.

I walked east until it became evident I was following the main highway, so crossed south a block and went west. The highway narrowed and finally curved into a narrow lane, and I was walking past a sports field. By this time I was getting too wet, so headed back to the hotel.

On the stage, another band was playing Ozzie Osbourne tunes at high volume. I could hear them very well from my hotel room. And so it went. Not a soul there to listen as far as I could tell, but bands must have been booked to play until 11:00 cuz that's what they did. So much for early to bed.

No sleeping in this morning either. At 7:00 I was awakened by cannon fire. Three rounds to start the day, and it sounded close. And then a brass band started up. Still raining. I got up and dressed.

The breakfast spread here is not nearly so huge as in Oslo, but still a wonderful variety and lots to eat. I stuffed myself on eggs, meats, cheeses and breads. I didn't try the herring this morning, but I might yet try the mackerel.

Afterwards, I checked email, and then began to write this. Right now people are lining the street in the rain, and I can hear a bass drum somewhere. There were a couple more rounds from that cannon, too.

Gonna go check it all out.

Norway Day 5 - To Florø

2010-05-16T23:59:00.000-06:00

This is an after-the-fact transcription of the journal I kept on a two week trip to Norway.

May 16, 2010, 8:10 am
The restaurant in the Clarion Hotel Royal Christiania

Man, I am gonna miss this breakfast. I eat every well here, and I hope that all the walking I've been doing is balancing the calorie intake. All those cheeses, cured meats and buttered breads. The herring is okay, but salty. I like being able to sample a few things that are usually not on my radar.

I'm a little sad to be leaving today. There are a lot of places I haven't seen, but those will be for next time. Rain has finally come, and it looks to have settled in. Last night there was even some lightning.

I don't have much to write about this morning. Most of what I had to say came out of the marathon writing session last night.

In about an hour, I'll be off to Gardermoen, so maybe will have more to say there.

May 16, 2010, 10:30 am
Oslo Lufthavn, Gardermoen

This airport is a heck of a lot bigger than I thought. It's one long hall and the gate I'm leaving from is at the very end. It might not be that long, but it feels like I walked at least a kilometre from the security gate.

I'm now enjoying a coffee and muffin while waiting for my flight. This country has the best coffee ever.

I got packed up and out of the hotel shortly after breakfast. I rather like that my hotel was prepaid. I just told them I was off and that was it.

I walked the block to the train station through a light rain, but it's rather nice out otherwise.

At the station, I wandered through to the far side to fine the train to the airport. There was a guy helping people at the ticket machines and he walked me through the process.

Out on the platform, I walked down a ways, and sat on a bench. The schedule was up on an electronic board beside me, and a raven was doing his noisy thing from a support beam over the tracks.

The train to Gardermoen runs every twenty minutes so it wasn't a long wait. On board, I had the entire car to myself.

Twenty five minutes later, I walked off the train, and had a bit of an issue with the gates. The ticket you buy has a magnetic strip, but after you buy it, you just put it in your pocket. It's at your destination where you have to swipe it to get through a gate, or you don't get off the platform.

Up the escalators and not a very long walk, I got to the Danish Air Transport (DAT) counter,. Almost no one was there, so I was through quick. The line up at the security gate was almost non-existent, but I did get held up for a minute. The guy in front of me was lucky enough to be randomly selected for a full search, and I had to wait while they patted him down.

A line jumper charged past me while I stood there, figuring, I guess, that the rest of us were silly for standing and waiting. He didn't get very far, and was chased to the back of the line.

After that, the long walk to Gate 4. Being a propeller driven aircraft, and in the pouring rain, I will have to walk outside to climb into the plane from the tarmac

Still an hour to go, so I'll go explore a little.

May 16, 2010, 12:25 pm
Aboard DAT DX35

Oh my gosh! No cookies served on board this flight. No peanuts, no pretzel mix. Instead a small packet of lefsa! Wonderful lefsa!

This was the standard (wonderful, delicious) recipe - butter, sugar and cinnamon rolled up in a potato crepe. Delicious! I'd totally forgotten about lefsa.

I've been told my grandmother used to make it for Christmas. My grandfather would bring a scrubbed steel plate to place on the wood stove, to provide a flat surface to cook the thin pancakes. I've also been told she was not fond of the job.

It's a pretty scene-less flight. Early on there were some glimpses of the country side, but now it's all featureless cloud. This twin prop can't climb above it.

There is only half a load too, maybe half a load. Unless they are in a pair, we each have a row to ourselves. I'm sitting ahead of the wing, just behind the propeller, probably a noisier place to sit. Maybe way in the back, it's quieter.

Almost no English has been spoken, but the procedures are much the same with all airlines. They did say in English that the safety procedures had just been given in Norwegian, keep your seat belt on and we'll be round with coffee in a moment, to paraphrase.

Sunshine! We've broken through the cloud for a moment, but it's still pretty white below. I think we'll be down within the next half hour.

May 16, 2010, 11:50 pm
The Comfort Inn at Florø

I seem to have interesting timing, as I walked into a party. It's the 150th anniversary of Florø being established as a town, and there were people in traditional dress, and live entertainment, and speeches.

Unfortunately, the entertainment is really loud, but it appears the finally called it a night a few minutes ago.

It's been a long day.

Norway Day 4 - Oslo Again

2010-05-15T22:00:00.001-06:00

This is an after-the-fact transcription of the journal I kept on a two week trip to Norway.

May 15, 2010, 7:15 am
The restaurant in the Clarion Hotel Royal Christiania

Whoops, too early this morning. The full spread breakfast is just being put out now, but I stuffed myself on the early bird buffet. I've eaten very well so far, in some really nice places.

Last Night I finally got up and moving after a few minutes back in my room. I felt exhausted and was looking forward to crashing for the night. But I thought I should try and get something to eat.

I remembered an Irish pub near the palace, so I went in search. I think I may have found it, but at the time I wasn't sure of it. Every patio was packed and I came from a different direction, too.

I went into one place, but it seemed to be pretty busy, so I wandered down the street some more. And found myself back at the harbour and Aker Brygge.

It was packed, or at least the patios were. Getting a table outside seemed near impossible. But I ventured through the crowd at one inviting place and confirmed that everyone was outside. I had the bar to myself.

I asked about getting something to eat, and the bartender said they had closed the kitchen early.

This place had the redeeming quality of having on tap something else besides the standard Guinness-Kilkenny-Ringnes triad that I had seen in several other places. The only other place I had ever seen Murphy's stout on tap was in a wonderful Irish pub in Victoria last summer.

I found another spot a hunderes metres down the street that seemed inviting. Same as before, after pushing my way through the throng on the patio, I found the inside nearly deserted.

The wait staff were busy so it took a while for them to notice me. I was kind of behind a pillar and a stairway. But I had a quickly delvered Ringnes anda very good dinner, in a nice quiet atmosphere.

After that I felt pretty much done, and wandered back to the first pub I found, thinking a pint of Murphy's would be a nice night cap.

Perhaps it was the great meal, or maybe something in the pint, but I started to wake up. I chatted a little with the barkeep, but he was kept hopping with the patio crowd.

Occasionally others would come to the bar for self serve. One woman tapped my glass, and commented on how dark the Murphy's was. Someone else chatted about the evening and the weather while waiting for his pint.

I asked for another. I was beginning to get my second wind.

An older couple came in and took a table near the bar. The man came up to get a couple of pints, and we talked a little. After He sat down with his companion, for a few moments, he hollered across the din, asking if I was drinking alone, and would I like to join them.

I had a great time talking with this wonderful couple. I often got lost in their accent and sometimes they had a short discussion over what English words they were looking for, but we had a great discussion.

Names, of course, escape me. The gentleman escaped to the bar for refills and came back with two shot glasses, asking if I'd heard of aquavit. Well, yes, but never tasted.

Skoal, said he, and took a sip. I was glad to see that he was not the shooter type. It seems odd to pay for some fancy concoction, only to knock it back without tasting it. I took a sip and savoured.

After that I got myself another pint. We had been so involved in the conversation that they had missed their ferry, so they were in no hurry as they had to wait for the next one.

Near midnight we said good night after having had a thoroughly enjoyable evening. Ther ferry landing was directly across from the bar, so they didn't have far to go.

I wandered back along the harbour in the middle of the crowd. I found the Nobel Center, something I was looking for earlier in the day when I first went to Aker Brygge, so now it's on my list for today.

I cut straight over to Karl Johan and walked with the flow. There was a wonderful energy out there, loud and brash and relaxed and fun. A little like Robson Street, a little like Younge Street (in my very limited experience) but looser maybe.

I finally got back to the hotel and discovered the lounge was still open. So what the heck, I thought I'd treat myself to a single malt. I just got there before it closed up and talked to a petroleum engineering contractor for awhile. comparing notes about working in the energy industry.

After that, I check my emails and then went to my room and to bed.

And now I'm stuffed from another great breakfast, sitting under a monstrous twenty five metre high Norwegian flag, and enjoying this great coffee.

Time to start into another day.

May 15, 2010, 8:55
The lounge in the Clarion Hotel Royal Christiania

I'm tired tonight. I've had two long days and both were really good.

This morning, after leaving here, I went for a stroll. I had an hour before anything was open, and I had a handful of post cards to mail.

So I took a stroll northward. I walked for several blocks until I came to a small stream. It was well below the street level, and was bordered by a lovely park. I stayed on the street though, and walked along it to the west.

Eventually I came to a major intersection that crossed a bridge. A date on the bridge railing said 1892. On the other side, the street split, and I followed the one going southeast. It took me right back tot the hotel.

I kept wandering, this time going east, and found an open square. And on one corner I discovered a postal outlet.

The other thing I needed was another memory stick for my camera, as I've been pointing and firing rather indiscriminately. Up past the open square and south, I found a Canon camera shop.

I still had twenty minutes before anything was open, so kept wandering. You know how when you look for something like that, and you never see anything? And then when you finally locate one, you suddenly see them on every corner? Two more small camera shops, and electronics store and a huge Japan Camera store that I must have walked past when I walked out of the train station a couple of days ago.

At 10:00, I went back to the postal outlet, and got the postcards off. Then to the Canon store for memory. The salesman asked me to plug it into my camera to make sure it worked - 3123 picture capacity should be enough.

Then off to the harbour. I walked past the Oslo city hall, in my opinion the ugliest and most imposing building in the city. I stopped at a Minibank, as they call ATMs, and then headed for Pier 3 to catch the ferry to Bygdǿy.

The girl at the ticket booth said I was too late to join the line just loading, but she directed me to a wonderful coffee shop at the edge of Aker Brygge. I had time for a muffin and coffee.

The ferry was like a bus, two to a seat or stand in the aisle and hold onto to a pole. After ten minutes we unloaded at Bygdǿy, at one of two stops it makes.

This is a beautiful residential area of Oslo. Beautiful old homes behind iron or stone fences. The architecture is similar to what is downtown.

The crowd walked up a long street, maybe a kilometre, to the Viking ships museum. Some went west from there to the Heritage Communities museum.

Wow, this was amazing! The three ships were discovered around 1900, excavated and studied, then for some reason the bodies buried with them were re-interred. The first ship that you see right front the ticket counter is amazing. Very detailed in decoration, the bow and stern have some intricate carvings of what look like dragons or serpents.

The building these things are in is laid out in a cross shape, with the three arms housing the boats, and a forth displaying the artifacts found with them. In each room there are balconies at near the centre of the cross on each side, so you can climb up and look down on the boats to see inside them.

The frist one is decorated and the gunwales would have been close to the water line, likely a pleasure boat for site seeing on calm days. It was buried with two women, one in her eighties and one about twenty five. The boat was extremely well preserved, though the bodies deteriorated a lot after re-interment.

The second boat was bigger and plainer, a working boat, and probably sea going. The guy that was buried with it died in a fight, possibly a dual. One leg bone was partially hacked through. And there was other damage, none of which showed signs of healing, so he had to have died within a week of whatever happened.

The third boat, there wasn't much left of it. Most of the keel and the ribs, and the bottom boards. The sides and the stern were gone. The body buried with it is also mostly gone.

Grave robbers got to all three sites very soon after burial, and the burial mounds were pretty messed up.

The aritfacts were neat. Pieces of cloth with embroidery still evident. There were sleighs, very ornately carved food containers, tool chests. The dead had to eat and had work to do, apparently.

Another kilometre walk through more of this beautiful residential area and I was at three more museums.

The Fram was an icebreaker of sorts. It was designed so that if it was caught in the ice it would be pushed upward rather than be crushed like other boats.

It was taken through the Northwest Passage once, took someone on an expedition to the North Pole, and took Amundsen to the South Pole. The whole boat is housed in a huge A frame building. Balconies circle the building lined with photos and artifacts.

From the top balcony, you can get on the boat and wander most of the deck. You can go down to the first deck below, where the kitchen and living quarters were. And to the secon deck down, where there was storage, more quarters and access to the engine room.

The hatches were open above, and from the top deck you can see people moving around below. The hatches were screened and fenced off so no one could fall through.

It was fascinating to see this and the stories of the expeditions.

Across the street was the Kon-Tiki Museum. It houses the actual Kon-Tiki that Thor Heyerdahl took across the Pacific. There is also a reed boat that was sailed across the Atlantic.

Lots of information on the Easter Island statues and inhabitants. It was fascinating stuff, but my back was beginning to hurt.

Sometimes if I'm on my feet for a long time, My lower back begins to ache. So I skipped the Maritime Museum and queued up in the rain for the ferry back to Pier 3.

Yet I still didn't quit. Once off the ferry, I headed for the Nobel Center. Much of the exhibits focused on Desmond Tutu and F. W. de Klerk, and the end apartheid in South Africa on the main floor. Upstairs there was an exhibit on Barack Obama, and lots of information about Alfred Nobel and overviews of all the Peace Prize winners.

By now my back was really aching. I was probably reaching a saturation point on museums too. Achy. Tired.

Hungry! And all those restaurants at Aker Brygge were right next door. I went down that way and chose a place that after I settled in, looked a little more high brow than I first thought.

Price-wise it was much the same as everwhere else I've been. I was started and ate really well - cod with pureed potatoes and asparagus.

Then I walked back to the hotel and crashed for half an hour.

I went out after in search of another pint. A place that had caught my eye was paddy's, which I lost track of last night, but had found.

I had a pint and sat for awhile. Then headed back toward the hotel. A few blocks down karl Johan and the skies opened up. Street vendors were scrambling to pack up, and get under shelter.

I walked past 3Brǿdre and a full patio was trying to cram itself inside. It began to let up after awhile, but I was pretty damp.

At the hotel I dried out for a bit, then headed to the lounge where I'm writing this. I'm beat and saturated with museum knowledge. Another awesome day!

Norway Day 3 - Oslo!

2010-05-14T09:00:00.002-06:00

This is an after-the-fact transcription of the journal I kept on a two week trip to Norway.

May 14, 2010, 6:50 am
The restaurant in the Clarion Hotel Royal Christiania

Breakfast! OMG, it's amazing! Blue cheese, brown cheese, all kinds of cheeses, breads, eggs, meats, fish of all kinds. And the coffee is probably the best I've every had.

OK, the herring and sardines are pretty good, but they might be better with a beer for a snack.

Anyway, yesterday, we descended through the cloud bank on to the runway of the most picturesque airport. Gardermoen is much bigger than I expected, and it has the most beautiful terminal I've seen in my limited travels.

One way it reminds me of Calgary is how two thirds of the planes at the gates are SAS 737s, much like the WetJet fleet dominates Calgary.

Oh gosh, there's the cutest little four year old at the nest table, telling me about her breakfast, and I have no idea what she's saying. Adorable.

What was cool about Gardermoen was after a long walk down a hallway, I took an escalator down a floor, through customs, and another escalator that took me right to the train. Mere steps from plane to train to take me right to downtown Oslo. Why can't Calgary get it's act together and get the C-Train to the airport?

At the station, in the heart of Oslo, I walked out, across the street, and into my hotel.

The hotel was a bit of a shock as the view from the steps of the train station is obscured by scaffolding and construction. But I think that might be work on a separate building. The front door to the hotel is a few steps beyond.

I was told that all is prepaid, and breakfast included, as well as all kinds of other amenities.

The hotel is dominated by an eight story atrium, where I'm sitting right now. The restaurant lies at the bottom and I am under a sky light eight stories up. Four glass sided elevators slide up and down one wall.

My room is off the balcony/hallway around the atrium on the eighth floor, in a small collection of rooms off a circular hallway. I think there's a stairway in the centre.

I have a limited view because of a rooftop deck and the closeness of the buildings opposite.

My room is a little small and oddly angled, but delightfully cozy. It's actually in a short spur hallway off the circle, which leads to the Christiana Suite, so the sign on the door says. Classy neighbours!

After settling in a little, I went out in search of dinner.

What a beautiful town! The architecture is gorgeous. Streets go every which way at times, but mostly on a grid. There is a modern looking streetcar system.

I ended up trying a place called The Scotsman.

I'm kind of annoyed at myself for this. It's a steakhouse basically, below an English style pub. And I had an Angus burger and a Kilkenny, something that I could have any time at home. I shied away from the reindeer steak which is what I should have tried.

But it was good. I went back to the hotel for a moment after, then went out wandering. Eventually I settled in a place called 3Brødre, with nothing on tap except Kilkenny, Guinness and Ringnes, a local Pilsner. It's quite good.

A woman appeared beside me and asked if she could talk to me while waiting for a friend. She said her name was Anita and she was from Trondheim, of Lapland ancestry. She was great fun to talk to, although I got lost in her accent sometimes. She said Laps are much more outgoing than the southern Norwegian, so I should expect such forwardness if I go north.

We talked through a pint before all the flying and lack of sleep caught up to me, so I said good night and headed back to the hotel.

There's a high school team of some sort, all black hoodies with the name Kangaroo on the back. All piling up breakfast and noisily congregating at a long table.

I just got a poke in the arm from that little girl. She's done with breakfast and is getting restless. I tried to say hi, but she's suddenly shy.

OK, gotta start the day!

May 14, 2010, 5:35 pm
A lounge in the Clarion Hotel Royal Christiania

I am beat. I feel like I've been everywhere today.

I went up to the palace this morning and took some pictures. I even got one of me and a palace guard. And then I wandered behind the palace and out on to the streets again.

Another guard was at the side guarding a gate to the royal gardens, which are closed until late May.

After coming around the gardens and palace, I strolled through the park that stretches between the palace and the parliament building. Oslo University is split by the park, big yellow buildings on the north and a building or two on the south.

Just past that is the national theatre, so I too a few pictures of that and of the threatre themed names of close by restaurants.

Back on Karl Johan, the main drag, I found a brasserie and sat outside with a coffee. There was a touristy magazine and such shop near the university in the park, where I'd bought a handful of post cards. I sat outside of the brasserie and wrote up some of them.

This town has the best coffee! Everywhere I've had one, it's been excellent.

After that, I wandered toward the harbour. I found myself on a street that ended near what looked to be a huge stone wall. There was a small paddock with a couple of horses.

Up the street a ways was a large group of people, obviously on some kind of tour. As they moved off, I went through the arch in the stone wall that they had come out of.

Akershus Fortress was begun in the 13th century, to protect the country and Oslo. It sits on a rock outcrop beside the harbour.

I walked around some, up a path that went over another stone wall,. And through a stone arch.

A path doubled back to the top of the wall over the arch, where there were cannons, and one of the royal guards. The path was blocked off, so I didn't go up there.

But there was a path around the side through another arch, to a grassy area overlooking the city.

Back the other way was a raised area. On top were more cannons and a wonderful view of the harbour, and a sheer drop down the stone wall to the street below. It must have been thirty metres. The view I assumed to be wonderful, as it was mostly blocked by one bloody huge cruise ship.

Back down from this, another archway lead into the inner court yard. There was a doorway to a gift shop and the start of a tour through the castle.

There was also a blocked off tunnel, I guess you could call it. Very dark and spooky. There's a ghost story with it too. Some 18th century caretaker woke to a huge crash on night to be told that this passage had collapsed. He went down into it, against the protestations from servants, and was savaged by a large vicious dog dragging a broken heavy chain. He never recovered from his injuries and died some days later.

Anyway, I took the tour. It starts in what was the original kitchen, and then a short stairway goes up to the sheriff's office.

From there is a long narrow passage and stairway that leads to the dungeon. This passage parallels the spooky one from the courtyard, now that I think of it. The walls here are up to three metres thick.

Then it crosses to the royal crypt where only one king and queen lie. Also the prince and his wife are beside them. Across from this room are two other graves, but they contain only the skulls of three rulers.

Up some more stairs and I was in a church. It's actually still a working church, used by the military, which explains the army chaplain who was talking with a young couple. They do weddings, funerals and baptisms for military personnel.

After that, I went into dark rooms, and I don't remember exactly the order of things. I think the next place was what is left of the massive main tower, that was called the Dare Devil. The main reception room as it's modernly used for but was originally a store room. No, that came later.

In the upper rooms there were great banquet halls. All are still in use and are serviced by a modern and well equipped kitchen, but it hasn't been used since the king's wedding in 2001.

The last big room, which expands dining capacity to well over three hundred people, was originally the maiden's quarters. It's one big room where they did everything. There are four alcoves in the wall, over a metre deep, so these are seriously thick walls. There would have been cannons in them originally, so the ladies would have had to work around them.

Upstairs is another huge room with a high oak beam roof. It was struck by lightning once and burned, then reconstructed. A huge rose window on the south end contains some stained glass. The centre of it and some smaller parts were blown out by a huge explosion in the harbour in World War II. Some very small parts of the window show depictions of some strange and terrifying creatures.

Ghosts abound in this place. The keeper who was mauled by the monstrous dog, a pair of duelists who replay their duel in the high windows of the dining hall. One story that really stuck with me is of a girl who is sometimes found to be wandering in a corner of the maiden's quarters. When confronted, she will turn to face her confronter, who discovers she has no face, only a blank gauzy surface where here face should be. After that she evaporates into thin air.

After the tour, I went back to the hotel and crashed for about half an hour.

From the hotel, I walked back toward the harbour again, and discovered a huge white marble and glass building. The Oslo Opera house is a sloping white marble surface that rises out of the water to quite a height, then in the middle, a glass walled part rises from that, and the marvel surface sloes upward from the back to the front of this again.

People can walk all over this surface. Up at the glass wall, you can look down on the huge lobby below. There are steps and ridges and troughs here and there. Sometimes the marble is cut smooth in these, but mostly it's pretty rough. It would still be slippery in the rain.

From there, I walked along the harbour until I found myself by that monster cruise ship beside akershus. Past that, a tall ship that was being loaded with provisions, bucket brigade style, a World War II era fully restored wooden mine sweeper, and then several masted and powered boats. One of them was actually a bar, so I stopped for a pint.

It hit hard since I hadn't had lunch. From there, I found a bank machine, and then wandered to the far side of the harbour to Aker Brygge, a huge harbourside complex of shops and restaurants.

I chose one with a sunny patio and had a bite, then wandered back toward Karl Johan, and back to the hotel, where I now sit.

I'm tired and hungry. I'll probably go for dinner in a little while, but for now, I need to cool my feet.

Something I didn't discover until today, is that Monday is a national holiday. All the hotels along Karl Johan are putting up Norwegian flags and banners, and a huge parade is planned.

In my hotel's atrium, there is now a massive flag hanging from the skylight, nine stories above the restaurant. At a guess, it's about ten metres by twenty five metres.

It looks to be clouding over, and the wind is coming up.

There is so much older architecture int this town. It's very beautiful, and there are domes and clocks everywhere.

Norway Day 2 - Arriving

2010-05-13T16:00:00.000-06:00

This is an after-the-fact transcription of the journal I kept on a two week trip to Norway.

May 13, 2010, 9:20 am
Aboard KLM 678

I am on Amsterdam time now and somewhere over Scotland. They've just turned on the lights.
After the snacks, I watched a movie. Highly recommended - The Blind Side. In the middle of that was dinner, which was pretty decent. And then they turned out the lights.

According to the flight tracker thing, the movie got me from somewhere north of Saskatoon to the very tip of northern Quebec.

When they turned out the lights they also asked everyone to pull down the window shades. We never quite crossed the Arctic Circle, but we were close, so it never really got all the way dark.

I did try to sleep for those five hours or so, and I think I succeeded a little.

Oh! One nice touch are the hot wet towels. I got the first one just after that first snack. And the other one just now, after a glass of orange juice. The juice was perfect and the towel was timely.

We're just south of Aberdeen, with about 650 kilometres to go.

I'm glad I got to sleep a little bit. It's going to be a long day regardless. But I'm beginning to feel a little pumped

May 13, 2010, 11:35 am
Schipol Airport, Amsterdam

OK, if you buy a bottle of water here, you either drink it in the airport or on the plane. No bringing open bottles on the plane. In fact, if you want to take it on, they seal it in a bag for you at the store.

Another trip up was that the Starbucks in the airport here is one of those not-really-a-Starbucks, in that they don't take the Starbucks card, so I had to pay cash.

Anyway, back on the plane, once I opened the window screen, there was nothing to see but cloud. There wasn't a lot of cloud over the North Sea, but it's all grey water.

Forty minutes before we touched down, we got breakfast. And not at all rushed. That was kind of nice.

And then we descended through a lot of cloud until we were quite low, probably less than a thousand feet before I could see anything.

So now it's grey and overcast, but not raining. This part of Schipol is no different from Calgary, except in Calgary, all the 737s sport the WestJet livery. Here there are all kinds of paint jobs. From here I can see KLM, Continental, Finnair, and a couple I don't recognize. Also, they aren't all 737s, although that seems to be the dominant short haul critter.

MartinAir, never heard of that one before. Looks like an A330. This place must be a haven for plane spotters.

Whoops, what I thought was Continental is actually Augsburg Airways. They were just pushed back.

I'll need to go for a walk soon. When people get close to the end of the moving sidewalk, a voice tells them to "mind your step." It's repetitive and monotonous, and getting on my nerves. Plus I want to know what airlines those two planes belong to.

May 13, 2010, 12:10 pm
Schipol Airport, Amsterdam

Alitalia and Air Malta. And there is a SwissAir one too.

It's true! A beer tastes much better in its home country. Heineken is not my favourite at home, but this is quite good. Mind you, it's on tap and not in those horrid green bottles.

I'm sitting at the Constellation Bar in the C wing of Schipol. I'm guessing by the dozens of pictures of Lockheed Constellations with KLM livery that it's named for that. The height of luxury air travel sixty years ago.

When I walked down this way an hour ago, it was deserted. Now it's pretty hopping.

Oh yeah! I got my first stamp in my passport. That was kind of cool. I wasn't expecting to talk to any customs person cuz I'm not leaving the airport. But I guess it's because I crossed continental boundaries?

There goes an Air France 737. Boeing must have build thousands of those things.

Air Astana - another one new to me.

One thing that stands out here are the number of duty free shops. At least I think they are duty free. Each one is a specialty store - perfumes, liquor, clothing - and they're huge!

Another thing is the number of perfume shops. A couple of big stores in the middle, but there are also a few little kiosk places. It's actually kinda stinky in the main concourse from those big shops.

And yet another thing. I am surrounded by unknown (to me) languages. Seems like everyone on this continent is multi-lingual.

It's noon here, actually 12:30. I just realized it's 4:30 am at home. I'm really glad I managed to sleep a little on the way over.

Wow, just looking around. This place is suddenly full of people. And my plane to Oslo is just pulling up to the gate. I still have and hour and a half before it leaves again.

All this hub-bub, and still there is that "mind your step" over and over and over.

May 13, 2010, 2:40 pm
Aboard KLM 1147

A little bit of a late start, but we're above the cloud deck now. I think we drove to Copenhagen first though. Seriously, Schipol is one big airport; the taxiing was endless.

We sat at the gate after boarding. I don't know what was up with that. So the toddler behind me got a little restless, slamming the window shade up and down until she caught her fingers in it. Once she calmed down over that, she slammed the tray up and down, and kicked heck out of my seat, all the while screaming at her mom. Luckily, she calmed right down as we were pushed back, and there was only one brief outburst while we taxied.

It's a pretty full load here. There seems to be some high school girls group taking up the middle of the plane.

It's an older 737, and there are no seat-back TVs so we don't get the flight tracker. I have no idea where we are now.

An interesting variation on the safety demo - how to put on the life vest located under the seat. I imagine we're over water right now.

May 13, 2010, 3:15 pm
Aboard KLM 1147

We are definitely over open water. There are dozens of boats down there. They passed out a surprisingly good sandwich that I scarfed down while watching all the boats slide by. It's quite beautiful.

But now we're over cloud again. It looks like a layer of mold I once saw on fruit juice. Slightly off white and scummy along the edge of it.

Oh boy, cookies! Or a cookie. "Stroopkoekje" - very tasty.

There are breaks in the cloud, and more boats.

I dozed off just before push back, and I think that little five minute powernap was just what I needed.

Norway Day 1 - Starting Out

2010-05-12T19:00:00.000-06:00

This is an after-the-fact transcription of the journal I kept on a two week trip to Norway.

May 12, 2010, 1:55 pm
Calgary Airport

I'm here way too early and I'm a bundle of nerves. The KLM desk doesn't open until 2:05. And I feel like a total dweeb with this backpack.

Bonus! Some guy with a backpack just went by, so I'm not the only one. However, I don't have the camo pants and shaved head.

One nice thing is that people are starting to accumulate in the area.

One bad thing is that both pens I brought to write with are running dry already.

May 12, 2010, 2:30 pm
Calgary Airport

I'm still all nerves. Jeez, I wish I could settle a bit.

But I got a pair of fresh Bics so I can write again. And by the time I got them, used the washroom and got back out front, the desks were open for KLM.

Nice to be first in line; I was through the check in pretty quick.

I's nerve wracking too, because I keep feeling I've forgotten something. Yet so far, so good.

Anyway, I presented by passport and boarding pass to the guy at the sliding doors (to the security check area) then walked the zigzag of those poles with the tapes between them.They did open them up after the first zigzag so I could walk straight through.

Pulled out the ziploc bag with contact solution and toothpaste, empty pockets, take off shoes, etc. Walk through the gate. Whoops, forgot to take off the belt, but they didn't say anything.

Now I'm sitting in a bar/lounge/restaurant, and have just finished a plate of chicken wings. I wasn't feeling very hungry but thought if I ate something my stomach would settle. The beer probably helps.

It's a sunny beautiful day out. From hear I can see planes taxiing, planes taking off. I haven't seen any land yet. At least some have come up this way and parked.

In front of me right now is probably an A330 with Lufthansa livery. All the service vehicles have left. There was a crowd sitting around that gate when I walked by so I suppose they aren't that far from push back. I can't make out the registration number because the wing is in the way, or I'd write it down.

There's a WestJet 737 just taxiing up and some odd looking T-tail just floating in to land. Now something else, the engines mounted on the sides off fuselage, just reached rotation and lifted.

And behind it all, the downtown skyline.

A Delta 737 just backed out and is beginning to taxi. I've taken pictures!

I knew this would happen. Once I get past the initial nervousness, I knew I would settle down.

Now I wait for awhile. Three hours to go!

That Lufthansa is an A340. I didn't see the second engine on the wing until it was pushed out.

May 12, 2010, 4:00 pm
Calgary Airport

It was an A340-300 called the Gottingen. Just before it was pushed back, my plane arrived, about half an hour ago. It's called Plaza de la Independence - Madrid. Where I'm sitting right now, I'm about twenty metres from the nose. of it.

The afternoon is going by quite quickly thankfully. Waiting....waiting....

May 12, 2010, 5:40 pm
Aboard KLM 678

There's still twenty five minutes to get off the ground, but I'm finally aboard. Announcements are being made in German and English.

They are telling us to stay in our seats until after take off since there is lots of room if people want to find another seat, I guess. Maybe my neighbour will move another seat so he can stretch out.

I grabbed a copy of the international edition of the New York Times, and I'm going to sit and try and relax for take off.

May 12, 2010, 6:30 pm
Aboard KLM 678

I'm now a half hour into the flight and so far it's pretty ho-hum. I like hearing the German announcements, different from the usual French that we get on the domestic flights.

There are a few good movies. I'll watch The Blind Side later. But mostly, I like the flight tracking. We're just crossing into Saskatchewan now. I like that you can control that, too.

I got the window seat, but it turned out to be directly over the wing root. Some view. If I lean forward, I can see some of the ground past the back edge of the wing.

Here come the snacks...

Un-Stalled!

2010-05-04T19:48:00.004-06:00

Well, it was easy to get un-stalled, since last night's class was inside, on a heated pool. Pool Rescue night!

