Oct 29

I’ve always loved Banff.  Our oldest (1885) and most visited (3.1 million visitors per year) National Park, it is a jewel in the Canadian landscape.  The best way to arrive is driving from Calgary.  Despite seeing the mountains approach as you drive for miles across the dry brown prairies, it still amazes when they suddenly surround you.  Like some surprising and sudden optical illusion, you blink in Canmore and the Rockies appear like magic, towering over the highway in all their snow-covered glory.

Banff captivates you with every vista.  Icy streams tumble down rocky slopes, racing to join the turquoise Bow River as it threads its way across the narrow valley.  Snowy mountain tops glow in afternoon sunlight, beaming golden light over the darkening forests.  A big bull elk, splendid in his crown of antlers, guards the entrance to his winter pasture – the quiet, hibernating golf course.  His herd, a hundred or more elk all dressed in their woolly winter finery, graze lazily across the waiting greens.  Two young bucks stage a noisy, vigorous duel, the hormones of youth flaring just beyond the reach of the lord of the manor.  Steam rises softly into the bitter-crisp night air above the thermal pools. The granite face of dark forbidding Mount Rundle towers above the glowing village at its feet.  How could you not fall under the spell of this postcard scenery?

But it’s cold here, winter rapidly approaching - the skiff of snow on the trees, the frozen borders of the river, the hats and mitts of the few off-season tourists.  We opted for a downtown hotel with fluffy duvets instead of braving the below freezing temperatures in the camper for two nights.  Besides, we could walk home from the steamy, fragrant local restaurants!  

We spent the days hiking – along the Bow River and up the steep ascent to Johnston Canyon.  The river is just beginning to ice over, with rising mounds of ice along the rocky shores and fragile translucent islands drifting along the edges.  By the waterfalls in the canyon, great walls of icicles hang from the rocky ledges like frigid cathedral pipe-organs in the wilderness. The borders of the falls are swollen with white spray-driven castles of ice, gradually growing to close over the moving water in time for winter sleep.  Fat squirrels quarrel with magpies over cones and seeds, and tracks through the snowy underbrush reveal martens and bears continue to prepare from winter. 

With Banff so close to winter, we head west, through Vermillion Pass in our first scanty snowfall, descending into the drier, warmer Columbia Valley.  A brief afternoon stop to bask in Radium Hot Springs, before finishing our day at Fairmont Resort, south of Invermere.  We luxuriate in another nighttime dip in the pools here before bedding down in our cozy camper.  Campsites are in short supply, but we have sketched out a route that leads past three more hot pools, and gives us two more nights to camp before the final push for home.  Too short a time we both feel, for the end to our excellent adventure.  

Oct. 25

Aurora Borealis.  Even the name conjures up romance and exotic ideas.  On Monday night we were treated to a completely captivating display of northern lights – a most magical experience. 

We were camped in Dinosaur Provincial Park, in central Alberta.  It’s a wonderful place, filled with hoodoos and ancient bones, weirdly beautiful in an otherworldly way.  You arrive at the park after travelling for miles across vast empty prairies populated by the ugly contraptions of the oil industry, and a few cows – a soulless space.  Then suddenly you descend into an oasis of trees, shrubs and varied landscape created by the deep, wide, winding valley of the Red Deer River.    The terrain is still bone dry and rugged, but life abounds – birds, deer, bats, rodents, snakes all live within the deep canyon walls, surrounded by ancient cottonwoods, and even more ancient rocks. 

The sense of history is enormous here.  Where we’ve been seeing Canadian history in terms of 100, 200, 500 years, here we see history going back 75 million years.    The small visitor centre in the park houses a few dinosaur skeletons found here which date back to the late Cretaceous period, when this was a lush, humid river valley populated by several hundred species of the great beasts.  The vast majority of dinosaur bones on display are in Drumheller, a hundred kilometers north, along the same river valley.  More on that later.

