Rocky Mountain High # 3: Wetlands and Highlands

Funny thing about mountainous regions, how often the low parts in between seem to turn into wetlands -- kind of the opposite of what most people imagine when they think about "mountains."  A good part of this comes from the way rivers rush down mountains at high speed, scouring away all kinds of rock, sand, and gravel.  Then they hit a lower-lying, more level area, slow down, and all the accumulated baggage drops onto the river bed.  I was brought face-to-face with both sides of this reality repeatedly during the third day of my mountain travels.

I was up even before the sun in Golden, and left at 0745 to drive south.  Before I went, I took this picture from my hotel room, looking west across the Dogtooth Range to the Selkirks.  The valley immediately to the left of the pyramid-shaped mountain is Rogers Pass -- and it looks so close, almost as if you could just go straight across country to get there!  What's less obvious is the great altitude difference -- that valley is over 500 metres higher than Golden.  A clearer picture taken in full daylight would show the highway cutting at an angle across the face of that pyramid on its ascent to the pass.

As the morning gradually opened to daylight, I was driving away to the southeast, along the Rocky Mountain Trench.  It's a placid drive through farming country.  But at every bend, I was reminded that the road is situated a little way up the eastern slope of the valley for a reason.  The entire floor of the Trench from Golden to the south is all wetland.  It's flat as a pancake, and full of water.  The Columbia River, flowing north, meanders back and forth all over the valley floor, and the loops are full of cutoff oxbow lakes and marshes.

Also striking was the difference in the sky.  The morning had begun clearly enough, but as I went south and the sun started to edge its way over the mountains, things looked very different indeed.

Of course, it was the smoke blowing northeastwards from the horrific fires in the western United States.  More on that theme later.

After well over an hour of driving I reached the spa town of Fairmont Hot Springs, and here the road switches from the east side of the valley to the west side, passing directly below the face of this unexpected rock formation.

The highway then climbs high up along the western side of the valley above Columbia Lake, and there are several viewpoints.  The view would be much more spectacular without the fire smoke.

Then the road drops down again to the small town of Canal Flats, my first stopping point for the day.  That early rise in the morning, and my lifelong habit of browsing through maps, had given me the inspiration for a unique place for my daily walk.  It took me about 25 minutes to walk around the level trail through these wetlands.

But this isn't just any wetland.  In fact, it's one of the weirdest examples of how small things in nature lead to great results.  Barely two kilometres away, on the south side of Canal Flats, the Kootenay River flows by, coming down out of the Rocky Mountains to the east and then turning south.  That river is located just 4 metres higher than this marsh.  The wetland is in fact filled by water seeping through the ground out of the river bed.

This small wetland is actually the beginning of a very long trip.  What you are seeing here is the headwaters of the mighty Columbia River, here beginning its 2000-kilometre journey to the sea.  Not only that, but the Kootenay River, which at Canal Flats is already a mature stream, eventually ends up emptying into the Columbia as one of its principal tributaries at the city of Castlegar.

The oddest fact of all is this.  If it weren't for this 2-kilometre dry stretch where Canal Flats is situated, the entire region of the Purcell, Dogtooth, Bugaboo, and Selkirk Mountains would all be an island, with the Columbia looping around these ranges to the north and the Kootenay going around them to the south.  This conjunction of intriguing facts -- and the realization of just how much can spring from such humble beginnings -- made for an unusually thoughtful morning walk.

I then retraced my steps northward as far as the resort town of Radium Hot Springs, the gateway to Kootenay National Park.  After getting some gas and a light lunch, I turned east up Highway 93.  You climb up through the town, passing hotels and restaurants, and then round a bend -- and just like that, you're in the narrow confines of Sinclair Canyon.  This dramatic crack in the rocks is a fault, and to say that it's a tight fit for both road and river is a masterpiece of understatement.

Here's the spot where the river vanishes into a deep culvert under the road at the narrowest part of the Canyon.

Driving up from Radium Hot Springs, you may want to make a snap left turn across the road into the small parking area.  But no need to panic -- just carry on another 50 metres and there's a bigger parking area on the right side!

Beyond the first dramatic crack in the wall you come to the pools of the Radium Hot Springs, one of the three hot springs facilities in Canada's Rocky Mountain National Parks.  The other two are the Miette Hot Springs, east of Jasper, and the Banff Hot Springs.  All three are currently closed due to Covid-19, otherwise I'd have been in that water myself!

