Y2Y 1998 Update #5

July 29 - The overcast morning brings a few sprinkles as we walk the fire road above the Ottertail River. We find pieces of wool from mountain goats stuck on the alders along the way. It’s nice to know they are around.

In no time we’ve reached the Trans-Canadian Highway. We’re on our way in to the town of Field to re-supply and spend the night, so Leslie tries to hitch a ride. She quickly gets turned off by the cars racing by and decides to walk with me the rest of the way into town. We head up the highway for ten minutes turning west on a gravel road that leads us to a train track. Walking on the tracks is pleasant. We see lots of birds and the silence is much appreciated after the stretch of road walking.

A few miles later we hit a trail that takes us over to the highway again where we are able to cross to a quiet backroad that we walk into the little train town. Field is my kind of place. There are no glitzy tourist traps. Just a little cafe/grocery store, post office, and several guest houses. Across the river is the Yoho National Park visitor center. We check in to the Burgess Mountain Bungalow where we have a food package waiting . The folks are super friendly and the rooms are a grand deal. We do laundry and hot showers and enjoy the luxurious surroundings.

July 30 -We were supposed to leave today, but Leslie’s knee is bothering her. I am able to day hike over Burgess Pass, over to Yoho Pass and then down to the Little Yoho Valley road where I hitch back to town. It’s a lovely walk and it feels wondrous to walk with only a daypack. We spend another night in the bungalow. This could spoil us.

July 31 -  It’s raining this morning and the clouds are dragging low over the peaks. We had planned a high route, but instead we walk up the Amiskwi River. The trail is an old logging road, but it is closed to traffic and we see bear sign, tracks and scat. Our rain gear is put on and taken off several times, but for most of the day it just stays gray.

I like the solitude here. It has a wild feel. In the late afternoon we enter a burn and marvel at the fireweed, the stark dead trees, and the mountains looming into the dark clouds. A black bear lopes away as we round a bend. Thunder crashes and the smell of rain comes rushing up the valley. Big drops turn to a steady spray. We cover up and keep going, looking for a likely camp spot.

The old road, getting fainter and fainter, takes us across the shallow river and up the mountain side. As the rain pours, I walk north on auto pilot, eyes scanning the vast open valley, cherishing the spaciousness and cool grays and blues painting the old burn.

It’s late when we stop at an old mill site. We pitch the tent and cook dinner under the extra rain tarp Leslie has been carrying. Afterwards we spend half an hour trying to find a tree suitable enough to hang our food in a forest where all the trees are dead snags. But find one, we do. We’ve come 22 miles this day, and sleep comes quick as we snuggle into our bags.

August 1 -  I love the spaciousness of the burn, especially under the steel gray sky. A distant patch of light breaks through ten miles down the valley. It spotlights the side of the forested mountain. The contrast between the distant bright green and the watercolor grays and blues around us is breath-taking. I find myself standing and staring time and time again when I’m supposed to be breaking camp.

The fording of the river first thing in the morning is a good way to wake up. The trail becomes an actual path, hugging the side of the river and twisting up and down and back and forth. It’s slow going but beautiful. I keep saying "Amiskwi" over and over. I like the sound of it. The word is music itself, much like the river flowing at our feet.

As we climb away from the river we enter wonderful patches of fireweed and pearly everlasting stretching out amongst the stark dead monuments of the old burnt trees. Of more interest to my pallet are the berries. The grouse wortle berries are everywhere. I’ve never seen them so dense, their little bushes weighted down with the tiny red berries. These are Leslie’s favorite berry and she is stopping often to graze. Me, I start finding huckleberries, my favorite trail munchie, and soon my tongue is purple from the sweet fruit.

We’re not making good time through here, but are enjoying the tasty berries and the beautiful flowers. I say, "Gee, isn’t it strange that with all these berries we haven’t seen any bear sign?" Twenty feet later I come to a fresh, berry-filled pile of bear scat. We stop. The silence sweeps in. We look around. Hmmm.