I, naturally, was first to arrive. I drove through the wind and rain, to the university and parked in the big parkade. 7 bucks! Sheesh!

I had sort of an idea where I was going. The online map was pretty clear, but it also didn't have any of the myriad of construction sites marked on it. I found myself walking across gravel and past barriers, around temporary fences. The front door to the Aquatic Centre was reachable through a narrow path between the wall of one of the gyms, and the fencing. Evidence of lots of digging.

There was an information desk, where I asked where I needed to go. Then through the locker room where I stopped to strip down to swimming trunks and stuff my clothes into my backback. I walked out onto the pool deck, where a girl in a short lifeguard chair directed me to the corner where a kayak and associated paraphernalia waited.

As usual, I was first. I waited, and eventually eight more people showed up, virtually all at once. They seemed to know each other, and also were couples. I was the odd guy.

The instructor arrived and handed out release forms. After those were all signed, he walked us all the parts of a kayak. Then he demonstrated the steps to take to perform a self rescue, flopping around rather comically on the pool deck.

He lead us around the scuba class that had claimed the deep end, to a pile of personal flotation devices (PFDs), spray skirts, paddle floats and of course, kayaks. We chose the most fashionable bits, then carried the ten needed kayaks to the shallow end and put them on the ledge just under the water.

I dressed up, as did everyone else. I tried to get the spray skirt up high enough, and tight enough to stay put, and then got the PFD on and zipped. I pulled all the straps tight, and settled into a kayak. I chose one that had a loose rudder peddle, that slid around in the cockpit under my legs.

We all kind of floated out into the middle of the pool, and the instructor leaned over, and went under as his kayak capsized. And then he walked through the steps of the self rescue again, making it look ridiculously easy. Oh, to be young again.

I wondered at the needed upper body strength, and decided I had enough to pull it off. The couples paired off and spread out. I watched a few roll into the water and come up beside their capsized kayaks. And then I took a deep breath and leaned to the right.

The damn paddle was in the way, but I grabbed the side of the cockpit and began to run my hands along the edge of the spray skirt, fondling my way to the oh-shit handle. I found it flopping in the water, feeling a naked edge of the plastic cockpit. I found that I never had to pull that handle, as it always popped off on its own once I was upside down.

I came up against the kayak, reached behind my head to push it out of the way, only slightly panicky. Once my face cleared the surface I snorted and a nose full of water threatened to invade my lungs. Furious hacking and coughing ensued.

Once I was able to breath again, I heaved the kayak upright, and threaded my arm under a bungee cord. I pulled the paddle float from another bungee and managed to stuff the end of the paddle into it, and clip the short strap to keep it from slipping off.

OK, I should confess. We were in the shallow end, and for my first self rescue, I was standing in chest deep water, concentrating on getting through all the steps.

Once the paddle float was secured, I stuffed the other end under the bungees as we were shown. And then it was simply a matter of gripping the paddle and the edge of the cockpit, jumping up and laying across the kayak. It was about this point that it struck me that I might not always get to do this in five feet of water.

Anyway, I slipped my legged into the cockpit, and gingerly turned around, so that I could sit upright. Another realization at this point was that that turning around should happen toward the side where the paddle. I had turned the other way, and the paddle float slapped the water several times until I got stable.

I had narrowly missed displaying what the instructor charmingly called the red flag of death, where the kayak rolled away from the paddle and upside down again. As I settled into the seat and gingerly pulled the spray skirt out from under myself, rocking precariously while doing so, I noticed a couple of those red flags, as the paddle floats arced over a capsizing kayak.

Sitting for a minute to catch my breath, I then leaned the left this time, to ensure I could be ambidextrous in self rescues.

Then it was time to try an assisted rescue. The instructor had a volunteer help him out in showing the steps of righting the kayak, and bracing it so the other person can climb in. And then we tried it ourselves.

Of course, being the odd guy, I got to do it with the instructor, enduring the catcalls on my incompetence at trying to get close to his capsized kayak. I finally got to the bow of his upsidedown kayak, and told him to push down on the other end. The bow popped up surprisingly high, and I was easily able to pull it across my kayak.

When the cockpit was in my lap, essentially, I heaved the kayak upright and pushed it back in the water. More awkward maneuvering as I tried to get along side it, bow to stern, as required. I was a little apprehensive about bracing it, worried about inadequate upper body strength, but it was surprisingly easy to lean across his kayak and brace, while he heaved himself up and into the cockpit.

Then it was my turn. I took a deep breath and leaned again. I don't think my sinuses will ever acclimate to chlorinated pool water. I came up sputtering as usual, and then went through the steps.

After the first self rescue, I made a conscious effort not to use the floor of the pool, using only kicking and pulling to propel myself up on top of the kayak. At first it wasn't too bad, though I had to fight a tendency for my feet to come up in front of me so I would be floating on my back.

The assisted rescue went very smoothly; again I had to be aware of which way to turn as I got upright.

After that, I continued to flop over left and right, and practice self rescues, while the instructor worked with the couples. Flop hesitantly, I might add. I'm not keen to be under water, under a kayak. My nose fills with water and stings my eyes. And I soon developed a sinus headache. But I kept flopping over and repeating the steps.

At one point we got to raft up. That's when we all get side by side and hold on to each other's kayak, while the instructor explained why we would want to do that. We're much more stable holding on to each other like that, so can ride out some rough swells. And apparently, if we're all in one group like that, the orcas will come closer as they only have one big obstacle to avoid, instead of a bunch of little ones. Something to keep in mind if I manage to get on one of the trips to the west coast that they organize throughout the summer.

The self rescues started to become harder and harder to do. Adequate upper body strength I had for one or two, but a dozen was too taxing. We were eventually chased out of the pool by another group, and so gathered up the equipment to pile it in a soggy pile, and lean the kayaks against the wall inverted.

The instructor went through a few more things, and then we retired to the locker rooms to dress and head home through the wind and rain and snow.
L n K

Something Different, But Stalled

2010-05-01T08:16:00.007-06:00

I was about to start a new adventure today, but the weather got in the way.

Last summer I had a chance to try kayaking, while visiting Vancouver Island. It was only a short three hours along the south shore of Port San Juan, but was a fabulous tour. There was only a barely perceptible swell, and while the skies were the usual west coast grey, there was no rain and the fog banks across the sound gave the whole morning a kind of intimate solitude.

After that experience, and having encountered someone with an enthusiasm for kayaking, I want to check it out some more, so I signed up for some kayaking classes with the Calgary Outdoor Centre. This morning was to be an introductory paddle on the Glenmore Reservoir, but alas, the weather of the past week has stamped Canceled on the outing.

It's frustrating because it has turned out to be a marvelous morning, a little cool, but there is only some light, high cloud, no wind, and the view of the mountains is crystal clear. It's not going to be the warmest day, but the forecast high of 10C is quite tolerable. 48 hours ago, when the decision was made to cancel, it was in the middle of a nasty spring snowstorm, and the forecast high for today was something like 5C.

I guess they have to have a cut off point somewhere, and 48 hours must be reasonable to decide and have time to notify all who have signed up for it. Still, it would have been a wonderful morning.
L n K

Mount Rae

2009-08-31T18:07:00.011-06:00

I have been thinking about this one since my first timid, naive climb four years ago. And I thought it was about time I gave it another go.

I was out of the house shortly after 6:00 a.m. and at the Highwood Pass just before 8:00. Not a soul in the vicinity. In fact the only other traffic I saw after turning onto highway 40 was a car that followed me as far as the Kananaskis golf course.

At the parking lot, I got my gear out and started off. The GPS said 2199 metres, so a little bit below the top of the pass a couple of hundred metres to the south. I walked groomed trail through the meadow toward that point, where it crossed the highway.

It was brisk out, but I left my fleece in my backpack, reasoning I'd be warming up soon enough. Leaves on some of the small bushes were already turning color, a bright red, tinged with white. I took off my glove and rubbed a leaf - frost.

It didn't really feel that cold. The sun wasn't yet reaching the valley, but with not a breath of wind, it actually felt quite nice.

In the forest, it wasn't much different, just darker. I charged up the trail as usual, and after about twenty minutes was out of the trees and into the cirque. I expected it to be green and nothing else, but there were many yellow and blue flowers. Also something that had blossomed into a puffy fluff ball, little white dots all over the meadow.

I kept to the right. I don't know why, but it seems more natural to walk the loop around the cirque clockwise. I've never noticed anyone going the other way. The picture, by the way, is from 2005. At the first waterfall, a trail splits off the loop and toward the back, climbing a little over meadow and slabby chunks of rock that are more like big paving blocks.

At the second waterfall is the sign proclaiming the end of the trail, and an obvious trail continuing up over the headwall. You can see it in the picture to the left. I chugged up that, at first a little steep, but leveling out a little as it went past the north side of the headwall.

Someone had piled a cairn on a large boulder across a small gully and on top of the dome of rubble. Soon I was beside the small snowbank behind the headwall, that feeds the creek that flows through the cirque. Small and dirty, but it was still a couple of acres, and covered in dirt.

I stopped at a couple of large boulders for a water break. Then continuing around the bend I could see the scree slope. It seemed a lot smaller than I remembered. Narrower and not so long. Well, it looked that way. It was still a long climb to the col.

Another picture from 2005. I couldn't see the slab the arrow points to, so it must be buried now. The trail was much better defined this time, although it split into several and faded out once it got into the steeper stuff. There was no snow this time, and I chose one of the rock bands behind the arrow to follow to the col.

It was strenuous slogging. Not nearly as bad as my last trip to the Fortress, but I was getting a good workout. I thought about climbing next to the rock band, but it was down to a thin layer of dirt. I stayed out from it a little and found plenty of small rocks sticking out to step up on. I kept looking for better trails, even looking below, cuz thats when you see them, is after you don't need them. Nada. It was pretty much where ever it looked best for who ever was climbing at what ever time.

It didn't seem all that long to the col, but long enough, about two hours from the parking lot. I topped out and stood for awhile, just looking down the other side. The Little Highwood Pass was incredibly green, and the Rae Glacier, the source of the Elbow River and half of Calgary's drinking water, looked small and dirty. By the way, click on the pictures for larger versions.

Behind, looking back down the scree slope, it looked curiously flat, as in not sloped. My legs knew better.

And then there was the road ahead. On the right, what looks like the summit, is actually a pinnacle on the ridge, and it much lower than the true summit. That is the rounder peak on the left, and it only looks lower because it's about another half kilometre away.

I stopped and snacked for a bit. Forest fire smoke gave the surroundings a haze that quickly hid the view after a couple of kilometres. To the north was a brown layer that only a couple of the higher peaks poked through.

I started up the ridge. I had to climb over a couple of small spikes, and then a trail started off across the scree slope on the north side of the ridge. It was pretty easy going for most of it. At one point there was about three metres of slab to cross, but it had enough cracks and crevasses that there were enough footholds to cross without much issue.

Well past the large pinnacle, but well below it, the path petered out. I searched above for signs of another, and backtracked a little, finding another trail that branched upward. Following that, it soon disappeared too, I scanned above and back a little and found what looked like another trail above. I couldn't see where it started, so instead of backtracking to find it, I simply headed across the scree. Some places felt dicey, but not so much that I felt I would lose my footing. I did kick some rock loose, and that was a concern. No one was below, but I don't like having to watch loose rock bounce down slope. Dangerous stuff for anyone below.

I gained this trail and followed it for awile. Same result. I'm not good at route finding, and I was having a heck of a time seeing where these trails were going. I back tracked a little, found another sort-of-trail switching back, that turned out to be the right choice. Another trail above appeared as the one I was one faded, so another tricky traverse to get to it.

I finally got up to the ridge again, and of course, looking downward, I could see every trail plain as day. The sun had risen enough by that time too, so the ridges on the edges of the trails were highlighted by the low angle of the sun.

From here, I was stuck. I wandered back and forth a little, trying to find a way to go farther. The GPS said I was at 3176 metres, so eventually I settled for calling it a day and having lunch. I sat near the edge of the ridge and dug out some cold samosas and my camera.

This is the view back toward the col. The pinnacle is to the left. It also shows nicely the unnamed peak on the other side, and the ridge leading up to it.

To the north the smoke was obvious, as it left a brownish smog-like layer just at the mountain tops. On the left you can see the southern tip of the Lower Kananaskis Lake and a bit of the Spray Lakes road.

To the south, the smoke obscured much of the view. This is what it looks like behind Mount Arethusa, the rugged peak on the south side of Ptarmigan Cirque. Two tiny lakes at the bottom of the canyon, one a deep green and almost invisible in the picture.

And to the southwest, between the pinnacle on the right, and Arethusa on the left, the green sloped ridge on the far side of the valley. My car was parked at the bottom of that slope. The top of the next ridge beyond marks the BC-Alberta border, so all those ridges fading into the smoke are in BC.

Straight west, I got a nice view of three glaciers hidden from the highway in the peaks just south of the Kananaskis Lakes. From left to right, and I'm not totally sure of this, are Mangin Glacier, Northover Glacier and Lyautey Glacier, if I'm reading my GemTek map correctly.

And while enjoying my lunch and the view, I noticed that I was going to have some company. There's a tiny red speck in the middle of this picture, that is a couple on their way up. And if you look close, just past the big shadow behind them, a third person. This picture also shows how nicely the trails show up when you're above them.

Lunch done and a few pictures taken, I packed up to head back down. It was easy to see where to go from the top. A trail ran almost directly to to col. I started down.

At a long fissure that ran not quit vertically down but sloped a little to the east, the couple paused considering wheather to follow it up. At the same time, my clumsiness jostled loose a few rocks. It's the one thing I didn't like about this slope, is that those rocks didn't stop. Very dangerous. These clattered down well away from the two below, but we did have a quick holler back and forth about how to proceed.

We decided that they stay put at the bottom of the fissure, while I moved farther away and down. No further problems and I met them about half way down the fissure and chatted for a bit.

I continued on the trail and came to that slab again. This time I was higher and the slab was wider. It looked a little intimidating, but the trail definitely continued on the other side. Anyway, it wasn't all that bad to cross, and was quickly done.

From there straight down to the col. I spent a few moments considering which path to take from there. Several small rock bands go almost straight down slope, and it was a matter of considering which would have the best hand holds and footing.

It was a long stumble down from there. I slid a lot, stepping in loose gravel and letting my weight carry me down a little with each step. The gravel slid a little ahead of me each time, and what breeze there was, was coming from down slope. I was getting well coated with dust.

It seemed like it took as long to get down through the rock bands as it did to climb them. Then on to the trail that weaved through the scree, and the angle of the slope lessened with each step.

It was along this stretch that I knew I'd had a good day. I tried to keep the steps short and small, preferring to save my knees from hard jolting to taking big strides to get down quickly. With every step, I could feel a tremble in the leg muscles, so I'd pushed them pretty hard.

I finally rounded the corner and began the final descent to the cirque. It's tourist season in the Kananaskis, and there must have been fifty people wandering around. I passed several groups on the trail below Arethusa, as they aimed cameras in all directions. It was a beautiful day, so the cirque was at it's most photogenic.

The walk down through the forest was quick, although there was lots of traffic. I burst out of the trees and crossed the highway, folding up my poles and looking forward to changing shoes and getting the pack off my back.

The parking lot was packed. Undoubtedly a lot of people were taking advantage of the weather. A constant stream of motorcycles passed by on the highway, making the trip from Longview to the TransCanada, or the reverse, and there were a couple of herds of Harleys in the parking lot too.

I munched a few handfuls of trailmix, and then slid my aching body into the driver's seat. I figured by the time I got home, I'd be so stiffened up, I'd barely be able to get out of the car. It had been a very good day.

Mount Rae
Starting elevation: 2194 m (7198 feet).
Highest elevation: 3176 m (10,420 feet).
Lowest elevation: 2194 m (7198 feet).
Elevation gain: 982 m (3222 feet).
Distance: 9.0 km (5.6 mi).
Time: 5:44.

Grizzly Peak

2009-06-19T18:06:00.014-06:00

I loved this one. Not too high, but the view is tremendous. I was out and on the road early, after sending a note on the L n K. The highway to Banff is rather quiet on Sunday morning, well, relatively quiet. I don't think that highway is ever less than rush hour busy.

Once on the Kananaskis highway, I had to slow right down at crossing the Texas gate at the over pass. A herd of horses had decided the ditches on either side were perfect for breakfast, and it was nice to see such beautiful animals out so early.

Farther down, and back up to highway speed, it was a quiet drive, although there were many other drivers out too. But those all turned off at the Kananaskis Village, the golf course, or the Mount Kidd RV park, and once past Wedge Pond, I pretty much had the highway to myself.

A few kilometres past the Fortress Junction, and one klick past the Grizzly Creek Day Use area, is Ripple Rock Creek. I drove a few metres past, made a u-turn and pulled into the ditch by the creek.

The trail was almost right beside where I'd parked. It started up a short steeper climb or about ten metres, before paralleling the creek along a slowly upward sloping meadow.

I was trucking along the trail in this stretch, when I saw something move through bush a couple of hundred metres ahead. And shortly after, a sheep burst into the meadow ahead. Coming my way. At a full gallop. Umm...

I stepped into the trees along side the trail, not sure what I'd done to invite the ire of this critter, and hoping to have a tree between me and it, at least to slow it down. I watched as it caroomed past and down the meadow toward the highway.

Now what? I considered what might have inspired such behaviour. A predator? One big enough to set a full grown mountain sheep on the run? Not really anything like that around. OK, maybe it was just enjoying the morning and was out for an exuberant run.

I continued. The forest was pretty open so I could see well into the trees. And after awhile, I started to relax and enjoy the surroundings, the beautiful morning, and that magical light of mornings in the mountains. So when something the size of a cow patty flopped on the path, I nearly messed my pants.

Jeepers! What on earth kind of frog grows that big, that far up a mountain side? This thing was huge, a blob with legs the size of a frisbee. Or so it seemed. It did another plopping jump into the bushes and I didn't go looking for where it went.

Wide awake now, I continued up the ever steepening trail. The forest was patchy, and there were signs of a forest fire, though it was probably several years past.

The trail zig-zagged through several rock bands, and at one point it was down to a narrow ledge. I felt for and found hand holds along side and was past it after a moment. After that, more zig-zagging and eventually the trail began to push around the side of the mountain, deeper along the gully and well above the creek at the bottom.

Here and there were towering tree trunks, long dead and showing signs of fire damage. This had been an old forest when the fire had come through, and now it was open meadow.

The trail continued until it came to an open avalanche run behind the mountain. A steep, lushly green slope angled upward to the left. The rock band angled upward bordering the run, and it looked like some kind of trial followed it, but the path seemed to continue straight across the slope.

I went straight. The path ended at a small gravelly gully, and I was off trail again. Instead of back tracking to see where I'd gone wrong, I simply headed straight up the slope. The grassy slope was wicked steep, but not too hard to climb.

Every ten metres or so, I stopped to see if I could spot where the trail might be, if one existed. A small clump of trees pushed me into the gravel, though there wasn't too much at that point. After the trees, a sort-of-trail seemed to lead up the gravelly gully.

I climbed to a bit of that, found a path crossing it and got on trail again. It lead to another gully, wider and more gravelly. It seemed there were several paths up the scree, so I picked the one that looked the most stable and started up.

Not really bad, but it was a bit of a treadmill at times. It was steep, and the gravel was filling my hikers with small pointy pebbles. At times I thought of crossing over to the green again, and climbing on the grass again. But there were so many footprints, so I thought I was on the right path.

Again, every ten metres or so, I would stop and look up. The edge of the col seemed so close, but every ten metres it seemed like it was no closer. Until suddenly I was over the edge and on lumpy grass that sloped to the left. To the right, the col I thought I was climbing to was several metres below. I'd been off trail again, apparently.

I was winded from the treadmill, but started up the slope. Lumpy and slumpy, it was a little soggy in places, and there was some large patches of snow still glaring in the sun. I picked my way up the lush slope, through grasses and all kinds of wildflowers.

Every once in awhile I'd look up to see how close I was, and always it seemed no closer, as before, so it was a little startling when I suddenly found myself looking over the edge and down into the valley.

What a view! The Kananaskis Range spread across the far side of the valley, and the Opals stretched away to left and right. The ridge continued upward to the left again, and I continued up. It narrowed so that the near vertical drop toward the highway was on my right, and the broken cliffs to the left lead down the way I'd come.

The ridge was narrow, which added some excitement to the last few metres. Spectacular! I could see my car beside the highway directly below, and two others. To the left, un-named peaks marched toward Mount Windtour, and northward, to the right, to more un-named peaks. Evan-Thomas loomed slightly back of those, across the broad gully down which Grizzly Creek was roaring. I couldn't see water, but I could sure hear it.

Also to the right was the Fortress Junction, and the road winding up to the old ski area. And to the left, almost lost in the haze, was the Kananaskis Lakes. I sat down, and dug my lunch out of my pack.

Another hiker soon came up behind me, and we sat and talked a bit. Then I started down.

Of course, I'm lousy at trail finding on the way up, but looking downslope, it was pretty obvious where it was going. The gravel that I'd slogged up became a quick elevator down. I didn't quite get the rhythm going, but still made good time while it lasted.

Then on the trail through the grass, steep, but my footing felt solid. Eventually it crossed over to the rock band, and followed it down. and joined the path that I'd been on. Standing at the junction, I marvelled at how I'd missed a very obvious cairn marking the proper trail.

The traverse around the side of the mountain went quick, as did the start of the zig-zag down the front of it. Just before the narrow ledge, I spotted a herd of sheep in a clearing below. It looked that they'd be right beside the trail.

At the narrow ledge, I wondered what the heck I saw that was so difficult. Other ledges were not-so-large steps below, and I was past it quickly. Farther down the trail, I got near the clearing where I'd saw the sheep, but they were gone.

Another few dozen metres and I caught up to them, though. They were out on the edge of the meadow, on the cliffs overlooking the gully. They disappeared behind and outcrop, and appeared just below it in pairs, ewe and lamb. The ewes more or less ignored me, but the lambs stared. Cute as all get out.

Eventually they moved past and down below me in the gully. I continued down and very quickly was on the long gentle slope where I'd encountered the charging loner. And then I was back at the car.

I put my pack on the back seat, and slipped off my hikers. There was lots of traffic on the highway, so it was noisy. I'd just put on some regular sneakers, when the sheep herd suddenly burst down the slope I'd just come down into the ditch. I jumped up on the shoulder and began waving at the approaching monster RVs. I figured if they hit the herd at highways speeds, I and my car would be covered in fresh mutton.

As the RVs slowed, the sheep scrambled up on the highway and across to the shoulder on the other side. A guard rail stopped them from going any farther. The ewes began nonchalantly licking at the pavement, likely for remnants of road salt, while the skitishly ran up and down the road.

After watching them for awhile, I drove up onto the highway and headed home.

Grizzly Peak
Starting elevation: 1686 m (5531 feet).
Highest elevation: 2534 m (8314 feet).
Lowest elevation: 1686 m (5531 feet).
Elevation gain: 848 m (2782 feet).
Distance: 6.1 km (3.8 mi).
Time: 4:14.

Moose Mountain

2009-06-03T17:31:00.002-06:00

This is my fourth hike up this one. I woke to feeling a little disorganized and not really wanting to get up and do anything. I decided I wasn't going to hike, but then figured I'd need to run, and didn't want to do that either. So back to the hike.

I had a slow start just getting out there, but once at the trailhead, I was good. I had to park on the road, as the parking lot was still full of snow. Trees grow close around it and it's quite sheltered.

One quick start that I aborted because I forgot my GPS in the car. Ten minutes later, I was well down the trail. Mostly it was clear, but there was a lot of snow still covering a lot of it. And for most of that, I could skirt along the edge between trail and forest.

There were a few places where it was easier to walk across the snow, due to mud and standing water, or too much bush along the side, and these weren't bad due to the path being well trampled from all the traffic that must have been up there the last couple of weeks.

At the big clearing, where the begins to curve westward from it's northerly push, I could see there was still a lot of snow on the east side of the first hump, though it was patchy and didn't look bad. But first I had to climb the last bit through the trees, and there was a lot of snow there.

This is a long stretch from a col between the ridge that approaches the mountain, and the mountain itself. The snow was probably four or five feet deep, but again, with all the traffic that had been on it, it was pretty packed. And for the most part it held me up. I even managed to pick my way through the places where others had broken through.

One little switch back at the end of that, and then you're suddenly out of the trees. A few scrubby stubby pines dot the meadow, but it's quite clear, and the view to the north is unobstructed. I stopped for a snack and to take a few pics of the wild flowers, clumps of tiny dark purple blossoms, dotting the landscape.

Then up to the top of the hump. I took the direct path. There was some snow, though it was easy to go around some of it, and in lots of places easier to use it to climb. The switch back path that zigzags back and forth across the direct one was much snowier, probably because there is so much less slope.

I was at the top quickly and walked across the curve of the hump, past the old wind wall that someone had build ages ago. It was looking a little bit crumbly now, but I imagine someone will spruce it up once the snow is completely gone, and the crowds start coming out.

Down to the col before the climb up the ridge to the peak, and then up along side snow clinging to the ridge. Where the usual trail crosses left to continue up the side, what buried under the snow, and I didn't see it until I was somewhat higher. At that point a path had been beaten across the snow and the scree beyond to join up to it.

From there it was up the usual trial, although even on the south side of the mountain, snow was piled along it. I stepped over the guy cable, and went around the curve to just under the helicopter pad. As I stepped up to the mail box where the register is kept, the fire warden came out to say hello.

We chatted for a bit, I signed the register, and then parked on the helipad for lunch. Assiniboine was very obvious to the west, and I would think the broad wedge of Joffre would be visible, too, but Moose Mountain isnt that high, and some higher peaks to the southwest might obscure the view. Besides, it was a much different angle than from where I've seen it before.

After some lunch, I started down again. Pretty straight forward, and I met about sixty or so going up. Many would call it a day on the hump, but a few would be going all the way up.

I was back at the car in early afternoon, and began to head down the long drive to the highway. A lot of cyclists were out on the road, and it must have been rough with how much dust was being kicked up with all the traffic up there. Near zero visibility in places. But back on the highway in short order, and then home.

Moose Mountain
Starting elevation: 2034 m (6673 feet).
Highest elevation: 2464 m (8084 feet).
Lowest elevation: 1915 m (6283 feet).
Elevation gain: 430 m (1417 feet).
Distance: 15.8 km (9.8 mi).
Time: 4:11.

Heart Mountain Again

2009-05-25T18:27:00.002-06:00

I've been wanting to get out in the mountains for awhile, but they still look so white. The weather yesterday was perfect though, so I thought it was time to at least go have a look. A co-worker had been on EEOR (East End of Rundle) a couple of weeks ago, and said it was great, but he's the kind that's happy slogging up headwalls through chest deep snow too.

Anyway, I planned to at least have a look at Heart on the way by. If it was snowy, I would continue to either EEOR or Ha Ling. But Heart looked great. I pulled off into the spaghetti of the Lac Des Arc interchange and into the Heart Canyon parking lot.

There were a few cars in the parking lot, but not a soul around. I shouldered my pack, grabbed my poles and headed down the trail. It's not quite a kilometre to the Heart Creek, and just across the bridge, is the start of the trail down the canyon, and the other trail up the mountain. That trail still has the sign warning that it's a scramble.

Sunny, cloudless, windless. I started up the trail. It's a little steep, but nothing too challenging for awhile. It seemed like I was the first one to be on the mountain for the day, although those cars parked near mine must have carried someone who was up there ahead of me.

This is a fun and reasonably challenging climb. Altitude comes fast, and I watched the elevation number go up on my GPS as often as I looked over my shoulder to take in the spectacular view of the valley. The cement plant across the valley and the broad slash in the limestone that has supplied it with raw material, stood out in the clear mountain air. Beside was Exshaw, a compact grid of buildings forming the company town.

The climb was varied and fun and I was soon at the crux - a crack in the wall of limestone that forms the left side of the heart shaped formation that crowns this peak. About eight feet of climbing, and marked with a red metal diamond to show the way, I stopped for water and a couple of handfuls of trail mix. Then I was up and over and continuing up the trail.

At about 1900 metres or so, I put the poles away and got into the scrambling part of the hike. Some of what I was climbing through was familiar from my last visit two years ago. I found my way up a trough with lots of foot and hand holds, to another red diamond just below a sturdy pine clinging to the slab. More climbing to another notch. And soon I was on the top.

The slope curved toward the horizontal, with bumps and lumps of limestone pushing through the vegetation. I parked on top of one for another water break and snack, and took in the view.

Straight ahead, of course was Exshaw. Immediately left of me the mountain surface curved downward to almost vertical, toward the canyon and creek below. Leftward down the valley, just below was the Trans Canada, skirting Lac Des Arc, and farther on the south end of Canmore, which was mostly hidden behind the shoulder of Grotto Mountain.

From Grotto, left to right, Mount Fable, Exshaw Mountain, Loder Peak and Door Jamb Mountain, and finally, Yamnuska, marking the edge of the Rockies. Past that the prairie looke remarkably flat, although I think it was more because of the contrast between the greening foothills and the ragged mountains.

After snacking, I headed south to check out the ridge. I was hoping to make the traverse along behind the heart, a wonderful ridge walk through trees and occasionally narrowing to slope steeply left and right.

I climbed down beside a ragged wall overlooking the steep slab down to the canyon. Past that the ridge broadened and became tree covered, and also snow covered. I crossed three or four stretches of snow, hoping not to sink in. There were deep holes left by others who had, but the snow held me. My poles, though, told me that ground was an awful long way down from the surface of the snow.

I finally came to a long stretch of snow stretching into trees, and thought that was far enough. I figured as the day went on, the snow would soften and I would eventually be slogging through waist deep, heavy, wet snow. I turned back.

Back at the top, where I'd stopped for lunch, another hiker had made it up. We talked briefly before I began to descend the way I came. At first it was a quiet, peaceful and fun climb down, but then began to meet the day's crowd.
I stopped several times to talk with those coming up, chatting about the climb, the snow, and view. One gentleman and I compared notes about our GPS units.

By the time I reached the climbdown on the wall along the side of the heart, I think I passed at least sixty people. The climb down was uneventful, and I chatted with a group who were on Heart for the first time, looking at the notch doubtfully. A couple continued along the wall. I don't know if they found an alternate way up, but as I watched it seemed they were getting into exceedingly dicey terrain.

As I continued down, I meet more and more going up. There had to be well over a hundred. I was shortly at the bottom, meeting more ready to climb up, and also groups checking out the canyon. The trail from the creek to the parking lot was busy too, lots of people out for the day. The parking lot was full by my return, in early afternoon. I changed shoes and headed home.

A great starting hike. I'm feeling it today, a little. Not as much as I thought, but I still know I had a workout.

Heart Mountain
Starting elevation: 1317 m (4321 feet).
Highest elevation: 2109 m (6919 feet).
Lowest elevation: 1317 m (4321 feet).
Elevation gain: 792 m (2598 feet).
Distance: 7.8 km (4.8 mi).
Time: 4:42.

Pocaterra Ridge

2008-10-08T21:02:00.010-06:00

I called Renee about 8:30, and even then it took some time for her to get under way. The sky by the lakes was grey and featureless, and the tree tops were wobbling in the wind. It wasn't looking exactly inviting out.

We had talked the day before about maybe getting in behind Ptarmigan Cirque, or trying the ridge across the highway (Highwood Ridge by my map). But the grey seems more so to the south. Renee has mentioned Burstall Pass a couple of times, and we decided to give it a shot.

Once we were underway, we started climbing the Spray Lakes Trail. It seems like the higher we went, the lower the clouds came, and the rain just got heavier and heavier. This wasn't looking good. About five kilometres out, we decided to try the south.

The thought was that if it was wet and icky, at least we could get a little trapse around Ptarmigan. But the weather held back, from the junction south, and we were shortly in a rather well filled parking lot at the Highwood Pass.

Deciding on clothing was a challenge. It wasn't really cold, temperature-wise, and it would have been fine to use just a light fleece. But the wind was cutting, and would be more so above trees and in the open. I opted for the light fleece under my rain jacket.

We set off and were soon skirting the swamp in the forest. It's a well used trail, and pretty soupy, and a new trail going around the mush was well formed. This is a creek that hasn't made its bed yet, and mostly seeps through the ground. If it wasn't for all the traffic, there would be some wet and muddy surprises.