The road continues snaking its way up the Canyon, which is now not quite as narrow as at first, and climbs up and over the Sinclair Pass.  A few bends after you start down the other side, you come to a roadside viewpoint with a spectacular view over the Kootenay River valley.  

The road then runs down the slope into the valley and continues north, following the Kootenay River.  This entire parkland is missed every year by visitors stampeding to the internationally-known Banff, Lake Louise, and Jasper.  I'd say it's their loss.

Here are just a few highlights.  There's a dramatic view from the overlook where the river flows through Hector Canyon.  This picture clearly shows the sand and gravel bars found in almost all mountain rivers wherever the current slows down.

 Farther north, the stunning Numa Falls.

The most sobering sight was the huge areas of dead trees, obvious victims of an infestation of ravenous beetles.  

Even whole mountainsides have been turned from dark green to barren grey by the pests.

It's not just the loss of the trees, sad as that is.  It's the realization that this region is primed and ready to go for a catastrophic forest fire.  While fires perform an important function by allowing an entire forest to regenerate, they certainly do nothing for the aesthetic beauty of the wilderness.  Here in a national park, with minimal human interference, you see at work both the up and down sides of what novelist John Wyndham called "the great revolving wheel of natural economy."

I had to pass on the next two scenic stops, the Paint Pots and Marble Canyon, because the parking lots there were suddenly filled right up.  That's the surest sign that you're reaching the north end of Kootenay National Park, because you're suddenly within easy striking distance of a day trip from Banff!

As the road climbs up the north end of the tributary Vermilion River valley towards Vermilion Pass, you come face to face with this striking and distinctive mountain formation -- which, to me, suggests nothing quite so much as a super-giant-sized iguana stretched out along the ridge.

The first time I drove up Highway 93, I didn't realize at first that this was none other than Castle Mountain, looming over the Bow River Valley between Banff and Lake Louise.  Here's my earlier picture to show what the mountain looks like from down by the Bow River.

Mountains can seem so definitive, so immutable and unchanging.  And yet, with a shift in your viewpoint, suddenly they do look very different indeed.  That's a lesson I re-learn every time I visit the Rocky Mountains.

Highway 93 ends with a final sweeping descent from the Vermilion Pass down to the Bow valley, and with that I turned onto Trans-Canada Highway 1 towards Calgary to begin my trip home.  But there's one last scenic vista.  You have to be travelling east on the Trans-Canada to visit this viewpoint, just west of Banff, which combines wetlands and peaks in one spot.

And with that iconic view of the distinctive profile of Mount Rundle, this brief mountain tour ends.  To close, here's a map showing the 1100 kilometres of driving that I did over the course of four days, Wednesday to Saturday.  This includes:

1. Calgary to Lake Louise
2. the Icefield Parkway north to Bow Lake
3. west over the Kicking Horse Pass to Yoho Park
4. the side drives to Takakkaw Falls and Emerald Lake
5. the descent of the Kicking Horse Canyon to Golden
6. the ascent of Rogers Pass and return
7. the drive down to Canal Flats and the Columbia Headwaters
8. the return trip north through Sinclair Canyon and Kootenay National Park  

I've been on many trips through mountain country, and always love another one.  But I don't think I've ever had a trip that's given me more opportunity for reflection on life in all its complexity, nor any trip at a time when I have needed that time and space for reflection more than now.

 

Rocky Mountain High # 2: Awe and Wonderment

After my two spectacular nights at the Chateau Lake Louise, it was time to head farther west.  It amuses me to think that I had to drive downhill from Lake Louise to the Trans Canada Highway, and then at once begin driving uphill again to reach the summit of the Kicking Horse Pass.  The irony is that the summit of the pass is about 100 metres lower than the lake!

But no matter.  As you stand at the summit of the Kicking Horse Pass, you are standing on the continental Great Divide.  The stream flowing downhill to the east feeds the Bow River, which in turn enters the Saskatchewan River system, and the water eventually winds up flowing into Hudson Bay.  On the west, the Kicking Horse River rushes down the mountains, and discharges into the Columbia, which flows into the Pacific Ocean.

Also, as you pass the summit, you cross the border from Alberta into British Columbia -- and you leave Banff National Park and enter Yoho National Park.

It's a further irony that the summit area of the pass looks so neat and benign today, because getting up and down the west side throughout history has been little short of nightmarish for both the original Canadian Pacific Railway and the more recent Trans-Canada Highway.

