“Just give her a kick in the belly,” says Dayleen. Our trail guide is growing impatient with my mare’s plodding pace. But I feel sympathy for Hazel, who is 16 and has been humping tourists through these Alberta hills for a decade. If the mare wants to take her time, it’s all right with me. I’m in no great hurry, and staying a few paces back keeps me clear of the goofy antics of Champ, who is second in our three-horse procession.

____________________________________________

“We are a few hours into a five-day roadtrip

through the Alberta Rockies and, just to make it

perfectly clear that we are in cowboy country,

our hosts have made sure our adventure kicks off

with a two-hour trail ride.”

__________________________________________

It appears that Champ wants to run, or else bite Dayleen’s horse in the ass, neither of which is making it easy on John Masters, a my travelling companion. A freelance writer, Masters isn’t fond of horses and is an inexperienced rider – a bad combination when climbing ridges with steep fallaways while trying to control a skittish gelding.

We are a few hours into a five-day roadtrip through the Alberta Rockies and, just to make it perfectly clear that we are in cowboy country, our hosts – the folk at Travel Alberta – have made sure our adventure kicks off with a two-hour trail ride. In fact, tomorrow’s schedule features yet another two-hour ride at a locale outside Banff, which would be fine if we were ranch hands or had titanium buttocks, neither of which happens to be the case.

In addition to the Boundary Ranch, Alberta's 4,211-square-km Kananaskis Country features campgrounds, golf and two alpine and X-country ski areas developed for previous winter Olympics.

There was supposed to be other journalists on this trek, but for some unknown reason a tour of Alberta’s Rockies inspired little enthusiasm. In fact, of the 120 international and Canadian travel writers who signed up for this fall’s Go Media Canadian Tourist Commission-sponsored tours, I was the only one who selected “Working the Rockies.” Masters is here by default – he was booted off his first choice, a VIA Rail trip across Canada – because he had done it before. And since there are only two of us, Travel Aberta has opted to dispense with the customary escort, supplying us instead with a road map, directions, booked accomodations, a rental car, unlimited gas and – just so we don’t get too footloose – a 13-page itinerary.

Our car, a Mitsubishi (and I thought the company only made TVs and computers) has a couple of attractive features: good acceleration and a sweet sound system, which means we can better appreciate the CDs I burned for the trip. Of course, Masters, who is no audiophile, would prefer to listen to CBC news. It’s one of his daily rituals, along with reading the Globe and Mail and drinking a double espresso in the late afternoon. Incredibly, he requires no caffeine in the morning.

The toughest part of our trip so far has been getting out of Calgary, a city that doesn’t see any need for coherent signage, and which apparently believes that endless urban sprawl is what God intended. However, once we escaped from Cowtown’s cement runways and headed west into Kananaskis Country, the drive suddenly changed for the better. Set in the foothills and of the Rockies, the province’s 4,211-square-kilometre recreational district boasts numerous provincial parks and some spectacular natural beauty. And though the area is open to tourists year round, fall may be the best time to visit because the highways aren’t clogged with camper trailers.

Before we reached our first stop – Boundary Ranch – I had already made Masters stop a couple of times so I could snap photos of the stunning landscape. Interestingly, we both have the same model of camera, a Panasonic digital, and even odder we both have the same model of backpack, a piece of swag we both scored on a previous media trip. Fortunately, no one is going to take us for twins. We look nothing alike.

Masters (in green shirt) and Dayleen. An hour later, waiting for the circulation in his legs to return: "Ice picks in the knees," Masters groans while hobbling about in the dirt.

I’m not the only person who finds this rugged terrain visually inspiring. Kananaskis Country has served as the setting for many movies, including Russell Crowe’s Mystery, Alaska; Clint Eastwood’s Unforgiven; Brad Pitt’s The Assassination Of Jesse James and Heath Ledger’s Brokeback Mountain.

Boundary Ranch www.boundaryranch.com/ has a connection with the movies as well: the owner, Rick Guinn, a former rodeo star, also had a brief acting and modelling career. He starred in Buffalo Rider, a 1978 film that dramatizes the true life of Western legend C.J. “Buffalo” Jones, who worked to prevent the extinction of the American buffalo during the 19th-century. ”Guinn landed the role largely because he was the only actor the producers could find who could actually ride a buffalo.”