Twenty minutes later I spook the bear. I can’t tell if its a grizz or a black bear. All I see is its brown butt running away. It gallops into the forest (we’re out of the burn now) and once out of site, stops and snorts back at me. We pull our spray just in case, and walk on chattering and excited.

The sun comes out at Amiskwi Pass and we dry out our tent and other gear before leaving Yoho National Park. In a mile we’re walking a logging road. It takes us a long time, but we eventually drop down to the Blaeberry River and cross the milky, roaring waters on a bridge. A storm overtakes us as we reach Cairn Creek. Part of the bridge is out and we are stunned by the volume of water pounding down from the glaciers to the west of us. While the thunder rolls and the rain pours down we take shelter under the umbrella of a hemlock tree. We’re wondering if we should try to ford the creek or camp at the road’s end.

The rain stops after an hour and we find that there is a campsite where the creek enters the Blaeberry. Lisa and Calen, a nice couple from Oregon, share some water and good conversation. We camp nearby.

August 2 -  Another early morning ford, but once across Cairn Creek we are back on a trail. This is the David Thompson Historic Trail. Thompson, an early explorer of this country, came this way from the Howse River in June of 1807. Often today I wonder about his route, traveling this rugged country without a trail. Our path is often flooded, and there are blowdowns to crawl over or under, but at least we have a trail to follow.

The river gets smaller the farther north we go. We see many bear tracks. Big, little and in-between. My voice gets tired of yelling, "Hey, Bear" so I take to shouting "Amiskwi". (How I love the sound of that word. Later I learn that it is the Stoney word for beaver. So I was shouting "Beaver, beaver!") We don’t see bears today, but as we near Howse Pass, walking through vast stretches of willow, we see hundreds of tiny toads.

Lunch at Howse Pass on the Continental Divide. We cross back into Alberta and Banff National Park. The trail is good for the first couple miles but then we enter a long wooded stretch. The trail hasn’t been maintained in several years and blowdowns block the trail every 30 or 40 feet. We creep along, climbing over, struggling around, squeezing under. On and on we go. We find water in several small streams, but never a flat spot to pitch our tent. We are exhausted after a few hours of this. It’s getting late, and we are wondering how much more we can handle.

When the trail starts dropping we can see light ahead. We come to a vast, open flat beside the 1/4 mile wide Howse River. The flat is covered with dryads, their flowers gone to seed. The fuzzy white seed heads are a carpet glistening in the setting sun. The river valley is wide open to us. The sudden spaciousness is an elixir which totally revives us. In no time we have camp set up and are washing the blood and sweat from our trail worn bodies. The tough day has brought us one of our most favorite campsites of the summer.

August 3 -  We start early today. It’s a cool, dewy morning. We leave the flat and start into the woods again. The trail is flooded. A stream is flowing over and all around the path. The dense trees around it make it difficult to move on, but we scrape and scramble our way through. The hot summer and lack of snow has caused massive meltdowns of the glaciers. All the glacier-fed streams are flowing milky and wild.

We get past the worst part and the trail actually gets pretty good for a few miles. Then more blowdowns. We had thought about trying to cross the Howse to Glacier Lake, but the river is so wide and high that it would be dangerous. Instead we plan to take the trail out to Mistaya Canyon where we hope a bridge will get us across its big water. But the farther we go, the more blowdowns we encounter. We start to wonder if there will be a bridge across the Mistaya. I start to think maybe we’ll have to retrace our path to a wide spot on the Howse and build a raft.

We’re both worried, but when we round a point and find the faded trail suddenly becoming a wide groomed trail we know we’re all right. Indeed, it’s a bit of a shock to find ourselves among crowds of tourists staring like everyone else into the narrow chasm of Mistaya Canyon. After two days alone we feel a bit overwhelmed by the numbers of people.

