We woke up to the sounds of an angry squirrel. This is a more effective alarm clock than we have at home, and there’s no snooze button. We ate our oatmeal out of a freezer bag and strained our fresh percolated coffee through a paper towel. Then we packed up and headed north through the Kootenay National Park.
Ever since we crossed the border into Canada, we noticed the color of the rivers is totally different here. It is the clear light green that looks so pure you figure it must be fake. As we drove through Kootenay, we continued to marvel at rivers and lakes of this most peculiar color. We pulled over at a stunning overlook (thanks to Chris for emailing me a list of synonyms for “spectacular.” I’ll be sprinkling them through future posts). I’m not sure the photos will do it justice, but I’ve included one as an example.
The temperature had cooled dramatically from the day before, and it became colder as we headed up in elevation. We saw waterfalls and snow peaked mountains and crystal lakes as we drove through one picture postcard after another. Laura said, “I think I was unfair to Canada in my three-word assessment of hot, buggy, and smells like Christmas. It really doesn’t do the country justice. I’ve mulled it over and expanded my entry.”
“Well, give it to me. What’s today’s soundbyte?”
“Canada is cold, buggy, and smells like Christmas.”
“Good choice. Big improvement.”
We left Kootenay and entered the Banff National Park, on our way to Lake Louise. We were meeting a friend of S and K’s from Virginia that also happened to be vacationing in Canada at the exact same time. She was ice climbing with a group called Chicks with Picks.
We picked an outdoorsy sounding restaurant where we could meet, Lakeshore Grill, or some such thing. It looked All-Americana and the menu was standard (North) American food. We sat down to order and gradually noticed we were the only non-Asians in the joint. In the middle of whitebread Canada, we found the only all-Asian restaurant around. The friend told us she had to get up at 3:00 a.m. every day so they could climb up and get to the ice by 10:00 so they could finish climbing the ice by noon before it starting melting. Yep, that’s right, melting. The four of us decided that as daring as we might feel traveling 10,000 miles on motorcycles to spend a few hours in Alaska, we were serious wimps compared to the Chicks with Picks.
We left Lake Louise and headed west on the Icefields Parkway. Mountain peaks covered in ice (hence the name) loomed on both sides of the road. Elevations were helpfully labeled in meters. Temperatures are all posted in Celsius. We ordered turkey lunchmeat from a deli and had to figure out how many hundreds of grams we needed for four sandwiches. I haven’t done this many metric to English conversations since engineering school.
We stopped for gas, and L and I were layering up, putting on all our coats and pulling buffs over our faces. “It’s JULY!” crowed S and K. So glad you packed all those shorts! Don’t you just hate a sore winner? I pulled on my rain gear over everything else I owned to block the wind.
We drove three hours through the most unspoiled wilderness I had ever seen, with that same peculiar light green water. The odd thing is that as immense and awe-inspiring the scenery is, your brain starts tuning out after awhile. It is as if your senses can only handle so much and decide, “If you’ve seen one pristine, emerald lake at the foot of craggy, snow-peaked mountains, you’ve seen them all.” Before long, you have to catch yourself and make sure you are intentionally taking it all in instead of watching the curves in front of you and/or the bike in front of you.
We made it to Jasper and tried to find a campsite. The Canadians LOVE to camp, and they are serious about it. We drove literally for 160 miles without seeing a single house, driveway, or side street. Then we came out to some little tiny town and a campground with 640 sites, every single one of which was booked. We found another campground and an available site but no amenities. Well, it had a shower house and clean restrooms (they call them “washrooms” in Canada), but the site had no water, electric, or internet. It did have scat on every trail leading from every tent site, and it had bear lockers where all campers had to stow any food that would not be stored inside a hard sided vehicle (car or RV -- tents and tent campers are just like a big bear lunch sack).
We figured all the scat couldn’t be wrong; we would make full use of the bear lockers. We made a big fire and ate Tater Trasherole out of freezer bags, with a Gatorade chaser.