_____________________________________

“Guinn landed the role largely because he

was the only actor the producers could find who

could actually ride a buffalo.”

_____________________________________

After finishing our trail ride and waiting for the circulation in Masters’  legs to return – “Ice picks in the knees,” he groans while hobbling about in the dirt – we tour the grounds. Boundary Ranch is a major operation with about 90 horses, so it can accomodate large tour groups. In addition to trail rides, which last anywhere from one hour to six days, the ranch also offers hikes, canoe trips, rodeos, gunfight re-enactments, chuckwagon races and chili cook-offs. The outfit has even partnered with another company to provide a “Surf & Saddle” package to those who want to combine trail rides with whitewater rafting.

Under the savvy tutelage of its buffalo-riding owner, film and rodeo star Rick Guinn, the Boundary Ranch has expanded its amenities since the 1930s to include gunfights, Wild West rodeos, photo safaris, sleigh rides, calf and horse roping, mountain biking and more.

We don’t have time for the Surf & Saddle combo, unfortunately. We have to get to Mt. Engadine Lodge before dark. It’s located about an hour’s drive away along a gravel road called the Smith-Dorrien Trail. And as we accelerate into the afternoon sun I plug in a CD. Elvis Presly’s voice fills the car – “A hunk a hunk of burning love …”

“A little rock n’ roll for the Rockies,” I say, and put on my shades.

Continued…Part II, III

Photos by Kerry Banks

Janice in the forest; courtesy Tom Ryan

Our final day in the East Kootenays begins with a hike through an old-growth forest. Not a difficult hike, mind you. Our guide, Steve Kuijt, operations manager at Island Lake Lodge, assures us it is “a leisurely jaunt.” Of course, Steve is impossibly fit, just like just about everyone on the staff here, most of whom happen to be female. “Fernie mountain girls,” is the way that Tom describes them. “They are a special breed,” he says.

I am still pondering that remark as we ramble into the woods. At least there is not much chance of getting lost. Steve is a certified mountain guide, which means he is proficient in all things involving the outdoors. Apparently it takes anywhere from five to 10 years to complete the program, and mountain guides have to work in several locations to receive their accreditation.

Steve Kuijt; courtesy Tom Ryan

The trail leads through a shadowy world of towering 800-year-old Western Red Cedars. Light filters down through the canopy in celestial shafts and everything smells like has been bathed in air freshener. This pristine forest, which was never logged, has also miraculously escaped the wrath of forest fires. It’s one of the natural gems of the lodge’s 7,000-acre property.

As we plod along, Steve relates some of the local history. Many people, he says, believe this trail was the same one used by the legendary Sam Steele when he came though the area with Division D of the Northwest Mounted Police in 1887. His mission:  to establish the site of what would be the NWMP’s first permanent post west of the Rocky Mountains, and to diffuse tensions between white settlers and the Ktunaxa tribe. Steele, who was front and centre in a number of pivotal historical events in the opening of Canada’s west, including the battle with Big Bear at Saskatchewan’s Loon Lake, and the Klondike Gold Rush, settled the dispute with typical efficiency.

Sam Steele; courtesy wikimedia.org

And what is the evidence that the famous Mountie rode this path? Trees along the trail have been marked with hatchet slashes, and beside one of theses Steve shows us where the name “Steele,” has been carved into the wood.

An hour later, we are back at the lodge. Janice tells Joe and myself that we have a couple of options for the rest of the day. We can join her and Andre on a six-hour hike up into the Lizard Range, or we can stay behind and hang out and have a massage in the spa. Gee, tough choice.

My massage, administered by one of the lodge’s attractive young mountain girls, is very relaxing – so relaxing, in fact, that midway through it I notice that I am drooling. We discuss travel and she tells me, “Wow, iIt sounds like you have a fascinating life.” Afterwards, feeling pretty good about myself, I enyoy lunch on the outdoor patio. Tom drops by to join me.  Joe, however, is nowhere to be found. “He said he had some work to do,” says Tom. “He has to file a story today about his trip.”