We got past that soon enough, and through narrow gaps in the trees in places. Eventually we were at the bottom of an old scree slope. To the left the rock sloped sharply upward to a wall of limestone that went nearly straight up. Ahead and to the right, spruce and white pine, with a liberal sprinkling of aspen and larch, both richly golden.

Then into forest for a ways, and out on another rock fall. This one had a stream running through it, and the trail skipped over it and up a slope along the edge of the trees.

We stopped by a massive block of granite, snacked a little and fussed over clothing. I was a little too warm but reluctant to take anything off. Another couple were sitting in the trees below the block, while another couple crested the rise in front of us, coming down past the others. And behind us, in another copse, another couple sat snacking.

All adjusted again, and we moved up the rise, and were at the bottom of the north end of the ridge. The trail climbed past some trees, along an edge that dropped to the scree covered valley floor. We stopped for a moment and tried to locate the falling rock clattering down the face of Mount Pocaterra on the other side of the little valley.

This narrow valley is barren from the bottom of the ridge to a col maybe a half kilometre away. According to my map, this valley is the Little Highwood Pass. And it continues on the other side barren and scree filled almost to the highway.

The trail lightly zig-zagged up to the first peak. I had all kinds of energy climbing this stretch. It was a little steep, though not overly. I was literally bounding up, while Renee seemed to be struggling a little. I wondered about that, even was a little concerned. I should have just enjoyed being able to get ahead of her for once.

At the top there was a short walk to another peak with a cairn, and we stopped and snacked some more. The cloud stubbornly sat just a few metres over our head, while the opposite side of the valley was finally in sunlight. I dug out my new camera a took several pictures of Renee and all with her eyes closed. This is the best, I think.

Behind her Mount Tyrwhitt is hidden in cloud and wearing a tiny bit of snow on its scree slopes. To the left is Grizzly Col.

She also took a few of me, and I liked this one. Behind me is the Elbow pass, and Elbow Lake. Behind my knees is the highway, busy with travelers trying to get the most out of the last good weekend of the year. Lots of bikers out, and noisy ones, too.

Ahead, the ridge invited us to continue and we got going.

This was about the last of the calm on the ridge. It took as a quarter kilometre further east, then went north. We clambered down a small rock band and below it, then followed it along the east side. Below the barking Harleys chased each other up and down the highway.

Past the band and back on top of the ridge, the wind really started to blow. Renee had found her stride and I was back to scrambling to just keep up. I put my hood up since my ears were starting to ache, and after that, conversation was almost impossible with the wind yanking at the edges of it. Chin and cheeks were getting numb.

We descended about a hundred and fifty meters over almost a kilometre before we started climbing again to the next peak. This was a short climb, not even fifty metres vertical, and the wind ripped at us, while seemingly undecisive about which way to come at us. By the time dropped the next fifty metres, it had settled on roaring out of the Little Highwood Pass.

Renee decided to add a couple of layers, and finding a rock to keep the wind off, stripped to her skivvies to add longjohns. I tried my best to get out of the wind while I waited. She yelped when a particularly chilly gust caught her.

Once dressed and moving again, I warmed a little. We topped the next peak, but didn't stay. It was after 3:00, and we had some distance to go to return to the car. The trail followed the ridge down, then split. winding around some stunted trees to continue along the rest of the ridge, or knifing straight down an avalanche run toward the highway. Time to get off this thing and start for home.

The trail took us along a gentle slope that suddenly turned straight down the slope, and steepened considerably. The trees had been growing there for a few years, but had not come close to filling it in. We descended rapidly through the bush, occasionally passing not too fresh bear digs. These are large holes where they have been digging for roots.

Eventually it got too steep and the bush too close for the bears. A stream had started though it spent most of its time under the rocks. Over top, was moss covered and slippery. The trekking poles, indispensible on the ridge, were just in the way now, with the bush being so dense.

Not really dense. We could push through it easily enough. But the poles caught on branches and I ended up almost dragging them along.But the bush gave us something to hold on to on the incredibly steep terrain, and soon we heard rushing water.

The creek along the highway starts barely a couple of kilometres up toward the pass, but it has taken up a wide swath of the valley floor and populated it with thick growths of willow. We came to the first branch of the creek, and I stepped out onto a thick pile of deadfall, while grasping the branches growing on the other side. The creek was barely a metre and a half wide, and not even ankle deep, but I did not relish the idea of finishing the day with wet feet.

Meanwhile, Renee worked her way down a little and found her own crossing. I stepped onto the opposite bank, and pulled at the branches. Being willows, they did what willows do, which is to bend springily. I found myself pulling hard at the branches, both feet planted on the bank, while the willow slowly laid me down and dipped my backside in the water. Then just as slowly raised me up again until I was upright and could daintily step along the bank. Weird!

Renee somehow crossed, and we forced our way through to the next crossing, this time without any difficulty. Then pushing through more willow, one more water crossing, and we were at the bottom of the embankment beside the highway. It was a short climb to pavement and speeding cars.

Renee stuck her thumb out whenever a vehicle came up behind us, and by the fourth or fifth one, a young couple stopped and offered us a ride in the back seat of their tiny crew cab pickup. I somehow wedged in sideways, while Renee was small enough to fit in normally. The couple's poor dog was stuck in behind me somewhere, but bore it well enough.

They dropped us at the parking lot, and we drove back to Renee's, and into rain and grey again.

We didn't get out much this season, but this was a fine finish to the season.

Pocaterra Ridge
Starting elevation: 2202 m (7224 feet).
Highest elevation: 2697 m (8848 feet).
Lowest elevation: 2002 m (6568 feet).
Elevation gain: 495 m (1624 feet).
Distance: 11.3 km (7.0 mi).
Time: 5:17.

Turbine Canyon

2008-09-29T20:26:00.002-06:00

Renee's phone hasn't been working well. I tried several times last weekend to call, but couldn't get through. And this weekend I called several times, only to get a busy signal. She finally managed to jury-rig something Saturday night, and Sunday morning I finally got hold of her. I was at her place a couple of hours later, and after some thought, we decided on Turbine Canyon.

We pulled into the Interlakes parking lot about noon, and headed across the dam. It was a strikingly beautiful day, and there was a fair crowd in the lot, though it was far from full. Given the time of year, we figured places line Maligne Lake or Sentinel Pass would be zoos, with such beautiful weather and the larch in full golden bloom.

A little ways past the blocked path up Mount Indefatigable, I remembered to turn on the GPS.

I love hiking with Renee. Her knowledge of the area and her experience in hiking and scrambling make for fun and sometimes challenging hikes, in some of the most beautiful terrain. No different today, but the other side of the coin, is Renee's lack of ability to judge distance. I saw that in the hike to Three Isle Lake, which was 24 km round trip. Even last year when we topped Mount Cory, and the trip through the Valley of the Gargoyles. Well, same again, today.

As I said, we were underway about noon. The hike was uneventful, but enjoyable. I had been living with a weird periodic muscle cramp for the last couple of days, and wondered if it would become enough of an issue to be a show-stopper. Two hundred metres from the car, and I never felt it again. I love hiking.

It wasn't a busy trail. We met three or four couples going the other way. At Invincible Creek, where the cyclists have to stop, a large crowd had stopped on their way back from Three Isle Lake. Turned out to be a group from the Strathcona-Tweedsmuir School, on an outing.

This is an interesting point on the hike. Up to here, it's in and out of forest, but always rather open, with views of the Upper Kananaskis through the forest, and several avalanche runs to cross on the south end of Indefatigable. Crossing the creek, and suddenly we're in thick forest, with tall pine and a cozy gloom.

After awhile, another scree slope from the south side, with the trail skirting the edge, beside the Kananaskis River, which is really a mid-sized creek along there. And shortly after, we reached the Forks, where Three Isle Creek joins the river.

We stopped and snacked for a bit at the campground's picnic tables. A breeze was just cool enough for me to need my fleece while we weren't moving. At this point, we had no idea we were only half way.

As we readied to continue, a threesome trudged by and turned toward Three Isle Lake, which was our last outing. We followed the gravel path along the Kananaskis, the campground unraveling on the left. And soon the trail and river bed diverged as we began to gain a little altitude.

At one point we were perhaps fifty metres above the river and well away from it, and over the bush we saw a gorgeous waterfall roaring way, a right-angled kink in the flow of the river.

Below Mount Putnik, we zigged and started to gain some altitude. It wasn't an aggressively climbing path. In fact it doubled back south for quite a distance, before zagging back north again through stunted brush, and a couple of avalanche runs.

We crossed a couple more creeks tumbling picturesquely done to the river, and wound through pine forest. As it leveled out, we crested a small headwall into a small valley, patchily surrounded by larch among the pine. A boggy patch marked the remains of a small lake that shows on the map.

Back into forest full of tumbled boulders, up a little, then down again past another pothole, and eventually we reached Lawson Lake. The time was 4:15 or so, and Renee suddenly seemed concerned about the time.

We powered throught he last kilometre and a half or so, and reached Turbine Canyon. Ahead, the trail continued up to Haig Glacier, of which the southern tongue reached down toward us. We gulped a quick snack and I donned my fleece before we headed back.

The wind was a little gusty, and with the sun now behind Mount Beatty, there was a definite chill. We made good time getting back to Lawson Lake, and at the headwall beyond, met a lone hiker going the other way.

We strode purposefully along, with the shadow brighten by the reflected sunlight from the ridge across the valley. It stretches along from Mount Black Prince, which I didn't realize was so close. About sixteen months ago, I had trekked up the other side of that peak, to a shrivelled up lake, and watch the snow rumble down the mountain's cliffs.

Fresh snow from the week preceding had dusted Putnik and the snowfield nestled beside it, far above us. The cloudless sky and the glow from the ridge across the valley made for a very picturesque scene. We got to the zag, and the zig, and then were at the Forks again, not even stopping.

The forest ahead, so cozy before, took on a different personality as the gloom deepened. Not at all unpleasant, and even inviting, but definitely a different beast than what we had encountered earlier. Kind of amazing.

At Invincible Creek, it was getting really dark. But we were out of the forest and onto graveled, scree-slope skirting trail. Only four kilometres to go.

We passed the scree slopes of the avalanche runs, and were back into forest, though on a wide, well used trail. The light faded quickly now, and Jupiter was bright above Mount Foch. And both it and Mount Sarrail were lit by Alpen glow, something I'd never experienced.

The trail got darker and darker, and soon we could barely make out the trail through the trees. I felt no apprehension at all, and I was really enjoying the darkness. I think Renee had relaxed too. We finally reached the dam. The spillway is a raised concrete thing that you have to cross. We climbed a small stairway on the west side of it, and on the east side you just have to step off a two foot drop. Except you have no idea how much of a drop it is until you touch ground. Plus I think Renee had trouble distinguishing things in the darkness.

We crossed the damn and managed to navigate the boulders and gate that form a barrier to the parking lot. A touch of my key fob, and the car's flashing lights lead us the last twenty metres. It was about 10:00 pm.

We ached. We felt great. We checked the GPS to find we'd traveled just over thirty kilometres. We got in the car and drove slowly to her place. At one point, the huge shiney brown coat of a moose loomed just of the edge of the pavement, munching unconcernedly.

I dropped her off, waiting until I saw lights come on before leaving. And then began the long drive home. Just as I turned onto Highway 40, I stopped near the King Creek turnoff, and just shut the car off and got out. I haven't seen stars like that in years. Some constellations I haven't been able to see from the city. Old familiar ones almost lost in the wash of stars. The stillness was absolute, and the temperature was still in the teens.

After fifteen minutes of gawking at the firmament, my neck ached and the fatigue started to pull downward. I got in the car, and drove home.

Turbine Canyon
Starting elevation: 1768 m (5801 feet).
Highest elevation: 2269 m (7444 feet).
Lowest elevation: 1699 m (5574 feet).
Elevation gain: 501 m (1644 feet).
Distance: 29.93 km (18.6 mi).
Time: 8:14.

Three Isle Lake

2008-08-07T18:04:00.003-06:00

Renee had the Monday off, and invited me to join her on this one. She said since she hadn't been out yet this year, that she was a little out of shape, which meant that I I didn't have to push so insanely hard to keep up. Out of shape, indeed.

Anyway, she's also working evening shifts, so we didn't get to the trail head until after noon. But no worries, cuz it isn't too strenuous or long a hike. We got to the Interlake parking area, and found a spot way, way down the road, cuz it was nearly full.

Across the damn and over the spillway gate. The trail up to Mount Indefatigable was piled with larges rocks. It seems there has been a lot of bear activity up there the last couple of years, so it's officially closed.

The trail goes through forest and along scree slopes, and climbs a little, so that it's several metres above the lake. At one point it splits off and one part descends down to lake level to continue around it. We stayed on the high path.

A group of three or four young guys were trail running, heading past us toward the lakes. Renee said they were from the Canada Olympic Development Association Ski Camp on Haig Glacier. Apparently they have to run the trails whenever they go in or out.

A couple more scree slopes along the back side of Indefatigable, and eventually, we reached the bike parking. This seemed to be a popular rest stop, since there were several stopped and resting. We crossed the noisy Invincible Creek and moved on.

The forest changed becoming a little more dark and lush, closing in a little, in a way that was strangely inviting. It smelled more of old pine forest, too. There was little else but striding through the forest now.

At the Forks campground, we sat for awhile and dug out lunch. A large group of young people were busy hanging out, moving off, others joining. Another group of hikers came out of the bush from the Great Divide Trail, which goes toward Turbine Canyon and the Haig Glacier.

After lunch we headed up the Three Isle Lake trail. Mostly it was easy going for awhile. More lush forest, and then we got close to Three Isle Creek, which we followed up the valley.

We soon started to gain altitude and the path turned into a series of switchbacks, which took us up the head wall. We began to have to work a little, even to doing a little light scrambling. The view back over our shoulders was becoming more and more spectacular as be we gained altitude.

Eventually we reached the top and the trail started to drop through forest again. Very shortly we were at the Three Isle campground and lake. We wandered through the deserted campground to come to the lake, where we found a couple of small boulders to sit on.

After snacking we started back. Up over the top of the headwall and down to a small meadow, where Renee wondered if she'd left her camera back at the lake or had just forgot to bring it. We headed back to check. No camera, so it must not have made it to her backpack.

Climbing down the headwall was fun, just one spot where the trail was ambiguous for a moment. In the valley we continued deeper into the forest, and back to the Forks campground.

It was getting a little late by this time, although at this time of year, there was still plenty of daylight. After this it was just walking, back to the parking lot. We got there, and I dropped Renee off at just about sundown.

Three Isle Lake
Starting elevation: 1713 m (5620 feet).
Highest elevation: 2214 m (7264 feet).
Lowest elevation: 1713 m (5620 feet).
Elevation gain: 501 m (1644 feet).
Distance: 24.6 km (15.3 mi).
Time: 7:40.

The Fortress, Again

2008-07-20T21:39:00.004-06:00

This wasn't in the plans, but that's where I ended up. I was planning for Gusty peak, and was definitely headed that way.

I was at the Chester Lake parking lot at about 9:30. That's definitely a little later than I like starting, but that gave time for the crowds to get there and chase out the bears. I started up the trail with my pack and poles almost as soon as I got out of the car.

Five minutes later I turned around and headed back. And five minutes after that, I started again, this time with my GPS. I can never get out the door, it seems, but that I have to go back for something I've forgotten.

I had a ton of energy this morning. I set a fast pace and was soon off the ski trails and on the path to Chester Lake. As I neared the lake, I caught up to a couple of guys checking their maps, and then another gentleman I had passed earlier caught up with us.

We discussed our various plans for the day, and the one that caught up to us pointed to the valley to the west of where I thought I wanted to go, saying that the grassy slope up to a low peak in the foreground was Gusty, but I was pretty sure that the craggy ridge humping upward just east of that was the one I wanted. I'd forgotten to bring Alan Kane's scrambling book, but one of the Mount Chester guys had photocopies of the pages relevant to the area, and offered me the one on Gusty.

But I took the directions for where I should go, and charged up a trail just past where we crossed a brook emptying into the lake. A few minutes in, I came on a couple of massive rocks in a clearing, and decided to check out the maps and Kane's write-up on Gusty. It talks about taking the same route as for The Fortress, and skirting a small lake opposite the Fortress-Chester col, so I was pretty sure I was on the wrong trail.

I backtracked to the lake, and continued along it's edge until the trail that branched off toward Fortress. I still had a ton of energy and my pace was pretty aggressive. I was on top of the headwall in no time, and a little ways on I passed a rock band that starts in the valley and goes all the way to the top of the ridge to Gusty. After that I started to edge up the scree on the left side of the valley.

I managed to get up fairly high, fifty or sixty metres above the bottom of the valley. I crossed a couple of snow fields, which were a lot more solid than I thought they would be. Close to the end of the valley, I found myself atop a scree covered ridge that sloped to the bottom of the valley, ending close in under the shadow of Chester.

From this vantage, the view of Gusty was almost identical to the picture in Kane's book, even to the snow fields on the scree separated by rock bands. It looked wicked steep, and the snow I would have to climb covered several hundred metres of the scree. Meanwhile the slope up to the Fortress-Chester col also looked wicked steep, with a broad snow field down the middle. But the scree was clear on either side.

I found the look of the snow on Gusty to be too intimidating, so I descended across the snow field in front of me and crossed over to the east side. I'd decided that Fortress would be a reasonable objective if I couldn't do Gusty.

Wicked steep. The scree wasn't too loose, but it did slide out from underfoot, making me feel like I was going two steps forward and one step back. I'd taken the the left side of the snow field, all small gravelly stuff in a narrow band between the snow and the slab on the flank of Fortress.

All that extra energy I had, I pretty much used up here. This stuff was awful. About two thirds of the way up, the snow had melted down the middle, leaving a crotch of scree. It looked a little less loose than what I was on, and I only had about twenty metres of snow to cross to get to it. I gingerly stepped on the snow.

It was pretty firm, and gave enough to let me get a good footing. I had worried about slipping on the stuff. This slope is better than 45 degress, and I would have picked up an awful lot of speed had I lost my footing. Plus, at the bottom, the snow ended about 50 metres before the slope did, so a slide would have ended with a nasty road rash.

The scree in the middle was a little better, but it was still exhausting working my way up. The slope rounded a little toward the top so that the steepness eased off, but by then I wasn't noticing that. I finally gained the col, and parked on a small rock pile to rest, re-hydrate and re-energize.

After a few handfuls of trail mix, I gathered up and started up. The other side of the col was completely covered in snow, and there was even a small cornice stretching across the top. I had watched another hiker descending toward me as I rested, and I met him a hundred metres up slope.

He had come up the Headwall Lakes side and climbed the snow. The whole valley on that side was pretty snowy, and what was exposed was looking wet and boggy. He hadn't enjoyed the snow much.

After that, it was slog to the top. I was pretty much done from the climb on the scree. The high energy levels I'd experienced earlier were completely gone. I did most of this climb with head down, watching the wolf spiders scurrying underfoot. Occasionally I remembered to look up and look around, and check the GPS for altitude. The summit block seemed small and far away.

As you climb this last three hundred metres from the col, you zig-zag across a scree field bordered by a rock band. When the rock band ends, the slope narrows, with bare slab rolling away to the left, and a sheer drop on the right. The path approaches the drop, and the view is gorgeous. It looks down on the end of the Headwall Lakes valley, and over the col between Fortress and the un-named peak to the east. Past the col is the chalet and other buildings of The Fortress ski area.

Behind, Mount Chester splits the view with Chester Lake a deep blue-green to the right, and the blue Headwall Lakes surrounded by snow fields on the left. And at this angle, the route to the top of Gusty looks not bad at all. It's likely not nearly as steep as what I'd climbed to the col, but that snow field would have still troubled me. It definitely stays on my list.

I followed the trail to the left of the summit block and found the notch to climb to the top. And there I was.

Mount Kidd to the north was mostly bare, and the trail up to Guinn's Pass stood out like marker on paper. Past that, Mount Bogard was free of snow. To the northwest was Gusty, Galatea and The Tower. Straight west and far way, Assiniboine was dark and pointy, with large snowfields across its northeast flank. Directly south, Joffre, another 3500 metre monster, was a broad, smooth, unblemished white. I donned my light fleece to keep out the chilly breeze coming up from the col.

I actually spent quite some time up there, snacking, looking around, checking maps and scanning with the field glasses. At 3000 metres even (my GPS said 3024), Fortress is high enough for some spectacular views.

My legs ached and I felt used up. I wasn't looking forward much to the descent. But I finally packed up and headed down. Scrambling down to the top of the trail, I found that the way I'd come up the last five metres was probably a lot harder to climb than where I found to go down. My trail finding skills need work.

A long trudge downward. About a third of the way down, I noticed a large crowd climbing the snow on the Headwall Lakes side, at least six on the big snowfield, and three or four more coming up beside it. When I was just about at the bottom, a group of six passed on the direct route, while I was zig-zagging to the side. Another couple followed them, and then the guy who mis-directed me to Gusty. At the col, another group of seven more started up just as I reached it. It was going to be crowded up there.

I decided to descend from the col on the other side of the snow field. The first half was loose soil and small gravel, and I covered that quickly. But that gave way to loose rocky stuff that at times would slide treacherously, carrying me with it. On the other side of the snow, a couple were making there way upward. She was scrambling up the slab beside the scree, which seemed to me a little dangerous. Her male companion was trudging up the scree twenty metres below. A troubling thing was that occasionally he would unleash a barrage of rock, that on the slab would gather a lot of speed. I watched the rock rollall the way to the bottom; good-sized stuff that would kill if it hit someone. I hoped he was only dislodging it accidently.

On my side the heavy stuff would also occasionally roll a long ways downslope. Some large rocks bounced on to the snow, where they would eventually plow a trench too deep for them to continue. It was slow going. At the bottom I had to cross a couple of snow fields, and in a couple of places I sank pretty deep.

On the way down the valley, I stayed near the bottom. I had to cross several snow field and a fair amount of flowing water. By now everything ached and I was tired. I finally gained the headwall, and then faced about two hundred metres of descent across rock bands and through forest. At the bottom I crossed the meadow, and climbed a short ways into forest before descending to the lake.

After a short stop to hydrate and snack, I continued on. From here it was a straight trudge to the parking lot, about an hour of plodding through forest and down ski trails. I thought briefly about soaking my feet in the creek that paralleled the first part of the trail and skirted the parking lot, but it was late and I was tired, hungry, and ready to head home.

This one was challenging this time. The scree was a tough climb and a tough descent. And I'd pushed pretty hard at the start.

The Fortress
Starting elevation: 1906 m (6253 feet).
Highest elevation: 3023 m (9918 feet).
Lowest elevation: 1906 m (6253 feet).
Elevation gain: 1117 m (3665 feet).
Distance: 18.1 km (11.2 mi).
Time: 7:56.

Ha Ling Spring Tune Up

2008-07-01T21:21:00.002-06:00

Yeah, I know, I'm about two months late in getting started this year. Not sure why I haven't had hiking and scrambling at a higher priority, but there you are.

Anyway, I've been thinking about doing this for a couple of weeks. I was out of town last week, and had stuff going on this last weekend, so if it wasn't for Canada Day falling in the middle of the week, I would still not be started this year.

I was at a deserted Goat Creek parking lot just after 8:00 and wasted no time starting up the trail. It was a muggy, close day and in the forest, with no breeze, I was quickly at the hot and sweaty mark.

There wasn't much out of the ordinary as I climbed as aggressively as my lungs would let me. I wanted a workout and I pushed hard.

At about 2200 metres, the trees thinned and the wind was making itself felt. It was a cool enough of a day, and that wind had a little bit of a bite. I kept at it, and as the trail split into many in the scree, I kept to the uppermost. I wanted to gain the col as quick as possible.

Across the way, the east peak of Mount Rundle was swaddled in a lenticular cloud, sculpted into a flying saucer shape by the wind. Mount Lawrence Grassi was also topped by cloud. Both were looking a little dark and dreary.

As I crested the col, the wind hit with icicles. Not really strong like the last time, but it was cool, and I was wearing a technical tee, which was absolutely no barrier to the wind. I dug out my fleece.

I clambered up from the col along the edge of the bowl to the top of Ha Ling, and stood to check out the view. Grotto and Lady Macdonald were mere shadows in the haze, as was the view toward Dead Man's Flats. Canmore lay below, looking awfully quiet for a town about to put on a Canada Day parade. I found a spot to sit, and dug out my lunch and field glasses. Really early for a lunch, but I was hungry.

I could see nothing much moving down below. A few cars roaming the streets, and one or two coming up the road around the reservoir to the Nordic Centre. A chubby rodent with a short tail and striking multi-coloured stripe down each side, edged toward me, looking for a handout. Which reminded me that I need to get some trail mix. (Not that I share with these critters.)

Several other squirrels started to pop up out of the scree. These were smaller and had several stripes distributed evenly across their backs. Meanwhile the original had gone under the boulders, and I could hear him shifting pebbles around.

I'd cooled down in the breeze, and decided to start moving again. I went a little farther along the peak to peek down on the damn above the Grassi Lakes, and used the field glasses to check out the trails up Mount Rundle. Then I backtracked to the col.

At the col, rain started to come down just enough for me to need my rain jacket. The cloud still hid the top of Lawrence Grassi, and behind me, more cloud was rushing up between Rundle and Ha Ling like a serpent hunting for lunch.

Up the other side from the col, I reached a small meadow, which rose up to a point overlooking the town. I began to head toward it, and coming up on a flatter part of the meadow, a silvery-brown critter roused itself to stare at me. We looked at each other for awhile, then I advanced up the slope. The marmot decided he was shy and slipped over the edge down a rock cut. I watched until he disappeared under an overhang.

I'd been up on this side the first time I came up, and it's a good vantage to watch the rock climbers coming up the face of Ha Ling. I could see no one this time, but the spot I'd found was out of the wind, so I just sat and gazed over the valley. Meanwhile the rain kept up, kind of spitty, but easy to ignore. I love the clothing I bought last year for hiking, as it was totally repelling the water.

One of the things about being on top of a mountain is that no spot is entirely comfortable to sit on for too long, and I got up and headed back to the meadow. On the other side a scree slope showed several faint animal trails that lead to a notch, and a lone goat wandering high above them.

I crossed the meadow, climbing a small rock band to the scree. From that side the trails completely disappeared. I started a traverse to the notch, and the goat moved that way too, looking over his shoulder at me every once in awhile. Eventually I noticed one of the trails a dozen metres below me and I worked my way down. When I looked up again, the goat was gone.

About half way across, the scree thinned to reveal hard clay, which was a little to slippery for me to trust my footing on in the rain. Thirty metres below, a broad ledge jutted out of the scree, green and tastefully decorated with a couple of small pines. Another marmot wandered past the tree to sprawl near the edge of the lawn, overlooking the chasm below.

I made my way down to the ledge, and the marmot dropped over the edge. Once I got down to the grass, I peered over the edge to see him looking back at me from a small spur several metres below. Across the way, two or three waterfalls plunged noisily down the side of Lawrence Grassi from small snowbanks dotting the side, to disappear in the scree below.

I climbed back up to the meadow, and headed back down to the col. Two gentlemen had stopped there, to tie a large flag to one of their trekking poles. One of them had matching boxers on, with the maple leaf strategically placed. We talked for awhile, then I continued on down, while headed up toward the meadow.

A foursome with dogs passed on the trail to the peak. Later, three young girls were passing the tree line. I was surprised I hadn't seen anyone before this. I would have thought the locals would have been up on the holiday.

Once in the trees, I was out of the rain and the wind. I stripped off the rain jacket and fleece and stuffed them in my bag. I passed two more couples, and near the bottom met two friends. I had talked to Carla about organizing a group hike, and had suggested this one. Now her and her boyfriend were checking it out. I'll likely see them again next weekend at the marathon - we're both running the half.

At the parking lot, a dozen cars were sprinkled along its length. I tossed my stuff in and drove back toward Canmore. At the three-way stop, a young lady in a safety vest directed me toward the Three Sisters Parkway, as the Canada Day parade had stoppered the downtown. Not having gone that way, it was an interesting drive, to the TransCanada and home.

Ha Ling
Starting elevation: 1672 m (5486 feet).
Highest elevation: 2484 m (8150 feet).
Lowest elevation: 1672 m (5486 feet).
Elevation gain: 812 m (2664 feet).
Distance: 7.8 km (4.8 mi).
Time: 4:11.

Ha Ling Again

2007-10-28T20:16:00.000-06:00

I've been kind of preparing to be done for the season, but from the city, the snow appeared to be receding. And the Sulphur Mountain webcam showed a snow-less south face.

A friend who claims to be an avid hiker has never gone for altitude, so I suggested Ha Ling. It's an easy one, with enough challenge, and a spectacular payoff view-wise. And if one's assessment about their level of fitness was a little optimistic (as mine certainly was the first time I climbed), it was still attainable with a little patience.

We got an early start, arriving in the Goat Creek parking lot about an hour after the sun came up. We weren't going to see it for a couple of hours, given that we were tackling a westward slope. Only two other cars were in the lot as we set out, while there was steady traffic heading down the Smith-Dorrien Spray Lakes trail.

We climbed up the slope across from the parking lot, and crossed the canal. Once in the forest, it was smooth going. The ground was frozen, and my trekking poles often slipped. Henley kept her distance while she followed.

A foursome of young locals caught up to us about twenty minutes in, and we stepped aside to let them pass. Meanwhile we kept a pretty good pace. Even with a few stops to check out the scenery across the valley, we were at the tree line quite quickly.

A few minutes more and we were at the col overlooking Canmore. Here, the wind had a bite, and we dug out the touques and heavier gloves. We zig-zagged our way up the slope to the left, along the edge of the ridge, finally finding ourselves a few metres below the wind walls just below the summit. From there it was straight up to the top.

A few pictures, and then we started down. With the cold temperatures and the wind, it was a little too uncomfortable to stop for lunch, and too early. We meandered downward toward the col again, then followed the trail back into the forest below.

I finally found a spot that was reasonably flat to park for a snack and we dug out our lunches as the sun came out for a few brief moments. And after we started down again, we started running into traffic. Perhaps a couple of dozen hikers heading up for a late season climb.

We were back in the parking lot in short order, munching on the remains of my trail mix.

Ha LIng
Starting elevation: 1658 m (5440 feet).
Highest elevation: 2491 m (8173 feet).
Lowest elevation: 1658 m (5440 feet).
Elevation gain: 833 m (2733 feet).
Distance: 6.7 km (4.2 mi).
Time: 3:32.

Guinn's Pass

2007-10-14T18:22:00.000-06:00

There was a moment this morning, when I first went outside, that it was simply a good time to be alive. The sky was incredibly clear, Venus was brilliant and high in the east, Mars orangely overhead. Stars I hadn't noticed for ages seemed to be every where, even with the city light pollution. After my usual coffee and paper, I walked along Cresent Road and studied the western horizon. Much of the snow that had fallen in the last few weeks seemed to have evaporated.

I went home and loaded the backpack. I originally considered Gusty Peak, but decided instead to try the south peak of Mount Kidd again, this time by Guinn's Pass. Not sure what to expect temperature wise, I layered on clothes, and when I got to the Galatea Parking lot, it seemed justified. The sun had just reached down into that part of the valley, and it hadn't warmed things yet.

The way was humid and cool, and the mud on the trail was mixed with leaves. It was pretty straight forward, hike-wise, and the sun climbed above the smaller peak on the south side of the valley. The smell was incredible - spicey and pungent. The odd cranky squirrel would occasionally chatter at something.

I crossed the sixth bridge, and an old avalanche run, rocks peppered with small trees and bushes. Around this point the trail is much higher than the creek, which flows out from a gash in the rock about seventy metres below. Unseen in that gash is a waterfall that has taken on a bit of basso thunder. I think there is a lot of snow melting up there, and feeding the creek, so there's a lot more water coming down.

I passed the trail I'd taken last time, and someone had since built a small cairn to mark it. The hidden one was still there, behind the tree and past the dead fall. It didn't appeal to me today. I've been battling a cold for the last week. I felt quite good when I started out this morning, but I was soon feeling the lack of energy that accompanies a cold. I wasn't moving all that fast, and the steepness of that trail seemed too much to consider.

After the ninth bridge, snow had accumulated on the path, well packed by the traffic. I think there are still campers at Lillian Lake. The trail steepened and was a little icy, but it didn't take long to reach the junction.

I took the trail right to another bridge across the creek, and then was following a long broad avalanche run. The trail rose gently along a grassy gully, walled in by trees, I would guess Douglas Fir, although there's a lot of white pine out there too. This is old growth. These trees are huge.