The park is in the middle of nowhere, many miles from the nearest streetlight, and we were camped alone in the base of the broad valley.  We expected a stunning night sky, but what we saw was amazing!  We stepped outside after dinner to make a fire and watch the stars, and instead of the diamond bracelet of the Milky Way, there were iridescent bands of palest green shimmering across the sky. Like some giant searchlights gone mad in the distance, the greenish gauzy lights swooned and shivered as we watched, sometimes filling the entire northern hemisphere, sometimes looping from side to side.  Once the dome of sky above us seemed like a giant circus tent, lined with banners of light.  Once a heavenly green glow on the northern horizon looked like some intergalactic potentate arriving.  We watched for hours, the celestial show put on just for us. 

On Tuesday, in Drumheller, it came as a surprisingly selfish disappointment to hear that most of North America was treated to the same spectacular display.  I can only hope that all of you were as lucky as we were! 

Back to the dinosaurs!  We followed the Red River Valley back to the Royal Tyrrell Museum in Drumheller the next day.  Who doesn’t love dinosaurs?  But really, this museum is fabulous!  We spent all day looking at the beautiful mounted skeletons – everything from T. rex to the tiniest fishes and reptiles.  The bird-like delicate flying dinosaurs, with their impossibly fragile outstretched wings – and only three metres across!  Oh, I can hardly wait to see Jurassic Park again!  This is one place no-one should miss.  If you have children you can kidnap, bring them here, right now!

So, rather than winding down, our great adventure seems to be accelerating in pace and drama.  We aren’t ready to miss any of the excitement ahead, so our plan is to spend at least another week on the road crossing Alberta and BC.  There is snow in Banff, and the thermometer dropped to -11 last night, but we’re cozy enough so far.   We’re headed into the Rockies, for hiking and hot pooling, before home. 

Oct 21

Today has been one of those perfect days!  We anticipated the need for celebration – today marks four months on the road – but we didn’t anticipate such a plethora of sensory experiences to mark our anniversary.  We had been looking forward to Grasslands National Park, in the very bottom left hand corner of Saskatchewan.  It’s small, compared to Gros Morne, and undervisited (9600 per year compared to 3.1 million in Banff), but it’s so quintessentially Canadian, and so unfettered.  No water, no electricity, just miles of rolling prairie grassland, rugged eroded buttes dipping into an ancient, winding river valley, dotted with fragile verdant islands of green in the sea of gold. 

We hiked up a long winding trail to the highest plateau overlooking the river valley.  From there the vast empty landscape expanded before us, the horizon undulating into the distance as it gently fell away.  No argument with the flat earth society today -  we could definitely see off the edge of the world.  No birds above us, our only company the occasional whirling grasshopper, until over a ridge we spotted a doe, cautiously scenting us, ears swiveling anxiously.  As we approached, she turned, alerted her brood, and five graceful deer disappeared over the hill like mysterious, exotic dancers. 

As we returned to the valley we came upon a whole town of black tailed prairie dogs whooping it up in their endless family squabbles.  Hilarious to watch, they pop up and down, race from burrow to burrow and squeal with delight or distress – it’s impossible to tell given their limited repertoire.  They are an at-risk species elsewhere, but have been reproducing indiscriminately in the park and now have acreages devoted to their trailer park –like extended families.  A charming and engaging little beastie.      

Today was warm and sunny, and the air was so still we could hear the wings of butterflies as they passed.  The silence was amazing – like suddenly awakening to deafness.  An eerie feeling for urban dwellers whose concept of stillness is impaired.  This was impressively quiet, and so restful and lovely for a change.  We kept stopping so the whole world would come to a standstill just for us. 

Tonight we are alone again, camped on the edge of the rolling hills, overlooking a thousand acres of emptiness.  But we aren’t in fact alone, because the grasslands are filled with subtle wildlife – foxes and coyotes,  owls and hawks, antelope, deer and bison.  We’ll  bundle up after dinner and sit outside with our wine, listening to the silence, and hoping to hear a nighttime visitor or two.  The stars will be stunning, the milky way a vivid track across the prairie sky.  Today has truly been a sublime gift.  