Here we meet Nadine and Ken, an interesting couple from California. They are heading north and give Leslie and our backpacks a ride the 3 miles up the highway to the Saskatchewan River Crossing. I walk the highway with just a water bottle, marveling at the mountains, the heat, the insane number of autos, and the irony of it all.

August 4 -  We’re staying at the motel where we have sent another food package. Our next trail is nearly 10 miles up the highway so instead of walking it, we borrow bikes from the lodge and pedal up to the trail and back. (OK, so we cheated!) Tomorrow we’ll get a ride to the trailhead we pedaled to. The rest of the day is done in lounge mode. We need it.

August 5 - We are carrying ten days of food in our packs as we climb up the trail to Sunset Pass. Luckily for us the trail has an easy grade and we soon level off in a wide open basin. We trek across it, feeling good to be back out in the high country after a couple nights in the motel.

Eventually we reach the crest of the range, leave Banff Park, and look down into the Cline River Valley. We’re standing on the edge of sharp cliffs, gazing into the blue waters of Pinto Lake far below us. That’s where we’ll camp tonight.

It’s a long descent, and the trail becomes less worn as we reach the river and follow it to the lake. Clouds are building, but we set up camp and go for a swim. The water isn’t too cold, and it feels good to get the day’s sweat and grime off.

The clouds continue to build and with thunder and lightning the rain finally comes. It storms good and hard. The clouds are black and a cold gray. Just looking at them leaves me shivering. But then a blast of sun breaks through. The beams light the lake into a Caribbean blue. Set against the storm choked mountains and clouds behind it, the lake glows with the new color. A rainbow appears, and then another. The scene fills us up. We giggle like kids, clapping our hands with glee.

The rain comes and goes. We cook under the dry shelter of a doug fir. Later we go to hang our food, but the rock we use to toss the rope gets stuck high above us. This causes quite a bit of head scratching and various ill-fated attempts to retrieve it. Finally, I go off and come back with a twenty foot tree. I stand on a log and try to lever the rock out of its spot with the long appendage. I’m wearing my sandals, cheap foam soles. I didn’t notice the staub until I stepped on it. The sharp point goes neatly through the sole of the sandal and into the bottom of my foot. Yowling with pain, I jump down and pull off the sandal, then the sock. I’m expecting to see my sock soaked with blood, imagining all kinds of scenarios, but to my joy find that the skin hasn’t been pierced at all. Just a bruise that’ll stick with me a few days. I don’t need adventures like this. We get the rope down, hang the food, and fall asleep to the patter of rain on the fly.

August 6 -  Hard rain last night, but when it stopped a good wind blew up. We packed up a dry tent this morning. The smell of smoke fills the air. The skies appear hazy. Somewhere the forest is burning.

Our route leads us along the Cline River and into the White Goat Wilderness. The main trail crosses the river, but we stay on the north side following a faint track. It’s a beautiful walk, and along the way we ford the painfully cold, Huntington Creek. After fording to the east side of Cataract Creek an old trail takes us slowly up the canyon. This is a perfect track, strewn with pine needles and only occasional blowdowns.

The canyon narrows and the creek drops into a gorge below the trail. At one point we drop our packs and walk around a big boulder to look into the gorge. It is a nice view, but what really excites us are the pictographs on the side of the huge rock. Painted in red, the ancient drawings take us back to other times and other travelers of this canyon. It is a nice connection to experience.

I love this canyon. It doesn’t feel trampled by hoards of backpackers like many of the park areas we’ve traveled this summer. Instead, we lose the trail in a willow flat and find it again just when we need it. It takes us higher and higher. The mountains above us are coated with glaciers, laced with waterfalls. We visit with a golden-crowned kinglet and marvel at the extensive bear diggings. In fact, it looks like somebody has taken a rototiller to the meadows. We talk and yell "Hey, Bear!" and "Amiskwi!".

Our camp is high in an open basin. A glacier hangs above us, and a series of moraines nearly surrounds us. The spaciousness is inspiring. I play and sing to the mountains, the pikas, and the rising full moon.

