1 – A Trans-Atlantic Tale

Well, here we are in Scotland. Well,36000 feet over the Northern Isles to be precise. Just 8 more hours and we’ll be in Vancouver. We had a reasonably uneventful trip, aiming to leave home at 6.00am, and leaving at 6.30, and again at 6.45am after Chantal realised that she had forgotten some vital camera accessory. Traffic was unexpectedly light and Tom Tom successfully delivered us to the barrier at the Manchester Airport car park barrier by 8.45am, where a disembodied voice confirmed that we had a pre-booking for 5^th to 20^th September. This was a little unfortunate since we will need them to look after my car until we land on 21^st. Sadly I had made the booking without taking account of the time difference when noting that we will be starting our journey on the 20^th. We decided to sort it out at reception, parked the car as directed, and presented our booking form, and paid the additional £20 for them to look after my car for a bit longer.

Arrivals/Departures  was close to the car park, and within minutes we had taken our place at the back of an exceedingly long queue to check in our bags, listening to apologies for the wait which was due to a “system break-down” apparently. We chatted happily to those around us until we were able to overtake the front part of the queue, having pre-checked in on line. Chantal had carefully printed the check-in forms at home on her quality new printer, but the first thing that the nice chap at the check-in desk did was to rip up the forms. The “system” doesn’t recognise home-printed version. We had the same problem when we flew to Oz – clearly technology has not moved on.

Next step – Security. I went through without problems, although I had to unpack everything electrical from my hand luggage, remove my belt, and walk through the body-scanner while hanging onto my trousers. Chantal, on the other hand, had to unpack everything, switch on everything electrical (and she carries a lot of electrical stuff), and then be swabbed, along with all electrical hand-luggage items, for traces of explosives, or maybe  drugs. The electrical testing is new, but Chantal always seems to be the one who is “randomly” selected for swabbing. She sometimes terrorises me, but I don’t think that she should be mistaken for a terrorist. Of course having re-packed our bags, we can no longer find anything in them without a serious rummage

As usual the airport procedures ensured that we had plenty of time to spend money in the Duty Free area, where I bought  some medicine to share with Les (Irish malt on this occasion), and now, 3 hours  later, here we are airborne.

I can’t look out of the window – Chantal always insists on the window seat, and then either closes the blind to watch a film, or falls asleep. Or both. The film selection is limited, I’ve read the Lonely Planet guides and planned our mountain hikes (must hide the words “Moderate/Difficult” and “steep” from The Wife) and so I decided on an Oakstump update. I can’t upload it of course, but no doubt I’ll find some Canadian Wi-Fi before the day is out. And now, if you’ll excuse me, I have a G&T to finish, as we approach Iceland. Now wasn’t Iceland on the news recently?  Something about a volcano?

2 – Arrival

At Vancouver airport we had plenty of queuing to do before we were allowed to go and meet Les in arrivals and then to go and collect our hire car. I calculated (as you do when shuffling along in a long line) that the queue for immigration was over 1km long, which took an hour, but at least the Officers were smiley, friendly and apologetic, unlike the ones in U.S during our last transatlantic trip. Consequently we were both tired, and so it was unsurprising that our first full and frank discussion occurred before leaving the airport. I decided to drive, and Chantal decided that Les, used to driving on the right, was going to drive. Les drove. With hindsight this was a wise decision, since we were in the Vancouver rush hour and our TomTom Satnav, pre-loaded with Canadian maps, repeatedly abandoned us at critical junctions, thanks, we think, to tall buildings.

 

 

We drew up outside Monica’s home an hour so later, and she was on the porch to welcome us. There are some people that you instantly bond with, and Monica’s is one of them. She is a friend of Chantal’s brother Alain, and so we had never met, but we soon felt as though we had known her for years as we all chatted over a roast dinner, but by 9pm a combination of wine and a long day took its toll, and we went to bed, almost 24 hours after getting up.

3 – Canada 6th Sept – Fall Fair and mountain top menu

What a wonderful day. The joy of staying with a friend is that you sort of become a local, and this morning we went to the local Fall Fair. What a fantastic atmosphere – it was hot and sunny, and there were around 100 stalls set up in a field surrounded by tall trees, with a backdrop of mountains peaks, and live music from a stage.

The stalls were run by local voluntary organisations, small businesses, and “official organisations” such as wildlife trusts and the local library. We sampled local food, and talked at length with someone who told us about the local wildlife both in Squamish and what we would see in the Rockies. We are not talking rabbits and kestrels – it is coyotes, cougars, grizzlies, black bears and eagles. Most importantly we were told how to react if we had a close encounter with a bear, which, apparently is not an uncommon occurrence.

 

I had a long chat with a local Scout Leader, who was impressed with the idea of “Scraggy Crows” and the support that we give to local Scouting at home. He took my e-mail address – we’ll see if he gets in touch. We joined families on a trailer behind a restored old tractor for a ride through the woods. We really felt part of the community.

 

We lunched on pulled pork buns, roasted root chips (remember “chips” are crisps!) and in my case root beer (a soft drink with an interesting flavour) while listening to two local lasses singing on the stage (more practice needed I think, girls) followed by a much more lively and talented trio, before walking back to Monica’s home.

 

This afternoon I drove us all to the local drug store for me to purchase a camera card for me and then on to the Sea and Sky Gondola, a few miles outside Squamish.  This was my first experience of driving on Canadian roads, and Monica sat next to me to provide guidance, both navigationally and instructionally with regard to the rules of the road, and I think that it went as well as be expected, apart from failing to stop for the statutory four seconds at the first Stop sign, an error which Chantal continues to remind me of. I had more practice than expected, since I had left my camera at Monica’s and so she and I had an extra return trip, having left Les and Chantal to travel up in the Gondola to meet us later at the top.