“Ah yes, the spectre of the deadline rears it ugly head. I wonder what he’s going to write about?” 

“Probably about how everything out here is not quite as tall as the CN Tower,” says Tom.

Early in the evening I meet up with Janice and André, who have returned from the heavens with sunburned faces. The pair excitedly recount their ascent. The words “steep,” “slippery” and “snow-covered” are mentioned repeatedly. André proclaims it to be “the best day of hiking I’ve ever had.” 

I figured that was the case,” says Janice, “because when we got near the top, he kept stopping, and looking around and saying, “Merde!”

Just as our pre-dinner cocktails are being served, Joe re-surfaces wearing a brown blazer and a blue-and-yellow striped tie.

________________________________________

“Hey, did you get your massage?” I ask him.

“Yeah,” he says. “But to tell you the truth,

it was one of the most difficult things I’ve done.”

____________________________________

“You’ve got to be joking?”

“No, I’m serious. The whole time I was on the table it was like I was on a roller coaster. It felt like I was going to fly over the edge. The masseuse kept saying, “Your body is really tight.”

Tight is right. It sounds like Joe needs 10 massages.

As the conversation veers into the latest methods of avalanche control, Joe suddenly decides that he has to get a picture of the mama moose that everybody else has seen. He gulps down a tumbler of scotch and charges out the door, heading to the lake with his tiny camera. The sun is starting to slip behind the mountains and so Steve scrambles after him.

They return 40 minutes later. Joe proudly proclaims that he not only got a photo of the moose, but also of her young calf. He then goes on to boast that he was the first to spot the wild beasts and not the accredited mountain guide. “I saw them first, right Steve?” he says.

Steve  just smiles.

Part 6

Part 5

Part 4

Part 3

Part 2

Part 1

(Lead image by qyd; wikimedia.org)

courtesy chiloa; wikimedia.org

We are motoring south on Highway 95 and Tom is telling us that he once worked for Pierre Trudeau. “I used to have to get him a red rose for his lapel every day,” says Tom. I can’t say that I am buying this story, but I nod like I am. Joe, who is evidently not a Trudeau fan, mentions the one-finger salute that the prime minister gave to protesting strikers from his train car in Salmon Arm. ”Yes, but less widely remembered is that the protestors were shouting anti-French slogans at the train,” I note. “Still, all in all, another heart-warming piece of Canadiana.”

Continuing the Canadiana theme, at Joe’s urging we pull into a Tim Horton’s.  He returns a few minutes later carrying a coffee and a bag of donuts. “They don’t move like they do in Toronto,” he says, between mouthfuls.

Back on the road, Tom tells us about a recurring dream he has been having in which he is dating the Queen of England. “This is the queen as she looked in the 1950s,” he quickly points out. At any rate, Tom is waiting for the queen in his car. She gets in and says, “Tom, I can’t take it anymore. I want to leave the palace and hang out with you.”

But Tom replies stoically: “No Liz, you’re the queen and I’m just a little guy. It would never work out.”

None of us know quite what to make of this. I offer some helpful advice. “You know Tom, they say that all the characters in your dreams are parts of your own personality. Maybe you want to be the Queen, or maybe a queen.”

Any further probing of Tom’s subconscious is abandoned when Joe poses a football trivia question. “Which NFL player was Howard Cosell referring to on Monday Night Football when he said, “Look at that little monkey run.” Joe is disappointed that I know the answer. Cosell was referring to Washington Redskins receiver Alvin Garrett, who was black. That controversial 1983 remark ultimately caused Cosell to leave Monday Night Football a few months later.

Why Howard Cosell’s name has popped into Joe’s mind in the midst of the B.C. Kootenays is a mystery, but it provokes a round of sports trivia that causes Janice to groan in frustration. Tom laughs at her discomfort. “This isn’t turning out be much fun for you is it Janice?”

courtesy Hollylewi; wikimedia.org

Flanked by 3,000-metre snow-capped peaks, we roll through the Columbia Wetlands. Considered the last intact portion of the Pacific flyway, the 27,000-hectare expanse was designated a wetland of international importance in 2005. In spring and fall, the area attracts up to 60,000 mallards, 20,000 northern pintails, 10,000 swans, 15,000 sandhill cranes and 50,000 Canada geese.