Daily Recap: 250 miles, 1 province: Alberta
Ever since we crossed the border into Canada, we noticed the color of the rivers is totally different here. It is the clear light green that looks so pure you figure it must be fake. As we drove through Kootenay, we continued to marvel at rivers and lakes of this most peculiar color. We pulled over at a stunning overlook (thanks to Chris for emailing me a list of synonyms for “spectacular.” I’ll be sprinkling them through future posts). I’m not sure the photos will do it justice, but I’ve included one as an example.
The temperature had cooled dramatically from the day before, and it became colder as we headed up in elevation. We saw waterfalls and snow peaked mountains and crystal lakes as we drove through one picture postcard after another. Laura said, “I think I was unfair to Canada in my three-word assessment of hot, buggy, and smells like Christmas. It really doesn’t do the country justice. I’ve mulled it over and expanded my entry.”
“Well, give it to me. What’s today’s soundbyte?”
“Canada is cold, buggy, and smells like Christmas.”
“Good choice. Big improvement.”
We left Kootenay and entered the Banff National Park, on our way to Lake Louise. We were meeting a friend of S and K’s from Virginia that also happened to be vacationing in Canada at the exact same time. She was ice climbing with a group called Chicks with Picks.
We picked an outdoorsy sounding restaurant where we could meet, Lakeshore Grill, or some such thing. It looked All-Americana and the menu was standard (North) American food. We sat down to order and gradually noticed we were the only non-Asians in the joint. In the middle of whitebread Canada, we found the only all-Asian restaurant around. The friend told us she had to get up at 3:00 a.m. every day so they could climb up and get to the ice by 10:00 so they could finish climbing the ice by noon before it starting melting. Yep, that’s right, melting. The four of us decided that as daring as we might feel traveling 10,000 miles on motorcycles to spend a few hours in Alaska, we were serious wimps compared to the Chicks with Picks.
We left Lake Louise and headed west on the Icefields Parkway. Mountain peaks covered in ice (hence the name) loomed on both sides of the road. Elevations were helpfully labeled in meters. Temperatures are all posted in Celsius. We ordered turkey lunchmeat from a deli and had to figure out how many hundreds of grams we needed for four sandwiches. I haven’t done this many metric to English conversations since engineering school.
We stopped for gas, and L and I were layering up, putting on all our coats and pulling buffs over our faces. “It’s JULY!” crowed S and K. So glad you packed all those shorts! Don’t you just hate a sore winner? I pulled on my rain gear over everything else I owned to block the wind.
We drove three hours through the most unspoiled wilderness I had ever seen, with that same peculiar light green water. The odd thing is that as immense and awe-inspiring the scenery is, your brain starts tuning out after awhile. It is as if your senses can only handle so much and decide, “If you’ve seen one pristine, emerald lake at the foot of craggy, snow-peaked mountains, you’ve seen them all.” Before long, you have to catch yourself and make sure you are intentionally taking it all in instead of watching the curves in front of you and/or the bike in front of you.
We made it to Jasper and tried to find a campsite. The Canadians LOVE to camp, and they are serious about it. We drove literally for 160 miles without seeing a single house, driveway, or side street. Then we came out to some little tiny town and a campground with 640 sites, every single one of which was booked. We found another campground and an available site but no amenities. Well, it had a shower house and clean restrooms (they call them “washrooms” in Canada), but the site had no water, electric, or internet. It did have scat on every trail leading from every tent site, and it had bear lockers where all campers had to stow any food that would not be stored inside a hard sided vehicle (car or RV -- tents and tent campers are just like a big bear lunch sack).
We figured all the scat couldn’t be wrong; we would make full use of the bear lockers. We made a big fire and ate Tater Trasherole out of freezer bags, with a Gatorade chaser.
Daily Recap: 250 miles, 1 province: Alberta
Posts
Please, oh, please, make "all the scat couldn't be wrong" the title of your book when you publish this.
ReplyDeleteThe bear pic L posted on Facebook is now my current wallpaper. Chicken's got some impressin' to do. (Many thanks, L!)
Bear pix come in a couple of days. I am, as you know, a good week behind on posting. Good idea for the working title. It does have a ring, does it not?
ReplyDeleteSeconding the title--it's perfect! And make sure you include the recipe for Tater Trasherole.
ReplyDeletePussyCat and Co,
ReplyDeleteYou still crack me up:) And April and Chris--your comments just enhance the experience.