The Sea to Sky Gondola is a cable car that ascends from the side of the Howe Sound Fjord, which obviously is at sea level, up to a mountain peak almost 2000m above, where there is a restaurant with trails leading off into the surrounding landscape – superb high level mountain views without the effort of steep uphill walking. Neither Chantal nor Les would have enjoyed the 7000 feet ascent on foot.

Monica and I found Chantal and Les in the restaurant balcony, and then I and Chantal went off exploring, crossing a high suspension bridge with views across the Fjord, and naturally taking dozens of photographs. After a short walk along a trail, Chantal returned to Les and Monica, leaving me to continue along the trail, which eventually looped back to the restaurant. As is often the case in such locations, within a short distance of the popular viewing spots close to the suspension bridge, I lost the crowds and had a peaceful stroll with vistas of the surrounding mountains appearing through and above the trees.

We booked a table for dinner at the restaurant, and then we all followed a 1.6km path with views in all directions at different points. The route may not have been very long in distance, but thanks to the multitude of photo-opportunities we didn’t return to the restaurant until 30 minutes after the time that the table had been booked. Fortunately the waitress had kept it free for us and we were shown to a table at the edge of the deck, with just a low glass barrier between us and wonderful views across to mountain vistas and over the Fjord 2000m below.

It was a wonderful experience. We enjoyed our meal to the accompaniment of live music on an adjacent from couple of signers on an adjacent deck, where some customers were sufficiently enthusiastic to dance. We didn’t. It was a balmy evening with a clear sky as the sun set behind the mountains on the far side of the Fjord, the sky evolving through darkening shades of blue until the final strip of daylight above the peaks disappeared and we could no longer see the silhouettes of the mountains. We’re loving this holiday.

 

4 – Canada 7th Sept – Sunset Sunday

We started the day as a day should be started, with a huge breakfast in the local café, before we set off for Vancouver. First stop was the Capilano suspension bridge, a footbridge across a rocky ravine over the Capilano River. Monica had told us that there was no way that she would be crossing the bridge. No way. Never. Les wasn’t too sure about it either, which at least meant they could leave us to explore (there was more than just the bridge) while they “did their own thing” , but after a discussion at the entrance Monica decided that she would join us, but not cross the bridge. after a lot of persuasion, and realising that the high level treetops walk, which Monica wanted to see, was on the far side, she agreed to cross.

This is a popular tourist spot, and the bridge was busy with people crossing both ways, and in consequence it wobbled and bounced. This was not good for Monica, who clung on to the handrail on one side, pulling herself along hand-over-hand and inching her way to the far side. Unfortunately others were doing the same, in both directions on both sides, and meeting in the middle involved some intricate and intimate manoeuvres around each other to ensure that each maximised contact with the handrail. It wasn’t quite as bad as it sounds, and I crossed the bridge without needing the handrail.

On the far side we climbed the high level timber walkway that wound its way between platforms high in the tree canopies, another walkway with views across the valley, and finally back across the bridge and along the Cliff Walk, a walkway hung precariously from the cliff at the side of the gorge.

Afterwards we drove into the city to Granville Island, just a short bridge-crossing from the mainland, a busy waterside area with a large indoor market selling fresh foods, including meats and cheeses, and unusual savoury snacks, as well as craft stalls. As a “cheeseophile” I sought out some Canadian cheeses and found a suitably ripe Quebec specimen.

We went on a boat trip up the river, and by the time that we returned it was time to dine. Monica recommended the English Beach area, back across the bridge onto the mainland, and so I negotiated my way through the Vancouver traffic to find a parking spot in the area. My attempts at driving on Canadian roads are going as well as can be expected. With the assistance of Monica as co-pilot, I get only the occasional squeak from Chantal.

 

We had to drive around a bit to find a parking spot, with Chantal getting impatient – she wanted to photograph the setting sun. Once parked, Chantal was off, running down the hill to catch the sunset over the bay, sweeping tourists aside and impaling young children and small dogs on her tripod racing the sun as it sank slowly in the west. We joined her a few minutes later on the grassy area behind the beach, where families were playing, lads were playing ball games, and young couples were sitting on logs, cuddling up and staring romantically out to sea, and beyond all this activity we watched  the gradual development of the most amazing sunset that we have ever seen.

Eventually the colours faded into darkness, and we went to find a restaurant. At The Boathouse Pub (which looked nothing like a pub) the young girls at reception said that it had been an exceptional sunset, before telling us that no tables were available. We found a vacant outdoor table overlooking the beach, and enjoyed locally caught wild salmon with just enough white wine to make me a bit queasy on the back seat as Chantal drove us home.

 

5 – Canada 8th Sept – The road to Whistler

Today’s plan was to travel up to Whistler, just 45 minutes from Monica’s home, and have a trip up to Whistler Mountain on a cable car. Monica is on strike from her job as a schools speech therapist (not her actual job title, but I think that is essentially what she does) and was on picket line duty between 6 and 9am, but as a Union rep she unexpectedly  had to arrange cover for picket lines elsewhere, and consequently was late home. We had a cup of tea before we set off, but since the sun was hot and the company good, we ended up chatting in Monica’s “back yard”, and didn’t rush.