August 7 -  Such a beautiful night last night. The moon was so bright it was hard to sleep. Such gorgeous views in that silvery, other-world light. We got our usual early start and climbed up the moraine. The views were incredible. We are in an area of wide open alpine basins, sharp, rocky peaks, and glacier moraines. The walking is easy, and we make our way up and down a series of hills, skipping over rivulets of water seeping from the mountain’s heart, and skirting little tarns.

A mother ptarmigan and her 3 young ones blend in perfectly with the rocks and grass. We stop to admire their summer camouflage, the white feathers on their feet, and their ability to live in this alpine environment. They are like flowers, bobbing on the slope, and bring a brightness to our morning.

With each ridge we climb, we get more excited. This place is so beautiful. The space and openness is exhilarating, and without a trail it feels wild and untouched. We scan the slopes for bears but never see a one. Today each little flower excites us. The rock at our feet, its zebra stripes and twisted grain, stops us time and again to exclaim and wonder. Its an amazing place.

We begin a final climb up to Cataract Pass, getting atop a moraine and leaving the grassy patches behind. Here we find remnants of a trail and some small cairns. Snow still lingers just below the pass, and everywhere are a series of boulder-strewn moraines. From the pass we look down upon the Upper Brazeau River. We are in Jasper National Park now. The view is a stunning sight, looking so stark and new, as if the glaciers had just left yesterday. The glaciers still hold on across the canyon, hanging to the sides of the lofty peaks, but they’re shrinking each year. A hot year like this must really take its toll. There are also a couple large lakes, all gray from the silty glacier waters flowing into them.

Leslie and I sit up there a long time, scanning with the binoculars, watching the morning slip by. When we move on, it is down a steep little trail that takes us to the flat bottom of the basin. Here the river has braided into a dozen channels, each one reflecting the peaks above. Patches of cotton grass wave their snowy heads to our passing, and wild rock outcroppings dot the landscape. I’m jumping around like a goat, taking pictures and exclaiming my joy. This is my kind of place!

We poke along the side of the shallow river for a long time. I can’t get enough of this place and am in no hurry to leave the upper basin. The day is perfect and its a perfect place to be. Time and time again I find myself walking along with a big grin on my face.

Eventually we reach the main trail coming from Nigel Pass and going down the river. We turn east and begin seeing other hikers. Lots of them. The spell is somewhat broken. But it is beautiful, and all day I carry that special excitement with me, a gift from true wilderness

August 8 - We’re walking by 7:30. The morning is cool and the trail is a delight. We walk the Brazeau River trail down to the Four Point Creek trail and turn north up it. After a short steep part, it levels off and winds its way through nice forest, then more and more clearings with views of the ridges above us. Side streams tumble down the mountainside and we climb, but ever so gradually.

The openings become more frequent until at last the trees are left behind and we are walking through a vast, open valley. Rugged peaks jut up on each side, glaciers hugging the high basins. We walk for miles above treeline. The spaciousness is uplifting. It expands the soul. We are in heaven.

A weasel is darting in and out of ground squirrel holes. One look at us and he disappears for good. Later we spot 2 prairie falcons. This is woodland caribou country, and we note their tracks, but never see the shy creatures. Leslie has her binoculars out at every pause, scanning the slopes for grizz and goats, but we are the largest thing moving through the valley this morning.

Jonas Pass is hardly recognizable as a pass, but we note that the tiny stream is flowing north now. The valley seems to run on and on. Our trail takes an upward turn and begins a steep climb for a short ways, then very gradually, up to Jonas Shoulder, a high saddle in the ridge. Here we have a late lunch, watching the expanse below us on both sides. The day is perfect and our views are extensive. It’s hard to leave, but eventually we descend the few miles to another campsite. We take a bath in the stream and have several hours to poke about camp before turning in.