Oct 18

Well, this is a surprise – fall lasted 5 days, and now it’s suddenly winter on the prairies!  Leaving the edge of the Canadian shield after Kenora, the lovely coloured hardwood forest changed to golden larch amidst black spruce.  As we descended into the ancient Lake Agassis of the southern prairies the birches appeared, bare and stark against the grey skies.  The wind came up, the cold descended, and suddenly we were in the grip of winter.  Last night by Lake Winnipeg’s shore our water bucket froze in the icy blasts.

We’re still cozy in the camper, with light, heat, water, as long as we can plug in!  It’s becoming more and more difficult to do that though – all the provincial park campgrounds are closed, as are most of the private ones.  Only the hardy Parks Canada people seem to think winter camping is a viable option!  Tonight we are lucky – by simple serendipity we saw a year round campsite mentioned in a guide book.  So we are alone in the tall grass prairie, nestled amongst groves of aspen, and surrounded by the rolling sand dunes of southern Manitoba.  The dunes are the remnants of the ancient shore of Lake Agassis, brought by the receding glaciers into the wide Assiniboine River delta, which covered most of southwestern Manitoba twelve thousand years ago.  It’s a soft, beautiful landscape, gentler than the bald prairie, and verdant with life even on the cusp of winter. 

Earlier today we stopped at Oak Marsh bird sanctuary, just south of Lake Winnipeg, to see the migrating snow geese, Canada geese, trumpeter swans, and various unnamed ducks and sparrows.  It’s so flat you can see the curvature of the earth as the arrow-straight roads fall off into the horizon.  So flat that the rising dyke over a culvert looks like a ski hill on the prairie.  So flat that the Vs of arriving geese are visible for miles across the grassy marsh, coming in the hundreds across the sky.  An amazing spectacle!

So now we are clearly in the west, past the geographic centre of Canada (between Kenora and Winnipeg), on Central Time.  We stopped in Winnipeg and Pine Falls to see my Manitoba cousins, and Gimli to see the Goolies, and now we’re headed home.  I have mixed feelings – Canada is so astonishing, and so vast, I could spend another year exploring quite happily.  But I miss home, family, friends, and clean showers, so onward we will wander.  We’ve got a few hikes and hot pools to visit enroute, so we’re still a couple weeks away, if the weather cooperates.  Will keep you posted!

Oct 14

It appears that we’ve had a major paradigm shift.  It’s hunting season in Ontario, and we’ve just seen ten dead moose pass us on the highway!  Today we’re starting the long trek across the north side of Lake Superior again – prime hunting country in the opening week of hunting season.  Hunting virgins, we were initiated by the first moose in the forecourt of a gas station outside of the Soo.  A huge rack of antlers was peeking above the sides of an ancient pick up, so we went over to investigate.  Not just the antlers, but the poor boy’s whole head, nestled next to his still hairy thorax, and plunked down on top of his four legs, quartered.  A sort of a visceral shock for us city folk, especially the flies, and the smell that suddenly seemed all too closely connected to death.  Four filthy, silent, decrepit characters straight out of  Deliverance got back in the truck.  I may never eat moose again.  There followed a day long parade coming past us southbound on the highway  of pickup trucks loaded with ATVs, boats, gun racks, and moose antlers.  A blessing that we couldn’t see into the trucks or souls of the owners.  The anatomical reality of killing, dismembering, and transporting a moose has put me off hunting forever. 