On the west side, the road swiftly peels downhill along a decidedly steep and twisting gradient which in part follows the original railway right-of-way.  The CPR experienced so many derailments on this overly-steep "Big Hill" that they eventually replaced it with the gigantic figure-eight of the two famous Spiral Tunnels.  Although there are roadside viewpoints giving somewhat of a view of the tunnels, you really only get the picture when you see a train passing through, with its head end coming out of a tunnel and going over or under the tail end that hasn't gotten into the tunnel yet.

At the bottom of the hill, signs point out the right turn onto the Yoho Valley Road.  Note: this road is not passable to vehicles towing trailers.  There's a wicked three-leg switchback on the road -- here partly visible behind the trees.

Any vehicle over 7 metres long has to back up (or down) the middle leg of the switchback, since there's no room to turn such a big vehicle around the hairpin bends.  I've seen motorhome drivers lose their cool when trying this in the past.  If in doubt, take a tour and leave the bus driving to the professionals.

This road has a lot of twists and turns, but climbs steadily and sometimes steeply to the north and into the Yoho Valley.  It's a fascinating experience.  The road is walled in by towering forests of evergreen trees, and mountain peaks loom into view from time to time over the trees on all sides.  The name of the valley and the park comes from the Cree word "Yoho!" -- an expression of awe and wonderment.  This place certainly is awe-inspiring.

Eventually you reach the end of the road -- but you're only halfway up the valley.  Further progress is on foot only.  But here at road's end is the most amazing sight of Yoho, the stunning Takakkaw Falls.  This Cree name means "It is magnificent."  Yes.

The falls are fed by an icefield and glacier high atop the Great Divide.  The river plunges in four steps (the first one is hidden at the top) for a total drop of 373 metres, with the main fall descending 254 metres -- the second tallest waterfall in Canada.  In these pictures, notice how the force of the falling water on the second stage is sufficient to make the water rocket upwards into the air before plummeting over the main drop.

Here, for comparison, is a pair of photos from the display board at the site, showing the falls frozen during the winter, and then the eye-popping torrent of water during the spring snow melt.

Although you can take decent pictures from the car parking lot, you should follow the level paved trail to the right of the parking area for about 8-10 minutes.  You'll come to a footbridge across the river, which you can cross to get even more up-close and personal with the falls.  Otherwise, climb the sharp little hill right by the bridge and you'll get a grandstand view.  The advantage of walking here is that from this viewpoint the sun will be partially behind you, even in early morning.  From the parking lot the morning sun will be partially in front and will affect the quality of your pictures (voice of experience, from previous visit).

Back out on the main highway, continue west past the small town and railway mustering yard of Field.  A little farther along, turn right on the Emerald Lake Road.  This road runs parallel to the highway for a short distance and then bears away to the north, up another valley.  At the point where the road turns north, look on the left for the Natural Bridge signs. 

This unique formation was originally a waterfall until the roaring waters of the Kicking Horse bored themselves a new channel.  In spring runoff time, with all the snowmelt, the river often overtops the barrier and temporarily turns it back into a single waterfall again.  Be sure to check it out from all angles, on both banks of the river and from the footbridge.

The road from here north to Emerald Lake runs fairly straight and uphill, but nowhere near as steep a hill as in the Yoho Valley.  As you near the road's end, pay attention to the speed limit signs.  You're going to roll right into the parking lot with almost no warning.  It's not very big, and even in the early morning you may have to drive around it once or twice to find a spot.  I got lucky as soon, as I arrived, but by the time I left twenty minutes later, the newcomers were having to park along the exit road some distance to the south.

Emerald Lake is another one of those gorgeous spectacles that looks completely different in every season and every kind of light.  The last time I drove in there was a cloudy, foggy day but even then the green colour of the water was apparent.

Although it's a completely different kind of luxury experience, I think the Emerald Lake Lodge should be on my hit list for my next trip out west.

The rest of the trip downhill to Golden will take about 50 minutes or so, depending on traffic, and it's an eye-popping experience -- but you'd best photograph it with a dashcam.  There are some nearly level stretches, but there's no shortage of aggressive bends, and some of them throw in steep grades as well.  A fair part of this spectacular road has been 4-laned, as part of a project to 4-lane the Trans-Canada Highway all the way from Kamloops to the Alberta border.  But check out this internet photo of the notorious final stretch down into Golden, the most hair-raising part of all.  It's two lanes only, steep, reduced speed limit (60 km/h, I think -- certainly that or less on some of the bends).  As these internet aerial view shows, the road has had to be hacked out of the mountainside with explosives.  