The view across the valley wasn't much since the trees blocked much of it. However, with altitude, it began to improve. The Fortress rose behind the ridge opposite, and I wondered if anyone was up there today. I shed my coat and plunged up the run.

A creek flowed intermittently along the bottom of the gully, disappearing into the rocks at times to pop out several metres downslope. Sometimes it was a big rushing stream, sometimes a trickle.

About 2000 metres, the exertion was too much for the clothes I had on. I found a reasonably flat rock and stripped off the longies. Of course I had to take the hikers off, and one slid off the rock and bounced down a couple of metres along the stream bed, wedging between a couple of rocks that jutted out of the water. I gingerly picked my way barefoot down to it, trying to keep my feet out of the water and hoping the shoe wasn't being soaked.

I got lucky. It was just a little damp at the little toe. I dressed and continued. Fifty metres higher, the trail was becoming snow filled, and yesterday's hikers had left tracks that lead to the right across the rock fall to a trail that switched back that way. From here I picked my way along the edge of the snow and the trail, as it rose into scrubby forest. It crossed the avalanche run and traversed the slope westward.

Eventually it turned again, paralleling the gully. I planted poles to keep from slipping in the mud, and tried to keep out of the worst of it. Where the snow was deeper, it was easy to walk in the tracks of previous hikers. Eventually it switched back again and shortly crested the col beside a small cairn.

Wotta view! The valley below was pretty snowy, and the slope down to it looked like a deep slog. I had no intention of going down there, but I took in the view. A little way east was Ribbon Lake, and just above it westward, was a Park Patrol Cabin, looking quite new. A trail led from that up to the point directly opposite from me, toward both Buller Pass and North Buller Pass. According to my map there is a lake down below all the snow. Dominating the view on the other side of the valley, was Mount Bogart, with its gracefully curving folds of limestone.

To my left a great wall of a mountain stood between me and Buller Pass, and behind me was The Fortress, Mount Galatea and The Tower. To my right was a broad gravel slope covered with patchy snow. I headed that way. To reach Mount Kidd, I needed to skirt this slope. The other side was a rock band that blocked the ridge to that peak, but I wasn't feeling up to that. I just climbed up the slope.

A trail peeked out between patches of snow, flirting with the edge of the north face of this unnamed peak. Here and there, I stopped to peer over the edge. Not strictly vertical, but bumpy and snow covered and unclimbable (by me, anyway).

At the top, I found a couple of small cairns and a small flat rock, just right for a perch as I dug out my lunch. Below to the west was the broad bowl I'd traversed my last trip out. It looked much smaller from this side and of course I was far above, too.

But the ridge up to Mount Kidd looked steep and treacherous and virtually unclimbable from this vantage. A couple of notches looked impassable, but it would take a closer look to be sure. It's still on my list for next season.

Something startling: across the way, The Fortress had blended into the landscape. At this altitude, it looked pretty much like every other peak to the south. Gusty Peak and Mount Chester were barely noticeable. What dominated the scene was The Tower, against which Lillian Lake and the two Galatea lakes nestled. Just visible past the unnamed peak to the west was Mount Engadine.

I started down, again along the edge of the cliff. At a couple of places I whacked a small chunk of snow out of the miniscule overhangs with a trekking pole, and watched it bounce down the side of the mountain. The second one barely covered the rock it clung to, and I banged the pole pretty hard against it. This resulted in a slightly bent pole. Oops.

Down at the col, I passed the cairn, and started down the snowy slope. After twenty metres I realized I'd gone to far to the west and missed the trail, so I turned back to intersect it. After a few steps, four small white blobs detached themselves from the snow bank and scurried a few metres ahead of me. Ptarmigan, I think, very white, with just a little bit of brown speckles. I got close again, and they did not move. I reached out with a pole to one of them, and got within a couple of centimetres before backing off. It didn't move. Cool

A few steps more and I was between snow banks, staring down at a huge hoof print in the mud. Do elk come this high? Or perhaps sheep have their version of Bigfoot. What ever it was, it was big.

By now the snow was melting more, and the trail was threatening to become a creek of its own. I picked my way along the edges, occasionally stepping in the slop. Thankfully, I didn't get my feet wet from that, only from the snow.

From here, it was a straight forward descent to the Galatea Creek trail, and the long walk to the parking lot. Throughout the day, the sky stayed a clear sparkling blue, and everything was perfect. This time of year, the late afternoon sun is quite low, and the parking lot was in shadow again. But a fabulous day for a hike.

Guinn's Pass
Starting elevation: 1570 m (5151 feet).
Highest elevation: 2636 m (8648 feet).
Lowest elevation: 1523 m (4997 feet).
Elevation gain: 1066 m (3497 feet).
Distance: 18.0 km (11.2 mi).
Time: 6:14.

Rummel Lake

2007-10-01T19:03:00.000-06:00

I met a couple of acquaintances at the west end of the city, and we carpooled out to the Engadine Lodge turnoff. The sky was reasonably clear overhead, but the mountains on the horizon were shouldering a grey shroud.

Snow had visited in the last couple of days, and all those peaks I've become familiar with, had a new look, under a white dusting of snow. Where the Kananaskis Valley narrows beside Mount Kidd, slush was ridged along the edge of the pavement.

The farther south we went, the less snow there was along the edge of the forest. And it was higher and higher up the avalanche runs that there was any white. At the Spray Lakes Trail turnoff by the Kananaskis Lakes, there were only a couple of dustings of the stuff, hiding under the trees on the south side of the road.

The Spray Lakes Trail didn't offer up the usual cloud of grey dust as we travelled. Cloud hid the surrounding peaks for the most part.

At the turnoff to Engadine Lodge, we parked on the side of the road, and started up the trail through a long straight cut through the forest. It eventually turned sharply, and we trudged through ankle deep snow and scrub forest, which was slowly reclaiming the area. The sky cleared a little and the sun peeked through a couple of times.

The trail wound through more scrub, and looking over our shoulders, we had a great view of Spray Lake Reservoir, all the way up the valley. And at the edge of the cut-out, we plunged into older forest on a twisty trail through the trees.

Except for the initial climb of a couple of hundred metres, which we gained close to the start, this was almost flat. We did gain more altitude, but it gently lifted us. The snow thickened, and I was glad that one of my companions was so familiar with the trail.

We skirted a creek to a new bridge, and across that, new trail, marked every few metres with pink plastic ribbon, and lumpy with snow covered bush. Lots of fallen trees to clamber over, and somehwere we gained another hundred metres.

We finally spilled out into a clearing, all white and grey. The water in the tiny lake was lightly riffled with a stiff breeze that had somehow found us through the trees. Across the water, a scree slope rose to the ragged wall of the west face of Mount Galatea, into low cloud. To the north, our left, a valley continued along side, up a low headwall, and in the distance below the cloud, the lower flanks of The Tower.

We brushed snow off an old weathered log and dug out lunch and cameras. After awhile, another hiker blundered out of the bush behind us. I thought it was a little extreme to be hiking in shorts, given temperature close to freezing. He said hello, and wandered toward the north end of the lake.

After awhile, we shouldered our packs and headed back into the forest. It wasn't long before we met a couple of groups heading up. The trail we had broke in the snow on the way up was now getting pretty well packed. We went down without a break, and half way across the cut out, the cloud finally broke enough to let some sun through.

At the car, we unloaded, rested, and took in the view that had earlier been hidden by cloud. Across the valley, one companion pointed out Tent Ridge, a horseshoe shape that she said was a great hike. And peeking from behind, the impressive block of The Fist.

After that, it was an uneventful drive back to the city. This wasn't the spectacular climb that some of my earlier hikes have been. But for a season closer, it was pretty nice. And hiking with company enhanced the experience.

Rummel Lake
Starting elevation: 1836 m (6024 feet).
Highest elevation: 2238 m (7343 feet).
Lowest elevation: 1836 m (6024 feet).
Elevation gain: 402 m (1319 feet).
Distance: 9.7 km (6.0 mi).
Time: 3:36.

Pocaterra Ridge

2007-09-23T11:20:00.001-06:00

The original objective was Mount Rae, and skys were reasonably clear as I made my way down 16th Avenue toward the west edge of the city. It was a bit of a surprise to see how white the western horizon was as I crested that first hill of the TransCanada at the edge of the city. And how it was draped in a dark grey mantle.

Just past the highway 22 junction, it was obvious even Moose Mountain, far in front of the front range, had been visited by the snow faeries. I wondered what I was going to find in the Highwood Pass.

The drive on the TransCanada was mostly in clear, with grey cloud reaching not too far from the highway 40 overpass. Down the Kananaskis valley, the grey got greyer and thicker, though not much lower. I could see the top of Mounts Baldy and Kidd easily enough, with rain beginning around the Kananaskis Village turnoff.

Driving past The Wedge, I looked for The Fortress, thinking that if Mount Rae was a wash, I might use Gusty Peak (right beside The Fortress) as an alternate. But it was engulfed in cloud. And the ceiling started to get lower the farther south I went.

Nearing the turnoff to the Kananaskis Lakes, the rain turned to snow, wet and sticky, thickening with each kilometre. And it got darker. And colder. Eventually the snow dried out, brushing the windshield rather than splatting on it. And it was piling up on the highway.

I reached the parking lot at the Highwood Pass in a full blizzard. A brisk wind from the south drove the snow, which began to stick again. What to do?

I'm chicken when it comes to weather. I have a fear of underestimating its severity, or overestimating my ability to cope and find my way back. But I was reluctant to call it a day.

I got out, all layers on, and walked the interpretive trail. About half a kilometre long, it's well marked, partly boardwalk, and partly sheltered in places. It took about ten minutes, and the snow was sticking to my jacket. I retraced my steps back to the car and munched some trail mix.

Another couple drove up, added a few layers, shouldered backpacks and headed down the trail. The snow was beginning to let up, and I could actually see a fair way up the slope of the Highwood Ridge, and even most of Little Arethusa, across the highway. Even the grey was lightening considerably.

I decided I would head up to Ptarmigan Cirque, and see what I could. I figured the trail through the forest would stay navigable, so I wouldn't be lost in a whiteout. And if the cirque was buried or obscured, I could just go back. I'd still get a hundred metre climb, if nothing else.

By the time I broke out of the trees, the snow had stopped, and the sun was actually threatening to break through. The snow was less than ankle deep, and the well traveled trail was obvious. Ok, once around the cirque, and if the weather stayed tame, I could make a dash up to the headwall and have a look around the corner to see what it looked like.

I should explain. Ptarmigan Cirque is backed by a huge headwall, behind which a huge pit holds the snow that feeds the creek that flows down toward the highway. Just past the headwall the amphitheatre opens toward the north, a long broad scree slope up to the ridge that eventually least to the summit of Mount Rae. I wanted to go far enough in to at least have a look at that slope.

Judging by the snow that was there, it probably wouldn't be much fun, and with the threat of more I wasn't about to risk getting lost in whiteout up there. But I climbed the trail that leads up the left of the headwall, glancing nervously over my shoulder at the cloud darkening behind the ridge across the valley.

Just past the headwall, but before I got far enough around the bend to check out the scree, I glanced behind to see a whoosh of snow running up the slope toward me. The gust of wind was strong enough that I need to steady myself against it on the rubble. And while the drifting snow wasn't nearly a whiteout, I felt it was enough of a warning. That, and the ridge across the way had disappeared. I headed back down.

It was snowing by the time I got back to the regular loop, and I continued around the cirque, back to the forest at the downslope. It never really got that bad, but like I say, I'm a chicken over the mountain weather.

I walked down through the forest, and at the highway, waited for a couple of massive fifth-wheel campers with Texas plates to go by before crossing back to the parking lot. Just past where the trail joined the boardwalk, a path lead off through the meadow, with the fresh tracks of a least a dozen hikers. There being at least an hour of morning left, and me still wanting adventure, I turned to follow.

The trail was a narrow groove in the meadow, and ran nearly straight, past a couple of sink holes, and a massive boulder, before taking a hard left and plunging into forest. This was a narrow, nearly overgrown path, more claustophobic than any I've taken. Yet it obviously was well used.

Within minutes, I was picking my way across near swamp. Water and muck were everywhere, and I kept to the edges as much as possible. In places I stepped quickly across runny mud, hoping the water wouldn't seep into my hikers if I moved fast enough. Mostly I was successful.

The trail wound through forest, for the most part, growing close as a sausage skin. And suddenly popping out in meadow at the edge of a beautiful cirque cradled by the col that bridges the north ends of the Highwood Ridge and Grizzly Ridge (according to my map). I picked my way across the rubble field and scrub forest, passing a tiny lake at the edge of the trees.

WAlking through more scrub forest, climbing a little, dropping a little, I crossed another rubble pile into Pocaterra Cirque. Dark green pine and bright yellow larch everywhere, golden grass spearing through snow, the trail meandered along the bottom of the scree slope from the rock bands above.

I caught up to a foursome where the trail split. To the left, it climbed scree to Grizzly Col, which the foursome were about to head out on. At this point, I still had no idea where the trail lead, so I asked. And they pointed out a pair of hikers climbing the ridge across the cirque, passing another pair descending.

I continued along the trail through the cirque, after bidding them good luck. While the sun was actually shining a little, heavy dark cloud was trying to crawl over the ridge above. Grizzly Col looked a little like the entrance to a massive cave, it was so dark.

The trail continued around the base of Mount Trywhitt, with it's unique arch, and clambered over rock fall peppered with huge boulders and glowing larch. Snow came and went, as did the sun.

I found myself following tracks of those ahead of me. They lead along side the slope that climbed to the ridge, that I would eventually have to get on top of. I walked along scree along side Mount Pocaterra toward a col called the Little Highwood Pass, until the footprints turned right and up to the ridge.

From here footprints consolidated into a single path that wandered up to the summit. I met a couple on their way down and chatted for a bit. And then I continued up. I was still a little nervous about weather. Across the cirque, I could see the foursome near the top of Grizzly Col, below an incredible darkness on the other side. All the while I was climbing, a wispy snowfall flipped lightly around. The wind was barely a breath.

A cairn waited for me at the top, and I walked past it down the ridge a ways. Too much snow for me to go very far, but the trail was obvious. Something for next season. I dug a lunch out of my bag. And the sun came out.

In my climbing and hiking, there are occasionally moments, when emotion rises, and I am completely overcome by the magic of the place I am in. This was one of those moments. The thin lines of white were the snow hung on the rockbands of Tyrwhitt and Pocaterra, the gold of the larch in the cirque below, the heavy grey of the cloud across the ridge, it felt too much to witness. Across the valley Ptarmigan Cirque and its walls, Mounts Arethusa and Rae. The long narrow and barren valley hidden from the highway by the ridge I was on. I just stood there, and, well, experienced it.

Eventually, some cloud moved in, I finished lunch and started down. From this point, the sun never really left, and the snow was thinning in the meadows. The trail was a little soupy in spots, and in the forest, snow melting in the trees became a constant rain, occasionally dripping down the back of my jacket. The swamp was no worse for the melting, and I was back in the parking lot by mid afternoon.

This hike wasn't a huge acheivement, or a new personal best in altitude or even all that strenuous. But that moment of sunshine will surely make it one of the most memorable.

Pocaterra Ridge
Starting elevation: 2204 m (7231 feet).
Highest elevation: 2684 m (8806 feet).
Lowest elevation: 2195 m (7201 feet).
Elevation gain: 480 m (1575 feet).
Distance: 13.5 km (8.4 mi).
Time: 5:09.

The Fortress

2007-09-16T08:42:00.000-06:00

I'd only ever really seen this one from highway 40 on the east side, or long ago, from the Fortress Mountain ski resort at the base of its imposing face. It looks utterly inaccessible from the north or east.

I got a reasonably early start on a clear, cloudless morning. I had been watching the western horizon throughout the week for new snow, and while there had been some a couple of days before, much of it was gone the weekend. Obvious during the drive out was the encroachment of autumn. The slopes of the Opal Range on the east side of the Kananaskis Valley are covered in fall colours now. It seems too early for that, yet.

After a dusty drive up the Smith-Dorrien Spray Trail, I pulled into the Chester Lake parking lot behind a half dozen early arrivals. The sun hadn't quite risen above Mount Chester, and the air had an autumn chill. Across the highway, the valley to Burstall Pass was unobscured by any haze. The air was remarkably clear.

I set out along the wide ski trails that lead back into the forest and southward below Mount Chester. The plan was to hike to the Headwall Lakes to the east, then up to The Fortress. I wanted to return by Chester Lake. Basically, a loop around Mount Chester.

After three and a half kilometres of ski trails, I crossed a bridge over Headwall Creek, and stopped to switch from jacket to light fleece, while a couple of hikers passed. Five minutes later, I caught up with them again at a small inconspicous cairn on the side of the ski trail, marking a narrow inconspicuous trail into the forest.

This is one of the most charming forest trails I've traveled. Narrow and winding, but not at all claustrophobic, the forest is open enough, yet the trees seem to grow close.

The trail quickly joins Headwall Creek, and follows it to an overgrown meadow. It winds through thick bush, never letting you see too far ahead, but giving completely unobstructed views of the ridges on either side. The bush gave way to open forest and in front of me, the first headwall.

It rose a hundred metres and was covered in loose forest, it's blobby, pillowy texture showing it's volcanic origins. A waterfall skittered down the middle, and the trail climbed beside it, switching in and out of the trees.

At the top of the headwall there was no sign of the creek. The trail split, left through stunted, open forest, or right along the edge of it. I stayed right. Past the trees and another climb of thirty metres or so, and I was at the first lake.

The trail went left, then petered out. The left side of the lake was a hump of scree, that looked barely possible to cross. The right side was a scree slope, more manageable, but farther on it looked a little steep. A quick snack and I went right. Once on the scree, the trail was obvious, and it seemed like there was a cairn marking the way, every hundred metres or so.

Past the lake, meadow alternated with rock fall for a short distance to the next headwall. It was smaller than the first and lightly covered with ground hugging vegetation. It was quick climb to the second lake. The trail went right again, and I was quickly into the broad, flat, soggy meadow behind it.

The trail quickly disappeared in the springy muskeg. It wasn't a problem, though. The mossy carpet lay thinly over rock, so even the most goopy looking quagmires were really only a thin layer of mud on rock. It was very easy walking.

A long walk ended with the valley rising on broken rock bands toward the peak of The Fortress. The idea was to climb to the col on the left between Mount Chester and The Fortress, and I could see people up there, who had come up the Chester Lake side. Another col to the right separated The Fortress from the ridge on the east side of the valley.

I'd lost the trail back at the second lake, and wasn't sure how to proceed. There looked to be a trail across the upper reaches of the rock bands to the left hand col. The scree leading up to the right hand col also looked like there might be a trail up it toward that traversing path. The direct route up to the left hand col looked steep and seemed to have to wind around an outcrop.

I gott get a better grip on my perceptions of this terrain. It's hard to judge the way, and for some reason, I tend to avoid scree slopes. I climbed the rock bands, trying to find some indication of a trail either left or right. On the right it was soon obvious there was none. Nothing to the right either, but as I climbed I could see the scree slope was actually quite gentle.

The rock bands were quite easy to climb - quite fun, actually. I checked for evidence of a trail constantly, especially on the scree to the left col, but could see nothing, and I was soon too high for an easy traverse to it. Rock bands cut across the distance between.

Eventually it got steeper to climb, and what had looked like a trail traversing to the left col from below, became invisible as I got close. I could not go much farther upward, and I was even with col now anyway. The traverse looked not too bad. It was all scree, but below it was slab which ended in a drop off. I started across.

It wasn't bad at all. I did have to descend forty metres or so at one point to get around slab, but with the poles it was an easy, if moderately exciting traverse. At the end, I was just ten metres below the col.

I climbed up and stopped for a snack, watching a trio ascend the scree from the other side. The first on up stopped and chatted a while, while his companions immediately started up the last three hundred metres to the summit. I shouldered my pack and we started up after them.

This was easy climbing, a little steep, but a well trod trail switch-backed up the ridge. It was thirty minutes to the top. Half way up, I found it came within a metre of the cliff overlooking that right hand col, perhaps two hundred metres below. Across the col, the chalet and other buildings of the Fortress Mountain ski resort spread out below.

At the summit block, the trial skirted to the right, and a quick, easy climb up a notch lead to the top. One of the trio had sprinted up, and called down to the rest of us. We climbed up to discover a party of perhaps a dozen climbers just about to make their way down. It was a busy place.

The top sloped up to an edge that dropped completely out of sight. I eventually summoned the courage to belly up to the edge to have a look, but it seemed very nearly vertical.

Another spectacular view. To the south, we looked down on Mount Chester, still high enough to hide the several glaciers far across the valley. We could just see the edge of Roberston Glacier. Just beside us to the northwest was Gusty Peak, and behind it, Mount Galatea. I managed to pick out the broad summit block of Mount Sparrowhawk, slightly west of north. Northeast was the great flat open area of the Evan Thomas Recreation Area, northward from The Wedge. Just around the shoulder of Mount Kidd, I could see the scars of the Kananaskis golf course.

On Mount Kidd, it was easy to spot the avalanche slope that I'd climbed the week before, the cirque I'd traversed, and the gully I'd descended. Just to the left of that, obvious from this vantage, was Guinn's Pass. Directly south was that massive peak I wondered about from Sparrowhawk a couple of weeks ago, that I now know is Mount Joffre, at almost 3500 metres. And of course, to the west was Assiniboine.

I hunkered down with the trio behind a small wind barrier that had been built, and chatted about past hikes and scrambles. I ate the lunch I'd brought and watched as a huge pall rose directly behind Assiniboine. Perhaps a forest fire south of Lake Louise?

I started down. I met several other hikers on their way up, and stopped to chat with a couple. At the col, I went west to complete the loop I'd started. Loose scree made it easy to descend, and I ran down most of it. Near the bottom it thinned to hard pan, but it was relatively painless to cover that. The trekking poles made it easy.

I walked through several potholes, nothing but mud at the their bottoms, and copious cairns marked the way (where were those in the other valley?) I clambered through those, and over the ridges between, before coming to a meadow with the beginnings of forest.

Larch and pine spotted the landscape. The larch is starting to turn to it's billiant yellow fall colours. I came startlingly quickly to the top of a headwall. The trail lead down its face into the forest that lay between me and Chester Lake.

After that it was through the forest, skirt Chester Lake, and a long walk to the ski trails which lead to the parking lot.

Here's a fabulous shot of my return path. Gusty Peak is the ridge up the centre of the picture, and the squared off top of The Fortress is to its right. Just off the frame to the right is Mount Chester, and farther right would be the Headwall Lakes. Behind Gusty Peak in the upper left, is Mount Kidd. At the bottom of the picture is Chester Lake. The valley on the right with the three lakes is, of course, Three Lakes Valley.

Something I need to think about after this hike and last week's adventure on Mount Kidd, is not to be afraid of scree. It might be a slow slog sometimes, but it's often the easiest, or even the only, way up.

The Fortress
Starting elevation: 1913 m (6276 feet).
Highest elevation: 3019 m (9905 feet - official summit at 3000 m/9843 feet).
Lowest elevation: 1913 m (6276 feet).
Elevation gain: 1106 m (3629 feet).
Distance: 20.2 km (12.6 mi).
Time: 7:35.

Mount Kidd, South Peak

2007-09-09T09:10:00.000-06:00

This one needs a do-over. I didn't get too close, didn't even get to the ridge. But I got an adventure out of it.

The south peak of Mount Kidd is seen as an out-and-back diversion from Guinn's Pass. Craig Copeland had written about it as such, in his article in last Thursday's Calgary Herald. Between that article, and Daisy and I having it on our to-do list, it pretty much chose itself as a destination for this weekend.

Much of the range visible on the drive out had been touched by snow fall the night before. Banded Peak, in the area of Elbow Falls, was easily recognizable as a massive white pyramid with it's black stripe across the snow cover. Curiously, Moose Mountain was still in it's light grey summer colours.

I arrived early at the Galatea parking lot. Daisy and I had hiked this trail earlier this summer, so I was familiar with the first part it. A fog bank hung over the valley, giving the morning a grey, gloomy look.

The trail switches back and forth across the Galatea Creek several times, so the bridge count is high. I began down the long slope to the first one, a suspension bridge over the Kananaskis River beside where Galatea Creek feeds into it. By the time I crossed the third bridge, the sun had broke through the fog bank.

Lots of dripping, too. I imagine the lower elevations got mostly rain the night before, and the humidity was high. The bridges were wet and slippery, as were the rock outcroppings on the trail in the forest.

The Scrambles book mentions a trail just before the seventh bridge, that heads up a broad gully to the ridge from Guinn's Pass to the peak - a short cut of sorts. I counted six bridges, then kept watch for this trail, but soon found myself at the seventh bridge. I dithered about backtracking to find it, or continuing on to Guinn's and working from there. I opted to backtrack.

The Scrambles book drives me crazy, sometimes. The pictures are mostly informative, but sometimes, as in this case, the low contrast black-and-whites hide identifying features. And the descriptions can be pretty sparse, too. Daisy and I discussed our frustration with this, but we concluded that it wasn't a bad thing. Determined scramblers will figure things out, while those who aren't quite so serious are kept from getting themselves into unpleasant situations.

The trail is marked by a small cairn, the book says. It also says it's at the edge of tall pines that give way to stunted poplar. The main trail does pass through an open forest of tall pines, a couple of hundred metres before that seventh bridge. On the third pass, I decided to check out a dodgy looking possibility - a little overgrown, with a few dead logs across it. Three steps in, I almost tripped over the cairn.

All that moisture on the trees, from dew and rain and snow, was dribbling down from the canopy by now. The poplars were every wet, and because the trail was nearly overgrown, by ten metres in I was pretty wet. My fleece and new climbing pants kept me plenty dry, but the hikers were soggy. I was glad for the synthetic socks.

The bush backed off from trail shortly, and I found myself climbing the steep grassy meadow of an old avalanche fall. A couple of rock outcrops made it more interesting, but it was pretty smooth climbing. Eventually the gully widened, and the trail went to the right toward slabby channels beside a ridge.

This was were I ran afoul of the book. It said to stay left, and that's what I should have done. But this trail kept right. Eventually, on the slabs, I reached a point where I could go no further. I slipped at one point, and backslid a couple of metres, banging my elbow.

From this point, I began an internal debate as to whether I should retreat or continue. I felt if I could mount the ridge, all I'd have to do was walk it to the top of Mount Kidd. I backtracked a dozen metres and then started up the side of the ridge. It was mostly dirt and some small outcrops, though the top was a rock band with a couple of notches that looked accessible.

This climb wasn't bad at all. I guess I was experiencing more of that drama that Daisy talked about. Up through a short chimney in the rock band and I was on an easy slope to the top.

Nope. The lesson here is, where you want to go is always on the next ridge. And I topped the ridge to find the one I thought I was on, was actually another kilometre and a half farther on (and up) across a huge bowl of snow covered scree and scrub pine. As I surveyed the bowl, and listened to the occasional clatter of falling rock on the slab far to my right, the question on my mind was, here the heck was the trail from Guinn's Pass?

It looked to be far across the bowl, below a long rock band on top of the ridge to the west, but it was awfully indistinct. I would dearly have welcomed Daisy's take on this. On this side of the bowl, the snow covered scree gave way to snow covered slab, so if I was going to get up there, I was going to have to go way over to the other side to get around that.

It really was beautiful up there. I was traversing a couple of square kilometres of snowy terrain, mostly alpine meadow, and climbing slightly to keep above the scrub pine. It was slippery, but not overly so. And eventually, I was in snow covered scree, which not too much more slippery.

An hour later, maybe half way around the bowl, I was out of the snow and on dry scree. A couple of deep trenches swooped down from above, and curved toward the narrow gully at the bottom of the bowl. From here the indistinct trail below the rock band seemed to pretty much disappear. I climbed down and up the steep sides of the gullys, and decided that maybe I would just continue to Guinn's Pass, descend to Galatea Creek, and call it a day. Another forty minutes and I stood below the rock band, trying to find an invisible trail. Was I even in the right place?

I followed the rock band down and south toward a wide meadow, but the terrain yielded no clues as to where I was relative to Guinn's Pass. I figured it had to be on the other side of this rock band, but the meadow seemed to end abrubtly not too far along. I wasn't sure where to go from here. The pass seemed out of reach, and backtracking would be a long slog. I dropped into another gully that skirted the meadow, and continued downward.

The gully narrowed as it approached forest, and ended abruptly at the edge of a cliff. With fifty metres of straight down, I had to backtrack a little. I reached some much more climbable stuff a couple of hundred metres upslope. Time for lunch.

After scarfing down my lunch, I climbed down the rest of the rock face, then picked my way down a steep moss covered slope through stunted pine to the bottom of the bowl. Rock fall snaked along the narrow gully, and a ridge of hard pack stood out at the side. It did look like it had seen some traffic, so I kept to it.

The gully narrowed even more, to a trench filled with a thick forest of impassible pine. But the rock fall followed beside was a wide clear space of moss and lichen covered rubble. The cliff that generated this field of boulders stood to my right, close and imposing, an eagle circling overhead.

Eventually the rockfall ended and the faintest trail lead through forest at the edge of the trench. The ground was soft and springy from centuries of fallen vegitation. The scent of it, and of the pine permeated the air. The trail crawled along the side of the trench, over and under dead fall. Occasionally I had to stop to figure out the best way through. It never became really thick, though there were some tricky climbs over dead trees on the steep slope of the trench.

Eventually I found myself back on an ancient boulder field. It seemed to spill out of the forest, having formed so long ago that the trees had reclaimed the space upslope. The incredible silence that had been with me almost since I had left the main trial several hours before was finally broken by the sound of running water.

I pulled out the map and munched on some trail mix. My GPS said I was just above nineteen hundred metres. The contours of the map suggested I was very close to Galatea Creek, which the main trail to Lillian Lake hugs closely, and in fact, very close to the junction with Guinn's Pass. So I was very close to getting back on that trail, I thought.

The bottom of the boulder field was again forest, but again, there seemed to be a trail meandering along it's edge to the left, and into the forest and the sound of water to the right.

This was real bushwacking, my first experience of it. I picked my way through springy moss, and over dead trees. Centuries of layers of dead vegetation threatened to swallow my trekking poles, which ofter sunk almost a metre into the ground. Very green and very lush.

I finally pushed through to the creek, not knowing if it was Galatea or a feeder from upslope. I thought about crossing, but heavy deadfall on the opposite bank was in the way of a relatively open slope up to what might possibly have been the main trail. I couldn't tell from below. I began picking my way down the creek, first one side, then the other. A huge tree had fallen along the creek, and I balanced along it until I had to get down on slippery wet rock again. The poles again proved their worth to help steady me as I tip-toed across the water.

On another huge log, I walked along it and discovered in front of me a bridge across the creek. I'd found the trail. It turned out to be the ninth bridge on the trail, not all that far from the Guinn's Pass junction. So close. From here it was solid walking back down the path to the parking lot, maybe an hour and a quarter later.

Even though I didn't make the object, didn't even come close, I really enjoyed this adventure. I learned a lot about how to judge the scale of things - everything's a lot farther away than you think. I learned I could bushwack my way through forest. As for the objective, I think I was on the trail to the ridge from the pass. In re-examining the photo in the book, with its washed out details, it showed what looked like the rock band I'd reached on the far side of the bowl. The ridge would have been no big deal to reach, but I was intimidated by the snow on the one side and several smaller rock bands near the top on the other. And I should have checked out the far side of that meadow at the bottom of the rock band.

I won't be going back this season, but this one is definitely on my list for next year.

Mount Kidd, South Peak
Starting elevation: 1549 m (5081 feet).
Highest elevation: 2556 m (8389 feet).
Lowest elevation: 1525 m (5001 feet).
Elevation gain: 1007 m (3308 feet).
Distance: 16.7 km (10.4 mi).
Time: 7:13.

Mount Sparrowhawk

2007-09-03T09:30:00.000-06:00

I think this was my first climb over ten thousand feet. And probably the best view I've ever experienced.

The drive south of Canmore seemed long, but it wasn't really. Mostly it was a dusty crawl behind a slow moving Cadillac, as we wound along the Smith-Dorrien Spray Trail.

I parked at the Sparrowhawk Day Use picnic area, and crossed the road to the trail head. This was the first time I got to use my new trekking poles, and once in the forest, I wasn't too impressed with them. They kept getting snagged in the junipers and bush, and at times I was tripping over them when I wasn't stabbing myself in the foot.