We set off at midday, and  stopped part way for a short hike up to a waterfall view point, where Chantal took one or two photos. Well, actually quite a lot of photos, and consequently we arrived at Whister, the home of the 2010 winter Olympics, mid-afternoon, which proved to be too late to travel to the top of the mountain and back, especially if we wanted to explore at the top.  We got all the details that we needed for a return trip tomorrow, and had a nice meal in the sunshine enjoying mountain views and watching mountain bikers hurtling down the dirt tracks coming down from Whistler Mountain.

Vistas across to snow-capped mountains were revealed, and a river followed the road into the valley as we descended to Squamish, and so we stopped for more photos. We had a nice relaxed evening of wine and cheese (the Quebec cheese purchased yesterday, which proved milder than expected), nibbles, and chocolate brownies.

 

 

6 – Canada 9th Sept – Up the workers and up the mountain

We started the day on the Union picket line, as you do when on holiday. All three of us, Les, Chantal and I, went to find Monica, who was doing another 6am to 9am shift on the picket line. The dispute is over a pay and conditions deal that the government reneged on. As true Union members, Chantal and I picked up our banners, and stood in Line. Even Les, a true blue right-of-centre Fox News viewer (Fox News makes the Telegraph or Daily Mail seem like pinky left wing propaganda newsletters) stood in line. It wasn’t the most raucous of picket lines, since no-one actually tried to cross it. In Canada if you are in a Union you don’t cross a picket line, and if you are not unionised, you can cross.

At the end of Monica’s shift we went home briefly, and then returned to Whistler, with no stops for photos on the way. We took a gondola cable car most of the way up Whistler Mountain, an ascent lasting half an hour with plenty of photo opportunities for Chantal, and then walked across to a chair lift which took us high up across the rocky slopes, patterned with pockets of ice, and then deposited us at the summit. This was an interesting experience for me. I have been on quite a few gondolas, cable cars and chair lifts, and this time I could enjoy the experience without the bad bit. The skiing.

As you would expect there were fantastic views in all directions from the summit, and Chantal and I followed a short trail that led to a rocky outcrop at the edge of the main accessible area, and then along a separate trail to more cliff edge rocks, and then back to the main summit area. We passed a “Trail Closed” sign from the wrong side – apparently we had trespassed onto forbidden territory.

There was a cold wind on the top, and we were all ready to descend on the chair lift. As we travelled down we passed mountain bikers travelling in the opposite direction, too cool to use the pull-down safety bar on the chair lift. Their bikes travelled separately on another chair lift.

We had seen bikers on the top preparing for the long descent along a designated track to the bottom. The downward trip was against the cold wind, and we were glad to reach the bottom, warming up as we climbed the steep track to the gondola station, where we caught another gondola for the 3 mile trip across to the neighbouring peak of Blackcombe Mountain. We queued to catch the glass bottomed gondola, and watched the trees below our feet as we passed 400 feet over them along the longest unsupported span in the world, over a mile across the valley between the two central pylons.

 

 

The area around the gondola station on Blackcombe Mountain reminded me of Switzerland, with Alpine meadows, well signed trails, and views across mountain peaks. We had a meal on the deck of the mountain top restaurant, which had superb views, but was somewhat cold and breezy, and so we retired indoors for a coffee. Chantal and I had a very short hike along one of the trails, leaving Les and Monica on a bench chatting and enjoying the views. I would have loved to have walked further, but we had to catch the gondola back to Whistler Mountain in time to catch the last gondola down to the village in the valley.

This was our last evening in Squamish, at least until next week, and I was packing when I heard visitors downstairs. Two of Monica’s neighbours had popped in – Katrina and eight month old Sheree, and Kim. Katrina and Sheree left after a cup of tea and a chat, but Kim stayed. And Stayed, And stayed. Now, what can I say about Kim? More than I can put here, but to give you a flavour, she showed us a photo of a hot dog on her phone – except that the long pink object in the bun was definitely not a sausage. She took a fancy to Les, who she described as being fresh-meat in the neighbourhood, and insisted that she would join him in Gloversville. She would not leave, even when we were eating, and poor Monica kept apologising under her breath, until eventually we told Kim that we had hotels to book on line (which we did) and ushered her out of the door. The general opinion was that Kim was not, let us say, quite herself, possibly due to the beer that she brought with her, and maybe smoking tobacco of a dubious nature.

And so we were left to make our plans for the Rockies trip, book our Jasper hotel  on line for next week,  and go to bed.

 

7 – Canada 10th Sept – On the road

Today we drove. And we drove. And we drove. Almost 600 miles from Squamish to Banff, along the Trans-Canadian Highway. We left at 7am and Les, as the one most awake in the morning, drove the first leg, through the Vancouver rush hour and onward, stopping briefly at a gas station for an on-the-hoof doughnut and coffee, until after 135 miles, just beyond Hope, when the call of the “bathroom” tempted us off of the main highway to a small one-street town, where we emptied our bladders and filled the car, had a chat with the young driver of an ancient Mercedes which had, he thought, just blown its head gasket. Les bought a couple of lottery tickets, and the girls behind the gas station counter requested that he remembered them should either ticket prove to be a winner.

Chantal drove the next leg, 160 miles to Chase, where once again lavatorial requirements diverted us into an attractive village set amongst rolling hills. With no public bathrooms visible we popped into a tea room for refreshments and to use the facilities. My turn to drive and I completed the remaining 275 miles into Banff, while Chantal took photographs of the increasingly dramatic scenery.