We pull over to admire the panorama of the glittering green floodplain and get into a conversation with an aboriginal woman. She is wearing pigtails, a straw cowboy hat, a grey T-shirt, baggy, checkered purple shorts and pink Crocs. She is here trying to find some friends who are re-creating explorer David Thompson’s exploration of the region by canoe in the early 1800s. “They have one token white guy to play David Thompson,” she says. “He should be easy to spot.” She shakes her head and chuckles, “That David Thompson, he wouldn’t know where he was going. He would have had to ask his squaw wife.”

A bit of revisionist history? Well, Thompson was married to a Métis woman named Charlotte Small, and she did accompany him on some of his expeditions. Their marriage lasted 58 years, the longest Canadian pre-Confederation marriage known, and they had 13 children together, so this was definitely no summer fling. Still, during his many years of surveying, the man the Natives called “the Stargazer” mapped more than 3.9 million square kilometres of North America, so I’m guessing he must have had some sense of direction. Unfortunately, Canada’s greatest geographer died blind, penniless and in virtual obscurity in 1857 in Montreal.

Our final destination today is Island Lake Lodge near Fernie, but we have time to make a few stops along the way. The first is Radium Hot Springs. I’m not sure that naming your town after a radioactive element was a wise business decision, but the springs are popular. There are two large pools, one with hot water for soaking (usually around 39°C), the other a two-thirds-size Olympic swimming pool that is kept at about 29°C. There is also a hot-tub sized pool that has been dubbed the “Plunge Pool,” because the water can be hot – right from the source at 44°C – or cold, right from a creek running beneath the pools.

After we enter the complex, Joe pulls out his tape recorder, approaches one of the employees and says, “Well, the first question I have to ask is how many people have you saved?”

While he asks his questions, I wander off to check out a tourist shop that looks like it has been preserved in amber since the 1960s. Feeling nostalgic for the family road trips of my youth, I buy myself an Eskimo Pie.

Later, we stop for lunch in Invermere, which is also known as Calgary’s “Whistler.” The permanent population of the town is only 4,000, but on summer weekends it swells to 40,000. This may be why it takes us about an hour to be served lunch. Joe doesn’t appear to mind. Excited by the fact that so many of the people working in these parts are from southern Ontario, he is now interviewng everything that moves.

Hit man? courtesy Riley Banks

After eating, André and I don our sunglasses and walk off to explore, eventually ending up gazing at a statue of David and Charlotte Thompson. When we come back, Tom says, “Geezuz, everyone is staring at you guys. You look like a couple of hit men.” I’m wearing a green sports jacket, a black shirt and black slacks, while André is clad in a black track suit. I guess it doesn’t take much to stand out in Invermere.

(To be continued …)

Part 4

Part 3

Part 2

Part 1

Lead image by sallylondon; flickr.com

courtesy Tom Ryan

Twin Falls is a sweet piece of eye candy: water spilling through two grooved chutes at the top of the chasm, falling through air, then merging into the same flow farther down, before crashing over the rocks and becoming a frothing cauldron. There is a bench that offers a head-on view of the show, so I sit down and soak it all in. Tom hauls out his camera and snaps some shots, including one of the three muskeeters.

Within seconds, a golden-mantled ground squirrel appears and stands on his hind legs peering up at me. I suppose he figures this is his turf and he is looking for an admission fee. Feeling rather good about having survived the hellish hike to Twin Falls, I open up my pack. ”Do you like pretzels, little guy?” Turns out he does. He takes one of the salted snacks and begins munching away, holding it aloft in his paws like a steering wheel. To complete the picture, he even has a pair of snazzy racing stripes.

courtesy damclean; flickr.com

Since our rodent pal is eating, we decide to follow his example, devouring the lunches that the lodge packed for us. The spray from the falls is having a soothing effect and I am starting to feel very relaxed. Janice, however, is disappointed that the tea house isn’t open. Yes, out here in the middle of nowhere there is a tea house that serves scones with jam. It’s a national historic site, built in stages by the CPR, beginning around 1908 with a one-storey cabin for patrons taking backcountry tours. In 1923, the company added a two-storey log structure to create a larger and more attractive chalet. A woman named Fran Drummond has owned and operated the place since 1964. Constructed from local spruce, the chalet now houses a main-floor kitchen and eating area with bedrooms on the second floor. The menu includes a selection of soups, sandwiches and desserts, which are served daily during the summer months.

