ROCKY MOUNTAINS I DESTINATIONS
Remote setting perfect for modern-day adventurers.
OUR HELICOPTER flew so close to the side of the mountain it looked as though we would hit the side, but the pilot knew the way.
Gliding around the cliff edge, a vista of Rocky Mountain magnificence lay before us. The dramatic grey sky threatened rain, above valleys and rugged snow-capped mountains that spread out in all directions. Ponds and lakes reflected the mountains in other-worldly fluorescent greens and turquoise. It took my breath away.
The 10-minute flight from outside Canmore, Alta., takes visitors deep into Mount Assiniboine Provincial Park in British Columbia, in what is said >>
>> to be some of the most stunning scenery in the Rockies. I travelled with my friend Ruth Bowen from Britain and Kris Kris Schlagintweit who lives in the Northwest Territories, and we had come hoping to challenge ourselves by hiking this part of Canada’s wilderness. We also followed in the footsteps of Ruth’s grandfather, Frank Smythe, who loved this area and visited at a time when only an adventurous few passed this way. He was a world-class mountain climber and writer from Britain who travelled all over the world in the 1940s. In his book Climbs in the Canadian >> >> Rockies, Smythe wrote about this area: “I can imagine no more delightful spot in which to spend a summer, for the country is wide open and the peaks stand well back from the wooded valleys.”
We packed a copy of his book and planned to re-shoot the photos that were taken 66 years earlier. The helicopter landed in a rain storm close to Mount Assiniboine Lodge. On a hill above Lake Magog, the log lodge is surrounded by mountains crowned by the peaked shape of Mount Assiniboine rising 3,618 metres above sea level. Assiniboine means chief and the pyramid-perfect shape of the mountain rising above the others suggests power. The altitude in the core area of the park averages 2,180 metres. >>
>> This park is also popular in winter for back-country skiing and snowshoeing and has UNESCO World Heritage designation.
No roads break the wilderness to the lodge and the only way to get there is to walk (or ski) 28 kilometres, or take a short helicopter flight. Assiniboine Lodge has provided a place for adventurers to stay since 1928 and, although recently renovated, it retains the romantic atmosphere of the past. Thirty guests are hosted in five lodge rooms and seven newly built and comfortably furnished log cabins and take meals in a dining room that overlooks Lake Magog and the mountains.
Also available are five heritage log cabins known as the Naiset Huts, a 10-minute walk from the lodge. Built in 1925, the cabins provided accommodation before the lodge was built.
As we opened the small door to our hut, named Fleabane, we agreed that it felt like we were back in the 1920s. The curious name, we learned, is the name of a flower that is reported to repel fleas.
Each hut sleeps between five and eight guests, and we shared ours with a Spanish hiker and his wife. The huts are equipped with bunks and a wood stove and provide an economical alternative to the lodge.
Showers, a sauna and afternoon tea could be purchased at the lodge. Camping was available a further two kilometres from the lodge. For those staying in the Naiset Huts, the newly built Wonder Lodge kitchen shelter is equipped with propane burners, a sink with running water, counter space, wooden tables and benches. Guests cooked and socialized by the dim light of solar lamps, and a feeling of camaraderie grew during our evenings together. We were all here to experience, in our own way, a back-country adventure in Canada’s Rockies. Travellers of all ages from families with toddlers to intrepid seniors were visiting from Germany, Britain, Australia and other parts of Canada. Before sunset, we looked out over the fresh snow and wondered about our adventures for the next few days. Prepared for changeable weather, we came equipped with all-season clothing and warm sleeping bags. We spread our maps over the tables to choose our walking routes from the many marked hiking trails in the park that are rated at all levels of difficulty. We gathered tips from the others, who had been out on the trails before us. The sun shone warmly the next day, melting the ground snow. After cooking a hearty breakfast, we stowed our food away in the protective “bear” lockers. Feeling every bit the cowboy, I strapped on my holster and loaded . . . bear spray. After packing lunches, maps, Smythe’s book, camera and fishing gear into day packs, we were ready to hit the trails. Beside the trail map on the bulletin board was a yellow caution sign showing a bear. We looked at each other bravely, and no one said a word. “Walk in a group, and talk and sing loudly,” was the advice from others, so the minute we hit the trail the musical performance began. Hopefully, the bears would amble away to avoid our tunes. The hike up Nub Pass followed a high path that looked down on Sunburst, Magog, Cerulean and Elizabeth lakes with >>
>> a spectacular view of Mount Assiniboine. Each glance was a view from a magazine photo coming to life. When we reached a high spot on the trail, we looked across at the mountains and wondered how much glacial ice had melted since Smythe had climbed in these mountains some 60 years earlier. When we compared the photo in his book to our view, the difference was sadly clear.