Anyway, I traipsed through forest on an easy trail along side noisy Sparrowhawk Creek. The map said the trail branched at 0.7 km, and the scrambles book seemed to be saying what the I wanted to take wasn't too obvious. It warned about climbing a rock spur called Read's Tower, which would put me at the top of an impossible climbdown (so it said). At 691 metres, by my GPS, an obvious trail branched left, marked by a small but picturesque cairn.

The trail rapidly steepened through thinning forest, and I found myself looking over my shoulder at the rapidly improving view of the Spray Lakes Reservoir and the valley it occupied. The map called this the Read Ridge Trail, and I wondered if I was on it, or on the spur. I couldn't see anything beyond it, except the broad scree slope to the north that lead to my objective.

Even after I was more or less out of the trees, the hump of the ridge I was on hid what was ahead. But here is where the poles really started to work for me. Once out of the denser bush, I found myself using them to help with the climb. In fact I was feeling the effort in the arms and shoulders, and in my elbows. I felt much more sure-footed with them, and even on some slabby parts, the tips would grab what looked like smooth rock quite nicely. Cool!

Eventually the ridge began to level off a bit, and the trail stopped slashing back and forth. Read's Tower rose above the few trees in front of me, and it was obvious it was still far ahead of me. At the end of the ridge, it dropped gently to a col between ridge and tower. The slope of the south side of the tower was quite steep, but the west and north sides were pretty much vertical. Just below a valley that paralleled the ridge on the north side continued up the north side of the tower.

Across the valley, a rock band formed the north wall of the valley, and separated it from the scree of Sparrowhawk. This scree slope extened from well west of me, to almost the road and lake, to out of sight behind the wall of the tower to the east. At least two kilometres left to right, and at least a kilometre up. A huge flat slope covered in crumbled rock.

I descended down to the bottom of the rock fall from the tower, and began climbing up the obvious trail through it. To the left, water sheeted down the rock band, draining out of the scree. The sound of running water was everywhere. In the small gully I was climbing, water sprouted out of the rock, only to disappear a few metres farther on. I had the unique experience in a couple of spots of hearing rushing, gurgling water under the dry dusty rock under my feet.

At the col below the tower, I looked down on the valley that ran on the other side of the tower continuing up to a hanging valley to the south, which held a couple of small lakes called the Sparrowhawk Tarns. Mount Bogart towered above.

From here, it was pretty straight forward. Trudge up scree for over a kilometre to a hundred metre high block of rock that formed the summit. The book said to go to the right. I missed the part that said what to go to the right of, though. There are actually two peaks, and the book meant the right peak. It wasn't obvious to me that the left peak was part of the mountain, so I thought it meant to go to the right of the summit block.

I basically went straight up toward the right side of the summit. To each side scree stretched for a kilometre or more. Nothing too difficult, and at times a little tedious. About two thirds of the way up, one of the sight-seeing helicopters from Canmore passed low over the summit. It seemed awfully close to me, and I waved. No idea if they saw me or not.

Once I got up to the side of the summit block, I saw I wasn't going any farther that way. I found myself on the edge of the ridge that formed the top edge of the scree, and it dropped sharply to the north. Across the wide expanse of the valley below, two or three broad gullies ran up to the broken ridge between Wind Mountain and Mount Lougheed. Farther left was The Windtower, and behind that the backside of Big Sister.

I back off and started trudging along the base of the summit toward the east side. The path I followed traced a looping path along walls of rock, probably pushed up by snow to form large pits, perhaps twenty metres across and two or three metres deep. There were half a dozen of these and most of them still had snow in them, surprising on such an exposed south-facing slope. These were likely the source of the water I kept hearing below the scree on the way down.

At the last of these, a couple of cairns showed I was on the right track. At the ridge I's just left behind, the GPS had topped three thousand metres for the first time in its existence. Along these snow pits, it hovered around 2995 metres. Ahead, a small weather shack was planted on the col between the two peaks, and the path wandered toward it.

Another spectacular view. Just below the shack, a still large snow cornice clung to the cliff face. Below was a broad valley was bordered by a steep scree bowl to the left, and ragged sheer cliffs to the right. The ridge that climbed to the left peak was jagged and insanely narrow. It looked paper thin, even up close. Below, an almost perfectly square emerald lake below a large spur, and above that, in another hanging valley, another small lake. This was Memorial Lake, nestled behind Bogart Tower. And at the end of the valley, several kilometres away, Kananaskis Village.

To my left, the trail charged up the ridge, and was soon zigzagging through a broken rock band. On the southeast side it was out in the wind, which blew hard and cold. Eventually, it moved father around the back of the summit block, and the wind lessened, but still swirled through the chimneys above. A party of three were descending another path to my right. They said the wind wasn't bad at all at the top, some thirty metres above.

I popped up beside another weather station of some kind, and a few steps to the right, the true summit was marked by a small cairn. Two summit registers were stuffed between the rocks, so I sat in the lea of the cairn, and signed both.

The cairn didn't really stop the wind. It wasn't all that strong, for sure, but it was cold. I ate my lunch and enjoyed the view. Aside from what I've already described, I had the entire Spray Lakes Reservoir in view. A couple of boats marked the water with the thin white line of their wakes. Old Goat Mountain rose across the lake, but I wasn't able to see its glacier from my vantage.

Beyond, straight west, the pyramid of Mount Assiniboine poked into the cloud, with a ragged wall of rock just south of it, and a pointy spike rising above and to the south. Slightly north and much father, was Mount Temple, I think. And straight south, another monster, at least as high as Assiniboine. I have no idea what it is, as nothing that high shows on my maps. Similar in shape to Assiniboine, but much broader. It must be a monster.

And behind me, between The Windtower and Big Sister, I could see part of Canmore sprawling across the valley on the other side of the range.

After twenty minutes. I was starting to get cold, so I started down. The final trail up was rather tricky. Lots of steep rock and gravel, which the poles made relatively easy to climb. But on the way down through this mess, the poles really proved their worth. I don't think I moved any faster than I would have without them. But I felt immensely more sure-footed, and at a lot of places where I would have normally stopped and considered, I just charged down. It was great!

As I rounded the shoulder of the summit block, the wind blasted me again, and I discovered five more hikers just below. Two pairs and single young Austrian, who stopped to chat. After that, it was the long trudge down the scree to the base of Read's Tower.

As I neared the lower edge of the scree, I noticed two hikers at the summit of the tower. I waved, but I don't think they saw. I got to the col, and briefly considered going down the east side of the tower, but finally opted to retrace my steps to the west. Again the poles proved incredibly useful in descending the rock fall into the valley. Two more hikers were working their way up for a late afternoon hike.

At the top of the ridge, I stopped for a snack, and scanned the scree and the summit for the other hikers. It's just too big a place to pick out any detail, though. I started down the ridge, and as the trail steepened, the poles again came in handy. Meanwhile, the Austrian gentleman caught up with me. Would that I could move that fast in this terrain.

I soon dropped into the forest, and met the other trail at the cairn. A few minutes later, I was back at the car, easy my aching feet out of my hikers, and enjoying the last few handfuls of trail mix.

A note about the following: The numbers are from my GPS, which seems to be reading a little on the high side for elevation. Officially, the summit of Sparrowhawk is at 3121 metres (10,240 feet.)

Mount Sparrowhawk
Starting elevation: 1731 m (5679 feet).
Highest elevation: 3160 m (10,367 feet).
Lowest elevation: 1728 m (5669 feet).
Elevation gain: 1429 m (4688 feet).
Distance: 11.9 km (7.4 mi).
Time: 7:21.

East End of Mount Rundle

2007-08-27T18:32:00.001-06:00

I just about forgot to write up this post. I was a little rushed when I finished this hike, and wasn't able to get to it right away.

I wanted another short one, and I was late getting out of town, too, so this one seemed perfect. I parked at the Goat Creek lot, along with several dozen other hikers and bikers, and set off down the road I'd just drove up on. I met someone wandering along the reservoir, looking for the trailhead to Ha Ling. I pointed him back toward the parking lot, and across the road. Then came on the trail I wanted, proceeded perhaps a hundred metres along it, then headed back to the parking lot.

I'd forgotten my GPS. Again.

GPS securely on my wrist now, and started (something else I tend to forget to do), I set out again. The trail bounds up the forested slope, switching back and forth a bit, until it begins to climb the ridge. Very quickly, the trees thin, due to the slabby nature of the terrain. Lots to climb if you want to go direct, and it looked like lots do.

Zig-zagging up the slope, you often get to see the reservoir below through the trees. The drop over the side is incredibly steep, and you gain altitude quickly. Eventually, there's a level stretch for maybe fifty metres, then it heads up again, through light scree and slab and much thinner forest. Ha Ling looms to the right across the gap.

Most of what you see is not the hike-able part of Ha Ling. In your face, almost, is the great vertical wall that is so impressive from main street Canmore. From this angle, it's hard to see anyone up there, but there must be dozens judging by the crowd of cars in that parking lot.

The wind becomes noticeable now, as the trees begin to space themselves out. Ahead are small clumps of them, scrubbly pine, mostly. As I walk by them, in the lee of a couple of them, are couple or small groups, sitting out of the wind, snacking or resting.

My moment of misdirection. These are the moment I miss Daisy's experience most. The trail apparently splits about here, at the last of the trees. The trail to the right goes straight up the slope, and that's the one I take. Another trail goes left across the scree, and is apparently the easier one. My bad luck, or inexperience, or inattention, or something.

The trail zigzagged up the scree, and came to a small level area, with a large dishwasher sized boulder on which someone has built a cairn. Just past it, maybe five metres, the terrain ends. I sidle up to the edge and try to look over. Usually when you get close to these edges, theres more terrain below, very steeply sloped, for sure, but scarily steep. This one, there was nada. It could even have been a little bit of an overhang. Breathtaking.

I continued up the slope, more slogging on scree, but it was going quite quickly. I got to the ridge that sloped steeply left, and as I approached, I felt I was about to get an incredible view. I wasn't disappointed.

Below was a huge bowl, scree everywhere, slashed all the way down by rock bands. It was like a big funnel, sloping down to the right into a narrow gap, perhaps three hundred metres below. And that's where ground ended. Below that gap, almost straight down, was the road I drove up on, at least another three hundred metres below that. My estimates are based on the fact my GPS said I was over six hundred metres above my starting point.

Awesome is the word, and there's no hyperbole in it. You can only stare in slack-jawed awe at the scale of the place, and the beauty. A terrible beauty. I've read that phrase recently, but I can't remember where.

The path continued up the ridge to the left. I could see a small group moving along the top of the scree on the other side, below the cliffs of the summit (well, the summit at this end. The true summit of Rundle is several kilometres to the northwest, overlooking the townsite of Banff.)

The book I have on scrambles says that you can climb the ridge I was on to the top, but it looked incredibly intimidating, with that huge scree funnel to the right, and endless scree to the left. I chatted with the foursome that were returning, and one said that there was chimney about a hundred metres farther on that I could try. OK.

I edges along the scree, below the cliff. Soon I found myself at the bottom of a narrow chimney. It sort of looked that some had climbed it, but jeez, it was narrow, and steep. And there didn't look to be much for hand and foot holds. Or finger and toe holds.

The trail seemed to continue, so I followed it some more, and ended up at another chimney, quite wide at my level, and narrowing a lot, but not nearly as much as the other one. Past the narrow spot it widened out again, to the top. It looked like it had seen a fair amount of traffic.

What the heck. This was a little tricky. Lots of what looked like solid rock, I could wiggle pretty easily. Not to be trusted. Still there was lots of solid stuff too. At the narrowing, it was hard to judge whether to stay left or sidle over to the right. A couple of steps up the left side decided it. I sidled right, and picked my way up to less precarious ledges.

I found I was still on trail, and the trail I was on joined another that edges along the summit block or farther on toward the ridge. I went up to the summit block, and a crack on the left end of it let me climb the last metre and a half to the top.

Windy! That's the first thing I noticed as I stood up on the flat top of the summit. A cairn was piled in the middle of what was likely less than a hundred square metres. The wind threatened to push me over the side, into that funnel that ended in that gap that was now well over four hundred metres below. Wow!

Lunch time. I sat in the lea of the cairn. Not much protection from the wind, but there was a surprisingly comfortable spot. Across the bowl below, a spike of rock stuck straight up. It likely looks directly over the Nordic Centre. Farther left another one, a little broader, and looking almost accessible with a meadowy col leading to it. More of Rundle humped beyond.

Across the valley, Grotto and Lady MacDonald, two more on my list. The park gate was was visible beside the spike, and there must have been a hundred vehicles lined up to get in. Meanwhile a steady stream of them flowed past in the through lane. Busy day in the park.

After lunch, I climbed down off the summit block, and followed the path a few metres to a nearly wind free table, agianst the next block of Rundle's ridge. I should have looked around, because I would have discovered the easy way down.

I went back the way I'd come, picking my way down the steep scree toward the chimney. Going down was no more tricky than coming up, but it was still a little hairy. Every jutting rock I put my foot on, I'd stomp hard on it, to make sure it was solid. Every hand hold I wiggled as hard as I could. Several moved appreciably. One that didn't came away in my hand after I had some weight on it, and I pivoted outward as it slid out of my hand and tumbled down the slope.

Eventually, I got back down to the faint trail across the scree below, and began to make my way back to the ridge. Another misstep. I hugged the base of the cliff, past the narrower chimney, and around a hollow, to a dead end. I stopped and examined the way ahead and below. And there, twenty metres down, was the trail.

I backed up to the narrow chimney and found where I'd diverged. I got on the trail and back to the ridge without further incident.

The way down was uneventful. Fun and further exporation of the edge and the glimpses of the reservoir below, becoming closer with startling rapidity.

Just into the trees, I caught up with one of a trio that had been on top just in front of me. He asked how I'd got up, and I told him. And he said they took the other way. This was my realization that the trail split somewhere about here.

He headed on and caught up with his friends. I continued down.

That chimney. Not really a problem, and looking a lot scarier that it was. But it probably wasn't the best choice. It's interesting that when that rock came away, I didn't really feel anything. Perhaps the adrenalin was already at max. I kept calm and continued. No worries. But several minutes later, and several metres below, I kinda wondered what I'd gotten myself into there. In any case, it was exciting, and I loved every minute of it.

East End of Mount Rundle
Starting elevation: 1670 m (5479 feet).
Highest elevation: 2575 m (8448 feet).
Lowest elevation: 1670 m (5479 feet).
Elevation gain: 905 m (2969 feet).
Distance: 7.2 km (4.5 mi).
Time: 3:50.

Mount Baldy

2007-08-19T09:09:00.000-06:00

Don't wanna travel forever to get to a good hike. Don't wanna spend the whole day hiking. Not my normal feelings about hiking, but I needed to be back in town at a reasonable time, and Mount Baldy was the perfect choice.

I'd bought Scrambles of the Canadian Rockies a couple of weeks ago, and had been reading through it to decide on future hikes, and to try to keep up with Daisy's knowledge. I'd read through most of the descriptions for the Front Range, so this one had been processed somewhere along the line. It's close to the junction of highways 1 and 40, and the book suggests it's a three to five hour hike. Perfect!

I pulled off the Kananaskis highway into the clearing at the trailhead, then headed up a short steep rubble slope to what is likely the old highway. It's not obvious, and the book is no help, but I learned later that the suggested trail goes sharply left at this point. I went right.

The trail plunged into forest and up a washed out gully. The sun by this time had just cleared the ridge above and was shining almost directly down the gully. The trail dipped into the forest at the side, then back into the gully, across the rock fall and up into the forest on the other side, then back again, switching back and forth through.

The gully soon narrowed, still well forested, but walled in by a sheer face of rock on each side. Very narrow, actually, though not quite as confining as Grotto Canyon was. And though not terribly dense, the forest never let up through here.

Eventually the walls fell away to let the forest back in, while the trail meandered up the gully. Eventually the trees fell away too, as the trail charged up steep scree. At this point it was pretty clear I was going the wrong way, at least according to the book. What I was climbing up on, was what the book suggested was a quick way down at the end of the hike it described. This trail charged up the scree to a col between the south and west peaks of Baldy.

The book described ascending the ridge to the north (east?) peak, and then, for the more adventurous, continuing to the other two peaks. I was working backwards.

Just over an hour from the car, I scrabbled left of a thick copse of pine to the col. The trail from here wasn't clear at all, but to the right, there were a couple of breaks through trees showing where hikers had passed before. I decided to try for the west peak.

The trail showed here and there as it wandered through clumps of pine and shortly it began to climb steeply up the ridge. I got to a small outcrop, and stopped for a snack as I surveyed the wall in front of me. North west was the gully I had ascended, and Barrier Lake below. The other side was nothing but forest up and over the next ridge. Around to the left, a faint trail hugged the rock face, and I had followed it to a dead end, a steep gully that looked impossible, but I don't doubt there are some who have tried it.

The way ahead was a steeply sloping slab, maybe twenty metres high and topped by a scrubby pine. Right in front of me a shallow crack lead to the tree, with lots of hand and foot holds. To the right, the slab curved more over the top with less height, but that would take me out over the scree slope. Still it looked like the easier ascent, and I was up it pretty quick.

From there it was more of the same. There was a bit of climbing, and a bit of a traverse right under another naked slab, to another gully that I was able to climb to the top of the slab, and some more relatively easy climbing. At the end, there was a blocky boulder, and I quickly was up and over it, to find myself at the end of a narrow ridge.

Brief exposure, indeed. The ridge was short, no more than perhaps fifteen metres, but table-top narrow, and sheer on either side. I sat and studied the other side for a few minutes. As dramatic and breathtaking as it was, the ridge wasn't any problem at all. In a brisk breeze, it might be adviseable to cross on all fours, but otherwise nothing to it. The problem was there didn't seem to be any where to go after crossing.

The other side was climbable, no doubt, but I felt I was getting out of my depth, and being solo, it didn't seem like a good idea to continue. I retreated.

Daisy says rock climbers are drama queens, and I get that. On the way down, you look below you for places for toes and fingers, and you keep feeling around for something solid. The rock on this beast is crumbly, too, so some really good looking hand holds come away with a little wiggling. But at the bottom, you look up at what you just been on, and realize that it was really no big deal. Perhaps part of the drama is a fear of getting stuck, or slipping (poetically called glissading, a term taken from dance, of all things.) But while you're up there, it's pretty exciting.

Back to the col I had originally climbed to, and I surveyed the trail faintly winding up the slope to the south peak. Not much of a climb, really, compared to others I've done, and I was at the top in no time. It was the perfect spot for lunch, and to survey the trail to the north peak. I looked back toward the west peak. A large cairn on top was directly in front of the scars of the ski slopes at Nakiska. The other way was a view of the Kananaskis highway curving around Barrier Lake before striking straight north to the TransCanada. Lining up that view with the one directly opposite, the west peak was actually straight south. Hmmm...

This was another narrow ridge, maybe a kilometre long. Both sides were steep and chunky, with the west side broken by plates of rock that formed narrow chimneys that looked easy to descend, except that there was a huge rock band below them that would block any further progress. At times the ridge was terrifically narrow, though not nearly as narrow as the one I stopped at on the west peak.

At length I reached a chopped up, blocky edge of rock, and the trail veered right on the scree along a wall. The scree became a ledge that ended at a gully up the rock face, under another stunted pine. There were hand and toe holds up beside the tree, to another ledge that sloped steeply to the left for a short distance. This got me back on the edge of the ridge, and from there it was a scrambly climb to the summit.

I paused, snacked, and signed the book sealed in the short piece of plastic sewer pipe, of the kind tethered to almost every accessible peak in this part of the world. Hazy skys lightly obscured the peaks across the valley, and toward the south. Far to the north, grumpy looking weather was building in the foothills north of the TransCanada, and the peaks behind Yamnuska. Here's a nice shot of the south and west peaks from the north peak.

The descent from the north peak was a scrabbly zig-zag across slabby scree. Several paths attested to the amount of traffic that this hike saw, though it was nowhere nearly as scarred up as, say, Ha Ling. I could see people making their way up, and eventually met a foursome out for a late day climb.

The ridge leveled off in front of a gendarme, a great carbuncle of rock on the ridge. A well used trail dropped to the left on the scree to bypass this hulk, but another, less used trail tackled it straight on. I kept to the high path, and came to a steep climb up the face. Not terribly tricky, it still required firm finger holds, and after maybe fifty meters, I topped out in a fissure in the rock that lead to a vertical drop of about the same distance.

Backing down, I found not five metres from the start of the climb, a trail that followed a ledge around the face I climbed. It never seems to fail that the trail ahead is nearly invisible, but it's completely obvious when you look back.

This trail led to an easy, but a little intimidating, downclimb of maybe ten metres, onto the trail, that continued easily along the top of the gendarme and back to the ridge.

Artistic types climb mountains. One or more had been here, building a full sized sofa out of flat rocks, that faced what was either a fireplace or a T.V. Kinda cozy, and surprisingly comfortable.

I was back in the trees, but only for a short time. A second gendarme, the crux of this hike blocked the way. Here's where my trail finding skills deserted me. It looked like the trail continued over the top, an easy enough scramble. The book suggests a trail that goes down the scree on the north side, but I totally missed it.

I eventually came to a narrow crumbly-looking face, and a faint trail that dropped northward across a steep slab punctuated by the occasional twisted pine tree. At this point, it probably would have been smarter to backtrack and find the other trail.

Anyway, I started backing down the slab. More drama. I got to the first tree, and rested while standing on the soil that had accumulated at its roots. Then I started to the next tree. From there I was able to traverse toward the wall of the crux, which offered better handholds while I climbed down to the now-obvious trial in the scree below.

Once on the path, it was pretty straight forward back to the ridge, and then into the forest. Rooty and steep, but nothing particularly challenging. I was my usual noisy self, discussing what ever popped into my head with the trees, or singing snatches of tunes I half remembered. Which made the sudden "Hi, there!" quite startling.

That got a hearty laugh from the two women on their way up on a late afternoon jaunt. We chatted a little, and I shared what I'd learned about the trail ahead of them. Twenty minutes later, I was at the car, easing my feet out of my hikers, and snacking on the last of my trail mix.

This was an exciting one. The view was spectacular as always, but the added adventure of some challenging climbing and route-finding really added to it. I was back in the city only a little late for my evening activities, (cuz I really needed a shower!)

Mount Baldy
Starting elevation: 1402 m (4599 feet).
Highest elevation: 2202 m (7224 feet).
Lowest elevation: 1402 m (4599 feet).
Elevation gain: 800 m (2625 feet).
Distance: 8.3 km (5.2 mi).
Time: 5:34.

Ha Ling

2007-08-12T20:15:00.000-06:00

I've wanted to do this one ever since Nony suggested it a couple of years ago, and related her experience on it. Since Daisy is tied up for the next couple of weeks, I was going to be going solo, so why not do a busy one?

I pulled into the Goat Creek parking lot, already half full, and still half in the shade of Ha Ling. A couple of other groups were preparing as I was, and a group of five asked if I'd take their picture. All Russian, and having a great time. They went toward Rundle, while I crossed the road to climb up to the reservoir, that was the start of the Ha Ling trail.

Across a small bridge spanning the channel, around a small building, and into the forest. This was more of the lush forest that I keep running into on these hikes. It's hard to believe conditions are so dry that there's been a fire ban.

I passed a young woman with her nine-month-old on her back. She was taking her time, and probably a good thing, as the lower trail is full of roots. I decided to take it as hard as I probably would have had to if I'd had to keep up with Daisy, so I made good time.

The trail is groomed, sort of. It switches back and forth through the forest, and there are deadfall trees lining the trail like curbing. In places they block shortcuts. Sometimes they hold back some rock fall that helps to widen the path to something more than a narrow ledge. All very civilized.

The spongy peat soon gave way to dry dirt, and occasional glimpes of the valley and the range on the other side indicated how fast I was climbing. The trees began to thin and the dirt turned to gravel. The trail began to skirt bare slabs.

At 2300 metres, the trees had thinned considerably, and across a gully to the south, was a beautiful plateau, not much bigger than a city lot, very green, with a few firs spotting it. Some one had decided it would be a perfect camping spot, and had pitched a bright orange tent.

From here, the trail climbed out of the trees, and split into dozens of trails. There seemed to be a main trail most of the way, but mostly, it looked like a hiking free-for-all. I got to the ridge and had a look over the edge. Canmore spread out below, almost map-like since the view is nearly straight down. To the left, the ridge climbed to the peak.

I kept to the ridge, enjoying the view of the valley. As I neared the top, I'd peek over the edge, and it's breath-taking how nearly vertical that face is. I got to the very top, and found a couple of wind breaks, round walls against a rock that looked like topless igloos. Probably very cozy, but definitely no view. I picked a rock to sit on and fished my lunch from my bag.

This is a very popular hike, probably seeing a hundred or more people on a day like today. As such, the wildlife is pretty savvy about handouts. Sure enough, within seconds of my sitting down, a striped squirrel approached wearily. I declined to share my burritos, but held out a pumpkin seed from my trail mix. Not shy at all. After that, he nearly climbed up my arm, looking for more.

This was an amazing vantage. Canmore lay completely in view below. Mount Lady Macdonald and Grotto Mountain stood across the valley. The highway and the Bow River wound north-westward to disappear behind Mount Rundle, and south-eastward, past Deadman's Flats to Lac des Arcs. The Three Sisters were hidden behind the imposing prow of Mount Laurence Grassi.

I decided to follow the ridge across the col to the southeast to another peak, on an well used and obvious trail, since I could see a couple of groups coming from that way already. To the right, naked slabs sloped to the forest and the reservoir. To the left, were broken rock bands, momentarily looking accessible.

The trail topped out on an alpine meadow, which dropped suddenly to a viciously jagged gully that disappeard from view. The trail continued to the left along an climbing and quickly narrowing ridge that climbed up to a peak that, if I read the map right, is called Miner's Peak. By now the wind had picked up considerably and threatened to push me toward the valley below, so I found a sheltered spot for a snack and to survey the scene.

I dug the field glasses out and checked out Ha Ling in profile. From a bit of a bump far below, up a long crack, I counted thirteen climbers strung out from bottom to almost the top. Meanwhile, looking back over the col, several more hikers were coming up the way I had. It was getting crowded over there.

I put things away, and returned to the meadow. I climbed a small rock band and went toward another small peak, at least small from where I was seeing it. As I came along side it, I could see a sheer face that descended to forest a couple of hundred metres below.

Around the other side was a scree slope with several faint trails across it. The scrambling book suggests that there is a way to cross to Mount Laurence Grassi, but it required expert trail-finding skills, and perhaps some climbing gear. Easier, and much safer to climb that one from the reservoir below. There's apparently a trail that starts a kilometre or so past the start of the Ha Ling trail.

The wind was really starting to pick up, and it had a definite chill to it. Time to start down. I followed the trail down the ridge, and it joined up to one of the trails coming up.

It was a good time to head down, as rush hour seemed to have started. I passed at least a hundred people on the way up, most asking if they were close or if they were half way. I answered honestly.

An hour after leaving the ridge I was in the parking lot, watching a gaggle of cyclists tearing between the cars parked in the lot and on to the Goat Creek Trail. At the other end was the Banff Springs Hotel. I left the lot, and down the dusty road that hugs Rundle, past the Nordic Centre and into Canmore. I thought briefly about stopping for a coffee, but headed instead for the highway and home.

Ha Ling
Starting elevation: 1687 m (5534 feet).
Highest elevation: 2493 m (8179 feet).
Lowest elevation: 1687 m (5534 feet).
Elevation gain: 806 m (2644 feet).
Distance: 7.6 km (4.7 mi).
Time: 3:30.

Mount Cory

2007-08-05T09:42:00.000-06:00

The weekend's coming and what to do? I called Daisy Thursday evening, but she was out. I left a message suggesting we get together. She called back Friday afternoon, and suggested this one. Worked for me.

I picked her up around 7:30, and we hit the highway, along with several hundred other vehicles. Gotta love the long weekend traffic. Around Dead Man's Flats, we realized we'd forgotten Daisy's park pass - oh, well. At the park gate, we exchanged a twenty for a meagre bit of change and a slip of paper to place on the dash to appease the local gendarmerie, should they chance to check on us.

A little confusion at the start: we curved around Cascade Mountain with it's signature waterfall, and past the Banff turnoffs. Wasn't the trailhead at the end of the Vermillion Lakes road? U-turn at the 1A junction, and back to Banff. At the end of the Vermillion Lakes road, a pause, then we consulted the book. Ah.

Back to the 1A junction and 1.9 km from there on 1A (so the book said) was a bit of a turn-off to park at. One person was already there prepping for the climb. A group of three with a dog pulled up as well. After gathering up our stuff, we charged into the forest behind them.

Three ribs are separated by deep ravines on the this beast, and the easiest route is supposed to be up the eastern-most. From the highway, the trees completely mask the view of these ribs, and once in the forest, we had no idea what rib we were on. Without any landmarks to tell us where we were, we fell back on the old reliable method of assuming other hikers knew where they were going.

Reliable, indeed.

Daisy set the pace, as usual, and I struggled to keep up. The threesome with the dog stepped aside to let us pass, and the single hiker followed. As we climbed, we found our companion was Darian from Chicago, taking a hiatus from his career to travel. This was his second scramble in the Rockies, a stop on the way to a planned long-term stay in New Zealand.

Daisy tends to take the straight up route. She likes to get her hands involved in the ascent, taking on rock bands and outcrops. I follow, relying on her experience, and the fact that I can, not to mention that it's fun to climb. As a result, Darian kept stepping ahead of us by going around these little climbs. It's not like these little climbs were all that challenging, and certainly not dangerous, but I think Daisy and I were having more fun.

About this point, I realized I'd forgotten my GPS. I would have loved to get the map, distance and elevation profile for this hike, but, oh, well.

We came to the top of the rib, where we discovered we were probably climbing the wrong rib. The top dropped nearly vertically to a small saddle, and the only way down was by a bit of a crevasse with a couple of shelves. Daisy went first, being the experienced rock climber. It was pretty easy to get to the bottom shelf, but that left about three metres to the bottom.

Once she found a way, I followed - I'm a rock climber! How cool is that? I found I could rely on my hands, fingers and arms to support me, and on my boots to grip the small footholds. This was the another step in the discovery of how much I could trust my body and my equipment.
Once Darian was down, we dropped to the east into the forest, around the rock face that wrapped around from the top of the rib. This continued the steep hike. We passed several small caves, the largest maybe five metres deep and a metre high.

Once past that, we got to the face of the first false peak. This is where the terrain we were on began to show itself. Cory is at the south end (a caveat here: I don't have a firm handle on directions. I judged from the direction of the sun, and my own impressions) of a range made of an ancient sea bed lifted and turned vertical by the forces that formed these mountains. The layers are stark and prominent, forming cracks and crevasses that face the south.

We stopped for a break, while Darian wandered along the face to the east, to check the path ahead. Daisy was fresh with the exhuberance and enthusiasm of our climbing and scrambling so far, handed me her camera and tackled the most prominent crack. Half way up, she posed for a picture. (Once she sends me some, I'll post pictures here.)

Once she was back down, Darian returned to report on the way ahead. We had to drop a few metres downslope to a rock band, and again Daisy led the way, climbing down the band, with Darian and I following. From there it was a short steep climb past this first false peak to a beautiful meadow between it and the second false peak.

The view here is spectacular, as it had been almost all the way up. Eastward, Banff nestled agains the foot of Rundle, and westward, Castle Mountain sheltered a huge plateau from the TransCanada highway.

We climbed to the top of the second false peak, and checked out the way ahead. This site has pictures of what we faced. The Hole In The Wall is a large cave, maybe twenty metres high, staring back at us from across the gap, and the trail wound up the ridge to the east of it. From here, Darian went east, while we went west.

When the volcano in Hawaii erupts, lava flows down its slope to the sea. Once it hits the water, it freezes into huge round lumps, called pillow lava. And that's what we faced across the gap, literally an acre of it. That it formed under water on a sea bottom was obvious by the occasional exposed rippled sand bottom framing the formation. And more striking was that this chunk of sea bed was vertical, and about 2500 metres above sea level. Here's a much smaller example of pillow lava near the north peak.
We scrambled down to the bottom of the gap, then across to the ridge. We briefly thought about checking out The Hole In The Wall, but there didn't seem to be a way to continue from it up the rock, without retreating back to where we stood. Too much effort for this trip.

We started up the ridge, and we caught the occasional glimpes of Darian as he charged on ahead. Eastward we could see the Cory Trail snaking along the top of a ridge toward Mount Edith, and a single striding hiker.