It’s been a day heavy with the symbolism of fall.  The trees, brilliant with colour in Muskoka, have today gradually turned grey and barren.  The weather has changed overnight from sultry last ditch summer, to cold, brooding grey.  The clouds are dark with the looks of icy rain, pregnant with the threat of snow.  Lake Superior, so tropical and turquoise in July, is leaden and forbidding.  The rose and grey granite of the shield glistens with a wild beauty that was muted by summer’s sun.  In a barren field, a huge flock of tall grey birds grazed.  We stopped, assuming they were herons, and in the lens, 70 stately sand hill cranes prepared for their long winter migration.

Today also we had our first road fatality – one of a flock of sparrows veered too late out of our path and was smashed against our windscreen.  How awful for the little thing, and unfairly, how much more unbearable a large animal would be. 

But this is what we prepared for, and fall is a welcome transformation too. This week Muskoka was alight with magnificent colour, and blessed with the last warm breath of summer.  We had a wonderful long weekend in Huntsville, visiting family, eating turkey, relaxing in familiar territory.  The unexpected pleasure of swimming again in the lake at the foot of the garden made me wonder why we have to live in such a large country.  If we could only visit for the weekend more often…  I feel the isolation of the west coast so acutely when I see my large extended family, intimately connected, comfortable, and close.  I need to do this more often. 

So if the north is in the grip of fall, we shall turn on our heater, download more books, stock up on more red wine, and carry on.  We’ll enjoy the wild Lake Superior shore for another few days, then head to Winnipeg for family and reprovisioning.  Until then, tata from the wilderness!

October 6

Well, that was an adventure!  Kamakazi camping in downtown Montreal is somewhat challenging!   We parked on the street, next to the little park by Emma’s apartment, thinking that the spots in front of the school would be quietest.  Quiet is only relative of course.  This is a vibrant local neighbourhood, the park is under construction, as is the school, and the street is a  favourite with joggers, dog walkers, church goers, vagrants, taxis, and of course construction workers.  The heavy machinery started up about 6:30 every morning, except Sunday when the Korean church got under way.  The steady stream of parents bringing their kids to school began to give us weird looks about the third morning, especially when we returned with grocery bags and began making breakfast in the camper.   It didn’t help that we were parked at the curb, listing at a 20 degree angle, and the combination of constant rain and our heavy breathing caused the windows to steam up.  To their credit though, the people of Montreal deserve a big thumbs up for their relaxed attitude to other people’s peculiarities.  Not one person gave us a dirty look, no one reported us to the police, we got lots of smiles and ‘Bonjour’s, and the nights on the street were surprisingly peaceful. 

I have to report that Emma is thriving.  She is developing a great comedy routine, which we saw at a club in town, and is absolutely loving it!  I suspect she may still need a day job for a while, at least until SNL calls, but for now she’s having a ball.  Nice apartment, good boyfriend, lots of design jobs.  All good news!

So we have moved on and are having a well earned retreat in beautiful Algonquin Park before Thanksgiving with my cousins in Huntsville.  The weather has changed, after five days of ghastly rain, to crisp clear fall days.  The trees are at their peak of colour, the days are warm and sunny and the nights are clear but cold.  We’ve solved the problem of pajamas by plugging in and using our ceramic heater!  Much as I like Montreal, and love seeing Emma, this is much more our style – camped in the wilderness, looking out at the lake in the moonlight.  Blissful!   I hope there will be still more days like this ahead.

October 1

Day 100 of our travels!  Over 15,000 kms, 10 provinces, 6 National Parks, dozens of provincial parks, and more unfamiliar showers than I care to tabulate!  Still talking to each other, still looking forward to each day, and only slightly more stiff and achy!  I think we're doing fine so far.

Quite a change of pace for now though.  We're parked on a city street in downtown Montreal, next to Emma's apartment.  It's a great neighbourhood - cafes on every street corner, flower covered balconies, winding metal staircases - very typically French.  Also very noisy and smelly after living in the outdoors all summer.  Oh well - beggars can't be choosers.  We'll have a weekend here, do some walking and biking, watch Emma perform at a comedy club, and then get out of town. 

Will let you know how our urban adventure goes in a couple days!  Tata for now.