Banff National Park, AB (Part 1 of 3)
A dog angel and a beautiful lake
Before leaving Vancouver — Goodbye showers! Goodbye elevator! Goodbye breakfast buffet! — we stopped by Granville Island for groceries — Goodbye fruits and veggies! Goodbye chicken sausages! Goodbye nanaimo bars!
We drove 4.5 hours to Kamloops, still in British Columbia, and the only sights on the drive were a weird mixture of tall peaks and construction sites. Paul Lake Provincial Park had a nice lake but also a steep incline on our site, no showers or flushing toilets. Campers were warned that water had to be boiled or treated with “1 teaspoon of bleach per liter of water and used only after 20 minutes.” Ye merciful gods, we were staying here for only two nights.
***
We spent some time at Pioneer Park in downtown Kamloops, randomly chosen because it was by the river and we are suckers for water views. Many dogs and their owners were playing by the beach.
We were admiring one dog in particular — a mutt with a salt-n-pepper coat that seemed especially enthusiastic. His owner would take some time to throw the ball and, while waiting, the dog would pick up the ball and drop it by his owner’s feet again and again, as if to say, “Hey, I brought you the ball! Throw it for me!” The dog was insatiable. It didn’t matter how many times the ball was thrown, he would run after it — often catch it mid-air — and bring it back, whether from the field or from the river.
After a while, the owner got distracted by a phone call and, somehow, the dog sensed that I was an easy mark. He brought it to my feet and looked expectantly. So I threw it for him once. And twice. And again. Again. He only gave up when N. and I got up to leave and he knew he shouldn’t follow us. I chose to believe that our own beloved little dog who passed away last year sent this dog angel to cheer us up today.
Back in Paul Lake, N. enjoyed watching a group of teens set up a game called “Funsparks”. The funniest bit was listening to them make up rules and special rules and exceptions to the rules — they sounded like carefree little kids, as if the rules of the game were the most important thing in their lives. When they got bored playing the game, they went for a swim in the lake. The crows took that as their cue to steal some snacks from the teens’ stash.
Next morning, before hitting the road, we stopped by the lake — that was where the flushing bathrooms were. It just so happened that there was also an outdoor shower, designed for a quick wash for those who swam in the lake. At this early hour in the morning, though, N. spotted a guy in his birthday suit, taking a full, legit, get-soapy-and-shampoo-your-hair kind of shower. When he saw our van approach, he cut his shower short, snuck behind a wall and got dressed. He then proceeded, very gentlemanly, to hold a large towel for his partner, making sure to cover the view from our direction — we were the only other ones there — so that she too could take a turn. They quickly finished, got into their car and took off. We had no plans to emulate them.
Good thing, too, because just a few minutes later, a bus-full of elementary school kids arrived for what seemed like an end-of-the-school-year field trip picnic. They and their teachers and parent chaperones gathered in the picnic tables close to that shower head and just like that, what had been a nudist lake magically transformed into a playground.
***
The first half of the drive to Banff was an easy and mostly scenic portion of the Trans-Canada Highway (CAN 1) along the South Thompson River. Once we began to ascend into the mountains, the scenery became both more beautiful and more complicated: we could see both the power of nature in the heights of the peaks and the power of human control in the extensive heavy machinery and pipelines being built along the way.
We stopped by the Spiral Tunnels, considered a national historic site where the long trains could go into a couple of tunnels and emerge in higher elevations to make possible the crossing of the highest point in the Rocky Mountains in Canada — the Kicking Horse Pass. From the viewpoint, we could see a couple of tunnel entrances, but N. felt his usual impatience with such things; he wanted to drive and find more mountains to photograph.
It was sheer luck and good timing that, as we were leaving, we heard train whistles and the murmuring of other people who had stopped at the viewpoint. So there it was, a long and loaded train, weaving its way up the mountain, into the tunnels and out.
Driving through this section took us through some heavy damage in the highway — likely from a hard winter — with resulting frantic efforts to repair.
Further on, I had expected a large marker to let drivers know we were crossing the Continental Divide which, among other things, determined whether rivers would flow west into the Pacific, east into the Hudson, or south into the Gulf of Mexico. I was disappointed to see that in that significant spot, the only existing marker announced the boundary between the provinces of British Columbia and Alberta. Pffff.
On the way to our campground, we made our first attempt to see Lake Louise. It was around 5 pm and although we found a parking spot easily enough, we wouldn’t have enough time to explore the hiking trails around the lake. Without even clapping our eyes on the famous lake, we got back into our van and drove to Banff and to our campground at Tunnel Mountain.
***
From our campground, it was a 50-minute drive to Lake Louise, but we didn’t mind since the views from the Trans Canada Highway were breathtaking; it seemed unfair for this one corner of the earth to have such magnificent riches.
From the tiny village of Lake Louise, it was a 4 km drive uphill — the metric system was starting to sink in — to the parking lot of the lake. Today, it was a caravan, a moving spontaneous caravan, but a caravan nonetheless. By the time we reached the parking lot itself, we were directed by parking attendants this way and that, until we found ourselves driving 4 km downhill back to the village and back to the highway. Not a single parking spot was available.
Because of the popularity of Lake Louise, Parks Canada had instituted a system of ticketed shuttle buses, to attempt to spread out the crush of visitors. It was now early June; it was scary to imagine what the place would look like at the height of summer. My mission, should I choose to accept it: procure these coveted tickets.