Denied her chance at high tea, Janice decides that that we should start back. Man, the girl just can’t keep still. But the phrase “start back” comes as a jolt. It is an unpleasant reminder that we have only reached the midway point of our circular 17-kilometre hike. Janice also mentions that we will be taking a different return route.

My thinking is that this trail has to be much easier since we will now be descending. Once more I am proven wrong. Ten minutes into the return hike, things are already looking grim. There is no trail. Instead, we must traverse a moonscape of huge, jagged boulders on an upward diagonal. Why “up” I don’t know, but we are climbing again, and once again trying to keep pace with the long, machine-like strides of Janice and André.

This time, however, the pair lose interest in stopping to let us catch up. They vanish over the ridge, leaving Tom to deal with the stragglers. ”Would you take a cripple up these rocks?” asks Joe, a reference to Tom’s earlier anecdote about the Filipina journalist. The moraine is unforgiving stuff and it is not long before Joe, despite his trusty walking stick, begins to complain. He says that he has a bum leg and doesn’t think he is going to be able to make it.

courtesy Tom Ryan

Since we’re not equipped to camp, I wonder how feasible it might be to get a helicopter in here for an evacuation. Would the Toronto Sun foot the bill for that? Tom calmly urges Joe to continue, promising that this nasty section of rubble ends shortly, while steering the conversation away from the current situation. He also begins offering Joe pretzels as a reward for completing each new stretch of terrain. The pretzels work their magic and Joe, his lily-white knees glowing like headlamps in the afternoon sun, makes it through the moraine.

From there we descend through the forest, where I quickly remember that descending is no easier than climbing. I start gobbling ibuprofen tablets, but by the time we finallly make it back to the car my legs still feel like someone has been pounding on them with ball-pen hammers. Janice asks everyone what they thought was the highlight of the hike. I spoil a unanimous vote for Twin Falls by stating that I liked Takakkaw Falls best. “Of course, we saw that in the first five minutes,” I point out.

We dine that evening at Cilantro at Emerald Lake Lodge, overlooking the lake of the same name. The upscale resort attracts a large international clientele and, judging by the fleet of red canoes tied up at the dock, a healthy contingent of Japanese tourists. The restaurant’s location is stunning and everyone’s mood is upbeat. Even silent André has started talking, his tongue loosened by several glasses of fine Okanagan red.

Joe has made a miraculous recovery from his ordeal in the Yoho Valley, either that, or the experience has tipped his mind over the edge. He is still carrying his walking stick and he goes around the tables with it, chatting openly to total strangers. “I almost died today,” I hear him tell one couple in a happy voice. “I hiked for 55 kilometres.”

I must admit, the guy has a writer’s instincts. Never let the truth get in the way of a good story.

(To be continued …)

Part 5

Part 3

Part 2

Part 1

Takakkaw Falls, courtesy Xevi V; flickr.com

We are trudging up a forest trail somewhere in the Yoho Valley, just west of the Continental Divide. I am sweating buckets and gasping for air. We are on the hike that Tom and Janice earlier described as “pretty easy.” I now know that these two can’t be trusted. The lone consolation, and it isn’t much, is that Joe is having an even tougher time of it than me.

The hike might not be so bad if we didn’t have to keep up with the maniacal pace that Janice and André are setting. The duo appears to be competing to see who is fitter. As for Tom, a former college track athlete, he comes and goes, merrily firing off wisecracks and taking pictures along the way, and, hopefully, keeping watch for bears.

“Bears?” Joe repeats loudly when informed that some had been spotted recently in these parts. He seems genuinely astonished to learn that bears inhabit the wilds of B.C. I suppose he figured the big fellows only show up to beg for sandwiches along the roadside, like you see in the postcards. At any rate, the struggle to keep within eyeshot of the two marching metronomes has made it too difficult for him to talk, which is a blessing. But then again if he had enough wind to converse, we would have less reason to worry about bears. The booming sound of his voice would have sent them scurrying.

