8-2-2015
Plain of the Six Glaciers – Banff NP, Alberta

Today’s moment of zen came in the form of a simple cup of tea.

I start my day early, making a simple breakfast of biscuits and gravy and taking down my campsite.  My destination today is the Plain of the Six Glaciers trail, a trail I’ve been eager to hike since the start of my journey for reasons that will soon be apparent.  However, to get to the trail, I had to hike around Lake Louise.

Darn.

Now, I’m going to say something fairly blasphemous to most Canadians:  I’m sure there was a time when Lake Louise was a pristine gem of a place.  A retreat to escape and find tranquility.  But, they’ve paved paradise and put in a parking lot.  Now the hordes of tourists invade the lake and treat it like some sort of natural Disneyland.  And I don’t understand why.  Don’t get me wrong, Lake Louise is stunningly beautiful, but there are more beautiful places up here, and all of the tourists texting on their iPhones and doing whatever they can to avoid exerting even an ounce of effort takes away from being a part of this wonder.  While I was able to fend off cynicism yesterday when discussing Parker Ridge, today I cannot: people flock here because they are lazy.  The end.

I reach Lake Louise a little after 8 a.m. in an effort to avoid the crowds.  I only half succeed, managing to score one of the last parking spaces at the entrance.  Later, as I leave the place, I will realize that to even get a spot in the lot is a lucky endeavor.  Many must park on the road leading up to the lake.  Most won’t find parking at all.  It is the very definition of a tourist trap.

I make my way through the throngs of tourists who have already lined up along the shore of the lake closest to the parking lot.  Asian girls with selfie sticks are everywhere.  As are European men with haircuts that look like they cost way too much money.  Oh, and Americans.  Plenty of big, plump American families wearing flip flops and shirts displaying their alma maters.  The only thing I don’t see in the crowd is an ounce of sanity.

Another 100 meters (a mere 100 meters!) and the crowds already start to peter out.  I walk past the chateau which I’ve been told time and again “is enough in itself to take the trip up and see,” but all I can think is “meh.”  It just looks like an overpriced resort where I’m sure nights start around $1000 a night, maybe more, and which I’m sure is completely full of spoiled rotten children whining about how they are bored, spoiled rotten teenagers whining about how they miss their current love interest, and spoiled rotten adults who spend the entirety of their time on their phone, structuring business deals back home (I in fact witnessed all three of these types of people while making my way past the chateau).  If this is how the rich-of-the-rich live, I want none of it.

Whatever.

By half a mile out, I start seeing more horse manure than people on the trail, which I take as a good sign.  Another quarter of a mile or so, and I find myself alone, a state which I’m able to maintain for the rest of my journey up the trail.

Finally, I reach the trailhead that I was looking for.  Round trip, Plain of the Six Glaciers is a 6.8 mile trek that winds up the mountain pass behind Lake Louise to…you guessed it…an overlook of the six glaciers that feed the lake.  It’s actually a very beautiful hike, and quite different from the other treks I have done while up here.  First, the terrain has been so eroded by glaciers over the years that it almost looks volcanic.  I can almost squint during this hike and picture myself back home hiking in Lassen or Whiskeytown.

Second, the designers of this trail were kind of smart.  The trail doesn’t offer constant challenges like Floe Lake or over simplicity like Parker Ridge, but instead starts very simple, and then gets more-and-more difficult the further you go until it finishes with a very intense final 100 meter scramble to the best lookout resting beneath a waterfall.  In being designed this way, the hiker gets to cater where the hike ends based on his or her abilities.  Finally, around 1.5 kilometers before the end of the trail, the hike has this place:

Check out that pup keeping guard!

This is the teahouse and the entire reason I wanted to do this hike.  Now, my copy of the Canadian Rockies Trail Guide informs me that this teahouse was constructed by the Canadian Pacific Railway in the mid-1920s.  It is only accessible by foot or horseback, and the owners still run the place the old fashioned way – without electricity.  They serve phenomenal tea and light meals, and it’s impressive to walk in and see the place in operation.  The Nepalese prayer flags are also a nice touch.

Because I arrive early in the morning, I’m able to snag a table with ease.

My daypack Blueberry kicking it at the teahouse.