It’s an experience driving such distances in a day. Never in the UK would the Satnav advise us to continue along the road for 288 miles before the next instruction. Fortunately (perhaps) speeding on main highways is normal in Canada, and so despite the limit of 90 or 100kph, we bowled along at 120 to 140 kph, and were still being overtaken.

We went through mountain ranges that in Canadian terms didn’t even warrant a name on the map. We passed through miles of dry arid hills, overtaking a train, which must have been a mile long, on an adjacent railway track.

The highway began to climb, and we passed signs warning that this was a mountain road and that there may be sudden weather changes. Truck drivers were advised that snow chains were compulsory in winter, and that pull-off areas were available for drivers to stop and fit chains.

Eventually the snow-capped mountains of the Rockies appeared in front of us, and as we got closer snow began to appear on either side of the highway. We knew that the Rockies had experienced an unseasonably early snowfall, and so were not surprised that when we eventually left the highway and entered Banff we were greeted with a distinctly Christmassy scene, with snowy roofs and trees, and snow piled up against buildings. Wonderful.

We found our hotel quite easily, and settled into our adjacent comfortable rooms, each with a good sized sitting area. The hotel had no restaurant, and we were too tired to walk 20 minutes to the town centre, or even to catch the courtesy bus from outside the hotel, and so, on the advice of the receptionist, we ate in “Cougar Pete’s”, the basic but perfectly acceptable dining room at the Hostel International, just a short walk away.

 

8 – Canada 11th Sept – Lake Louise

                                                                                        

We woke to a winter wonderland, with a view of a snow covered mountain from our room balcony, and I was out and about with my camera around the hotel while Chantal was still showering. Our hotel was among several other hotels on a road leading out of Banff, which this morning were surrounded by snow laden trees and snowy high peaks.

 

 

We breakfasted at Cougar Pete’s (I opted for French Toast, with maple syrup, which surprisingly I like, but why, oh why, do Americans and Canadians feel the need to add sprinkled icing sugar??) and found a table by the window to enjoy the view.

We decided to go to Lake Louise for the day, 35 miles from Banff (a short distance in Canadian terms), driving there along a forest road that ran parallel to the main highway. We knew, from our guide book, that the forest road would have nice views, and that Lake Louise had a level lakeside trail that all three of us could explore.

As soon as we left the main highway we were stopped by National Park Rangers, who were checking that we had the obligatory National Park Pass. Unfortunately we did not have the obligatory National Park Pass. We knew, from roadside signs, that people “stopping in the National Park” needed an obligatory National Park Pass, but assumed that this applied to those slumming it in a tent, cabin or motor-home, but apparently even we upmarket hotel guests needed to display an obligatory National Park Pass in the vehicle windshield, since we would be travelling in the park. We were directed to a nearby vehicle and parted with $39 to be allowed access to the National Park until 4pm on Saturday, when we would be driving to Calgary.

I approve of this National Park Pass idea, since those using the Park pay for the Park management, and as a result the National Park has excellent car parking, well signed trails, and plenty of information boards. We were stopped again for a Pass check later in the day, and indeed once more during our stay in Banff.

Our route along the forest road was gorgeous, although the roadside snow disappeared as we travelled further from Banff, and the views are best described by a few photos taken during many stops along the route.

As we drove between viewpoints we constantly scanned the woods for wildlife. Chantal has a tick list, with the top three items being a grizzly bear, a black bear, and an elk.

At Lake Louise we visited the information centre, where a very nice young lady from Brighton gave us details of the Lakeside trail. From the hotel to shops, restaurants to visitor’s centres, we met a lot of working Brits, Ozzies and Kiwis – they easily outnumbered the number of Canadians that we met serving the tourists.

Les decided that he preferred not to follow the trail, and instead opted to sit in the sunshine at the end of the lake, watching the world go by, while Chantal and I followed the path along the water’s edge. Once again it takes photos to describe the experience fully.

 

The path was busy and so I persuaded Chantal to explore another trail that led up to a tea room overlooking the lake from below a high rock face, but since the path quickly became quite steep, she decided that we would return to the lakeside. Not even the “There-will-be-great-photogenic-views-and-we-might-see-a-bear” argument worked.

The lakeside trail remained quite busy until the far end of the lake, but then became less so as the path continued, beginning to climb the mountainside. We walked a little further before turning around – I think that Chantal hadn’t realised that the Louise Lake Trail had now evolved into the Six Glaciers Trail, and somehow I forgot to tell her. However we needed to return to find Les, and so retraced our steps. The hike had been around 4 miles in total, which of course had taken over two hours due to photographic opportunities.

We found Les still sitting contentedly in the sunshine, returned to the car and drove up to Moraine Lake a few miles away along a winding forest road. Still no bears.

Moraine Lake had no lakeside trail this time, but there was a hill at the end of the lake, consisting of boulders and rocks, and since I could see people at the top enjoying the view. I decided to scramble up to join them, climbing over and around boulders in full view of more sedentary lake visitors at the bottom. In view of the number of people at the top, I was surprised that I appeared to be the only one actually climbing. It wasn’t until I got to the summit, and peered over a neat stone wall to see families and neatly dressed couples without a speck of dust on their designer jackets that I realised that the correct route up was a manicured path on the far side leading up directly from the car park.

I clambered over the wall from the “wrong side”, taking some of the other visitors by surprise, and did my best to merge inconspicuously among the other folk enjoying the view. It was a nice view, worth the climb, whichever route was taken.