You can see a tiny railway bridge at the bottom of the canyon far below the road, and many parts of the CPR main line through the canyon had to be similarly created with endless rock blasting.  This stretch of the line cost more lives to build per mile than any other part.  In some areas the railway workers had to be dangled over the canyon walls in rope slings to drill holes and pack them with explosives.  The railway builders referred to this canyon line as the Golden Stairs, and I wonder if this is how the town of Golden got its name.

Going down this hill, I took a chance while no one was near me going either up or down, slowed down, and took one picture out the windshield (I know, very unsafe!).  This was to show the vast metal mesh nets which hang in front of the rock faces, to stop the many rogue chunks of falling rock from hurtling onto the roadway or the passing vehicles.

I can't imagine how they could possibly four-lane the existing roadway, and I fully expect them to use an alternative alignment -- but I also have no guess as to where that might go, unless it's through a very long tunnel.  Stay tuned for further developments!

At Golden everyone encounters the Columbia River -- you, the Kicking Horse River, the CPR, and the TCH.  And just like all the others, you turn northwest along the Columbia River's valley.  This broad valley is actually called the Rocky Mountain Trench, and it stretches from southeast to northwest for hundreds of kilometres, separating the Rocky Mountains from the older (and geologically different) ranges to the west. 

In order to reach Rogers Pass in the Selkirks, the CPR followed the Columbia northwards to the inflow of the Beaver River, and then backtracked southwards up the course of the Beaver River valley.  

The irony of this long roundabout route from Golden to Rogers Pass is that the Pass is actually almost directly across the Rocky Mountain Trench from Golden -- west by a bit north.  

The Trans-Canada follows a similar plan, although it shortens the trip a bit by climbing up and over the lower northern part of the Dogtooth range, which separates the two river valleys.  Even with that help, it's nearly an hour's drive at steady highway speed before you climb up the western side of the Beaver valley, and then turn to the west and climb up into the steep-sided valley that is Rogers Pass.

You realize right away what an awe-inspiring, beautiful, and treacherous place this is.  As the road climbs up the pass it has to go through a sequence of five heavy-duty concrete snowsheds under the steep slopes of the mountain called The Camels.  This mountain must surely be the King of the Avalanches as far as highway travel on the Trans-Canada is concerned.  Here's an early photo, taken shortly after the highway opened in 1962, showing two of the brand-new snowsheds.

Actually, just about every mountainside in Rogers Pass is equally dangerous.  There are no less than 136 distinct avalanche paths in the pass.  The Camels happens to be the one which most directly threatens the road.

If you're wondering where the railway line got to in this picture, the answer is literally right under your feet.  By 1906, the CPR had lost far too many lives of workers to the numerous avalanches, and began boring the Connaught Tunnel under the pass.  When it opened in 1910, the railway handed over the original right-of-way to Glacier National Park.  In 1988, the even longer Mount Macdonald tunnel opened, and these two tunnels now gave the railway a double-tracked line bypassing the Rogers Pass area entirely. Parts of the old rail right-of-way are now used as walking trails -- I suspect that in this stretch, the narrowest part of the valley, that old right-of-way might be hidden under the pavement!

In the middle of the pass are two stopping places: a Parks Canada information and interpretation centre, and a monument to the builders of the highway through Rogers Pass on the summit.  

Both areas give excellent views of the surrounding mountains.  Northwards, you are looking at the complex of Mount Rogers -- a mountain on which each individual peak has its own distinguishing name.  Rogers Peak is the one farthest to the left.

To the south, high up on the mountain,you can see the small remaining visible portion of the Illecillewaet Glacier. 

In the early days of rail travel, the track passed in a broad curve around the southern side of the valley and right below the terminus of this ice sheet.  A special hotel and station called Glacier House hosted each passenger train for an extended scenic stop.  Today, the glacier has mostly retreated and the hotel is long gone too.  But the ice still provides the essential kickstarter for the Illecillewaet River, whose turbulent course provides the route for highway and railway to follow downhill to the west.