Since it was close by, Plan B was to drive some of the Icefields Parkway. Alberta’s Route 93 ran in the north-south direction through a number of lakes, creeks, mountains, peaks, waterfalls, glaciers and icefields. We were just a few stops into our drive when we realized that we would have to drive this road north in the next portion of our travels, so after admiring Herbert Lake, Hector Lake, Crowfoot Glacier and Bow Lake, we turned around. So what next?
Although I thought it was too soon, N. insisted that we drive to Lake Louise on our way back to our campground, and attempt yet again to find a parking spot. His rationale: it was only 2 pm, so if we found a spot, we could go on a short hike; it was on our way back to Banff, and all we would lose were 10 minutes and a few metric liters of gas. To our surprise, the parking attendants waved us this way and that into a parking spot. Third time a charm.
The lake was gorgeously beautiful and deservedly famous; it was impossible not to wonder if the scene were not some sort of virtual reality in which the colors were digitally enhanced. The lakeshore invited contemplation and reflection and delight.
The crowd by the lake shore made such contemplation and reflection challenging. The multitudes were pointing, climbing on rocks, posing. There was something almost manic in the air, as if the people were zombies who had been infected by some disease that made its hosts take selfies. We were, of course, equally afflicted.
So the photos below: it was possible to frame a shot to pretend we were the only ones by the lake. Zooming out just a bit showed how the lakeshore truly looked.
One way to escape the zombies was to hike to the Fairview Lookout (loop, 1.4 miles). The trail was merciless in its uphill incline and we envied the hikers coming down. For the first time in a long time, N. was struggling: I heard him huffing and puffing and he asked several times that we go more slowly.
The vantage point of the lookout was the back of the lake, at a higher elevation, so we could see more vividly the milky green color in contrast to the trees; the crowds by the lake shore disappeared and even the imposing hotel was reduced to the equivalent of a Lego toy version. However, even here, we could not linger, for a steady stream of people were making their way up and waiting impatiently for the picture takers to be done so they could pose on the small platform for their own photos.
Instead of doing down the same way we came up, I knew from my trail app that there was another way to complete a loop. As soon as we did, people simply disappeared: we saw a couple of other guys who ventured with us for a few yards and took some pictures, but they must have turned around — or fallen down the cliff — because we didn’t see them again.
The trail was a mess in this section, with slippery rocks that gave way under our shoes, downed trees that blocked our way, and overgrown bushes that snagged on our clothes and scratched our arms. It wasn’t until we were more than halfway down, with me complaining about the condition of the trail, that N. piped up,
“Didn’t you see the signs?”
“What signs?”
“There were 3 signs by the lookout: one was a stop sign; another mentioned, “Unmaintained Trail”; another said, “Avalanche Danger.”
“What?!? Why didn’t you tell me?”
“I thought you saw them, but simply ignored the warnings!”
“I would never do that!”
Obviously, we survived the trail.
We ended the day close to our campground, at the Hoodoos Viewpoint, under the shadow of Tunnel Mountain.
***
N. had to catch up on some work; I was behind in my writing. So we decided to park our van at the Tunnel Mountain Viewpoint, open the back doors, set up the hammock, and treat the gorgeous views as a backdrop to our office. Because there was a hike-or-bike trail through the viewpoint, we got quite a lot of visitors:
a whole bike gang stopped by to admire the views and take a break.
a family with two boys were all geared up for a bike ride; while the boys stopped to rest, the mom took her bike down the steep rocky slope, and her sons were yelling at her to be careful.
a German couple with another van like ours parked next to us and enjoyed their lunch; I made what I thought was the general friendly sign of acknowledgment — the one where you purse your lips into a smile and nod in a friendly way — but I got nothing in return.
an Open Top Touring bus stopped by the viewpoint. As the name implies, it was a blue-and-white bus with the top cut off; the driver also worked as the tour guide. Upon stopping, everyone got up, the guide pointed at Tunnel Mountain and, I’m guessing, listed the same facts listed in the informational placard at the viewpoint. None of the passenger-tourists stepped foot outside the bus. I will try to remember that such travel options exist — when I’m 80.
I tried but could not understand young women who came on trips to places like this dressed as if they were extras on a filming of The Matrix — in black from head to toe.
a friendly Canadian guy from Calgary stopped by to ask about our hammock; he even took a picture of the brand name and said he would seriously consider getting one for his camper. In return, he gave us some tips on how to drive south — through Kananaskis — and, when I said we would cross into the US south of Banff, he mentioned there were no border crossings available there and suggested we drive west or east. (Later, I didn’t have to search too hard to realize that was some Canuck nonsense, since there is a crossing in Roosville, Montana).
quite a few more shy groups of people commented on our set up (we would hear, “blah… blah… blah… hammock… blah”), but mostly among themselves: they would point and smile and did not venture to strike a conversation.
a car unloaded 3 generations of a family; the grandmother was curious enough about our car to stick her head around the corner and when I smiled and waved, she scurried away without saying a word.
a couple got out and the guy started hiking ahead of his partner; she stopped him to ask, “Did you lock the car?” He perfunctorily took his keys out of the pocket and made the car make that beeping noise. My kindred spirit.
another couple stopped by with their 2 French bulldogs; they were back in the car after two minutes. Maybe the French bulldogs did not like the view.
Overall, an excellent day of people-watching.
***