Stopping to rest on a rocky outcrop, I shared my snack with a mountain chipmunk, while Kris put brush to paper to capture a watercolour moment, and Ruth climbed a higher ledge.
Fish were jumping in the icy waters of the lake below, breaking the reflection of the mountains.
We read in Smythe’s book, “During the morning we fished in Magog lake, and in the afternoon in Cerulean lake, which swarms with huge trout, few of which appear to be under five pounds. Standing on the bank we saw hundreds of the monsters but fishing for them was a different affair.”
We decided to give fishing a try and hiked down to Cerulean Lake. After many casts and lots of quiet time, we felt a snag and the three of us pulled in a large trout. We gutted and stored the fish in a sealed plastic bag, and headed quickly down the trail checking over our shoulders to make sure no bears followed our fishy odour.
Back in the cooking hut, those filling their freeze-dried food packets with boiling water watched with envy as we fried our fresh fish in butter.
The end of each day was spent relaxing with a glass of wine on the front porch of the Assiniboine Lodge, while watching the light settle over the mountains and visiting with guests from the lodge, cabins and huts.
Sepp Renner, a strong and rugged Scandinavian guide, is a frequent resident at the lodge. He and his wife, Barb, ran Assiniboine for 30 years until a few years ago and he continues to guide visitors on hikes from the lodge. His love for this country was reflected in his eyes as he stood gazing out
at the mountains. He knew of the legendary climber Smythe and together Ruth and Sepp studied the photos in her book, and he showed us on the map where they were taken. Barb spoke warmly of their 30 years in the mountains.
The next day we chose the trail to Wonder Pass. The light on the mountains changed by the minute and reflected in the lakes. We stopped to listen to the sounds of a quiet mountain symphony, as a gust of wind caught tree tips and harmonized with the sound of birds’ wings. A bee sounded like a jet plane. The landscape was motionless but for the clouds racing across the sky. The golden larch trees, the soft Indian paintbrush and the purple wild flowers stood out from the many shades of green. Our senses came alive in this unfamiliar land. At the end of the trail we looked across a wide expanse of wilderness, as far as the eye could see.
We knew we were somewhere very special.
As we gathered in the cooking hut that night we heard stories of other hikers’ experiences. Some had spotted grizzlies from a distance that day. Three women from Germany shared dinner with Reno Sommerhalder, a Banff-based guide. Reno has a passionate love and respect for bears and has studied and filmed them all over the world. After talking with Reno, my fear changed to a silent hope that I would have the chance to see the mighty grizzly.
I set out with new courage the next day as we headed out along the Windy Ridge Trail through mountain meadows and up to a high ledge. As we looked ahead we could see a thin line wind up steep rocky scree and a snowy patch at the top of the ridge. Taking small steps on the long, slow ascent we made our way up the treeless climb.
Turning around to catch my breath I looked over a vista of mountain tops and valleys that gave me strength to keep climbing. At the top of Windy Ridge, we stood at 2,500 metres, gazing down on both sides to very different landscapes. A small snowman melted into a patch of snow at the top and the wind howled as we huddled down to eat our lunch. It was a knee-crushing climb down, but the sights below made it all worthwhile.
On our way back for a sunset drink at the lodge, we posed for a picture beside Lake Magog replicating one in Ruth’s grandfather’s book. Try as we might, we could not find the exact stone that he stood on. But we knew he had trekked the shore of that lake and his spirit was with us.
Time was melting ice on the glaciers, but we felt a deep sense of gratitude that really not much else had changed in the decades since Smythe walked these trails.
It is still a vast wilderness protected for all to enjoy.
As the helicopter rose above the mountains to take us back to life in the fast lane, my eyes searched the ground below frantically for a glance of the grizzly, I once feared but now wanted to see. The land below felt strangely familiar. A rainbow circled over the mountains.