Again, I suffered from sensory overload. The vertical plains of the old seabed faced us edge on, and we climbed the more eroded parts between slim planes of rock. Sometimes these layers were a metre or more thick, sometimes they were a few millimetres, and razor sharp. Everywhere, plates of rock had fallen over onto long slopes of scree.

A couple of more false peaks and we caught up with the lone hiker we'd seen on the Cory Trail. (And I apoligize; I've forgotten his name.) He stopped before the last climb to the south peak for lunch, while Daisy and I pushed on. This was steep gravel and dry mud. The trail was marked by foot prints made while the clay was still wet earlier in the season.

We stopped for jackets and a quick snack, then continued along the rock band, across the top of a small snow bank, and then up a small ridge to the top, where we caught up with Darian. This was a perfect stop for lunch, and watching the trio with the dog climb up toward us.

The view! To the north, the lines of the formation we were on were incredibly prominent. The vertical planes of the formation ran straight across several peaks about fifteen kilometres before beginning to lean and curve slightly to the right, to the horizon another five or ten kilometres further on. (My estimates - actual distances may be wildly different.) You can see this behind me in this picture, and in the picture above of Daisy on the pillow lava.
Toward the east, Mount Edith, Mount Norquay, and Cascade Mountain, then slightly south, Banff up against Mount Rundle, and the tiny bump of Tunnel Mountain (it looked tiny from our vantage!) Sulphur Mountain, with the road up the backside to the top of the Banff Gondola, a tiny glint at the top. Straight south was the unmistakeable pyramid of Assiniboine, rising well above the surrounding terrain. A little west of that, the square face of Mount Bourgeau, still with the snow under the peak, which prevented us from seeing the Banff townsite when we climbed it over a month ago. More west, a huge glacier, probably above Lake Louise, and northwest, the end-on view of Castle Mountain with its plateau behind.

After lunch, we crossed the ridge to the north peak, again catching up with the two lone hikers. This is the view looking east.
After a little discussion with the others about which way to go down, we headed to the bottom of the ridge between the peaks. The scree slope to the south would lead down to the Cory Pass trail (which the trio with the dog had chosen), or to the ridge trail that was so obvious from our vantage point. The other choice was the scree slope to the north.

Steep and tricky in places, but the four of us started down. The two loners had trekking poles, and after all this, I definitely have them on my shopping list. We worked our way down, sliding with loose scree, and making decent time in dropping perhaps three hundred metres to where the slope took a right angled turn to the right. The scree wasn't too bad for some distance, and we could slide and run with it.

But eventually, we got into coarser stuff, which was a little more treacherous, as it wouldn't slide, and could roll out from underfoot. I went down several times, falling on my backside, once jarring my knee when my outstretched foot rammed against a solid rock, and once shaving a pencil eraser sized slab of skin from a finger. Naturally, Daisy was more surefooted, not falling once.

On either side of us, jagged rock faces reached up to ridges topped with the thin slabs, forming a marching line of sharp edged sentinels watching over the valley we were in. At the bottom of the scree, it flattened out to wash plain edged by trees, just above which stood a couple of hoodoos. We think this was the Valley of the Gargoyles (or Valley of the Gargles - Daisy has a charming way of mangling polysyllabic words.)

To the right, the line of the Edith Pass Trail slashed across the slope of gravel at the backside of Edith. We climbed this slope, but mostly traversed it, to the path. By this point, the two solo hikers were just disappearing into the distance.

The trail went for at least a kilometre, and just before a headwall holding back the valley below us, a herd of maybe twenty five sheep grazed in the grassy silt that had piled up behind it, including four almost-grown lambs. We were maybe thirty metres above them, but they completely ignored us.

At the headwall, we stopped to look back.
At least five hundred metres above was the top of the scree, the point where we'd made the ninety degree turn. It's the col in the picture. The scree continues up maybe another three hundred metres to the col between the peaks. Daisy said it was the longest and toughest scree slope she'd been on. A very impressive sight from below, and hard to believe we'd just descended on it.

Down the headwall, and back on the scree from Edith, we rounded the mountain and eventually entered forest. By now, I was feeling the fatigue, and some ache in the knees. We wound through the forest over a heavily rooted trial, occasionally coming out in clearings and avalanche runs. The trail descended pretty aggressively most of the way.

Eventually, the forest changed from thick fir to open poplar, and we reached the junction of the Edith Pass and Cory Pass trails. Continuing on, we caught up with two of the trio we'd started up with. Half a kilometre on, we reached the Fireside picnic ground and the third member with the dog. He'd gone ahead and returned with their car. They graciously offered a ride to ours, which we accepted. And halfway along the highway, we passed the two singles. In our car, we drove back to meet them, offered them a ride the last kilometre.

The end of another incredible hike and scramble with Daisy, we capped with with a pizza in Canmore with Daisy's son and girlfriend. Then home for a cup of tea, a hot shower, and the sleep of the dead.

Since I forgot my GPS, the following is estimates, and from published data.

Mount Cory
Starting elevation: 1416 m (4646 feet).
Highest elevation: 2802 m (9193 feet).
Lowest elevation: 1416 m (4646 feet).
Elevation gain: 1386 m (4547 feet).
Distance: 20.? km (12.? mi).
Time: 8:00.

Chester Lake, Take Two

2007-07-28T22:11:00.000-06:00

Interesting how plans change in a heartbeat. Daisy and I originally planned for Eiffel Lake, but last night we rethought things, as she wanted to move some things to her place near the Lower Kananaskis. So to her place to pick her up and a few items of furniture, to her parents' place to transfer to her van, and then westward.

As has become usual with Daisy, the drive was fun and conversation filled. Once we turned onto Highway 40, I took advantage of my perspective as a passenger to gawk at the scenery. Nothing but a blue, cloudless sky and incredible mountains, muted by atmospheric haze, what Daisy called a pastel sky.

Along side Barrier Lake, a surprise: a brown bear browsing in the ditch. It seemed strange to find one sandwiched between a busy highway, and a busy lake. More wildlife just past Galatea: a young mountain ram decided to slow our lane. He eventually moved across the road, but looked a little confused.

At the lake, we unloaded the things we had brought out, loaded other things to be taken to the dump later, and then drove north on the Smith-Dorrien Spray Trail. By now it was late morning, and the sun was high and hot. Forecast highs for the area were around 30C, and I think it got there early.

We pulled into a busy parking lot at the Chester Day Use area around 11:30. I hopped out and heard something strange. By the time I walked around to the driver's side of the van, the air rushing from the front tire left it half flat. By the time Daisy got out to look, it was fully flat. We must have picked something up driving through the parking lot.

Daisy's first reaction was to get the camera out and document the moment. As if there was anything else we could do right then? After a little discussion of what we would need to do later, we set out.

What a difference two months makes! I'd started out on this trail back then, walking packed snow, that turned into not-so-packed snow after a kilometre or so. Now it's dry and busy with hiking traffic, here and there lined with wild strawberries (so tasty!)

We caught up with, and passed, a few groups of hikers, and were passed by one or two more. This is a great trail for kids, and there were lots. The trail starts out as an old logging road that switchbacks up the slope, later turning into a root bound trail through forest. Soon enough it levels off, passing through a couple of large meadows, criss-crossed with the branches of a mountain stream, and positively littered with wildflowers.

At the third clearing we were at Chester Lake - small, deep and dark blue, fading to brilliant green at the edges. Lunch time. We found a spot not occupied by fisherpersons and other hikers under a shady spruce. This quickly turned into an idyllic moment, with bright sun and beautiful scenery.

We no sooner had the Ziplocs of trail mix opened than a tiny striped squirrel wandered up for a handout. Quite the brazen little rodent, actually. I fished a few sunflower seeds out of my trail mix and tossed them his way, as did Daisy. After these were vacuumed into his cheek pouches, I held out three more in my hand. After a cautious approach, he sampled my finger tip. I was rather proud of myself for not flinching, and to his credit, he didn't break skin. But those tiny little teeth are sharp!

After that, he hung around, looking for more. I was a little concerned about him getting into my backpack, but he behaved. Meanwhile, the fish were coming within a few feet of our lunch stop. I'm definitely not a fish expert, but I'll guess Rainbow trout. They had pinkish gills and underbellies, but were more yellowy on top (actually, Rainbows are more greenish grey on top, I think), blending in a little with the mud and rocks near the shore. A couple were at least thirty centimetres long. And not at all shy about snapping up a sunflower seed.

Lunch done, sun block reapplied, we continued around the lake. The path was close to the water's edge, and we passed lots of people stopped for lunch or rests.

Perhaps it was my demeanor, or maybe the smell of my sunblock. One trio had a beautiful big dog, who seemed to not like me at all. His owner was already telling him to settle down before I noticed him growling. As I got up beside the group, he lunged at me, snarling, and brushed past my leg. His owner managed to call him back and hold on to him as we passed. Really, it happened so fast, I didn't even get an adrenalin rush. Daisy was a little way behind, so was not near to the action. I don't know what it was about, but we passed without much more than some growling, while his owner held him.

A small island of rock sits at the far end of the lake, joined precariously to the shore by a line of stepping stones peeking above the water. On a large boulder in the middle of this island is an inukshuk of some character. Daisy, with her fine arts training and background, was quite taken with it. It seemed to be dancing, almost, frozen in mid-twirl, its shape suggesting movement. Of course the camera was out.

Back on the shore, the path continued along a scree slope that lead up to the sloping layers of Mount Chester. One or two paths looked climbable, and we considered them for a future adventure. But the perspective changed as we continued, and we could see there was no way to ascend without equipment.

Off the scree and back into the meadow, a path snaked southward through larch and boulders. We followed this for a bit, and found a slope that looked very climbable, and we ascended a little way. The picture here shows this notch on the right.

A strange day so far. Probably due to the heat, but we had no energy for much more at this point. So we called it a day and headed back down. Lot's of people coming up still, in mid afternoon. A six month old in a backpack-like carrier stopped to charm us with her pink rimmed sunglasses and the rest of her family. And lots more kids chasing ahead of their parents, seemingly oblivious to the hear.

At the parking lot, of course, waited our little problem. Daisy backed the van a few feet so we could get under the front with the jack. Not fun. The jack wouldn't go under the frame where it was supposed to because of the low tire, so I jammed it under another point. Stupid jack design allowed almost no room to use the jack handle. It was slow going.

Just as the tire got off the ground, I noticed the jack leaning, so we wedged a couple of boards under the frame, and I moved the jack to the proper place for it. After that it went a little smoother.

Flat tire off, spare tire on, jack let down, spare tire flat. Sheesh!

Well not quite flat. There was just enough air in it, to keep the rim off the road. We decided to head back to Pocaterra, where there was a pay phone, since there's no cell service in the area. From there, we could bring Daisy's AMA gold card into play. The tire lasted about ten metres before it was totally flat.

Time for an executive decision. The van is ancient, and this was probably the only time the spare was used. Most of the paint had peeled off, but it ran fairly reliably. We kept going.

The Spray Trail is, like most gravel highways, almost all washboard roughness. We got an intimate feel for that. Even so, we made good time, never moving above 40 kph. Coming up to the junction at the Kananaskis Lakes we lost a small chunk of sidewall from the now partially shredded tire. And then right into the Pocaterra Day Use parking lot.

While Daisy was on the phone listening to how important her call to the AMA was, I checked out the remnants of the spare. It was pretty much all there, although the sidewall was worn through. The rim had been hammered pretty hard, too, and was kind of rolled outward. The smell of burnt tire was pungent, and it and the rim were radiating quite toastily.

An hour wait, and we snacked on the rest of our trail mix, photographed the damage, and generally hung out.
And finally a big flatbed truck pulled up. It didn't take long for Silas to winch the van up on his truck and tie it down. And then the long drive to Daisy's place.

Silas is an interesting guy. He lives in Banff, and drives tow truck four days a week. Other days he's out exploring, hiking, fishing, whatever outdoor adventures he can get to. But long hours too. I think we were his second trip to Calgary today, and he'd also been to Lake Louise at least once.

At Daisy's place, Silas unloaded the van, while Daisy continued photojournalizing. And after the paperwork was done, Daisy drove me back to her parents place to my car. And here I am.

For all the events, it was a pretty cool adventure. I think we both were determined to enjoy the moment, and not worry about how things were going to turn out. Another amazing hike, and some interesting extras. Can't wait to see how it goes the next time.

Having trouble downloading info from the GPS for some reason, so the following is partly from my visit two months ago, and partly from memory of today.

Chester Lake
Starting elevation: 1917 m (6289 feet).
Highest elevation: 2265 m (7431 feet).
Elevation gain: 348 m (1260 feet).
Distance: 10 km (6.2 mi).
Time: 3:30?.

Galatea

2007-07-22T20:09:00.000-06:00

Daisy had called me earlier in the week about getting out today. We pondered several suggestions she had, and settled on this one.

I met her on the road to her place at 7:20 in the morning (it being totally dug up due to new subdivisions sprouting all around her place,) and we headed out directly. There was some concern initially about the heat, with forecast highs at around 30C, but as it turned out, temperature was not a factor.

At the Galatea parking lot, I chose a spot that I hoped would be sheltered from the sun by late afternoon. From the trailhead, it's a long downhill walk to a lovely suspension bridge over the Kananaskis River, and then we were in the forest.

This was a long lovely walk through forest, all the while gaining altitude. The trail criss-crosses Galatea Creek for almost five and a half kilometres. The Gem-Trek map says there are ten crossings, and all are the quaint half log bridges that seem to be everywhere in the Kananaskis.

At times we were deep in the forest, and then we'd be on a steep rock face, with the creek noisily rambling far below. A couple of places crossed run-off dry beds. As we gained altitude, the forest lost only a little of it's lushness.

At the fork to Guinn's Pass, we stopped to check out a new sign with a map of the area, and the "you are here" rivet. Less than a kilometre further, and we were at Lillian Lake, and the Galatea campground. Several campers were out fishing on the edge of the lake, from the many tiny clearings on it's edge. It's a beautiful spot, with the forest growing right to the edge of the deep green water.

We took the fork to the right, around the campground, and were soon in switchbacking through the forest above. Occasional views revealed nothing of any camping activity, save for an outhouse in a small clearing.

Shortly, we were out of the trees and on the edge of run-off scree, following a well used path, and then back into forest as the terrain leveled off, and began to drop to the Lower Galatea Lake. Just at the high point of this part of the path, was one of the neatest things about this high jumbly terrain. A couple of brooks sprouted out of the ground, one rushing back to Lillian Lake, the other going the other way to the Lower Galatea.

The path continued along the edge of some forest on the east end of the lake, and then continued across scree that dropped steeply to the water. This path stayed high up on the scree, maybe twenty metres above the water, but dropped almost to water level after crossing the remnants of a snow bank. And then dipped below the water.

The water level must be quite high right now. We could see the path along the edge of the lake, at times half a metre below the surface. Beyond, the depth increased swiftly, and the steep scree disappeared into the depths. This is one deep lake.

Another thing is that the Galatea lakes are an incredible deep blue, very different from the green of Lillian Lake.

At the far end of the lake, the path continued up a headwall, with mostly ground cover vegetation, and a sprinkling of trees. And over the headwall was the Upper Galatea Lake. We were about two and a half hours into the hike.

So where to go? And should we continue? Contrary to the forecast, the sky above was fully overcast, and the wind, while only a little on the brisk side, had a definite chill in it.

The slope continued upward, and was quite climbable, and we still hadn't topped 2200 metres, so up we went. At times we followed rock bands until we could get on top of them. We gained altitude quickly, over flower covered gravel and rock bands. We got on top of a ridge that climbed southward, and hid a snow filled trench that ran along the bottom of the shear wall of The Tower, which boxed in the west end of the valley.

At 2450 metres, we encountered an large inukshuk, and since it was just past noon, and the terrain started to rise steeply to the ridge along the south side of the valley, we decided it was lunch time. And with the wind picking up, time to don another layer.

The ridge we were on turns into a scree slope not far from where we stopped, and then a rockband crosses westward. It looked quite climbable, as did a notch directly south of us, again at the top of steep scree. It was tempting to see what might be on the other side, but we'd pretty much achieved what we'd set out to do for this day. So a couple of scrambles for next time.

After lunch, we went down. Straight down. Instead of retracing our steps down the ridge to the right, Daisy decided we could go directly east. It was a little intimidating, but she's an expert at finding the way, and also knows what is do-able when slopes get steep. There were some dicey moments (for me, anyway, but I didn't let on) but I managed to more or less keep up.

We switch-backed to a dry waterfall that went straight down, and looked to go almost vertical below us. Daisy picked a path to the left, and we finally got on to the meadow, still steep, but at least I didn't have to look for hand holds.

Most shocking was after we were down, Daisy looked back and marveled at what we'd descended. I think she was surprised at how impassable it looked from below. For me, I felt I'd just done the almost-impossible. Unbelievably exhilarating.

We continued across the scree to above the headwall holding in the upper lake, and again encountered a steep descent. Mostly dirt and vegetation, this, so it was easy to get footholds. But it was still something to climb down this steep face, not knowing if there would be an impassible rock band that we'd have to climb back up to get around. The lady has an impeccable trail finding talent.

We kept above the lower lake as well, crossing runoff channels in the scree after doffing the extra layers we'd put on at the inukshuk. There was a waterfall that sprouted out of the rock in the ridge, cascading down only to disappear suddenly under a snow bank still well above us. We continued, cutting straight across to the top of the headwall holding it in, where the two streams popped out of the ground.

After that it was a headlong plunge down the valley. It may be a little pathetic, but I'm quite proud of being able to keep up with Daisy. She sets a pretty brisk pace, both going up and going down.

Lots of traffic on the way down, with several people around the lower lake, and on the trail to it. Conservation officers were suddenly right behind us, but we quickly lost them as they stopped to chat with all the people heading up with fishing rods.

We cut through the campground at Lillian Lake to check it out. Lots of tents, but it seemed to be about half full. And so many along the shore of that beautiful green water.

And then it was into the forest and down, retracing our steps, and chatting about everything. We stopped at one bridge where a couple were taking each other's picture with the creek flowing out of a small canyon behind, and offered to take one of both of them.

By mid afternoon, we were back in the parking lot, by this time filled to overflowing with cars. There's something to be said for an early start.

Galatea
Starting elevation: 1551 m (5089 feet).
Highest elevation: 2458 m (8064 feet).
Lowest elevation: 1523 m (4997feet).
Elevation gain: 907 m (2976 feet).
Distance: 19.2 km (11.9 mi).
Time: 6:47.

Mt. Bourgeau - Update

2007-06-25T13:44:00.000-06:00

Daisy sent the pictures she took yesterday on Mt. Bourgeau.

This is me crossing Wolverine Creek:

At the top - Daisy:
Mt. Assiniboine is somewhere in the cloud behind her. And by the way, we got to experience those clouds as we descended, as they brought that nasty little snow squall.
One of me at the top:

And Daisy on the way down.

Behind her is the edge of the ridge overlooking Bourgeau Lake, around 300 m below. You can see some of the smaller cornices behind her, and the path we were following is just over her left shoulder. She's probably about ten metres from the edge of the ridge.

Another shot in the same direction, which shows the magnificent line of peaks that seems to stretch from Assiniboine toward Lake Louise.
You get an idea of how much snow is still up in the higher elevations.

A little more research reveals that the third of the lakes at the top, the frozen over one we encountered on the way down is Harvey Lake. The other two lower ones are apparently unnamed.

Mt. Bourgeau

2007-06-24T23:41:00.000-06:00

Man, this one wasn't even on my radar. My list of planned hikes are all in the front range, in Kananaskis and farther south, and I thought that would do me for this year. Going into the parks was something that hadn't even crossed my mind.

I hadn't counted on meeting Daisy.

She called first thing this morning; "we should do Mt. Bourgeau." Coincidentally, I was, at the time, wondering what I was going to do for the day. "Give me thirty minutes," I said.

Of course, it immediately occurred to me that this was my second major hike in as many days. I considered that as I packed my backpack, and drove out to her place. I felt OK. The knees seemed to be intact, and there didn't seem to be any lingering aches, pains or fatigue.

Ninety minutes or so later, we pulled into the parking area to Bourgeau Lake, along side a few cars. Good, that meant there were others on the trail. The first thing we noticed was the smell. Pine and earth and damp moss. It was glorious. After a short bit of prepping, we stepped up to and through the wildlife gate and were off.

The trail was through thick, lush forest, and quickly began to ascend. We were a long time in the forest. We finally reached a bridge that crossed a cascade tumbling down into the valley from the left. Then more forest, more not-too-steep climbing, and we reach Wolverine Creek.

Wolverine Creek is a big rushing cascade tumbling down the middle of the canyon (named Wolverine Creek Canyon, of course), and no bridge. There are the footings for one, but it's possible there never has been one. A jumble of logs and tree branches lays across the creek, though. We found a straight branch to use for balance, and Daisy picked her way across the wet logs. Once across, she tossed the stick back to me, and I followed. It looked tricky, and there certainly was the potential for getting my feet, and more, wet, but it was done quickly and without incident.

Once past the creek, the path climbs steeply. A short way on, we encountered a gentleman photographing the slopes on the opposite side of the canyon. He'd spotted a particularly scruffy looking goat browsing the meadows. After that, more steep going.

We reached a place where the water seemed to be running everywhere. The path was often muddy, and even under water. In a couple of places, snow blocked the path, though it was no trouble to walk on. At one point, Daisy led the way through the pussy willow, and we waded through these knee deep bushes past some of the goopiest parts of the path. We met a couple who had reached the lake and were returning. It looked like they had simply given up trying to avoid the mud and water, and were wading up the path.

Bourgeau Lake is lovely enough, with forest on one side, scree on the other. It's right against the base of Mt. Bourgeau, under towering rock walls and several small cornices of snow on the ridge above. (And yes, today I learned what a cornice is.) At the back, a roaring cascade of water from the pass above descended noisily to the lake.

Along the lake, the path charged through thick forest, broken in several places by clearings full of crocus and glacier lily. Daisy mentioned that these flowers were late this year, as both usually show as soon as the snow retreats. But the snow actually had more or less just retreated. Spring is very late in the mountain meadows.

We came out of the forest to discover the steep climb up talus. And there we caught sight of a large group crossing the top of a large snow bank. We climbed up beside the snow bank, crossed the top, and made our way along the well defined path to the next snow bank.

This was a group of high school kids on a field trip from Manitoba. We caught up to them at the next snow bank. Just across the snowbank, it stopped by the shore of a small lake. As we began to pass, they started up with us, so that we ended up in the middle of their line, chatting with them. There were a couple of more places with snow to cross, and more ascent until we got to the upper basin with another small lake, draining into the one below. One of these apparently is Harvey Lake. We had reached Harvey Pass.

As the group paused for another rest, Daisy and I continued, stone-stepping across two creeks draining out of the upper lake. We were shortly climbing a steep slope along side an enormous snowbank. At the top of the saddle, a trail through the snow lead across the saddle and up the other side, ending at two intrepid hikers attempting to reach the opposite ridge. It looked like they were having a tough go of it.

As we continued ascending the slope, the field trip reached the saddle behind us, and had ventured out onto the snow. And from there, most sat and slide down the slope. Lots of screaming and laughing and noise. It looked like fun.

Another hundred metres and we encountered two more hikers, who were heading back. We chatted and asked what conditions were like ahead. They said there were three impassible snow fields, dropping over the cliff on the left, forming the cornices we had seen from below. It didn't seem like there would be snow like that, with the southern exposure, and it being late June already. We decided to press on, to see for ourselves. An excellent decision, as it turned out.

What we were climbing was actually a bit of a bump at this point. To the left was a drop shear to Bourgeau Lake at the side, but ahead it descended to a saddle that rose toward the peak of the mountain. Down we went. As we began to go up again, a snow squall hit, reducing visiblity only slightly.

The trail was tenuous at times. We'd be following a definite path, and then find ourselves several metres to the side of it. For a stretch there didn't seem to be any path at all. But it was easy going, if a little steep. To the south, Mt. Assiniboine played peekaboo in the clouds, and far below was Sunshine Resort, the ski runs bare and brown-green. There were impressive plateaus behind and to the side, much of them snow covered. And far off, an incredible range of mountains marching across our horizon.

The path stayed high on the ridge, close to the cliffs over Lake Bourgeau. At times, small snow fields reached out over the cliff, likely forming some of the cornices. After a particularly steep go, it leveled out into a very rocky stretch, and then past what was likely the very edge. Only there was a deep gap of about four metres and on the other side a huge mass of snow. This was probably the largest cornice, about fifty metres long, and it was slowly pulling away from the cliff. It's going to be an impressive rumble when if finally gives way.

After that, we crossed a small snow field, and climbed steadily toward the summit. Another snow squall came, this one just a lightly falling snow that was hardly noticeable as we concentrated on the climb. A couple of more shallow snowfields were easily crossed, and at last, we were at the remote weather station at the top. Time for a snack and a look around.

This was one of those moments when it's easy to believe the world is there just for you. As we finished the snack, the clouds backed away to almost the horizon in all directions, and the sun came out. The view was a complete panorama. From Mt. Assiniboine to the south, a line of formidable peaks stretched to the west. The ridge and peak to the west was clear, and then blue skies reached to the Bow Valley to the north. We could see the peaks across the valley, and east towards Banff. I later discovered that if we could have gone a little farther, we would have seen the town of Banff itself. A clear, unobstructed 360 degree view of the world.

Just past the weather station, was another snow field. I have no doubt that, no more that twenty metres in front of us, a massive snow cornice hung over the face of the mountain that we sat on. It would be interesting to go back in a couple of months and see just how close the rock cliff is to the weather station.

AFter a couple of pictures of each of us with Mt. Assiniboine in the clouds behind, we started down. We crossed the first of the snow fields quickly and soon were back at the large disintegrating cornice, then over the rock jumble just past it. The path was much easier to find on the descent, though we did lose it a couple of times.

Meanwhile a thick wall of precipitation was heading our way from the south. I initially thought we might just catch the edge of it, but as we approached the lower reaches of the ridge, the snow started, with a driving wind. It wasn't bad. My left ear and cheek started to get a little cold, as that was most exposed to the wind. We made our way to the snow above yet another lake, which was still frozen over.

Skirting the snow to the path along this iced over lake, the wind was really driving at us. We climbed a short incline at the end and found ourselves on the snowbank where the Manitoba kids had been sliding. By now the nasty snow squall had ended and the sun was threatening to come out again.

I hadn't considered trying what we did next. But Daisy marched out on to the snow, sat down, and pushed herself off. What could I do but follow. Here's where I wish I had better hiking pants than the worn out cotton khakis I was wearing. My backside got incredibly wet. But the slide was exciting. The slope was pretty steep, and long, perhaps half a kilometre. We lost altitude in a hurry. It was incredibly fun.

At the bottom, we traipsed across the rest of the snow. Boy snow and girl snow! I'd heard about the pink mould that grows on the mountain snows in the spring. It was startlingly pink, and subtle in that you had to really look at the snow to see it. But it also stood out once you noticed it. And in places where you sank into the snow a little, maybe a foot or so, the light diffused by the snow made the bottom of these deep footprints very blue.

We skipped across the two streams draining from the lake, and down the slope beside the resulting cascade. Crossed a few more snow fields hiding flowing streams. We caught up to another snowy slope were the Manitobans had slid. So we did too.

This slope was steeper, I think. I got some speed up, and near the bottom, where the snow petered out into scree, I had to do some serious braking to avoid slidding off into the rocks. Then traversing some more to another steep snow bank. This time we tried skating/skiing down it. Also a lot of fun and we stepped off right at the trail.

After a short stop to shed some layers, we continued through the forest along Lake Bourgeau to the swampy part. We didn't do too bad in finding a fairly dry way through, although by that time my feet were soaked from walking through the snow. Looking over our shoulders, the cloud was sliding over the edge of the ridge we had been on. We began the long descent to Wolverine Creek as a light rain began to fall.

The walk down was now uneventful. Nothing much going on, and Daisy and I talked extensively about almost everything. At the creek, we were hoping the Manitobans had piled a few more branches and tree trunks on the crossing. We found our pole and picked our way across without incident.

More steep descent. As were talked about the rock face on the opposite side of the canyon, Daisy suddenly spied an amazing sight. The sun had broken through the cloud cover to brighten the valley below. The most amazing rainbow seemed to grow out of the forested floor of the valley.

After that, it was a long descent to the parking lot in the rain, filled by wonderful companionship and beautiful birdsong.

This was a completely impulsive trip. I'm glad Daisy called to ask me if I was interested. I'm glad I felt up for it. If she had asked if I wanted to walk for eight hours, over 24 kilometres, and climb steep slopes in snow storms and downpours, I don't think I would have said yes.

The universe blessed us today. For the skies to clear so completely as we sat at the summit was miraculous. To be able to push on to the top. And to experience those snowsqualls and rain showers in such a magical place.

Again it was sensory overload. I have no idea if I missed any thing major in this write-up. It's late and I'm bloody tired. And very happy.

Mt. Bourgeau
Starting elevation: 1432 m (4698 feet).
Highest elevation: 2951 m (9682 feet).
Lowest elevation: 1409 m (4623feet).
Elevation gain: 1519 m (4984 feet).
Distance: 24.8 km (15.4 mi).
Time: 8:01.

Yamnuska

2007-06-23T17:56:00.000-06:00

This was a sweet one. It was lovely day for hiking. Daisy is an experienced hiker, and has done this one more than once. So not only did I have a hiking companion, she knew where we were going.

We set off through the trees, and rapidly came on the steep path through the forest on the east shoulder. Zig zagging up the slope, we met several groups. It's a busy place. There are several places to enjoy the view, too, as the trees aren't enclosing.

On the top of the shoulder, we got our first view of the CMC valley. And a seeming dead end. I think there's a way around the north side, but it didn't look too inviting. However, a couple just ahead of us were working their way up a crevasse, so we followed. And found ourselves on top of the ridge.

The problem with this hike was sensory overload. I found myself so high, with so much incredible scenery, and even the physical experience of the climb, that it's all a blur now, sitting here trying to write about it.

I know we climbed to the edge, and carefully looked over the edge. A thousand feet straight down to the top of the scree slope below.

Well, not straight down. As flat as the face of this beast looks from the highway, it has a fair amount of topology. But I couldn't bring myself to slide close enough to see that, if it was even possible.

From here we picked our way through scree, and along paths that seemed to be everywhere. Near the edge were anchor bolts for those that would climb that face. Later in the climb, someone would mention there are over a hundred routes up the face.

We soon got past the first bit of a peak, and I found myself looking past it to the east, almost in the exact place where the photo on Gem Trek's Canmore and Kananaskis Village map was taken. If you've seen that photo, you can appreciate how shear the face can be.

More traversing and climbing, again a blur of sensation. And fun! Just to clamber up the steep rock and pick our way to the top was fun. Occasionally, I noticed the burn in my calves, but mostly I was drinking in the experience.

I think we came to the edge a couple of more times, and peeked over the edge. At one place we came on a woman sitting by the trail. She said it was not far to the cable, and then the final climb to the peak.

Cable?

There's a point where there's a bit of a ledge, maybe enough to hook your toes on, and possibly there are finger holds, too. Below the ledge is a drop of about ten metres, and then an incredibly steep slope of broken rock that descends another three or four hundred metres into the CMC Valley.

It's impossible to cross the thirty metres or so to more clamber-able terrain, but someone has bolted a cable along the face to hang on to. It's intimidating, but it really wasn't bad at all. The ledge, while narrow, has lots of room for feet, and with the cable to cling too, I was past it quite quickly. The cable also helps in the descent of those ten metres to where the trail continues.

Now here is where we missed something. Daisy and I climbed down the steep slope where we could see the path go, and eventually it rounded a rock and started to climb back up. The people behind us, though, found a path that went straight across. Oh, well, we were up for the seventy or so metre down-&-up. We even ended up ahead of them when when we got back up.

We got to an ascending ridge and rested for a bit of a snack, and then climbed it to the peak. About a dozen people were snacking and sunning and generally hanging out. And on their cell phones! Heck, I even made a call.

After a rest, Daisy charged ahead of me down the slope, which was fine gravel. The path went straight down, but then split, with a gentler path to the left. We went left. We were soon out of the fine gravel and struggling over coarser stuff, with small outcrops to climb around. Meanwhile others coming down behind us went skipping down the steep straight path. Bummer.

We made our way back over to the straight path, and finally got to the west shoulder. Steep and slippery, gravelly in some places, almost fine dust on bare rock in others. Which was really treacherous. Well, not really, but it was tricky.

