PRAIRIE MOUNTAIN PACKS A PUNCH
When it comes to hiking to the summit, plenty of motion is required. All of it upward.
Just over an hour into my gruelling, grunting ascent of Prairie Mountain, I took off my pack and collapsed in the never-ending river of root and rock that led to the summit. I grabbed my water bottle, took a healthy hit, and glanced up at a wind-stunted pine where a lone whiskey jack fluttered.
“Does this thing ever let up?” I asked the bird, my eyes glazed, my legs burning, my hat soaked with sweat.
“No,” the bird said. “This trail does not let up. This trail is an unrelenting, two-hour grind that brings out-of-shape city slickers to their knees. Of which, I can see, you are one.”
Typically, when the critters start badmouthing and belittling me, I know it’s time to move along. It’s my cue to get my arse off the ground and back in the game. Also, somebody once told me cleaning out toxins — including toxic thoughts — is best achieved while in motion.
And, when it comes to hiking to the summit of Prairie Mountain — one of the most popular early-season hikes in Kananaskis — plenty of motion is required. All of it upward.
Prairie Mountain has been compared to the Grouse Grind, the steep, tough-as-nails North Vancouver trail that shoots up Grouse Mountain with non-stop, thighburning pleasure ... or, depending how you look at it, punishment.
The similarities — especially the result: Your legs are turned to mush — are worth noting. The Grouse Grind is a 2.9 kilometre lung-buster that climbs 853 metres.
Prairie Mountain is a 3.5 kilometre brute that climbs 701 metres.
So, yes, Grouse is still a bit more of a “grind.” But, regardless of the comparison, Prairie Mountain — and despite its somewhat misleading name — is a mountain that deserves your respect.
After my foray up its flank earlier this week, it certainly has mine.
Of course, Prairie Mountain, which tops out at 2,210 metres, does have a few “prairie” themes.
The broad, windswept, grassy summit, for example, does give it a prairie-esque look, especially when the wildflowers come out. And the incredible panoramic views from the top, which includes Calgary and the vast, checkered plains to the east, also add credence to the name. One can only surmise that it was these two factors that inspired the “Prairie” label.
But, at the end of the day — and certainly, at the end of your hike! — it won’t be a “prairie” motif that you’ll be dreaming of. This mountain’s popularity is forged in its sweat-inducing, work-you-to-thebone hump to the summit.
It is, for many in the climbing/ hiking fold, the perfect place for early-season conditioning.
And the rough, rooty track, much of it through the trees with only the odd view to Prairie Creek Valley below, is certainly well-worn.
On any given day, even in midwinter (another one of its virtues is the fact it can usually be hiked all winter), dozens of people will make it to the Canadian flag planted on the stone cairn on the top.
On warm weekend days, it’s likely a couple hundred hikers will hoof it to the summit.
Without a doubt, its popularity is also due to its close proximity to the city. The trail starts at Elbow Falls, just 40 minutes west of Calgary on Highway 66.
And, depending on your fitness level, it will take just four hours, give or take, to complete. Perhaps five hours if you linger for lunch at the top, stop and smell the crocuses, and listen to the birds “talk.”
Interestingly, when I finally stomped my way up to the summit — the final 800 metres of the trail takes on a decidedly different character as you breach the treeline and traverse along the open bluff and southeast cliffband — not a soul was in sight.
I had Prairie’s wind-scoured summit to myself. I caught my breath, scarfed down a sandwich, and absorbed the stunning panoramic views of Mount Glasgow and the Fisher Range, Moose Mountain, Nihahi Ridge and the Prairie’s immeasurable expanse that melted into the eastern horizon.
A few minutes later a couple of ridiculously fit trail runners broke my silent, contemplative study.
They had dashed up Prairie Mountain in less than an hour, barely breaking a sweat.
We chatted, shared a few laughs, and I asked one of them to take my picture clutching the summit flag. (A position I don’t find myself in often.) Then I asked them, sheepishly, how long they would need to get down. I sorta wish I hadn’t.
“Oh, on average it takes us only about 25 minutes,” the one with the cast-iron calves and steel stomach said.
“We do this a couple of times a week.” (Keep in mind strong, fit hikers typically go up in two hours and down in one.)
“I guess that’s not enough time to get berated by the birds then,” I said. They looked at me funny. “Never mind,” I said.
“Enjoy the run down. I’ll take the tail position.”
It is, for many in the climbing/ hiking fold, the perfect place for early-season conditioning. On any given day, even in mid-winter, dozens of people will make it to the Canadian flag planted on the stone cairn on the top. — Andrew Penner