 

 

After a while I decided that I had better descend as a matter of urgency. I realised that Chantal was at the bottom with a wide variety of photo-opportunities, whereas her collection of camera lenses was high up on a pile of rocks, in my backpack. The descent along the winding gravel path was less arduous than my scramble up, and I joined Les and Chantal in the gift shop. Apparently there had been a minor grumble that I had wandered off with her lenses, but I wasn’t actually in trouble. Chantal is clearly in holiday mood.

We headed back to Banff along the forest road (still no bears), but part way along decided to cut back to the main highway – we were hungry and it was getting late. We parked up in Banff, and after the traditional “shall-we-eat-here?-No-I-don’t-fancy-the-menu” tour of restaurants we settled on a very pleasant Italian place to finish the day.

 

9 – Canada 12th Sept – Snow and shopping

The forecast was of a reasonable morning deteriorating to a gloomy afternoon. Les and Chantal needed retail therapy. I needed to be out and about (but most definitely not in shops – there is no way I will be shopping for clothes on holiday), and so we compromised, deciding to shop in the afternoon, and go up Sulphur Mountain on the Banff Gondola in the morning. I would have happily walked up the well-marked trail zig-zagging up the mountain, but Les couldn’t, Chantal wouldn’t and around here you don’t go into the woods on your own.

I drove to the Gondola station, just outside of the town, and a mile or so before we got there we came across cars pulled up on either side of the road, with someone in a reflective jacket trying to keep traffic moving. A road accident? A vehicle broken down? No –a BEAR! A real live grizzly bear was strolling through the woods just a few metres from the road, all of the cars had camera lenses poking out of windows, and the chap in the yellow jacket was a Park Ranger. “Slow down slow down oh no I’ve got the wrong lens slower slower” shouts the wildlife photographer in our car. Chantal saw the bear, Les saw the bear, but I didn’t see the bear – I was on the wrong side of the car, had to keep moving (very slowly) and so the roof of the car got between me and the bear, which was on a slope slightly above the road, but Chantal got her shot.

It wasn’t until Chantal viewed the photo full size that we saw that the bear was tagged (and somewhat thin). Maybe that is why the Park Ranger got there so quickly. Or maybe it was a pet bear released periodically to keep the tourists happy. Or maybe it was a radio controlled stuffed bear. If we get a chance we will make enquiries.

Further on more cars had pulled up to photograph a group of deer – this time it was safe to get out of the car, and so all three of us got plenty of shots. The deer were clearly used to people and got quite close – maybe the “release-the-pet-wildlife-for-the-tourists” theory is correct.

 

 

At the Gondola station we were shown a webcam at the summit before we bought the tickets, and advised that visibility was not good. We went anyway – the forecast was OK for the morning, and the clouds could lift, and in any case it was better than the potential alternative of a full day of retail therapy. As we ascended high above the trees it began to snow.

 

At the top it was snowing quite heavily, with visibility in the clouds down to just a few meters. Les was not impressed, and ventured outside onto the viewing deck for just long enough to have his photo taken before retiring hurt to the warmth of the gift shop.

 

Chantal and I loved it. We had seen lots of mountain views but this was our first Canadian blizzard! After walking around the deck taking shots of white nothingness, we followed the wide wooden boardwalk that headed off into the fog and snow towards the summit. The boardwalk twisted and turned, ascending a few steps at a time, with nothing visible in any direction except nearby trees and the boardwalk disappearing into the whiteness before and behind us. Once away from the cleared boards near the buildings, we had to take care on the compacted icy snow underfoot in a blustery bitterly cold wind. A few people appeared out of the white-out, but not many, and from the various greetings exchanged it seems that it was the Brits and Ozzies who were the only ones to brave the elements.

After 1km, over half a mile, we eventually arrived at the summit, where we found the hut used as a solar rays observatory, although not since the 1960’s. The hut was fully equipped with a wood burner and bunks, although since we were not allowed inside we had to peer in through a glass panel while standing outside in the driving snow.

On the way back to the main building at the top of the gondola we chatted to a couple from Bristol, which at least distracted us from the snowstorm until the building appeared through the snow and fog. We found Leslie in the restaurant, having spent $35 on a goldola ride just to buy himself a cup of average coffee and sit looking out at weather that he will be experiencing in Gloversville in three months’ time. He really couldn’t get his head around why we had ventured out for a walk in a blizzard, and apparently enjoyed it.

 

The snow stopped briefly, and the clouds lifted enough for us to see the boardwalk to the summit, but then the weather deteriorated again, and we descended back into Banff, where, as the retail therapy began, the clouds lifted, and we could see the summit of Sulphur Mountain above the town. Les and Chantal shopped and browsed, and I stood grumpily keeping out of the way in each shop, although I did cheer up when I said hello to a large dog called Charlie in one shop. Oh alright, I shopped too – one “I’ve been to Banff”  T-shirt, one pair of North Face trousers, and a fleece. And then we found a pub – at least one of us needed a drink.

 

10 – Canada 13th September – Minnewanka

Our last day in Banff was warm and sunny, and so I found a short hike (it’s not “walks” around here, its “hikes”) near to Lake Minnewanka (we love the local place names. Another favourite was the Calgary suburb of Shagganappi, which we passed later in the day), an easy trail leading to a canyon and water falls and into the woods, passed various warnings that we were entering bear country. We arrived at a wooden bridge crossing the small canyon, with views across the Lake, and continued along the trail into the forest on the far side. At the far side there was a barrier across the trail, and a sign warning us that we were about to enter bear territory at a rather dodgy time of year. Our guide book had warned us about this. From august to mid-September is the season of Buffalo Berries, large red juicy calorific berries, and grizzly bears come down into valleys to consume several kilograms of berries daily, building up fat in preparation for winter hibernation. As a result many trails are closed by the National Park, but this route remained open, which is partly why I chose it. What the guide book failed to tell us was that hikers in bear country must travel in groups of four or more, and must carry bear spray. There were three of us, with no bear spray.