Keeping up to Daisy was a challenge. She must have stronger knees than I, and is probably more flexible, too. She seemed to be bounding down the slope at times. I wasn't too far behind, mostly, and she did stop occasionally to let me believe I was catching up.

Eventually we began to traverse the scree at the bottom of the cliff face. Lots of relatively fine gravel, but the path was quite easy to cross. Knowing about climbing and even having some experience with technical climbing, Daisy would pause every once in awhile to scan the rock face above us for climbers. How she would spot them I don't know, but they were obvious once she pointed them out.

About 700 metres across, we decided to follow those ahead of us straight down the scree. This started out pretty tricky. I kind of stepped sideways down, with the gravel sliding down with me, and me trying to keep from sinking into the sliding gravel. Meanwhile, Daisy was bouncing down the slope, actually laughing out loud at times, before she got so far ahead of me as to be out of earshot.

Eventually, I got into the rhythm of it, and headed straight down. You get a bit of a bounce to it, and step fast enough so you don't sink into the sliding gravel too much, digging in you heel at every step. I mean a real bounce, kind of a floating bobbing feeling. It got to be really fun. And I was finally gaining on Daisy.

Well, she'd stopped at the trees at the bottom to wait. Once I caught up, we continued along the bottom of the scree. And suddenly, around a corner was a waterfall. Water coming down from who knows where over a series of limestone shelves.

From here we were back into the forest, descending the east shoulder again. Passing more hikers heading upward. And finally coming to the parking lot.

This was a wonderful, fun and exciting hike. Hiking with Daisy only enhanced the fun and excitement, what with her experience and heck, just the joy she radiated up there.

Now if only I could get the damn camera to work.

Yamnuska
Starting elevation: 1343 m (4406 feet).
Highest elevation: 2241 m (7352 feet).
Lowest elevation: 1343 m (4406feet).
Elevation gain: 898 m (2946 feet).
Distance: 10.2 km (6.3 mi).
Time: 4:25.

Rawson Lake, and Almost Opal Falls

2007-06-16T16:53:00.001-06:00

The original goal today was Yamnuska. But all day there was a heavy rainfall warning and a severe thunderstorm watch is in effect for all of southern Alberta. That's not the kind of weather I would like to encounter when standing on a bare rock near a shear thousand foot drop, nuh-uh.

So I examined my maps, looking for an alternate hike for the day. One that I'd heard was pretty neat was Rawson Lake, just south of the Upper Kananaskis Lake, below Mount Sarrail. It's not too long a trek, so I decided to add in Opal Falls, as well, for fun.

I think I should start out earlier on these jaunts. There's something about being out in the early morning that is just too cool. And you get ahead of the weekend traffic, too. But it wasn't a bad drive out. Just rainy and wet.

By the time I got to the Kananaskis Lakes region, there were breaks in the cloud, and the rain had stopped. I set out along the path to the south of the lake. Even though there's so much snow pack yet, and there are flood watches everywhere, the lake level was very low, probably twenty metres lower than when I climbed Mount Indefatigable a couple of years ago.
Rawson Lake hides behind the treed ridge in the upper centre of the picture. You can see how the cloud was obscuring the mountain tops.

After rounding the path for aways, I found a clear view of Indefatigable.
It's a lot snowier than my last visit. You can see the snow in the cirque in this picture, just under the cloud, though not very well.

Shortly after that, I crossed the bridge in front of the Sarrail Creek Falls.
Very nice, and noisy.

One thing about this hike: the forest is quite dense, and lush. Lots of moss and goundcover that absorbs just about any sound. This is another one of those places, so common out there, where the silence is truly deafening. The sound of the falls didn't reach a hundred metres either side on the path. It was quite amazing how quickly you are upon the falls, and how fast they're behind you after you pass.

The path soon quite obviously splits, with the right branch continuing along the lake, and the left climbing rather steeply into the forest. A sign tells you that Rawson Lake is 2.7 km further on.

The path is wet, squishy and even under water in places. But still very walkable. The steepness keeps the lungs working, but the forest is amazing in its stillness. It absorbs sound so well, it's like being in an anechoic chamber, or a very small curtain-walled room. The silence has a closeness to it.

Eventually the trail levels off a little, and then I'm into snow. Again! The path must be chronically wet, as a raised walk made of logs sawn in half leads through the forest.
Same again for the snow: if I stay on the packed middle part, it supports me, and I avoid getting buried to the hip.

Soon I can see the rock wall across the lake through the trees, and suddenly the lake is in front of me. The rock wall is unbelievable and beautiful, and I start taking pictures.
And the batteries in the camera die. Damn!

The lake still has ice on it, and is rimmed by snow. The water is right up to the trees, and has some kind of scum on it, where it's open between chunks of ice. The fish don't seem to mind; they constantly jump at whatever is catching their attention. I pick my way a few metres along the shore to a massive tree that's fallen in the water. It makes a nice place to sit and munch my snack and survey the rock wall opposite me with binoculars.

The very top of the ridge is obscured by cloud, but there's a lot of snow still clinging to the face. With the binoculars, I can see several waterfalls coming down from what must be massive snowbanks here and there in depressions in the rock face. Some of them look to be several hundred metres high, with almost nothing but a mist at the bottom. There's a huge fall of snow at the bottom sloping to the lake, and the sound of rushing water reaches across.

After awhile, I decide to leave, somewhat annoyed by the lack of battery power. Two couples have come up behind me, one couple arguing how to cross the creek outlet to get to ice free fishing. Just as I get out of the worst of the snow, I begin to meet other hikers. Two goups with children pass at the edge of the snow. Another large group was just getting to where the trail flattened out a little. I assured one woman that she'd climbed the worst of it.

It was like that all the way down. Lots of people out with kids and dogs. By the time I got down to the lower path, there was a fisherman every thirty metres along the shore, and several boats as well.

I got back to the car, and headed back toward the highway. Turning south, I traveled a short way to the Elpoca Day Use area, beside which is Opal Falls. The gate was closed and locked, a sign on it warning of bear activity. So much for Opal Falls. After a bit of scanning of the far side of the valley with the binoculars, I called it a day and headed home.

Rawson Lake
Starting elevation: 1724 m (5656 feet).
Highest elevation: 2009 m (6591 feet).
Lowest elevation: 1698 m (5571feet).
Elevation gain: 285 m (935 feet).
Distance: 7.4 km (4.6 mi).
Time: 2:20.

Moose Mountain Reprise - The North Peak

2007-06-09T20:22:00.000-06:00

Today was planned to be a group hike, but the group couldn't make it, so it ended up being a solo. On the plus side, I was able to connect with a friend for coffee this morning, since I didn't have to rendezvous with people, but I didn't get to the trail head until just after noon.

This is an interesting one to get to. The road up branches off Highway 66 just before Elbow Falls, and continues several kilometres up to the top of the ridge. And, you leave the highway at around 1500 metres altitude, and arrive at the parking area at just under 2000 metres. It's quite a climb.

The trail along the ridge to branches in a couple of places, to trails that run down the east side and back to Bragg Creek. This makes it a popular loop for mountain bikers, and they were out in spades today. I passed several on the drive up, and there were several more on the trail and even on the mountain. The trail on the lower front peak is actually a road, probably built before they got a helicopter pad on the top. It's also likely it was built for access to the many gas wells in the area.

The parking lot was full when I arrived, and there were several cars lining the road outside as well. I found a spot, changed my shoes and headed out. It was a pretty grey day up there, though for some reason, this didn't impinge on my consciousness until I was above the tree line and wondering if I would get to use my rain gear.

I met several groups coming down, and passed a few going up. The trudge through the forest was uneventful, though. Much like any other trudge through the forest.

At the front peak, which is more rounded flat, there were several climbing the straight up path, several more taking the switchback, and four cyclists leaning into it, near the top. I did the straight up path, though I took the road along the north side instead of straight over the top. There were even people running down the path. It made my knees ache just to watch.

I finally put my Air Miles to good use and got a camera. This is the first view of the main and north peaks.
You can see that formidible northeast face, and to the right, the north peak, which is what I was aiming for. Here's another view, across the chasm east of the ridge that joins the peaks.

Check out that inviting sky!

I climbed to the helicopter pad, signed the guest book, and sat and snacked, and contemplated my objective.

The trail is well marked, but the first four hundred metres, is accompanied by a vertical drop of about 130 metres. There's a bit of scrambling, and in a few places, I had to back down so I could hold on to things with my hands. One particularly tricky scramble didn't have much for feet or hands to grab on to, in addition to being slicked up by seeping water. But I did find some.

Once past the trickiest part, I found myself at the south end of the ridge where it met with the cliff face that you can see in the first picture. Here's a shot looking the other way.

Yup, the top is about a hundred metres up. And I believe that's downtown Calgary on the horizon, roughly centred on the picture.

And this is the ridge from there to the north peak.

At this point, I have a little over a kilometre to go.

The ridge was a little challenging. It's almost all loose rock, flakes of limestone and larger boulders. In some places the rubble isn't too stable, and it moves when you step on it. Not too bad for the hand-size flakes, but some of those boulders are likely a couple of hundred kilograms or more. Mostly they just rock underfoot, but that puts demands on your balance. Every edge is sharp, so falling on this stuff would hurt.

There was a large boulder, actually a part of the ridge that hadn't collapsed yet, and it stood up blocky and in the way. I ended up climbing along the west side, as it wasn't quite as intimidating as the other side. Here and there, I had to scramble up some steeper parts.

In one stretch was a crevasse, not deep, but with a large snowbank in the middle. I sidled along one side of it, until the crevasse narrowed enough for me to step over it.

The farther I got, the easier it became. I found that if I stayed on the very top of the ridge, it was flat, and even grassy. It was just that shear drop a metre to the right that was a little unnerving. But eventually it spread out a little, and after some scrambling on the scree, I was at the top.

Not much to it really. It's a sort of grassy space, about the size of my back yard (not large), with a small pile of rocks in the middle. This is the view back to the fire lookout, with the rock pile.

Even though it wasn't that big, it felt incredible to be there. I'd just scrambled some eight and a half kilometres over some amazing terrain, and I had a view of half of Alberta. Cloudy and grey and hardly a breath of wind. This unbelieveable silence, occasionally punctuated by voices from the helicopter pad a kilometre and a half away.

Those clouds. The mountains to the west were in and out of mists and fogs. I started to wonder if any of the rain would get to me before I got out of there. Time to head back.

The walk back was much easier, since the trail was startlingly visible from that direction. I stuck to the top of the ridge, by this time almost immune to the effect of the vertiginous drop to my immediate left.

At the end of the ridge, against the cliff face, I spotted something moving on the apparently not so shear face.

Aside from a couple of wolf spiders and a raven, this marmot was the only wildlife I saw up there. He found a tiny ledge from which to sit and watch me.

The final scramble beside the shear face was done quickly, and I decided to head down immediately. It was getting late, I was tired and sore, and those rain clouds weren't looking any friendlier. It was a long walk down, made slow by adhering to Joe the firewatch guy's admonition to keep my steps small. The walk down to the tree line seemed to take ages, and then the walk through the forest seemed to take an equal number of ages.

One of the most remarkable characteristics of the day was the silence. Very rarely did the wind make itself known. And aside from the dozens of hikers out, there were little else making any noise. A beautiful hike.

Moose Mountain and north peak
Starting elevation: 1976 m (6483 feet).
Highest elevation: 2447 m (8028 feet).
North Peak: 2383 m (7818 ft).
Lowest elevation: 1903 m (6243 feet).
Elevation gain: 471 m (1545 feet).
Distance: 17.2 km (10.7 mi).
Time: 5:26.

Heart Mountain

2007-06-02T17:17:00.001-06:00

Oh. My. God. I can't wait to do this one again. As the gentleman I walked with at the top said, there are very few people who will ever see the world the way we saw it today. This was a challenging hike.

I started from the parking lot and ended up behind a large group that got on the path ahead of me. After about half a kilometre, they stopped to wait for some stragglers, and I got by. At 800 metres, was the split in the path, just like the map said. A sign warned that the path was a scramble, with exposed parts. Two couples started past as I read this, so I decided to follow them.

This was a steep climb, but an easy one. Most of it was a blur. What I remember most was how fast the altitude number on the GPS increased. Keeping up with the foursome ahead of me was a challenge, as they were charging up the slope.

About half way, I climbed a bit of a break in the rock, and suddenly found myself among several people. There were six resting on a relatively flat place, while one of them bandaged herself. An Austrian girl had slipped and managed to cut her knee and her hand. It turned out that the injuries were minor.

From here the foursome gained on me. I would lose sight of them, then catch up when they stopped to rest. Some of the climbing was pretty dicey looking to have to come back down on, but wasn't too bad to climb. Lots of places, I was looking for firm handholds before moving my feet.

Every once in awhile, I would stop and look around. What an unbelieveable view. The canyon to the right, where Heart Creek flows, felt like it was right by my elbow. The rock face dropped off nearly vertically. Across to the other side was another formidible rock face rising up to the ridge that leads to Mount McGillivray.

Directly below when I turned to face the valley, was Lac Des Arcs and the town of Exshaw. Just to the right of that, and behind, was Loder Peak and Door Jamb Mountain. Farther right was the impressive wall of Yamnuska. To the east, the TransCanada and 1A highways, and the Ghost Reservoir in the distance. Just over the shoulder of the ridge to the west was Canmore.

At about 1930 metres, my cell phone range. Even up there, coverage is remarkably good. After a short chat with Roxanne, I was off again.

Looking up at the mountain, especially along the west side of the heart shaped formation that gives the mountain its name, it looks completely impassible. But as you make your way up, the path stays very obvious. At one point there is a climb of about three metres, up a crack in rock face that runs nearly the whole side of the formation. That's about the hairiest part of the whole climb, and not really that bad at that. However, I think going down through that would be tricky.

Lots more scrambling, and eventually, the top. The same as I described above, but more so. And looking down where we came from, it seems almost impossible that we were able to climb that way. I stood and took it all in for awhile. And my phone rang again. Byron saying hi.

From there, a ridge runs south to another peak. Another man and I headed that way, and after picking our way through a couple of snowbanks, we were on a well marked path to the next peak. This ridge was unbelieveably narrow. It wasn't really scary to be on, but the part we could actually walk on seemed only a few metres wide. It dropped off incredibly steeply either way.

In just under an hour we were there, and there was another crowd lounging. On man had wandered even farther south along another ridge. It looked much the same as what we had just traversed, only more so. At the far end was a jagged peak, un-named on my map. To the east was Barrier Lake, where I had hiked a month ago.

I headed northeastward on my own, continuing along the ridge that makes the loop of this hike. More snow, and it was deep. Luckily there were several footprints through it, so it wasn't too hard to get through. But it was easily two metres deep in places.

The ridge continued narrow, with steep, near-vertical drops on either side. I could see the place I had reached on the hike from Barrier Lake, as well as the Barrier Lake fire lookout that was very close to that point. Along the way were lots of crocuses, as well as several other kinds of flowers blooming.

It was a wonderful journey across this ridge to the last peak on the trail. I stopped there to return Byron's call, since we lost the connection on the first peak. Below to the east was the TransCanada Trail, and I thought I could see the Jewel Pass Trail that I climbed from Barrier Lake

And then the long descent. It seemed to go on forever. This is where I realized how much I had climbed on the first leg of the hike. This part of the trail was not nearly as challenging as the climb, but there were still lots of places where I needed to use handholds.

Eventually, I descended into forest, and yet it was still a steep descent. This is where I lost the traffic. There seemed to be no one around. Around 1800 metres the noise from the highway became noticeable. At one point a creek began to gurgle to the left, and eventually the trail paralleled it.

Then suddenly it disappeared and for awhile, I was descending through forest, with only the traffic noise of the highway below. And suddenly I was in a cutline, under a high voltage power line. The trail crossed the cutline, and eventually flattened out (more or less)

Once I got the junction of all the paths, with the sign warning of the scramble, I decided to check out the Heart Creek path. I wasn't sure I had the energy for it. It was quite busy. The trail crosses the creek several times, and at one of them were several people climbing the rock face. At the end of the trail, the canyon narrows to a couple of yards, turns sharply to the left. The creek roars down this narrow channel, with a sound that indicates there must be a pretty impressive falls there. But there's no way to see it as it is around the corner.

By this point, I'm beat. The walk back to the car was uneventful. This was an incredible climb and hike. Once I get a camera, I definitely need to go back and do it again.

Heart Mountain
Starting elevation: 1332 m (4370 feet).
Highest elevation: 2180 m (7152 feet).
Lowest elevation: 1283 m (4209 feet).
Elevation gain: 848 m (2782 feet).
Distance: 13.8 km (8.6 mi).
Time: 5:36.

Doing Two

2007-05-26T16:27:00.000-06:00

The plan was Chester Lake. The snow was four feet deep. So much for the plan.

But I did walk some of the trail. The trail is actually part of a complex of cross country ski trails. The trail I was on is the northernmost one, and it leads to a hiking trail to Chester Lake, and then on to Three Lakes Valley, which, according to the map, is a chain of three small lakes. Go figure.

The snow was packed quite well from skiers and snow-shoers, so I was able to walk quite far in. As long as I stayed on the snow-shoe tracks, I was fine. At one point, I tried to walk beside the trail in the bush. Much of the snow there was gone, but bush being what it is, was pretty much impassable.

At the northernmost point, the path turned sharply eastward, and that's where the hard pack stopped. I didn't break through, but the few metres I walked in that direction were distinctly less solid feeling than what I had been on up to that point.

So, at 1.4 km, I turned around and headed back, foiled by snow again.

So what to do? I could go home, or I could drive all the way up the Smith Dorrien/Spray Trail to Canmore. Well, how about another look at Black Prince Cirque?

I drove back to that parking area, and headed out. The snow that Jan and I encountered two weeks ago was largely gone. The old logging road was mostly bare, although snow banks in a couple of places made for a wet and squishy trail at times.

At the bench, the one that was under three feet of snow before, the logging road ended and the trail wound through the trees. The bench was completely exposed now. This part of the trail still had lots of snow, but often I could sidetrack it. When I couldn't, it was still solid enough if I was careful to walk on the highest part. This was like a ridge in the snowbank that followed the trail, and I think it was due to being packed by winter hikers.

I found bear tracks on one of these snowbanks. I had no idea how old they were. There were lots of dear tracks too, but no new elk tracks.

I soon found myself among the results of an ancient rock fall. Dark grey stuff, with a lot of it looking a little like foam. I assume that's because of its volcanic origins. And through a few more trees, I found Warspite Lake.

Not much of a lake. The water level was quite low, and much of the clearing was a jumbled field of this volcanic stuff. Several really large boulders, some supporting trees. Around the edges of the clearing was a grassy strip, that sloped up to the trees. It looked very much like a nearly dried up lake, and I guess that's what it was.

At a rough guess, there was room for another four metres of water in this basin. I scrambled across the middle of it, most of the water being to the south side of the clearing. Several streams emptied noisily into the clearing from all directions.

Bird life is everywhere up there. It's not noisy, though. There are long moments of total silence, but then something would start its song and fill the air. Whiskey Jacks were everywhere. There were some cranky squirrels that would start their wheezy barking over something every once in a while.

I found a place to sit, and was treated to another avalanche. The rock walls surrounding the clearing seemed very close, even though they were probably a kilometre or more away. Today there was only one small avalanche, but it made an impressive rumble as it came down. There's still a lot of snow on the higher reaches of Kananaskis, and this sight and sound will likely be common for the next month.

After an hour of prowling the lake and it's clearing, I turned to head back. I found my tracks had almost no definition, after being allowed to melt for the hour or so I was up there. That leads me to think that the bear tracks I had discovered on the way up were pretty fresh, as they were well defined. I couldn't even find them on the way down.

Half way down the logging road, I met three hikers on their way up. They were probably in a much better position to enjoy the hike than the Japanese tourists we met two weeks ago. At the parking lot, I dug out the field glasses and checked out the ridge to the south of Mount Black Prince. There are some serious overhangs along the ridge. If they collapse, they'll make for pretty spectacular avalanches.

From there it was homeward.

Chester Lake
Starting elevation: 1917 m (6289 feet).
Highest elevation: 2009 m (6591 feet).
Elevation gain: 92 m (302 feet).
Distance: 2.8 km (1.7 mi).
Time: 0:55.

Black Prince Cirque
Starting elevation: 1734 m (5689 feet).
Highest elevation: 1829 m (6001 feet).
Elevation gain: 95 m (312 feet).
Distance: 5.3 km (3.3 mi).
Time: 1:54.

Too Early For This One

2007-05-12T20:09:00.000-06:00

This was an early season hike that was probably too early. My friend Jan has wanted to get out on a hike, and we've been talking about getting out there. Today was the day. I was hoping to find something reasonably memorable, but totally forgot to take into consideration the season. In my defense, I've never been out before July before, and had no idea what to expect.

I tried to pick a novel and reasonably challenging hike, so we headed to Black Prince Cirque Trail. This is one of those trails with the numbered posts that you can follow along with a pamphet that you are supposed to pick up from dispenser at the trail head, except that those dispensers are always empty.

As we pulled into the parking lot, several people were gearing up, with poles, packs, parkas and whatnot. There were twenty-five or thirty, all well equipped, and probably Japanese tourists. We waved and were on our way in minutes.

The path started nice, a shady forest path along the creek, to a bridge that crossed to the other side and seemed to backtrack for a long way. Then it pulled away from the creek to an old logging road.

At the bridge, there was snow. Lots of bare ground but well packed snow along the path too. On the logging road, the sunny side had some bare ground, but we were still on snow, mostly. It was hard and supported us nicely, so some initial misgivings faded as we continued. I was a little worried about getting into deep stuff that we would get mired in.

About half a kilometre in I realized I hadn't started my GPS, so some of the data below is fudged. The logging road was steeper than I expected, but we did well with the hard pack. At the end of the logging road there was a high-backed bench. Walking up to it, I realized I was standing on it, with at least a foot of snow on top of it. The back must have been really high to stick up as much as it did.

Around this point, we heard a distant rumble, and scanned the mountains ahead to find an avalanche. It looked like smoke drifting down the distant cliff, but the sound attested to something much, much more powerful. It was such an evisceral sound, even at the distance. Not loud, but I could feel it in my chest. We heard it a couple more times while we were there.

Continuing on, the path began to wind through the trees, and we could see how much snow there was. The ground around the trees was bare, but it was at least a couple of feet below what we were walking on. Old animal tracks confirmed the depth. Or not so old. What was probably an elk had been through, occasionally breaking through the crust. I would guess it passed through only a day or two before us.

The climb gentled after the bench, and for awhile we even descended, but with the snow becoming heavier. And then I broke through. I found myself in snow up to the hip, and probably not close to touching bottom. Luckily the crust was strong enough around me, that I was able to pull my leg out. I just did a quick measure, and I figure I was in about 80 cm.

Jan and I looked at each other. The day was warming, the crust was softening. Time to turn around before the path we'd already traveled became impassible. Looking at the GPS data, the distance from our turn-around point to the parking lot was 1.9 km. So we were withing 300 m of Warspite Lake. Close, but no cigar.

The descent was quick and easy, as descents usually are. We met the Japanese tourists about half way down the logging road. They had stopped to remove layers since the day was warming up. We did tell their guide that we were not able to make it to the lake, but that they could probably go some of the way up.

After we passed them we found that they had churned up the snow on the logging road a fair amount. We wondered if we should have suggested they abandon the trip.

Back at the parking lot, it was snack time. And stretch time. While we were standing and chatting, that far-away rumble came again, bigger this time, and with it a gust of wind that roared through the tree tops.

For all the snow and not being able to get to the end, I think this was a pretty good hike. It was a sparkling day, with a cloudless and incredibly blue sky. Good company adds so much. But it's a trail that I just might have to revisit.

Starting elevation: 1733 m (5686 feet).
Highest elevation: 1831 m (6007 feet).
Elevation gain: 98 m (321 feet).
Distance: 3.8 km (2.4 mi).
Time: 1:45 (estimated).

A New Season

2007-05-05T18:10:00.000-06:00

Today was totally impulsive, but good. I've been restless for the past couple of days, and finally this morning decided to get the heck out of town. Where to go?

Well, I'd heard Barrier Lake was decent, not too strenuous, and I thought it would be relatively flat, since the trail skirted the lake. Well, yeah, if you stick to the trail that skirts the lake. But according to the signs along the path, that part of the trail is for bikes and horses.

I walked across the dam, nearly freezing in the biting wind that was blowing across the lake. It wasn't really that cold, but the wind was really blowing, and it was a relief to get across the dam an into the trees.

Every trail junction had a sign, with a map of the trails in the area, and a rivet marking the location of the sign. Very handy. I decided to head south along the lake on the bike trail, to see what there was to see. Three boats on the far side of the lake, inflatables maybe, each holding about six people, heading toward the dam. That probably explains why the parking lot was full.

At the point where the lake narrows was another sign. I would have missed the path but for the sign, as it wasn't much more than a clear path through the forest (and what more does a trail need to be?) This was the start of the Jewel Pass Trail.

Steady climbing all the way. For awhile if followed high up the side of a valley, at the bottom of which water rushed through the rocks toward the lake. There was one curious point where that sound completely disappeared. I think I had just stepped over and down a small ridge. The rocks were still at the bottom of the valley, some ten or fifteen metres below, but no sound at all. A couple of hundred metres later, it was back. Quite odd.

After awhile, the path started to disappear under snow. Hard and crusty, and probably a foot or two thick at times, it easily supported me. I crossed a small bridge that was just showing through on one side. There was another place where I'm sure there was a bridge under there. If not, I'm glad the snow supported me, because it was probably a two metre deep snow bank.

Parts of the path were steep, with a couple of switch-backs in places. Most of the time it was a steady upward climb, with snow getting more plentiful. It wasn't really deep, but what was on the path was melting a lot in places, and I managed to break through once into ankle deep ice water. Chilly! But mostly I could edge along the side of the path to get past most of the puddles and slush.

Suddenly, I came across another sign, with its rivet indicating I'd reached the junction of the Jewel Pass Trail and the Prairie View Trail. To continue left would have lead me down the east side of Heart Mountain and the TransCanada. I went right to continue the loop back to Barrier Lake.

There was more snow at this level, about 1600 metres. It's interesting that the GPS was fine through the forest on the Jewel Pass Trail, but as soon as I started this new trail, it lost its signal. I stopped a couple of times in clearings to see if it would find itself, and it did. But it lost the satellites almost as soon as I started moving through the forest again.

From here on the path wasn't bad at all as far as being wet and muddy. That's mostly because it was under snow. There had been some traffic though, so it was easy to stay on it. Many footprints, though I wasn't too sure of the vintage. Sometimes they looked fresh, sometimes they seemed several days old.

Anyway, more climbing. I was becoming concerned that I wasn't on the right path, as I was well past the halfway point and still climbing. And the snow was becoming a little heavier, although still not an issue. But I began to wonder if I would reach a point where I would have to turn around and retrace my steps. At that point it would have made for a four and a half to five hour hike, and I only really wanted three hours.

Finally, at just over two hours, and about 1800 metres, I reached the end of the forest. And the ground for that matter. What a view! The trees went right to the edge of the cliff face, so I was right on top of it almost before I noticed it.

Now where the heck did the path go? To the right, the forest got thicker and crowded the edge of the cliff. And the cliff seemed pretty much a shear drop. To the left, the trees ended but it was bare rock sloping up to the edge. and going upward, too. I went that way a little, and was able to see a couple of well worn paths in the rock. I skirted a couple of really deep crevasses in the rock and climbed down to one of the paths.

It rose steadily to a high point on the ridge, where I notice two women standing. OK, so I was at the right place. They had come up the other way, basically taking the same loop I was taking, but in the other direction. Elevation 1896 metres (about 6200 feet).

After taking in the view for awhile, I started off. There was what looked like a huge billboard right on the ridge. It was at least three metres on a side, and made of metal, probably aluminum. I would guess its a reflector for radio transmission, but who knows? Just past that, the path turned into a scramble. It was wet and muddy and slippery, and there weren't many handholds. But I took my time and after about thirty metres vertical it turned into a steep switchback.

At the point where it turned to cross a ridge, I met another couple making their way up. They said it was pretty muddy for some distance. I found it muddy and wet, and often full of slushy snow. But I was mostly out of the wind, and in the sun. It was fairly steep so I lost altitude quickly.

Once I got onto drier trail, I passed a half dozen other couples on their way up. Hopefully they had some extra layers in those packs. It was chilly in spots and some of them looked woefully underdressed.

Down a long switch back, then out of the trees, across the dam and back at the parking lot.

Starting elevation: 1378 m (4520 feet.
Highest elevation: 1896 m (6220 feet).
Elevation gain: 518 m (1699 feet).
Distance: 13.92 km (8.65 mi).
Time: 3:22.

Hailstone Butte With Tru

2006-07-25T14:34:00.000-06:00

Tru and I have been talking about this one for awhile. She once lamented not being able to get much hiking in, despite living here next to the mountains for a couple of decades. Hailstone was the first one I thought of taking her to, since her level of fitness is so up to the challenge.

We were parked at The Hump by about 10:00. That's the highest point on the secondary road between highways 22 and 940, that runs right by this hike. Across the road, by the way, is Windy Peaks Ridge, the first ever hike that I wrote about here. We started up the valley at a brisk pace, while the temperature rose under clear sunny skies.

Within an hour we had reached the saddle at the top, that looked to the northeast toward a horizon that seemed to be a thousand miles away. Before us was the valley we had driven through, and a steep slope of what looked to be plain old dirt. There was a path across it farther up, and we climbed to that, and crossed to the rocky peak on the other side.

This peak was pretty craggy, and very accessible from the far side. We climbed up and sat for awhile, taking in a view that started literally at our feet. We were on a peak that fell away vertically before us, down to the road that was probably 400 metres below.

As we started up again, Cleo the dog from the fire lookout was watching us from the top, peering over the cliff with her tail wagging wildly. In front of us was a broad meadow stretching gently northward toward the supply road that went up to the top. We headed that way, through soft grassy ground and jumbled rocks. Once on the road, we followed it to a switchback, and then along the ridge to the fire lookout.

Cleo met us with some kind of bean bag toy that she dropped at my feet. So I threw it down the road for her to chase. She brought it back and dropped it in front of Tru this time. Tru threw it for her, and after she retrieved it, she carried it back to the lookout. I guess that was our welcome.

The fire warden came out to say hi, and we chatted for awhile. The building was apprently just completed to replace the former structure that had been there since the 70s. He was still unpacking and moving in. We sat on the edge of the cliff and talked, and Cleo moved among us looking for ear scratches and head rubs. Tru's affinity for animals drew her most of the dog kisses (bleah!).

The fire lookouts all have a helicopter pads, but Hailstone is unique. The ranger living there has created an amazing mosaic out of all the loose rock out there. It's a huge circle, with an arrow that points northward. He had dug out the ground to lay the rock in, and it was almost like an intricate patio.

After saying good day, Tru and I headed along the ridge to the south for a couple of hundred metres, to a shortcut scramble. This went down a series of ledges that runs along the east side of the ridge, to a gap in the last ledge, where we could climb down the last three metres or so.

From there it was all down hill. After descending about a hundred metres or so, we sat on a big rock and dug out our snacks. Still beautiful and cloudless, just a light breeze, and nothing but us and the sun and the silence.

After a few moments, we continued on downslope,and 20 minutes later, we were back at the car. And after a dusty drive back to pavement, we headed to the city, and Tru's deck for brews and snacks.

Grotto Revisited

2006-07-10T17:52:00.000-06:00

This was another hike that I thought would be fun for a group. This time we had a couple more people join us. Along with Carla, Erin, Peter-Mark and I, we had Erin's daughter and her friend with us, and Tacey managed to take some time from work and organizing her new home.

Tacey and I drove out to the trailhead, right on highway 1A, a few miles out of Canmore. It was a beautiful, sunny day, and we sat by Grotto Pond, a small lake beside the picnic area where the trail starts. We were soon joined by the rest and we headed off up the trail.

We wandered up the trail as it parallels the highway, to the stream bed that leads into the canyon itself. The day was warm and sunny, and it was rather nice to get into the coolness of the shade in the canyon. We were out late enough in the morning, though, that the sun could reach into parts of it.

The stream was doing its usual burbling in and out of the rocks, and falling over boulders and into pools, deliciously cold and clear (but probably not quite drinkable). We came on a couple of climbers getting ready to tackle one of the sheer rock faces that line the canyon, and lent them some bug repellant. Mosquitoes were not too bad, but they were present, and would find you if you stopped moving for a moment.