The artillery gun displayed next to the monument isn't there are a war memorial.  It's a memento of all the years which the Canadian Armed Forces has provided avalanche control services in the Pass, by firing artillery shells into high-mountain snow packs to release avalanches before the snow packs can grow to a dangerous size.  This essential service continues to keep Rogers Pass open throughout the winter to the present day.

After visiting Rogers Pass, I backtracked to Golden, waiting out a lengthy (80-minute) traffic jam caused when a hydro wire fell across the highway in Golden itself.  Finally I got there, and the power was still out in my hotel -- although it did come on 20 minutes later.

I had a lovely dinner on the patio of a restaurant which sits on a small island in the middle of the Kicking Horse River, very close to the confluence with the Columbia.  It was a pleasant, low-key way to end a day filled with so much scenic drama.

Rocky Mountain High # 1: The Serene Spell of Lake Louise

This short fall trip marks the fourth or fifth (or sixth???) time that I've visited the Banff/Lake Louise area of Alberta, the jewel in the crown of Canada's world-famous chain of Rocky Mountain national parks.

Fairmont Hotels photo

The existence of these parks, and the world-wide fame of their spectacular scenery, came about largely due to two men -- both of whom happened to be Americans:  railroad engineer William Cornelius Van Horne and railroad surveyor Major A. B. Rogers.

Van Horne joined the Canadian Pacific Railway project as General Manager in 1878.  With his intimate knowledge of the American railway scene, he knew that competition from south of the border was going to be the biggest single threat to the Canadian line's success.  Determined to thwart that competition, he aimed his railway construction project straight across the southern Prairies, close to the American border.  In doing so, he was driving his world-record-speed track laying crews directly towards a region of the mountains where no known usable pass existed.  The well-known and relatively easy Yellowhead Pass, located much farther north and well to the west of Edmonton, would have to wait until the early 1900s to become the route of the country's second and third transcontinental lines. 

As the tracks pushed westwards across the Prairies, surveyors were desperately trying to lay out a workable track alignment through the treacherous, steep, narrow confines of the Kicking Horse Pass (the name derives from the river flowing in a deep canyon down the western slopes, in what is pretty much a continuous chain of roaring rapids).  Beyond that lay the open gap of the Rocky Mountain Trench and the hairpin Big Bend of the Columbia River where the tracks would have to cross the river twice.  In between those two crossings of the Columbia -- 80 kilometres from each other in a straight line, at Golden and Revelstoke -- towered the forbidding and enigmatic Selkirk range.  

Here, Rogers stepped forward: a crusty, parsimonious man who famously drove himself and his subordinates to the point of exhaustion and beyond.  But he did manage to ascend, survey, and map the pass through the Selkirks which bears his name to this day.  

That pass, and indeed the entire route of the CPR from Winnipeg to Vancouver, was later paralleled by the Trans-Canada Highway # 1.  Here, thanks to the internet, is a map covering the area of my travels, from Calgary to Rogers Pass, to help you get oriented.

With the railroad nearing completion, Van Horne shrewdly guessed that the international tourism industry -- then in its infancy -- could contribute greatly to the company's coffers.  While the sublime and majestic mountain landscapes were something of a draw, the real attraction was the hot mineral springs around the upper course of the Bow River -- for this was the heyday of hot springs resorts in both North America and Europe.  Van Horne built the first tourist hotel in the Canadian Rockies, and named his log cabin for the adjacent mineral pools and for the nearby station, which had been given a Scottish name -- and the Banff Springs Lodge opened for business in 1888.  The central tower section of the current stone castle was opened in 1914, and the remainder of the main building was built after a 1926 fire destroyed the original wooden hotel.  Today, the hotel has a total of 757 rooms. 

Internet photo

An hour west of Banff, another log railway hotel was built by the CPR on the shores of Lake Louise -- and the second tourist lodge of the Canadian Rockies opened for business in 1890, just two years after the Banff Springs.  The present-day 539-room Chateau Lake Louise was built in several segments beginning in 1913 with the section at the far end.

As imposing as these two large resort hotels are when seen up close, they certainly dwindle in significance when viewed in the perspective of their surroundings -- as this internet photo of Lake Louise from the summit of the Devil's Thumb clearly demonstrates.

Internet photo

Both resorts were originally open only in summer, but the boom in winter sports led to the winterization of both properties and the beginning of year-round operations: the Banff Springs Hotel in 1968 and the Chateau Lake Louise in 1982.