Leslie decided that the trail had become a little steep and uneven anyway, and so he would turn back and meet us back at the bridge. There were now two of us and no bear spray. A group of four American tourists came up behind us, and so now there were six of us, but still no bear spray. We debated, and all decided that although we were not too worried about bears, we were frightened of Park Rangers. According to the sign adjacent to the barrier, being found on a trail in bear country on while not carrying bear spray could incur a fine of $25000. We all turned away from the main trail, and followed a riverside track for a few minutes, no doubt still technically in bear country, before we decided that perhaps we’d left Leslie admiring the view from the bridge for quite long enough, and we left the American’s to carry on and take their chances with the grizzlies.

Incidentally the “garbage bins” in National Parks are all installed at an odd angle. The bears learned how to extract the inner containers from “normal” bins. To date they haven’t learned to access the angled bins.

Les was not on the bridge, but since there was no sign of a struggle with a grizzly, we didn’t worry, and Chantal took the opportunity to set up her trusty tripod for a “selfie” of us both.

We found Les sitting comfortably on a lakeside bench enjoying the sunshine, and we had time for a coffee, and to wonder out onto the boardwalk leading out into the lake for photographic purposes.

By now it was time to drive 70 miles to Calgary from where Les was flying back to New York the following morning. I was driving, the roads around Calgary were busy, and keeping track of the Satnav instructions on roads with many intersections was challenging. We only had a vague address for our hotel, but found it, to my relief after a couple of wrong turns.

 

11 – Canada 14th September – Icefield Parkway

We were up at 4.30am to see Les safely onto the shuttle bus to Calgary Airport, for his flight back home. Chantal returned to bed – I stayed in the comfortable lobby, catching up with our news on The Oakstump.

Today we had to travel north to Jasper, and the only route was along 160 miles of the dramatic Icefield Parkway route through the Rockies. It is recommended that you allow a full day to travel the route, allowing time to stop at the scenic locations and take in the views. Chantal and her camera would need every available moment that a full day would offer, but unfortunately we started the day in Calgary, 105 miles south east of Lake Louise, the start of the Parkway . Nevertheless we arrived in Lake Louise by 10.00am, purchased our National Park Pass for the second part of our Rockies trip, and started the journey to Jasper.

Within minutes we stopped at Hector Lake.

Mountain views opened up in front of us.

As we got higher the peaks were decorated with ice fields in the gulleys and on sloped that are permanently in shadow.

There were lots of opportunities to photograph the classic Rockies scenes of reflected mountains.

I tried to take a photo of mountains nicely framed by a wooden bridge, but someone kept getting in the way.

The high point, literally, was Bow Summit, where a path led from a car park to a viewing point. The wooden platform looking over the valley was full, with at least two coach loads of visitors, including the obligatory Japanese who always hunt in large packs. A group of Americans were YEE-HA” ing, as Americans do, no doubt celebrating the fact that they had actually survived a walk of more than a few metres from the car. The atmosphere was awful.

On the advice of our guide book we continued along the path to a narrow track of trodden snow, which wound its way through trees, emerging onto a rocky platform high above the head of the valley. We were totally alone, apart from ground squirrels running up to us in the hope of food, hamster-like short tailed picas scurrying among the rocks, and some ravens. It was peaceful and the view was incredible. Totally awesome in it’s true sense.

 

The road descended, but still with mountain views.

We came across a narrow canyon where Chantal spent a while photographing the foaming white water, although was a bit grumpy because a fellow photographer was occupying a prime spot, and wasn’t budging.

We continued on, the road dropping into forested valleys.

We eventually reached the edge of the ice field that gives the road its name, spread over a mountain peak.  The ice is a spur, or “toe” of the vast Columbian ice field that stretches across a vast swathe of Northern Canada, apparently reaching across the continent from the Pacific to Atlantic oceans, presumably much further north than here.

As we approached the Icefield Centre, from where groups can book trips onto the ice, either walking or (for the Americans) riding on an adapted bus, we passed the coach park, where someone had forgotten to apply the parking brake.

The Icefield Centre was a disappointment. The coffee was awful – a young chap in front of us who had just filled his mug from the dispenser, suggestd that we smelled the brew before we purchased our own. It smelled awful, and he threw his away. The interpretive centre was closed, and the place was scruffy. We didn’t stop long, and instead drove down a track from where a trail led up to the base of the ice field for a closer look. Like the Icefield Centre it was a bit scruffy, although in this case it was as a result of summer dust, rather than human grime, which will soon be hidden under a blanket of snow. Thanks to its imperceptibly slow flow over rocks the ice was fissured with crevasses. A few years ago a family ignored warnings not to venture onto the ice without a guide, and their nine year old son fell through the thin crust of frozen snow into a crevasse. He died of hypothermia before rescue workers finally extracted him 3 hours later.

By now it was getting late, and we still had about 50 miles to go. The main scenic parts of the road were behind us, and so Chantal, who was driving, put her foot down, hurtling along what was now a wide road with long straight stretches at speeds of up to 160kph (around 100mph), making me distinctly nervous, and consequently we soon reached Jasper, passing through the town and driving a further 5km along a forest road to our “hotel”, a semi-circle of cabins overlooking a lake with a backdrop of mountains.