At that time of day, it was reasonably deserted. There was a young family a few yard behind us with three or four children, but that was it apart from the climbers. Carla, Peter-Mark and I climbed up to the waterfall for a moment to check it out. It's such a peaceful spot, but there's not a lot to keep you from sliding back down the slippery rock. We didn't stay long.

At this point, Erin and her charges decided to head back, while the rest of us continued up the streambed. We stopped at the point around the bend, just where the sound of the waterfall wasn't quite audible, and experienced the astounding silence that gives the place a bit of a mystical quality. A little farther on, and the canyon opens up to a still narrow valley, and we continued until we came in sight of the hoodoos, where we stopped for a snack.

Then we headed back, and began to meet more people out to explore the canyon. We passed a couple of groups moving up the streambed. We stopped at the sheer rock wall at the T intersection near the waterfall, and Carla and I stood under the light spray of water leaking out of a crack in the rock wall that was maybe forty fee up.

Heading down, we came on a small group who were admiring the petroglyphs. This was the first time I had seen them, and I had thought they were farther up, around the bend in the area were we experienced the silence. The petroglyphs were few, and had faded badly, but were still quite visible. You can get more information about them here.

As we continued from the petroglyphs we met a large group, of almost a hundred high school age kids hiking up the canyon. So we were just missing the rush hour. And within the hour we were in Canmore having beer and burgers again.

Grassi Lakes

2006-06-10T21:18:00.000-06:00

A new season and a fresh hike! But no pictures for this one. My camera is on the fritz and no one else had an operational camera either.

My friend Carla and I decided back in the dead of winter that we were going to organize a hike, and we picked June 10 as the day to do it. She chose Grassi Lakes, just above Canmore, and it was perfect. She broadcast an email inviting friends to join us, and in the end we were four: Carla, Peter-Mark, Erin and I.

Naturally, I started the trip by rushing out the door, driving around the block and back to said door, cuz I forgot something, then realizing I needed gas and having to stop for that, before finally picking up Erin to head out. Her excellent navigation of the back streets of north west Calgary got us out of the city quickly, and we were only twenty minutes late to the meeting place.

Two others were to join us, but the weather scared them off. The day did start pretty grey and threatening, but by the time we got to the trail head, just past the Canmore Nordic Centre, the sky had cleared and the sun was shining. Too bad for them.

We took the easier route, by way of what looked like an access road. It's a pretty popular hike, and several people were already ahead of us. There's not too much to see on the road, as it goes through the forest, but then we climbed up over a bit of a hump, and there was this tiny lake, less than a hundred metres across, with this incredible blue green water.

The water was crystal clear, and you could see all the way down to the bottom, maybe ten metres at the most. It was easy to pick out the odd fish darting among the sunken logs. We followed a built up path around the lake to a small bridge over a waterfall flowing into the lake, from another lake just a few metres farther up, again in the same blue green colour.

Past that, there was a trail that led upward through the canyon. There are steps built up with treated wood, and in several places there are caves in the rock wall. Some ledges in the caves are covered in something black and unpleasant looking - Carla suggested bat guano.

The rock wall is full of small holes and indentations, formed as rainwater disolves the limestone. That makes it a popular place for rock climbers, with plenty of hand and toe holds. In fact much of the sheer rock faces on both sides of the canyon are littered with metal anchors, rings and clips, for climbers to attach ropes to. And there were several climbers out already.

We continued the climb, past the climbers, onto a bit of scree, and then into a more level part of the canyon. There was lots of rockfall to clamber over, and more climbers. And then more of the maintained path, and more stairs. At the top of those was more gravel, and when we reached the top of that, we found ourselves beside the Spray Lakes Road and on the dam at the top. The view was pretty spectacular. And just down the road a little were three mountain goats grazing by the side of the road.

It's a pretty spectacular place to stand, with Canmore spread out below, the lake and Spray Lakes valley behind us, Ha Ling to the right, and Rundle to the left. Ha Ling was lit by the sun just right to make the rock look wet, just barely in the sunlight.

After soaking in the scene we headed back down. The descent was easy, with the stairs and the well worn path. But my knees were still a little sore by the time we got back to the lakes. By then there were more climbers on the rock faces, as well as hikers stopping to watch.

We decided to take the more challenging and shorter path down, back to the trail head. We found ourselves a bit more in the bush, but finding better view of the valley below. At one place where a waterfall cascaded below us, the path split, and it wasn't clear which way to go, so we chose to continue along a more level one instead of climbing down the one beside the waterfall. The path we chose became more and more overgrown, but eventually Peter-Mark lead us back to the old road. Next time we'll have to tackle that path from the other end and follow it up.

After an easy hike down, complete with passing cyclists and trail runners, we were back in the parking lot, and then it was back to downtown Canmore for beer and burgers.

Kate and the Moose

2005-10-16T14:12:00.000-06:00

Kate and I wanted to get out one more time before the cold hits. She really enjoyed Grotto Canyon, and was ready to go again. So we looked over the Gemtrek maps, and considered a suggestion from Nony to try Johnston Canyon. But in the end, Kate voted for Moose Mountain. Given how close it is to the city, and how slow she is to get going in the morning, it was a good choice.

We were at the trailhead about 10:00, still not seeing that clear sky and warm temperatures that Environment Canada had promised. But we had the layers, so it wasn't a concern. Only one other vehicle in the parking lot, too. Off we went.

I forgot to start the GPS timer so had no record of the hike until about 2.7 km in, were we stopped for break, and to enjoy the silence.

The way up to the tree line is a fire road, full of washouts in a couple of places but still passable with a beefy 4x4. As we continued, the wind began to pick up in places, but the trees kept us well out of it.

Another couple of kilometres and we began to get out of the trees. The approach to the first real climb had some snow, but not really enought to cause any problems. At that time of day, mostly it was crusty would support our weight. We could dig toes and heels in if we had to.

We continued to about were the path got really steep, and the switchbacks began (you can see those in the picture above). At that point, Kate was about pooped, so we found a large rock to the left that was big enough to be a bench, and sat and had a snack.

In front of us was the whole western horizon. And if you know where to look, you can pick out Calgary from here. The downtown skyline stands out, though it's nearly lost in the haze.

As the wind picked up and it got a little colder, we started down. This was one spot where the peak was nicely framed by the trees, so one more picture.

The trees stopped the wind nicely, and with the sun finally starting to come out, it warmed up considerable so we could doff a couple of layers. The squirrels were busy chattering and tearing around in the tree tops. This guy seemed to want our attention, and actually followed up a little as we passed. Mostly I think he just wanted to pose.

In the end, we passed 20 people as we headed down, still a pretty good crowd given the time of the year. Nice to get back to the car and head home.

In My Daughter's Company

2005-10-10T09:35:00.000-06:00

My daughter expressed an interest in hiking a while ago, and while I thought about asking her to join me, the vision of snow covered mountains from the city left me thinking that perhaps the hiking season was over for me. Slogging in the snow is hard enough without motivating a novice to follow (as if I am so experienced...)

But Grotto Canyon was so intriguing and is so accessible, that I thought it would be a great place to begin. So after much waiting around while she dragged herself out of bed and through the shower (we talking about a teenager on a holiday weekend, after all) we arrived at the trailhead beside Groto Mountain Pond about 11:00.

While it was a beautiful clear and sunny day, it can still be quite chilly in mid-October. The temperature at the start was about 3C, and we had several layers. This is at the bottom of the creek bed at the start of the canyon, mugging for the camera with Mt. McGillivray in the background, I think. Pidgeon Mountain would be the peak just off camera to the right.

The chill persisted into the canyon, of course, with it being mostly still in shadow. A stiff breeze followed us up the canyon for several metres, but eventually died out as we moved further on.

I love how the canyon narrows, and I felt last time I was here that two people holding hands could touch both sides in some places. We tested that at one point, but came up short, only by a half metre or so.

As the day wore on, the sun began to reach into the canyon, giving it a wonderful glow. There's something magical about the way the light comes into the canyon, either directly or reflected off the light grey limestone walls.

There seemed to be more water flowing through the lower part of the canyon this time, and looking back into the sun, there was the double glare of the sun and it's reflection from pools. I could shade for one but not the other in using the camera.

At the place where the T intersection is, we went right and climbed up to the waterfall. There was a lot of seepage from cracks in the rock, which made the sloping rock face slippery in places, and we couldn't get all they way up to where I took the waterfall pictures on my last visit. But we sat just a few metres down from there for a snack.

My camera batteries weren't charged as much as they needed to be for pictures in the shadows. I would take a shot, and if the flash went off, the camera would shut down because of lack of power. So I didn't get too many pictures from this point on.

After the snack, we climbed back down to the junction, and continued west along the creek bed. Again the wind was brisk at our backs, being funneled up the canyon, but eventually it died, and we were lsft with that incredible stillness I wrote about the last time. Kate took the time to pick through the rubble for interesting looking stones, while I just stopped to enjoy the stillness.

We continued on as far as the hoodoos, and stopped to check them out. The cave was an irresistible lure, and we tried climbing up to it.

It was pretty hard climbing, since it was a steep gravel slope. Not too much stability, and it broke loose quite easily, making it not too fun for the second person in line (that was me). Where we climbed was to the left of the cave, and then there was a series of ledges that traversed to the cave.

This felt quite treacherous. The ledges were mostly nothing more that foot-sized depressions in the gravel, and the slope below was very steep. It was awesome to look into the cave itself. It seemed to be about ten metres deep, and maybe three metres high. Dark and mysterious. But I didn't stay long, as it seemed every surface I touched crumbled, so I wasn't confident that the whole mess wouldn't collapse on top of me.

Once down, we decided to call it a day and head for Canmore for some lunch. By this time it was warming up nicely. My daughter stopped to shed a jacket and adjust her load of stones. I took this looking back up the canyon.

After a fabulous lunch in Canmore, we headed home. The novice hiker crashed completely on the ride home. Next step is to get her equiped with hiking boots and clothing, and keep dragging her out to this wonderful wilderness.

Raspberry Ridge

2005-09-17T18:04:00.000-06:00

OK, I wasn't expecting too much anyway from this hike, since we had a lot of precipitation over the past week, and there was a lot of snowfall in the higher elevations, but a few incidents put this one as the worst hike so far. I'm not saying I didn't enjoy it. Actually, it was a lot of fun for what it was. But it had a few moments that left me just a little off balance.

Raspberry Ridge is beside highway 940, the Forest Trunk Road, west of Longview. It's a fairly strenuous hike, with either a nasty steep scramble or a longer but still steep path to the top, where there is a working fire lookout. The way I drove down there is past Millarville, and through Turner Valley and Black Diamond. Right after turning off highway 22X, I began to run into patches of ground fog, looking so cool that I had to stop and take a few shots. This is probably the best one:

The first "moment" is one Nony will pick up on right away. Seeing as how I am doing these hikes almost every weekend, and usually solo, I felt it prudent to let someone know where I'm going. So I emailed Nony the night before, saying I was planning a hike on Mt. Lipsett. I had the name, and read the trail description, but for some reason, focused on the wrong part of the map. Sorry, Nony, but hey, I only missed it by about thirty kilometres.

So I parked at the trail head, hopped out of the car, and had a quick chat with four gentlemen getting ready to bike into the back country for a camping/hunting trip. Then it was off down the road.

Road? Umm... Oh, heck! ABout 200 metres down the road, I realized I had forgotten my GPS and sunglasses, so back to the car (Moment #2).

OK, what is this road? And that gate back there? Where is the cairn and the stump marking the trailhead to Mt. Lipsett? This is where I dig out the map and have another look, and this is where I realize I'm not where I thought I was. Well, OK, what the heck, a hike is a hike.

But the trail description for Raspberry Ridge says take the trail to the right. What trail? That one up there? (Moment #3) I climb up an embankment to find another road that's a little more enclosed by the forest.

Well, OK, less mud, more snow, but no big deal. (Remember this point, cuz it'll feature in the worst of the moments)

Actually, after ducking under the tree and following the road, the snow began to thin a bit and the mud was more and more submerged under water. Back to the map and the trail description. Take the trail to the right at the sign, it says. Sign? That one back there? That's behind a tree and is only visible after you've walked past it and look back? *sigh* (Moment #4)

Now we're making progress. The path is partly under snow, but it's pretty thin. Meltwater is running down the exposed parts of the path, but it's not deep, rarely more than half a centimetre. The sun is shining, not a breath of wind, life is good.

After a few minutes, I reach a clearing that gives me a clear veiw of the lookout and the ridge. The fire lookout is on the right-most peak.

I took this picture and a few others, then put the camera back in my pocket, remembering that I had forgot to put my car key in a zippered pocket on my jacket. I think... Nope, not there, not in the pocket with my camera. In my backpack? Not in the side pocket, not in the main part. Not in the other pocket. (Moment #5)

To my credit, I didn't really panic. I did, however, swear a lot, and in retrospect, that's probably a lot more effective in alerting grizzly bears of your presence than those bear bells. That's my story, anyway...

Back down the path. Swearing, grumbling, and after a little, beginning to worry. Looking for a red canvas ribbon with a key attached, and thank goodness it was that easy to spot. Three quarters of a kilometre down, laying in a footprint of my own making, there it is. *whew* That tree laying across the road awhile back? Where I whipped out the camera to take that picture? Well, I must have snagged my key at the same time. Lesson learned: put a spare car key in the damn backpack.

After that, it was downright enjoyable. The snow eventually got a little deeper and crustier, but never so much that it was really hard to slog through. Eventually it went down into a ravine with a brook running down the bottom, which I crossed without getting my feet too wet. And then there's a fork in the road.

Right is straight and wide, but the snow looks pretty deep and there's no hint of a path. Left is a trough in the snow showing the underlying path going up and off to the south. So that way it was.

Now there's lots of tracks in the snow. Lots of deer and squirrel tracks going every which way. Something that looks like rabbit tracks, but with a short wide foot. Neat! And then there are these tracks beside the path.

Great big dinnerplate size tracks, the kind that really big, grouchy, bell-disdaining grizzly bears might leave. Umm....

OK, they're old tracks, having melted around the edges and widened from the sun. And they seem to be going the other way. So that's OK, right?

Seriously these were really old tracks, so I wasn't too worried. But still, finding something moving in the trees right beside you when you're least expecting it is a bit of an adrenalin rush. These two seemed to think it was spring.

Ptarmigans, I think. The male was doing his dance, strutting around and shaking his tail, but it seems like the wrong time of the year to be thinking of starting a family. And maybe he knew it, cuz it was pretty half hearted. Could be he was a little inhibited with me standing there, too.

The farther I went, the more open the forest became, until I was pretty much in the open, The path followed a ridge, and those monster footprints got smaller and smaller, and more and more hoof shaped. Still really big, so maybe a bull elk? I think a bull, because it was a solitary animal.

And then the path seemed to split again, crossing a ravine to the left, or heading straight up a small ridge to the right.

The snow at this point was getting just too crusty and deep and hard to slog through. I found a bare patch of ground to sit on beside a small tree, and had a snack and a rest, and enjoyed the view. To the east was Mt. Burke, which is another hike on my list.

And just south of that is Plateau Mountain, also on my list.

Then back down. By then, the day was warming up, and the snow that was crusty was now becoming softer. So while it was easier going down, my feet were getting awfully wet.

At a couple of places along the path, my footprints from going up were already being used by the wildlife.

I never did see anything but birds, but it was kinda neat to know there were other animals around.

So. Not a great hike, in that I didn't get to the objective. Heck, I didn't even get to the right mountain. But still an adventure, and still fun. This one is back on my list for when there's less snow up there.

Mt. Indefatigable

2005-09-03T17:22:00.000-06:00

I've been thinking about this one for awhile, and when Nony recommended it, well, that decided it. I was out there just after 8:00 in the morning, and after getting a little lost for a few minutes (ended up at the boat launch on the Upper Kananaskis Lake), I'm in the parking lot.

As I started across the dam to the trailhead, there's a conservation officer holding an antenna thing in the air. I asked what he was tracking, and was told there was a juvenile grizzly wandering along the east shore of the upper lake. So, OK, um... is this a good idea to be wandering the woods with grizzlies wandering the same area? Actually, he was quite reassuring, in that they spend a lot of time tracking and "training" the bears to avoid areas where humans concentrate. And while there are three or four grizzlies that den on Indefatigable for the winter, the berry crop is so good this year that they are staying in the low elevations for now. *whew*

Anyway, the time in the forest is pretty short, and then I'm scrambling up a fairly steep stretch, over rock slab and loose gravel. After that, there's a lookout, with a bench, and a nearly sheer drop to the Lower Kananaskis Lake behind it. This is the view of the upper lake and Mt. Sarrail.

Here is the parking lot between the upper and lower lakes.

I don't have a name for the valley in the background, but the ridge on the left is the Elk Range. The Alberta - B.C. border cuts across the valley a couple of kilometres south of the lakes, and follows the top of this ridge.

As you go along the edge of the cliff from this point to the official end of the trail, the view just keeps improving. About twenty metres from the end of trail sign, is a path leading away from the ridge edge into the forest. This leads to a cirque below the peak of Indefatigable. That's it on the right of the first picture, and the left of the second.

Off the right edge of the last picture is a ridge with a path that I followed to the top. Over this ridge, it drops all the way to the lower lake again, about 700 metres. This is a look at the saddle between it and Indefatigable from that ridge.

And another shot once I was totally lined up with the ridge.

And I played with the timer thingy on my camera again. This is the top of the ridge, with my hand on the top of the highest point of it. The lower lake is about two metres farther to the left of this picture, and 700+ metres down, which is why I'm not standing. The edge was just a little too close.

The view from this point is breathtaking. To the west is the Opal Range on the opposite side of the valley. You can see highway 40 following it into a gap between it and the Elk range. Straight north is the Smith-Dorrien/Spray Trail, which leads to Canmore.

In the bottom of the saddle between the ridge and the peak of Indefatigable, there is a curious line. One side is mostly a rusty orange gravel, while the other is the light grey stuff. It's about as sharp as if it had been masked and painted.

The line seems to follow the absolute lowest line of the saddle. Very strange.

The far side of the ridge drops steeply into a deep bowl with two small lakes at the bottom.

And this is the look back toward the south.

As I continued toward the peak, I met another gentleman stopped for a snack. He and I talked for awhile, then continued on. He was game to try and go to the top, and there was a path of sorts that zig-zagged toward it over the rock. It looked dicey to me, but I was game for awhile. We finally got to a small overhang that I couldn't get past, so I said good luck and headed back down. The overhang looks like a cave in the picture. If I curled up in the fetal position, I would probably just fit inside. It was because it was so small that I couldn't get past it. If I could have stood up, I think I would have been able to continue.

According to the GPS data I later downloaded that point is only twenty metres below the top of the peak, so I was close.

Just before I went down, I took this picture of the ridge to the south that this guy was following.

Standing below this looking up at it, you don't see how narrow it is, like a knife-edge that goes for a couple of kilometres. I watched him as I decended into the cirque, and finally lost sight of him as I entered the trees again.

Looking the other way from the top, is another ridge looking over the valley with the two lakes. The ridge leads to another mountain in the series, Mt. Invincible. It's rather impressively narrow, too.

The smaller peak over the ridge is Mt. Nomad. I don't have any info on the ridge behind that.

The trip down was uneventful, as it always seems to be. All the interesting stuff has already been discovered on the way up, and after four or so hours, I'm tired and hungry, and looking forward to getting to the car. Lot's of people were coming up, though. I supposed it was one last outing before the school year starts.

Moose Mountain

2005-08-21T21:24:00.000-06:00

Thanks for suggesting this one, Nony.

This was not exactly last minute, as I had planned to hike Moose Mountain yesterday. But a gathering with friends in Priddis Friday night turned into a sleep over, as the wine bottles piled up (well, only three), so I delayed a day. And as it turned out, that was a good thing, as I'll mention later. Even so, I didn't get up and going as early as I would have liked, but that wasn't all that bad a thing, either. But I was at the trailhead at 8:00.

The path is an old road, either logging or for well access. The area is riddled with gas wells, being on top of a huge gas reserve. It's an hour or so stroll through forest, with lots of chattering squirrels and the odd small meadow full of wildflowers. And then you get a glimpse of the target through the trees.

The peak on the right is actually a little in the foreground, and it's the first climb. On the left is the actual summit, with the fire lookout.

Getting close to the treeline, there is a large open meadow, that goes from the top of the ridge downslope for maybe three hundred metres. It's the first really open area that you come upon.

And you get a good view of the first peak with the switchback path going up.

There is actually a path that goes straight up the middle, which is the one I took. It's a little steeper but much quicker.

Once out of the trees, the view improves quickly. This is looking back at the first meadow.

In the background are a couple of unidentified lakes. Left is a straight line of lighter green in the darker green. That's the Bragg Creek Road, and the patch of lighter green that it ends at farthest out is Bragg Creek itself. On the right, you can see parts of highway 68, the Elbow Falls Trail, which is how I got out here. And past Bragg Creek, not quite on the horizon, are the towers of downtown Calgary, which are totally invisible in this picture.

Once the first peak is crested, the goal comes into view

The ridge is on the east side of the peak, and the north east face is pretty formidible, being nothing but wicked looking cliffs. The path itself becomes fairly steep, but not overly so, certainly not like what I was on at Ptarmigan Cirque a few weeks ago.

Walking that ridge is hard, not for the climb or the terrain, but for the views on either side that pull your attention away from the loose rock. To the south is a ridge across a canyon that looks very accessible.

And it turns out that it is.

Climbing the last steep part up and left as it curls around the peak, I looked back and saw someone just smokin' up the path. And she caught up to me just as I got to the helicopter pad at the lookout. She was the only one up there aside from a couple of guys that were ahead of me from the parking lot, and who were just about to start down when we got there. So we chatted and signed the guest book that's kept in a tin mailbox by the lookout.

Being early on these excursions has its benefits. As I was finishing my entry in the the guest book, the gentleman manning the lookout stepped out and said good morning. We chatted for a bit, and I said that I was extremely impressed with his back yard. And then he invited us to come up and have a look around. The girl who caught up to me at the helicopter pad was Michelle, and Joe was our host, along with his wife Dale. (and I hope I got those names right, cuz I'm awful, simply awful, at remembering names).

He said we had picked the right day to come up. He said they get two or three days a year when the sky is cloudless and the air is so clear you can see all the way to Saskatchewan, and today just happened to be one of those days. We stood on his wraparound deck while he pointed out the sights, and introduced us to the neighbours. Here's a picture of the neighbour kids being rambunctious.

They tend to be rather bold, so Dale has a spray bottle handy when they attempt to sneak in the door of their home, which they did several times while we were there. It's very rare the bottle is used, and all it took to shoo them away was a clap of the hands. But they kept coming back.

This is Joe pointing out the sights to the east to Michelle

Check out that ridge to the south behind them. And this is what he was pointing at.

Quite a view. Then he brought us inside to show us how he does his job, including showing us the sighting circle, and all the maps that he uses to pinpoint the location of a fire.

And most exciting, was an actual fire. While he was telling us which peaks were which, he spotted a fire to the east, what he called a smoke. This is the initial puff of smoke that comes when a fire starts. While Dale watched for more puffs of smoke with the binoculars, Joe took a sighting with the circle, and then hauled out all these maps and grids to locate it. It turned out to be on the edge of a new subdivision of Bragg Creek, outside of Alberta Forestry's jurisdiction, but he still has to report all such sightings, which he did by radio. It was very cool, not only to be shown all the stuff he used to do his job, but to also see him in action.

Later we stood on the deck and visited with the neighbours. Dale said they usually keep some unsalted peanuts for share with them, but Michelle had some cashews, so those were quite a treat.

We finally said goodbye, Michelle had to head back to the city right away, while I was ready to look around some more. Dale volunteered to take our pictures with our respective cameras, and posed us on the helicopter pad with Mt. Assiniboine in the backround.

Then I wandered down a path going to the north along a ridge to a lower peak. It was probably a kilometre and a half or so away. I didn't go too far along, just checking the path out. But I found a small memorial perched on the edge of a shear cliff, so I climbed down to check it out. It was in memory of a gentleman who used to live in Bragg Creek and was a frequent visitor to the area, and who died overseas.

A moving tribute and and impressive place.

I climbed back up to the lookout, intending to start down, and was met by Dale again who suggested that if I was looking for more hiking, that I should check out the ridge to the south. The southwest face of Moose Mountain turns out to be not terribly steep, which makes the ridge across the valley quite accessible. She also told me of a blast hole in the side of the mountain, likely due to lightning, that was an interesting feature to check out. I did spend some time walking down this slope a couple of hundred metres, and it was quite easy to climb down and back up, so I will for sure have to check it out sometime.

Then I headed back down to go home. It was a great hike down, and while the chill from the wind on the peak had me in my fleece, it got warm very quickly as I lost altitude. Traffic was also starting to pick up too, and I counted almost ninety people heading up while I was heading down. Joe said it was a very busy place on Sundays with this kind of weather.

They are special people and really blessed to be able to live in such a place. And because of what Dale shared about getting around to the neighbouring ridges, I will definitely be going back again. What an amazing morning!

Grotto Canyon

2005-08-07T00:08:00.000-06:00

This is getting to be a habit, but I'm loving it. I was looking for another nice hike that would be fairly popular, so there would be people around. Nony suggested several, and one that stood out was Grotto Canyon. What a spectacular place!

I got there about 7:00, parking in in the lot by Grotto Mountain Pond, a lovely picnic area beside Highway 1A. Despite the forcast calling for a hot day, it was a tad chilly at the start. The path at the start is a cut line that follows the power line to the Baymag plant, an ore processing plant. I think the sign said it processed magnesium oxide. Noisy place, as what sounded like a truck load of rock was being dumped every few minutes.

But that was left behind fairly quickly at a dry creek bed that led into the trees and a gap in the rock. Not far in, it had narrowed quite a bit, and had picked up some running water, that trickled in and out of the rocks and gravel on the canyon floor.

What was really neat about the water, was how the sound of it changed. Every couple of steps it seemed like the sound was coming from a different direction, and the quality changed dramatically, too, from gurgling to babbling to sloshing to... and like that. I found myself taking a few steps, stopping to listen, taking a few steps, listening. Amazing.

The canyon suddenly stops at a rock wall, with water oozing from cracks in the rock and down the face.

If you look up, there are a few anchors left by rock climbers with various climbing things hanging from them. To the right is a short, and fairly steep path up to a waterfall, which is the source of the water that makes all those wonderful noises farther down the path. The path is on bare rock, worn smooth by who knows how many hikers climbing up there, and it's a little slippery.

The cave beside the waterfall is not quite big enough to stand in, and it only goes a few feet into the rock face, but it's dark in there, and hard to tell how deep it is, really.

There were a few ravens hanging around at this point, I took a couple of pictures but they didn't turn out well, as they were moving and the light levels were quite low at that time of the day. But here's an artsy shot of one flying across the canyon.

He's the small dark smudge in the centre of the, uh, big smudge.

But the quiet! Even these big birds made hardly any noise. There was a stillness in the place that was magical. I can see why the First Nations peoples considered this a spiritual place. Venturing past the wall with the climbing equipment, and continuing up the creek bed a couple of hundred metres, there is a sharp bend, and while the sound of the waterfall never quite disappears, the stillness is almost a physical thing. But it's not an eerie or spooky thing. I found it ... "comforting" is the only word that comes to mind. Neat!

And then a few more steps, the canyon widens out, and the effect is gone.

There are paths all through the trees along side the creek bed, but I mostly ended up going up the middle of the creek. The problem with the paths are the multitude of spider webs strung between every pair of trees. Bleah! So I clambered over the rocks and through the gravel.

The canyon stayed in shadow for quite awhile since I was there so early, but eventually the sun started to peek over the shoulder of the ridge on the right. I thought this tree looked kind of neat, backlit by the sun while the rest of the mountain side was still in shadow.

There are a couple of massive hoodoos, maybe a kilometre past the waterfall, one with huge cave in the side. These things reach several hundred feet up,

Check out the rock hanging from the side of the one ridge. It's probably the size of a small house.

After this, it was mainly scrambling up the creek bed over rock and gravel. At one point, where it turned rather sharply to the right, it narrowed a little, and the creek bed had this channel that criss-crossed back and forth between the rock faces. I imagine that's where the strongest current flowed when there was water coming down.

Eventually the canyon spread out again, and the bush started to close in a little. At the three hours mark, I decided to turn around and head back. Elevation 1784 m (5847 ft) The walk down went fairly quickly, and occasionally I would be accompanied by a chipmunk scurrying across the rocks. I played with the timer on my camera, so I could get into a couple of shots. This one was near the hoodoos.

I was back at the rock face with the climbing equipment at about 4 3/4 hours, and that was when I finally met other hikers. After that it got busy. Several people were coming up the canyon, and at one point there were rock climbers tackling a rock face that was about 30 metres high.

Back past the Baymag plant, and to a now full parking lot by the picnic area. The time was 5 hours and 25 minutes since I had started out. Then it was just a short drive down 1A to Canmore for a burger and a beer, and then home.

Ptarmigan Cirque

2005-07-31T20:21:00.000-06:00

Still holding off on running, just to make sure I get a complete recovery from the marathon. But I'm doing some hiking. Today I drove out to the Highwood Pass, which is claimed to be the highest paved road in North America, or at least Canada. Anyway, it's pretty high up, at 2206 metres above sea level.

The parking lot at the top is the trail head to a hike up to Ptarmigan Cirque, a nice, easy hike. Short, quick, and spectacular.

It's a bit of a climb through forest until you get past the trees, but it's a short climb, and the path is well worn.

Once I broke out of the trees, I got a spectacular view of the valley to the south.

And you can see the whole cirque from there, almost. Here's a look forward to the path up the back to the bowl behind, which is where I was heading.

What you don't see in almost all of these pictures is the amazing proliferation of wild flowers. Anywere you see green, you also see every other color. This is what one square foot of the valley floor looks like up close.

With minor variations in colour, every other square foot of the valley that supports plant life looks pretty much the same.

Once up to the end of the cirque and to a ridge of debris from falling rock, you can see around the shoulder of the ridge to the north. On the left is a monstrous pit, with a massive snowbank at the bottom, which is what feeds the ice cold stream that flows through the cirque.

At about 2600 metres, I could hear the wind tearing at the ridge above me. It was a ripping sound, kind of exploding every once in awhile. The power that must have been in those gusts is astounding.

This shows about where I stopped for a snack before starting down. Off the upper left corner of the picture is Mount Rae, at 10,358 feet.

And this is looking down from that perch.

At a guess, I'd say those snowbanks are about a kilometre away. The two people were about a hundred metres downslope. And I'm looking down at at least a 45 degree angle. It's pretty steep. The GPS said I was at 2800 metres, or 9200 feet above sea level.

The wind was pretty stiff, but not too bad. What was surprising was how dusty the path was (and there is a path, though it was pretty hard to find at times). With all the greasy sunscreen I had on my legs, I was pretty well coated.

Because I was around a corner and in this huge bowl, the view was kind of cut off, but here's what I could see of the valley to the south.

The climb took two hours from the parking lot, which I thought was pretty impressive. I was back in the cirque and at the tree line in about an hour. This is the view back to where I was. I would guess the people in the picture were well over a kilometre away.

Another twenty minutes I was in the parking lot. And I was home and in the shower (turning all that dust into mud) by about 1:30.

Pretty spectacular morning.

Top o' the world

2004-11-08T16:49:00.000-07:00

Off work this week.

No run today, but I did take a hike. I drove to a place south of Longview, that I've visited a couple of times this year. Where I parked was 2021 metres above sea level. The hike was 5.29 km, and lasted 2 hours 38 minutes (2:38:08.06). At the highest, my GPS said 2167 metres. If I did the math right, that's just over 490 feet vertical.

I took about 60 pictures, of nothing but terrain, of course. Here's one:

What an awesome place. Most of it is bare ground, rock or grasses, lots of lichens. You can stand on the ridge and look east down the valley for easily a hundred miles.

The only troublesome part was the wind. It was easily gusting over 80 kmh. A couple of times I got down on all fours, just to keep from getting blown over. But it lessened considerably after about a kilometre. It was really strange, as there were pockets of complete calm, and ten steps farther, I was in gale force winds again. Or the wind would just stop for a minute, then pick up to high intensity again. Sometimes I could hear the gust coming through the trees downslope.

I had bought hiking shoes on Saturday just for today, and they were perfect. Just a tiny blister on my right heel toward the end of the hike. Even my knees were behaving well, not hurting at all, though they did let me know they exist.

All that, and home by 2:30 in the afternoon. What a morning!