Owing not only to their spectacular sites but also to their equally spectacular architecture, both of these grand hotels (now managed by Fairmont Hotels) are true icons of Canada, their exteriors readily recognized around the world by tourism-oriented travellers.  

Needless to say, an iconic luxury hotel property is going to have equally iconic and luxurious prices.  The last time I checked the cost a few years ago (out of idle interest), the lakeview rooms at the Chateau Lake Louise were going in spring, summer, and fall for a steady $899 dollars a night, plus fees and taxes.  And there's little need for discounting.  Even at their great size, these world-renowned hotels usually run full up for a sizable percentage of the year.

Or at least they did.  The advent of Covid-19 has depressed hotel prices everywhere, and the deluxe mountain resorts are no exception.  As a result of the lower rates, I decided that for the first time in my life I could actually afford to stay for two nights at Lake Louise, waking up to that sublime view each morning.  And thus the idea for this trip was born.

Flying west to Calgary was an experience in itself -- my first airline flight since the pandemic lockdown began.  I booked the ticket on my points so I could travel in Business Class without breaking the bank (breaking the bank was the Chateau Lake Louise's job!).  The aircraft was a 137-seat Airbus A-220, brand new in Air Canada's fleet.  Despite the name, it's good to recall that this is actually the Canadian-designed and Canadian-built jet airliner which began its service career in Europe five years ago as the Bombardier C-Series.  It's a beautiful small airliner, with a lovely smooth and quiet ride.  The only issue was that, due to the smaller diameter of the cabin, the outsize baggage bins hung down a bit lower than in many planes.  I think I clonked my head on them 4 or 5 times in all!

Air Canada illustration

Arriving into Calgary just at dinnertime meant that I didn't want to hit the road right then and drive through the mountains in twilight.  Fortunately, Calgary Airport now has a brand-new Marriott hotel located inside the terminal building, and there I stayed.  I had no objection when they upgraded me to a suite with a dramatic view over the airport to the mountains in the distance.

The next day, after picking up a rental car (also right on-site), I headed up the highway towards the Rockies.  The Trans-Canada Highway 1 westbound out of Calgary is a broad multi-lane freeway, but any chance of highway boredom is avoided by the up-and-down roll of the foothills country, and the rapid approach of the the spectacular front ranks of the Rocky Mountains.

Immediately past Canmore, you reach the gates of Banff National Park.  Welcome to Canada's oldest National Park, and the birthplace of the world's oldest National Park system.

  Internet photo

Here you can see my payoff for pre-purchasing a full year parks pass in advance from the Parks Canada website.  This is an especially good purchase if you plan (as I do) to visit any other National Parks besides the ones in the Rocky Mountains in the course of a year, or if you plan to visit the mountain parks more than once over a time span longer than 2 days.  While all other park visitors had to stand in line at one of the quaint half-timbered  ticket booths, I simply got into the two right hand lanes and cruised slowly on through without any waiting.

If you do prefer to purchase a pass at the gate, you will receive a pass valid for all seven National Parks in the Rocky Mountains -- for one day.  You have to pay multiple daily fees to cover each day of your visit.  The pass remains valid until 4:00pm on the day following the last paid day.  The full year pass which I bought is slightly less than the cost of eight daily visits.

Shortly after you enter the Park, the highway goes in a broad curve around the north edge of the town of Banff.  In the process, you get a dramatic view of Cascade Mountain totally different from the famous view along the main street of Banff.

I've visited Banff more than once in the past, and decided to just keep on going this time.  Banff is basically a place for tourists who, rather than getting away from it all, want to find it all waiting for them when they get there.  The main street is lined with varied and often-costly restaurants, and all kinds of expensive shops -- with souvenirs and winter sports gear being recurring but not exclusive themes.  In a normal year, the town is crowded, parking is scarce, and the streets are packed with pedestrians.  I came west to enjoy the natural beauty and relax in peace and quiet, and Banff is -- in some ways -- the wrong place for both of those pursuits.

Instead, I held on up the Bow River valley, savouring the dramatic towering outlines of the aptly-named Castle Mountain.  From 1946 to 1979, the mountain was called Mount Eisenhower.  Then the name reverted to the one given by James Hector in the 1850s, but with the prominent pinnacle at the near end called Eisenhower Tower.  

 In another 25 minutes or so I came to the exit for Lake Louise.  It was the work of a few minutes to drive through Lake Louise village and up the sweeping curves of the road ascending the mountainside towards the lake, some 150 metres higher up.  And there, waiting for me, was the Chateau Lake Louise, my home for the next two nights.