With each person who arrives, the waitress asks where they are from, and I learn that I’m sitting amongst Germans, Koreans, Canadians, and a family from Long Island.  I order a pot of English Breakfast tea and some tea biscuits with honey and butter, and then relax.  When the food and tea comes, I’m amazed with its homemade quality and particularly, the richness and complexity of the loose leaf tea.  I have not had a cup of tea like this since I used to frequent The Tea Smith in Omaha, Nebraska.  I start to think that I’ve died and gone to heaven.  The waitress comments that she thinks I’m the first person in quite a while to order a traditional English breakfast rather than resort to the herbal teas and new age foods on the menu.  What can I say, I’m a traditionalist when it comes to tea.

I take my time at the teahouse, and order another pot of hot water for the tea.  While sitting and admiring the scenery, the glaciers above (having been sunned for several hours now), begin to buckle, crack, and rumble thunder of God, re-balancing and slowly moving their hundreds of thousands of tons of material down the mountain.  It is a powerful moment unlike anything I’ve ever experienced before (I feel like I’m saying that a lot on this trip).  I feel myself as much in a Church of God here as I would have felt were I attending Mass.  There is something profoundly religious about the experience.

Finally, finally, I convince myself to continue to the end of the trail.  It’s a short, rocky ascent to the end.

Another 100 meter scramble up a particularly steep and dangerous chute, and you are standing beneath a waterfall of pure glacial runoff.

I stand beneath the waterfall for a bit (the closest thing I have to a shower for the day) and admire the views before heading back down the trail.  I reach the teahouse a little after 11:30, and it is now packed with tourists.  Seating is no longer available at the teahouse, so they sit everywhere like a swarm.  The place no longer feels sacred like it felt before.  In fact, the whole scene sort of nauseates me a bit, and I push onward.  Now, my entire way down the trail is filled with hikers, all making their way up the mountain in a line.  I am so glad I went early on this hike.

As I’m nearly down the mountain and wanting off it desperately from all of the people pushing their way up the trail, I hear a slight noise on the rock wall to my left.  I look over, and see a rock climber attempting to scale an overhang.  He looks so at peace with the world and his craft, and divorced entirely from the hordes of people in which I find myself immersed.  “Maybe I need to start rock climbing,” I think to myself.

Finally, I make it back to the parking lot area.  The crowds have really rose to a fervor because of a wedding at the chateau.  Suddenly, people notice that I’m leaving rather than entering, and start yelling and harassing me to get information on my parking spot.  As I enter the lot, I see why.  I don’t want to go into crazy detail on this, but picture Dante’s Inferno, but with cars.

Finally, I get down the mountain, and decide to head to the town of Banff to refuel and grab lunch before heading up into Johnston Canyon to camp for the night.  I’m still trying to decide whether or not that was a good idea.  On the one hand, I quickly found out that Banff was the source of all the tourists that I was seeing – the place that they were all staying between their jaunts into the mountains.  It was like noticing bees, and then stumbling on their hive.  The roads were jam packed with traffic snarls lasting upwards of twenty to forty-five minutes; the sidewalks were filled with so many people that it looked more like Union Square, San Francisco than a small town in Canada; and the people, for the most part, appeared to be miserable.  One guy with Manitoba plates almost got into a fight with me when I tried to turn into the gas pump he clearly wanted, even though I had arrived at the station before him and had been waiting for longer.  I just kind of rolled my eyes and let him have the spot.  Luckily, a new spot opened up a few seconds later.

I’m going off on a tangent!  Okay, on the one hand, all that “bad stuff” above was going on in Banff.  But, on the other hand, I was able to get a decent lunch at a place called the Elk & Oarsman which I think got me “back to normal” from my calorie deficit.  And the beer there.  Forget American beer.  You have not lived until you have tried Canadian beer.  It is nectar of the gods.

Also, my time in Banff marked my first true experience with Canadian culture.  The accents, the architecture, the complete and utter Canadianness of it all, it was all there.

Finally, it gave me the opportunity to be a good son, and to buy my mom the touristy type of Christmas ornament that she loves.  So there’s that.

After I had my fill of Banff, I headed up to Johnston Canyon where I wrote out the material that became this blog entry.  This marks my last night in the Canadian parks.  Next, I’m heading to Calgary for some fun, and then I’m dropping back down into the States.

Cheers,

Rob