August 9 -  Some frost on the meadow this morning. I love these early starts. The day seems so alive and fresh when the air is cool and clear. We walked mostly in the forest today as we descended to the valley of Pobokton Creek. Grand waterfalls and some good birds, too. Then a gradual climb up Poligne Creek to the Avalanche campsite.

I liked this camp a lot. Good views, quiet, and a great bathing spot.

August 10 -  Yesterday we met folks who’d seen a grizzly, so this morning we stopped a lot scanning the slopes. Again, no luck. The trail was above treeline after the first mile and it seemed like we stopped every hundred yards for one thing or another. It was just so beautiful and I was captivated by every little thing.

At Maligne Pass there is a small lake. We hung out here for nearly an hour taking pictures and snacking. Then we started on and Leslie spotted some unknown birds. We stopped for another half hour as she went looking for them across the valley while I pulled out the guitar to work on a new song.

As we dropped into the valley of the Maligne River we started to kick it in, knocking off the miles, and got to the Mary Schaeffer camp by mid-afternoon. We had the campsite to ourselves, a rare occurrence here in Jasper, and enjoyed a dip in the river and just hanging out. The site had been trashed by a group of 12 hikers ahead of us, so we cleaned it up and had a small fire to burn up the garbage. Dark clouds rolled in, but only a few sprinkles.

The exciting part of the evening came when a mother harlequin duck came swimming up the river with her five offspring. I followed them for quite a ways and managed a few pictures.

August 11 -  More harlequins this morning; a mother with seven ducklings. They sure were fun to watch. Also watched some kind of ladderback-like woodpecker pecking away at a snag above the camp. This was a good bird spot with hummingbirds and gray jays, too.

Kind of a gray morning, but it cleared up as the day wore on. We followed the river north, but rarely saw it, walking mostly through the forest. Passed another campsite that the large group had been. Garbage everywhere.

About 1:00 we came out at the Maligne Lake parking lot. Wow. Talk about a shock to the system. We walked into a circus. There were cars overflowing the lot and people everywhere. Had lunch by the shore of the lake, but then scooted back to the quiet of the trail.

We are on the Skyline Trail now. It is one of the most popular trails in the Canadian Rockies. The trail is very well graded, relatively easy to walk, and traverses some spectacular scenery. We’ve been looking forward to it all summer.

On the trail we meet David and Jonah, a friendly father and son from northern Alberta. They’ve got a long day ahead of them, but we enjoy their company during a trailside break. When we get to the Evelyn Creek camp we meet newlyweds, Daniel and Patricia from Montreal. They’re wonderful folks and we add them to our list of the great people we’ve met on this trek.

August 12 -  Rain last night has moved on, but the clouds linger into the day. Its cool and windy, too. We’re up and going quite early and enjoy the trail switchbacking gradually up the mountain. Another high basin welcomes us and we climb over Little Shovel Pass in the face of a howling wind.

The views are grand as we traverse across another open basin, and start to pass the Snowbowl camp. The campers are still in camp and we run into the couple from Paris we met at the Ball Pass campsite in Banff a few weeks ago. Then we see David and Jonah again, too. They catch up with us a bit later, along with Darin from Edmonton. We walk along, through an inspiring, high alpine basin, chattering away.

At Big Shovel Pass we are greeted with even vaster views. Curator Lake and the Notch will come tomorrow, but for now we bid David and Jonah farewell and drop to the Curator campsite.

Later Darin, Leslie and I do a day hike and walk some of the ridge around this lovely basin. Daniel and Patricia also camp nearly, as well as a nice family from BC. Unfortunately, we have caught up with the group of 12 hikers. They are loud and obnoxious. After dinner they climb the slopes and shout obscenities to each other. Cool, huh? I dub them "the dirty dozen". I can’t understand such people. Why come to a place like this if you don’t respect it?