Driving back into Jasper through the dusk, to find somewhere to eat, we passed a female elk at the edge of the road, a promising start to the part of our trip when we hoped to see more wildlife.

 

12 – Canada 15th September – Edith Cavell Mountain

The day promised to be  hot and sunny, and I persuaded Chantal to go for a stroll. Not a long stroll, less than 5 miles there and back. But the stroll did involve ascending 350m up a mountain for some nice views of the Angel Glacier on Edith Cavell Mountain, a few km south of Jasper.

The car park at the beginning of the trail was at the top of a long and winding mountain road, and a short walk led to a viewing area looking up to the Glacier. Not surprisingly Angel Glacier is shaped like an angel, wings spread out on the mountainside, but from this location most of the left wing was obscured by a spur of the mountain.

 

 

After a brief stop we turned back, and after a few meters turned up a steep and stony track that led along the side of the mountain, above the lower viewing area, and onwards and upwards, until we had a view of both angel wings, as well as the lake below the glacier, with ice caves and floating “icebergs”.

We spotted a marmot in the rocks below, which climbed up to cross the path and graze on the among the shrubs on  the other side, as we pointed it out to other hikers, before the path zig-zagged up through a forest, still climbing quite steeply. After the stony climb in hot sunshine, it was pleasantly cool under the trees.

We seemed to be in the forest for a long time before we emerged into an alpine meadow, at least in terms of the flora and fauna. This was an area of low shrubs and ground hugging bushes, nothing like the cropped and grazed alpine meadows that we have seen in Switzerland. We were now level with the lower part of the Angel Glacier, and on our side of the valley there were occasional small patches of snow, despite the hot sunshine.

Chantal was feeling the effects of the climb and the altitude, but since the path was now less steep she decided that she could carry on. We passed through some shoulder high pine trees, and could see the top of the trail not far ahead, where we joined a small group of people enjoying the view. Although over 2000m above sea level, this was actually the “Lower View Point”. A path leading off to the left further back had led up a steep and rocky ridge to the mountain summit. I didn’t even suggest this as an option to Chantal. She had done well to get this far. We rested and enjoyed the view, as the sun disappeared behind the mountain on the far side of the valley, casting a cool shadow over us. We noticed ice crystals in the air above the mountain, illuminated by the sun’s rays.

After resting and photographing the Angel Glacier from this viewpoint, Chantal agreed to descend along a slightly longer route with different views, joining the original route in the forest.

 

Walking back down the stony track we once again saw the marmot, and Chantal promptly attached her longest lens to her camera. I had carried a variety of lenses for her in my back pack. As soon as the camera was ready for a long distance shot, the marmot promptly left the rocks below us, scurried up to the path, and ran towards Chantal, practically peering at her through the other end of her lens, and taking her completely by surprise. She didn’t get the shot that she wanted, but at least the rodent was close enough for me to take a photo.

I drove us back down the twisting mountain road, which entailed a lot of squeaking from Chantal who thought that I was driving too fast and too close to the nearside ditch.

We were too tired to eat out, and Chantal wanted to be at our cabin as the sun was setting over the adjacent lake, and so we found a Chinese restaurant that offered takeaways, which we took back to our cabin to enjoy in the sunshine overlooking the lake. The view of the mountains across the calm lake was beautiful and serene.

The take-away, on the other hand, was horrible – but beer and wine helped.

We were enjoying the Rockies so much that we decided to abandon the planned trip to Vancouver Island, and instead book an extra night in Jasper. Unfortunately the place where we were staying was fully booked for the following night, and so we decided that we would need to browse the internet for options. The hotel wi-fi was slow, and after 2 hours we had not found a vacancy in Jasper, but then Chantal found that that the Ramada Hotel in Jasper had vacancies, available through Lastminute.com. She made the booking, and entered my credit card details, pressed “submit” and the page promptly timed out.

Meanwhile I was checking the Ramada hotel website to find the address in Jasper. I couldn’t find the street on our map of Jasper, and so Google mapped the address. It wasn’t clear where the hotel was, so I requested directions from our current hotel. Google maps assured me that the journey would take 35 hours. Since Chantal was still re-entering payment details I tried again. Same result. “STOP!” I shouted to Chantal. “You are booking us into a hotel in Jasper, Indiana, USA!” Thank goodness she was timed out when processing the payment.

We never did find a vacancy in Jasper, Alberta, Canada and instead booked into a hotel in Lake Louise, 160 miles back down the Icefield Parkway.

 

13 – Canada 16th September – Maligne Lake and bull baiting

After yesterday’s high level hike Chantal opted for a less strenuous day of wildlife spotting, starting with a short walk around Whistlers Campsite, south of Jasper, where someone who we had chatted to on the mountain the previous day had seen a herd of elk. We would then drive to Maligne Lake which, the guidebook assured us, was a route and destination where we were sure to see wildlife. To be sure of this we decided to visit the National Parks information centre in Jasper.

On our way down the forest road from the hotel we spotted a car pulled up at the roadside, a sure sign that there was something worth seeing. Sure enough a bear was strolling through the woods, and this time I also saw it. Although the bear was clearly a black bear, it was actually brown, known as a cinnamon black bear. I left the photography to Chantal and I just watched the bear ambling along through the trees close to the road, before it headed uphill and disappeared into the bushes. I had seen my first bear.