Admittedly, the trail started out promising enough– the first kilometre of it was paved. The route took us past thundering Takakkaw Falls, a long, narrow, horsetail-shaped slice of glacial melt water that makes a spectacular plunge down a narrow channel fed by the Daly Glacier. Takakkaw Falls has a height of 384 metres and a vertical drop of 254 metres, making it Canada’s second-highest waterfall after Della Falls at Della Lake, B.C., which has a vertical drop of 440 metres. In comparison, Niagara’s famed Horseshoe Falls drops a pitiful 57 metres, though it has a much greater volume of water.

The sight of Takakkaw Falls was certainly uplifting, but what I didn’t realize then was that “up” was going to be the operative word for the day. The trail we are on does nothing but climb. This might be fine if you run a few miles every day, not so good if you job keeps you chained to a desk. Thankfully, there is some beautiful scenery enroute to relieve the pain. The water at Laughing Falls, for example, was an amazing milky green colour. Even knowing that the hue is caused by silt deposits carried down from the glaciers didn’t detract from its magic.   

Our destination is yet another waterfall-–117-metre high Twin Falls. The view, according to Tom, is supposed to make the hard slog worth it, but then this is the guy who called this a “pretty easy hike.” Meanwhile, the sight of all this dazzling, glacier-fed water has stirred up a fresh obsession in Joe. He desperately wants to stick his feet in B.C. mountain water. “How cold will it be?” he asks. “Will I be able to stand it?”

“It will be this cold,” says Tom, making a tiny circle with his thumb and forefinger.

Kicking Horse River, courtesy Feffef; flickr.com

Another kilometre on, we cross a babbling creek and Joe indulges his wish, taking off his shoes and socks and jumping in. He then bends down and begins happily slurping handfuls of the stuff into his mouth. When Tom, who has paused to take some shots of a trio of pretty female hikers, catches up with us and spots Joe in the water, he says, “OK. Just tell me that you didn’t?”

“Didn’t what,” asks Joe.

“Didn’t take a drink.”

“Yeah, I did. Why?”

“I’m guessing you haven’t heard of ‘beaver fever,’” replies Tom, who promptly launches into a very detailed, gory and highly exaggerated description of the intestinal infection’s effects.

Joe’s exuberance over his mountain-water baptism is instantly swept away. “How long before I know if I’ve got it?”

“Could be a couple of hours. Could be a couple of days,” says Tom.

We plod on, eventually reaching the base of a series of steep switchbacks that lead up to Twin Falls. The climb is a killer. Halfway up, Joe drags a branch out of the brush and uses it as a walking stick. Dripping with perspiration and caked with dust, we finally make it to the top and stare out across the yawning gorge.

(To be continued …)

Part 1

Part 2

Lead image by Keith Young; wikimedia.org

//

courtesy woodchuckiam; flickr.com

Now that his cellphone is no longer functioning, Joe is forced to converse. He begins tellling us about the celebrities that he has interviewed for his newspaper column, or, in the case of Ben Affleck, tried to interview. Joe collared Affleck at a Toronto Blue Jays’ game, but the actor blew him off, so Joe sat behind his subject and glared at him for nine innings while Affleck kept calling him nasty names.

We are all pumped to be in the B.C. Rockies. This is Joe and André’s first time in these mountains, and I was last here several decades ago, so the drive is stirring up some fond memories. Crossing the border through Yoho National Park  is a spectacular way to make an entry. Named for a Cree word that means “awesome,” Yoho was declared a UNESCO world Heritage Site in 1984. Despite having 28 peaks higher than 3,000 metres, several amazing waterfalls, including Takakkaw Falls, the third tallest in Canada, 400 kilometres of hiking trails and an array of green alpine lakes and roaring rivers, the park has a low profile. Despite its close proximity to Banff National Park, it attracts far less traffic than its famous counterpart, which draws about four million visitors a year, making it Alberta’s number one tourist destination.