August 13 -  This day started out great. Daniel and Patricia fixed us a pancake with real maple syrup!! Yum. Yum. The day was clear and cool and we started out, climbing back up to the trail from the campsite. Three bighorn ewes disappeared as we got back to the main trail, but we soon came upon a huge marmot draped over a large boulder. We wondered if it were dead, but eventually got him to turn his head.

Just beyond the marmot, a weasel came jumping and darting through the rocks. I stopped and the little thing came to within six feet of me. It’d stop, peer up at us, bob its head, and then dart away. Only to come back around a minute later. For several minutes we watched it cavort. Of course when I reached for the camera, it vanished for good, probably to go hunt some to the pikas we heard all around us.

Coming to Curator Lake, we found it to be a sheet of glass. The wind the day before had blown on to other parts, and now the morning was as still as silence. We dropped our packs and I circled the lake to take pictures. Leslie watched some phalaropes darting about, too.

We poked along for quite some time, taking pictures and soaking up this perfect morning. Then, it was time to tackle the climb of the day. A short pitch to The Notch. Darin was already up there so we put our heads down and powered up the swithbacks.

In no time we stood on the high saddle. Mountain upon mountain stretched off to the northwest, including the distant Mount Robson. It was such a perfect morning. When Daniel and Patricia arrived I pulled out my little guitar and sang "Morning In the Mountains" for them as a thank you for those yummy pancakes. Then we climbed up a nearby knob for even better views.

When we moved on, it was on a trail contouring the ridge, just below the skyline. We walked with non-stop views, our hearts singing and our souls rejoicing. I was shooting a lot of pictures. This would be our last full day on the trail, so I was soaking it up as much as I could.

Eventually we dropped to Takarra Creek and saw two large groups of bighorn ewes with this year’s young. The kids butted each other and climbed about on boulders. Occasionally one would call for its mother. It was a wonderful sight to see.

We spotted a couple hikers coming toward us and were delighted to find it was David and Jonah. They’d stayed at Takarra and decided to wait for us and camp with us our last night. Daniel and Patricia also decided to spend another night and along with Darin we all hiked on. It was a beautiful trail over to the Signal Mountain camp and we enjoyed everyone’s cheery company. It was a fun camp, and later I played a few songs to top off a wonderful day.

August 14 - Our last day on the trail. I was feeling a bit low, thinking of leaving the trail. We took our time breaking camp and were the last to leave. We caught up with Jonah, and he cheered me right up with his youthful enthusiasm. The morning miles zipped by as we walked an old fire road.

Don Hart, a friend from Montana, came hiking up toward us. He has driven up to give us a ride back to Canmore where Leslie has left the van. We’ll spend a few days doing some dayhikes. At the trailhead we run into all the others and bid everyone a fond farewell. These were some great folks and its been nice getting to know them over the last few days.

Don, Leslie and I take another trail from the parking lot which will take us right into the town of Jasper. It’s a wide, pleasant trail through lovely forest and even some great stands of aspen. I drift off into my own thoughts and think about this summer. Its been a very different kind of trek. The backcountry was much busier than I expected, the impacts of people on the land, much more pronounced than I imagined. I’d always looked at Canada as a great wild place, untouched and full of life. What I found was industrial tourism, clearcuts to the max, parks run at the expense of wildlife, and very little of the solitude one expects in the backcountry.

Don’t get me wrong, it was an incredibly beautiful trip. I’d go back to some of the places in a heartbeat. And next year I will return and start up anew from Jasper. Wilder country awaits farther north. In seeing the impacts of my kind on such beautiful places this summer I have become even more of a believer in the Yellowstone to Yukon Initiative. We need to keep these core areas connected, and we need to be concerned about any activity within the corridors. The biggest challenge in preserving the Y2Y will be getting humankind to realize that pretty places are more than just playgrounds. Hopefully we can evolve our thinking to a point where we can leave some of the planet for the other creatures we share it with.

I hope you’ve enjoyed the summer’s journals. Check in during the summer of 1999 to learn about the next stretch of the walk.

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