In Jasper a Park Ranger confirmed that Elk had been seen at the Whistler site, and agreed that Maligne Lake was also a good idea. She was very interested that we had seen a bear just outside of the town, looked at Chantal’s photo, and said it was probably a mother bear that she was aware of, and that there had probably been two cubs out of site in the bushes. I asked about the tag on the grizzly bear that we had seen in Banff. There is no tagging programme as such in the National Parks, but “problem” bears are tagged – these maybe in poor health and are being monitored, or maybe bears that habitually roam close to towns and popular roads, and Rangers like to know where they are to ensure that stay out of trouble.

We couldn’t find the Whistler camp site “trail head”, the beginning of the trail that followed the perimeter of the site, and so dove up to the booth where campers registered. The Ranger there was clearly unaware that there was a trail, and expressed surprise that we wanted to walk around the site looking for elk, since there were over 50km of roads around the site. Nevertheless he allowed us onto the site, and we drove, rather than walked, around the edge of the camp site, ignoring the roads that led into the various camping areas. The site was huge, but we saw no elk, and so rejoined the highway and took the road to Lake Maligne.

Despite driving slowly, and looking into the surrounding trees, we saw no wildlife. We discovered that if I pulled in to the side to let following cars overtake they pulled in too to see why we had pulled in, just in case we had spotted something interesting. This also happened if we merely pulled over to photograph a nice view, and we sometimes looked back to see two or three cars or campervans, the occupants scanning the surrounding shrubs and trees, seeking out whatever it was that we had seen.

 

We stopped briefly at Medicine Lake, so called because it disappears in dry weather, flowing into an underground river. The First Nation tribes in the area thought that the disappearance was magical, and magic was the responsibility of the Medicine Man. We continued towards Lake Maligne. A few minutes later we came upon three cars at the side of the road, and pulled in behind them to see a black bear and a young cub grazing contentedly at the side of the road. Chantal leaned as far out of the window as she could (to my great relief she didn’t get out of the car, although I know she was tempted), and was delighted when then bears climbed up the grassy bank and onto the road, strolling towards us and totally ignoring the queue of cars that by now had parked up at the edge of the highway. The bears walked right past the car, so close that Chantal could have stroked them (she didn’t) and then continued on, eventually disappearing amongst the roadside shrubs behind us. It was brilliant to have such a close encounter with the bears.

We saw no further wildlife before we got to Lake Maligne, other than crickets that continuously clicked as they flew, and we had lunch in the warm sunshine overlooking the Lake before we went on a walk along the edge of the water in the vain hope that we would see elk or moose. The staff in the restaurant told us that a moose had been swimming the Lake the previous day, but we saw nothing but canoeists. It had become quite hot and so we found a quiet spot and went for a paddle to cool off.

Our drive back along the road back to Jasper was as slow as the journey up to the Lake had been, and I was clock watching a bit since I planned to take Chantal out in a Canadian Canoe on Pyramid Lake, the lake by our cabin, and I knew that the canoe hire closed at 8pm. Once again Chantal was disappointed that we had spotted no moose, or the elk that she had hoped to see during the day.

We turned onto the main Highway and took the slip road leading into Jasper, and came across a lot of cars pulled up at the side of the road. A herd of elk, a bull and around a dozen cows (as the males and females are known, not stags and hinds as you might expect) were grazing on a grassy area at the edge of the town. I had barely pulled up before Chantal was out of the car, camera and tripod in hand, running across the road to get closer to the elks.

I joined her, along with quite a few other people, mostly tourists but also some locals, we took an awful lot of photographs, until Chantal’s camera memory card was full. She wanted more shots and so I lent her my camera card which still had space on it. This was a shame, because it meant that I couldn’t photograph what happened next.

A local lady standing next to us told us that the bull was getting a bit agitated, and this was not good. We then noticed another bull at the far side of the grassed area, just as this bull noticed a couple of people who were the only ones on this further side. The bull charged and the couple ran, the woman sprinting considerably faster than the man, both running almost cartoon style, head back, stomach forward and arms going like pistons. The bull stopped chasing, but since they hadn’t realised this, they just kept running, much to the amusement of the onlookers on our side of the “field”, until they gained the safety of their car.

Then the bull closest to us raised his head and brayed, more like a deep and very loud squeal. The local lady promptly climbed onto the back of her SUV truck, and I suggested to Chantal that maybe she had taken quite enough shots, as I led the retreat back across the road. Chantal had other ideas and kept shooting. I looked back to see the stag trotting towards the SUV.

Most folk retreated behind SUV, but Chantal kept poking her lens around the side of it. The bull spotted Chantal and started running towards her, and so she nipped behind the truck and started shooting from the other end. The bull spotted her and trotted in her direction, and so Chantal promptly ran back to her initial position, using the truck, with the owner still standing on the back, as cover, and took another few shots of the bull, who turned towards her, started to head in her direction, but fortunately changed his mind and trotted off towards his harem of cows instead.

I had watched these antics from the relative safety of the far side of the road partly in amusement and partly in horror (I didn’t know where the insurance documents were…) and was relieved when Chantal joined me and we returned to the car. There was still the potential that either of the bulls could charge vehicles in the area, which was worrying. Our hire car deposit was secured using my credit card.

By the time that we got back to our cabin, it was too late to go canoeing, and so instead we walked along the road to a small wooden bridge than led to a small island on the lake. With dusk falling we thought that we would have the island to ourselves, but there were a few others enjoying the peaceful atmosphere of the surrounding calm water with the reflections of the surrounding mountains, a nice antidote to the earlier excitement.

Posted: Thursday, October 2nd, 2014
Category: Iceland to Oz
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