courtesy meironke; flickr.com

Just inside Yoho, we pause to admire the Canadian Pacific Railway’s famous Spiral Tunnels, which were built to solve the problem of running trains up Big Hill. To complete the CPR as quickly as possible, a decision was made to delay blasting a 430-metre tunnel through Mount Stephen and instead build a temporary 13-klilometre line over it. That required scaling Big Hill, whose 4.5 percent grade was the steepest in North America.  Trains going up the hill required four extra engines to push, while several runaway spur lines greeted the trains on their way down. As one might guess, disasters were common. After 25 years, the Spiral Tunnels finally replaced the “temporary” route in 1909. This new route added 10 kilometres, but reduced the grade to 2.2 percent. Today, from a highway viewpoint you can watch a train disappear into Mt. Ogden. The train then exits the 890-metre circular tunnel, crosses under the highway and enters a 992-metre circular tunnel in Cathedral Crags.

Our next stop is the town of Field (population 300). No more than a few wooden houses, backed by an amphitheatre of sheer mountains, it looks like an old-world pioneer settlement, little changed from its 1884 origins as a railroad-construction camp. The town was named after Cyrus Field, an American financier who led the company that laid the first transatlantic communication cable in 1858. Field later invested heavily in railroads in New York, and evidently the CPR’s executives felt he might be inclined to the same in B.C. if they named a pioneer town after him. But Field didn’t invest, and so for no particular reason we have this tiny mountain town named after a Massachusetts entrepreneur.

Even though we are going to be dining in style at Cathedral Mountain Lodge, Joe appears to be concerned that he is not going to have enough to eat. At the general store in Field he buys an armload of junk food: twizzlers, ding dongs, Doritos, beef jerky, chocolate bars and a bag of cookies.

“Had your cholesterol count taken lately?” I ask him.

He chuckles. “I’m no health nut.”

Cathedral Mountain Lodge www.cathedralmountain.com/ has a rustic look, but it is high-end rustic. The resort’s 29 log cabins feature wood-burning or gas fireplaces and deep soaker tubs. The timber frame lodge was constructed of re-claimed Douglas fir posts and beams and was designed by Vancouver architect Brad Lamoureux. The dining room has an indoor/outdoor river rock fireplace, 24-foot vaulted ceiling and 18-foot high windows.

courtesy cathedralmountain.com

Our dinner, hosted by lodge owner Nancy Stibbard, is sensational. As we demolish the meal, she tells us about the various hiking options available in the area. We decide to make a trip tomorrow through Yoho Valley to Twin Falls. “After all this food I don’t think I’ll be able to hike very far,” says Joe.

“The hike is nothing too serious,” Janice assures him. 

As Janice polishes off the last of the chocolate-dipped strawberries, Tom tells us about a writer from the Philippines who he squired through the Rockies a couple of years ago.  She was writing  a piece on wheelchair accessibility. At one point in the trip she asked him, “Mr. Tom, what is another word for handicapped?” The story she later published in the Manila Bulletin was entitled “A Cripple Visits the Rockies.”

After dessert, Joe invites me to have a beer with him on the porch of his cabin, where he confesses, “You know I’m really having trouble with this cellphone blackout. I’m addicted to my cellphone.”

“You gotta relax, man,” I reply. “You’re not in Toronto anymore.”

The lodge is scenically situated beside the Kicking Horse River and directly beneath Cathedral Mountain. Joe looks up at the stony peak and asks his favourite question. “Do you think that mountain is taller than the CN Tower?”

“That mountain is 2,766 metres high,” I tell him. “The CN Tower is 553 metres. It’s no contest.”

“Maybe,” he says, “but it doesn’t look higher.”

I have to wonder about his bizarre attachment to the CN Tower. Is it just that he has no sense of scale, or is he having trouble accepting that Toronto doesn’t have all the biggest things in the country? We sit there gabbing for awhile until Joe’s next-door neighbour ambles over. He doesn’t speak a word, but simply stands there with a grimace on his face. Finally, he says, “Are you guys having a good time?” It’s only about 10 p.m., but then again Joe’s voice does pack quite a wallop. We decide to call it a night. I start dreaming as soon as my head hits the pillow.

(To be continued …)

Part 1