Peaks and Valleys: An Ontarian Takes on the Rockies
Endless forest streams past in a verdant blur of green. The day is cloudless, the sun hot and dry. Through the car speakers, the DJ on Country 105 FM announces Dallas Smith’s “Wastin’ Gas” without a hint of sarcasm or self-loathing. In my head, I’m going through names: John Cabot, Samuel de Champlain, and the wealth of other explorers who starred in an overwhelmingly Euro-centric Grade 7 history curriculum. Today, their courage burns in my heart as I take on wilderness untamed.
Factually, my girlfriend, Corrine, is taking me out to the Rockies for a day hike. It’s our third day in Calgary, where we’ve come to visit her family. I can happily report that, for the most part, I’ve been received with the heartwarming kindness and hospitality that boyfriends with no other accommodation options dream about. There is, however, an asterisk.
No conversation goes by without an unabashedly Albertan stab at my originating from Southwestern Ontario – by their account a land of rude drivers, mountain-deficient terrain, and political correctness run amok (by my account a land of infinitely more career opportunities not afflicted by the inferiority complex of being off-brand Texas).
The hike is a loop that traverses Prairie View and Jewel Pass, totaling 15 km and earning a ‘Moderate’ rating from AllTrails. So, while it may not put me in the ranks of Canada’s founding outdoorsmen, it’s still a mountain and, as such, climbing it will serve to defend my honour and that of my home province.
A quaint little white loop on a map that is deceptively lacking contour lines or anything to indicate altitude for that matter.
Let’s be clear, I’m going into this confident. I like to go for walks. The month before last I had two weeks of consistent visits to the gym. I’ve got a longer than average stride and one adolescence worth of testosterone. Where we park at the head of the trail, there’s a sign that shows all possible routes from that point. Ours is, without a doubt, the shortest option available. Literally and figuratively a walk in the park.
Twenty minutes later, I am dying. Every muscle in my lower body is screaming. My breathing would convince any medical professional that I smoke a pack a day.
Worse than the physical pain, though, is the mental suffering. This stems from two sources.
First, Corrine seems to be doing just fine. Carrying an equally heavy pack, ascending an equally steep grade, she is observably thriving. It’s miserable.
Second, and more dire, is the great disparity between hiking and the idea of hiking.
Hiking as an idea is wonderful. Sun filters through the trees. Air carries the light scent of pine. The purity of nature abounds. At a glacier-fed creek, you freeze at the sight of a moose lapping the cold water and hush your party so you may take in nature’s tranquility without causing interference. Somewhere in the distance, songbirds whistle Ave Maria in three-part harmony.
The odds of you seeing this are literally zero.
In practice, hiking is primarily steps. The sweaty, mind-numbing basis of a repetitive motion injury. The sun beats down relentlessly. The air is thin and dry. Any water you drink must by necessity be carried up a mountain, so hydration is a zero-sum game. Signs are posted every eternity reminding you that you’ve traveled a mere 1.2 kilometres. The path alternates between precariously loose gravel and stone slab that takes issue with the intact state of your shins.
To add insult to injury, this irreconcilable gap between idea and reality permeates every facet of mountain recreation in Alberta, up to and including the very symbol of Albertan wildlife: the grizzly bear.
Without remorse, pictures of bears are used to attract tourists to a province where (1) the government publicly posts instructions on how to avoid such animals, (2) vendors offer chemically malevolent aerosol cocktails designed to repel the beasts, and (3) locals have plentiful stories of violent death for those who encounter a grizzly unprepared.
It is with these thoughts grumbling in my consciousness and an alarming heartrate pounding in my temples that the inevitable happened: whenever doing even a mildly adventurous tourist activity, it is an unwritten law of the universe that you will encounter an attractive, young couple from a progressive European country doing that activity far better than you.
This particular couple hailed from the Netherlands.
The Albertan Rockies are simply one stop on their year of globe trotting that has seen Indonesia, China, and remote regions of Australia. The North American leg of their tour started in Alaska. There they bought a used car to serve as an inexpensive means of transport. They will resell it upon finishing in New York (this is the type of brilliant idea I would normally admire, but in my current state simply resented for its goodness).
Photo cred to a fit, young blonde Netherlander with an accent that says, “Our healthcare system was ranked the best in Europe for the seventh consecutive year”.
All in all, they are charming, carefree, and unphased by the ascent. After about 10 minutes together, we stop to rest and drink water at natural clearing near the mountain’s peak. The view is great, so Corrine asks them to take our picture. Soon after, Corrine and I are ready to go and they wave us along ahead of them.
Instinctively, I’m smug, seeing this as a sign of our superior endurance. Deep down, I’m self-conscious that they appreciate nature on a deeper level and therefore need more time with the view.
The final part of the hike up is a 200-metre scramble. The sheer steepness forces us to that midpoint between hiking and climbing where hands are as involved as feet. It’s a hard stretch. The type that, in the words of the locals, “separates the Canadians from the Torontonians.” We get to the top.
Here, I can’t gripe. The view is breathtaking.
The lake is sapphire blue and shimmering under the mid-afternoon sun. The sky is nearly cloudless. The endless trees that lined the road are revealed, in fact, to be endless in every direction. It’s the mountains, though, that make the vista all it is.
Started from the bottom, now we’re here.
In every direction, there are massive peaks. the craggy detail of their faces clearly visible despite the vast distance to any one of them. Their scale, immortality, and stoicism make you feel small in every way at once. These are the type of mountains that call to the hearts of men to be summitted, strapped with iron rail, and triumphantly urinated off of.
There’s plenty of time to take this in because we picnic on the mountaintop. If I can recommend anything for a mountain hike it’s to bring lunch. After hours of walking uphill in the beating sun, a ham sandwich is a delicacy. Simply euphoric. It’s not that the taste has improved - it is the simple ecstasy of shoving something in your mouth at that level of hunger.
The descent is easier. Managing gravity causes toes to bump inside the tips of shoes, but mostly provides a welcome assist. It’s like the colleague who captains your office rec league: decidedly too much at any given moment, but your glad he’s on your side of things.
The type of flower you name a fiscally conservative political party after.
On the way down, I notice a flower - an Alberta Wild Rose. It’s blooming vibrantly, ignorant that the surface it clings to is arid rock under a thin layer of sunbaked drywall dust. A tiny piece of pure beauty on a foundation of hardship. It is a perfect metaphor for this walk.
Sitting in the passenger seat as we drive away, there’s a satisfaction in looking at the mountain skyline and knowing, if nothing else, I’ve been to the top of that today. The feeling of exhaustion is a precursor to what will undoubtedly be amazing sleep. For all the hell it gave me and I gave it, I enjoyed this hike and would recommend it. It’s an achievable path to Calgary cred. The beauty is worth the struggle.
When you finish something easy, you are done. When you finish something hard, you are better.
