Finding happiness in the wilderness
Join global adventure addict Steph Jeavons in the wilds of Canada
As I sat cradling my coffee and watching the puddles form around my tent next to the lake in the one-horse town of Clearwater, British Colombia, I debated which way to go. I had worked out a rough route before I left but I wasn’t sure if I would have time for it now. It was getting colder already. Still, I had been told by many Canadians that the Icefield Parkway between Jasper and Banff was a ‘must ride’, and so I had to go and see for myself.
The weather was unpredictable as I rode higher into Alberta, along the forest trails and into the Rockies. By the time I reached Jasper the nighttime temperatures were reaching minus five. This was the coldest I had ever camped at, that I could recall. With a decent North Face sleeping bag and my ‘Vernadski’ socks from Antarctica, sleeping wasn’t too unpleasant, but the morning was bitter. I snuggled back into my sleeping bag after making my morning coffee on the stove outside and decided any further attempts to get up would have to be postponed until the sun arrived over the surrounding trees. The bear hunting could wait.
Be Bear Aware!
The Parkway (Highway 93) climbs to an altitude of about two thousand metres and is lined with ancient glaciers, waterfalls and rock spires. There’s no wonder it’s one of Canada’s national treasures. My hands froze but the sun soon warmed me as I stopped for photographs at every corner where a fresh view hijacked my senses and forced me into an admiring gaze once more. There was no denying the beauty of this area. The roads were good too and bears were often to be seen here, apparently, but not by me; only mountain goats and sheep. Still, the threat of bears and cougars while camping all added to the excitement. Every evening I carefully placed my kitchen bag in a tree and huddled into my tent, half expecting to find it torn to shreds in the morning. Nothing. I was almost disappointed.
There were signs everywhere saying, ‘BE BEAR AWARE’. I giggled as my imagination went wild, and one night, while camping in the woods, I decided to strip naked and take a shot of myself – with the help of a tripod and a timer – from behind. Arms stretched out and baring all for the falling sun through the opening of the trees. Once back in signal I posted it on Facebook with the quote, ‘I thought the sign said, ‘Be BARE aware’. It got more ‘likes’ than any of my previous photos!
Out onto the trails
From Canmore in Alberta, I took the Kananaskis Trail which is two thirds well-graded gravel and occupied only by hunter camps and the odd unsuspecting deer. It was a road well worth riding and the colours of the changing leaves added to the magic as I wound my way south back into B.C. and the little town of Fernie. As I parked my dusty motorcycle and wearily sat down in the coffee shop for a much-needed Americano, I was approached by a man in his late fifties wearing a baseball cap and looking like he was trying too hard to be hip. “Where are you from?” he asked in a voice that boomed across the café. For some reason I answered in
‘A fresh view hijacked my senses at every corner’
decibels that appeared to match his – which surprised me just as much as the guy on the next table. “I’m from North Wales”
“Oh RESPECT!”, he replied and proceeded to grab my hand and reach in for what I initially thought was going to be a kiss! Thankfully he stopped before I could react with a swift move and stern voice (the one I usually reserve for naughty dogs, drunk Turks, Iranian taxi drivers and semi-conscious British military men). He lined up his nose with mine and looked me expectantly in the eyes, just inches away, holding that pose for what seemed like an eternity. I clearly looked confused. He pulled away with a disappointed look and said, “You don’t do the nose touching? Which island are you from – North or South?”
“Um, I’m from North Wales not New Zealand”, I said apologetically. “I’m afraid we don’t do the nose touching thing there. We’re more the quick ‘doff of the cap’ type”. I stayed in Fernie for two nights in the almost empty Raging Elk Hostel. Once a busy coal mining community encircled by the Rockies and nestled in the beautiful Elk Valley, it survived a disastrous fire in 1904 which levelled most of the town. In the 21st century Fernie had turned to adventure tourism to save itself from becoming another of British Columbia’s ghost towns. From there I rode the now familiar-looking trails, just a short ride to Marysville. I camped out once more and spent a lovely evening in the woods. Just me and my bike Rhonda and our campfire. It was the perfect evening and it was warm at last. The hostel had been fine, but this was the life, and I was looking forward to my ride tomorrow. I had been told by a biker from the Okanagan area that there was a pass over the mountains between Marysville and Gray Creek on the edge of Kootenay Lake. He had said it was a dirt road that climbed over a 2080 metre summit (that’s nearly 7000 feet, and I later discovered that it’s one of the highest roads in Canada) and was only passable for a few months of the year due to the conditions. It sounded like a challenge and I was really up for challenges at this point. I packed up early and hit the road once more in search of my daily dose of adventure.
‘Check! We’re good to go’
As I began the ride, the sign warned me that the road was not maintained, and only high clearance vehicles may pass. I looked down at Rhonda, my CRF250L, smiled and said out loud, “Check! We are good to go!”. That 60km stretch represented what biking is all about, for me. Any cares or worries melted into oblivion as my mind was given the equivalent of a ‘factory reset’ and the pure, uncomplicated emotions that biking can bring were restored. The nervous anticipation gripped me as I climbed higher into the bear-infested mountains, not knowing what terrain I would find. The feeling of solitude washed over me as I was swallowed up by miles of trees going through their seasonal change. My confidence was building and my smile growing as I picked up speed with a devilmay-care attitude and headed joyously into the unknown. This was my kind of riding, and I lost all sense of reality and danger and rode faster and faster along the trails. I couldn’t stop smiling and shouting “Yeeeehaaaaa” as we rode like hooligans through our own patch of wilderness. Sometimes I had to stop and kill the engine, just so I could listen to the silence. It really was golden.
“Not bad, eh Rhonda?”, I said as I soaked in the atmosphere and surveyed the miles of colourful landscape around us, before setting off again. I was disappointed when the main road appeared ahead and I knew it was over.
The disappointment soon faded. The paved roads around Kootenay Lake are perfect. They are quiet, twisty and smooth, in contrast to the undulating dirt I had just ridden. I could see I was going to have some fun. Everywhere was just so beautiful. It was like Wales on steroids; bigger mountains, bigger lakes, fewer people and more wildlife. My dream place. The riding was outstanding with worldclass paved roads and dirt tracks. I had found my Utopia for sure this time; but soon the passes would be laden with snow, and so with a heavy heart I said goodbye, hoping that one day I could return.
‘Anticipation gripped me as I climbed higher into the bear-infested mountains’