Ten minutes later I was checked in and admiring the view from my lakeview room on the third floor.

Another ten minutes saw me enjoying a relaxing swim in the uncrowded pool. `

Fairmont Hotels photo

As I explained in my previous post, activities like this and all meals have to be by reservation during the pandemic.  My reservation was at 5:00pm, for a maximum of 45 minutes, with at most 9 other people allowed in the pool area at the same time.  That left the staff with 15 minutes to clean and sanitize the seats and handrails before the next batch of pool reservations at 6:00pm.  

The sizable hot tub is actually still closed, as is the steam room.  I was amused to see people entering, looking at the barricaded hot tub, then turning back to the desk attendant with plaintive questions, before finally deciding to go ahead and swim anyway!

From the swim, I had adequate time to get back upstairs, get dressed and tidied, and then head down for my dinner reservation in the Fairview restaurant at 6:30pm.  My luck was good, and I got a lovely table right by the window.  Since it's in the next wing over from my room, the angle of the view was somewhat different (the orange UFOs are reflections of hanging lamps in the restaurant).  It's also easy to see where the sun has just disappeared behind the mountains on the west side of the valley.  Official sunset time was still over an hour and a half away.

The meal certainly matched the quality and drama of the view, both for quality of food and for quality of service.  In spite of the pandemic, the chefs and wait staff here are definitely on top of their game.  After dinner I went for a short twilight walk in the gardens, and was impressed by the quietness.  There were still numbers of people coming and going on the waterfront walkway, and in the gardens, but the size of the valley seems to swallow all of the sound that they make.  This is what I love most about being in mountain country -- this sensation of the immensity of the natural world around us.

The biggest hassle of visiting these National Parks is finding a place to park at the main attractions.  As I drove up to Lake Louise in the afternoon, illuminated signs told us that the parking lots at both Lake Louise and at Moraine Lake were full -- this on a weekday in September.  Since I wanted to see Moraine Lake, that was my incentive to set out as soon as possible after breakfast the next morning.  Direct from table to car as you might say. 

Since I awoke good and early, I actually took the time to get out for a pre-breakfast walk along the path on the west shore of the lake.  I was on the path at 6:55am, in a crisp but completely calm 0°C (32°F) and the sun was already up although the entire valley was in shade.  The path was nearly deserted, and the silence was striking, to say the least.  I could readily believe myself to be miles deep into the wilderness if I didn't turn around to look back at the hotel.  This walk also gave me the opportunity to watch as the sunlight slowly painted the mountaintops and the glacier, working from the top downwards as the day brightened.  And what a unique experience to realize that, here in mountain country, the best views may actually be seen by looking down instead of up.

After breakfast, I headed out and found the road to Moraine Lake already blocked off -- parking lot full!  The heart of the problem is that all the normal shuttle buses that usually run to the lake from Lake Louise and from Banff are all cancelled due to Covid-19.  As a result, the lot is usually full up before sunrise this year.  That visit will have to wait for another time.

So instead, I went and did something I've certainly done before -- although not for many years.  I drove up the first 60 kilometres or so of Highway 93, the Icefield Parkway, which connects Lake Louise with Jasper.  It's an incredible road with an eye-popping view around every bend.  I did take advantage of a few of the stopping spots, and here are some of the results -- including the dramatic Crowfoot Glacier.

 

At Bow Lake, you should pull off into the roadside pullout and then follow the narrow roadway marked "Day use area."  At the end is a picnic park with toilets, all shrouded in a grove of evergreens, and a lakefront walking path which gives a much more natural view than you'd get from the roadside.  In spite of the potholes on the access road, it's a worthwhile detour.

With that, I turned back to Lake Louise and killed some time before noon, when I had lunch on the patio at a table facing the lake.  The lobster roll, salad, wine, and coffee were all excellent.  I wish I'd passed on the panna cotta -- it turned out to be denser and sweeter than I expected but it was so good I couldn't stop.  Bad, bad, bad!

As for this little scoundrel, he settled for a flower blossom from an adjacent planter after I chased him and a couple of persistent birds away from my plate!

If you'd like to see much more of the Icefield Parkway, here's a link to a blog post I published a couple of years back, devoted to a full-day round trip between Jasper and Lake Louise back in 2007.  Enjoy!

An Awe-Inspiring Scenic Highway