mountains – Page 5 – OldPlaidCamper

Taking a very deep breath…

…and then another, and another. What a world we’ve made for ourselves.

dscf3986 — Tempted to hide? I know, but…

What a week! Our little roadtrip to Jasper seems way back in the rear view mirror. Seeking shelter from the vitriol, looking for a quiet space away from shouting the loudest to make a point, or repeating lies to establish legitimacy, a speedy Jasper run seemed a great idea. Tune out? Turn down the volume? Take a self imposed time out? Yes please! Steady driving on near empty roads through breathtaking scenery, with sunshine and snow, rivers and lakes, and mountains and valleys helped to restore a sense of balance with each passing kilometre. We appreciated it then, and, with hindsight, appreciate it even more now…

Was it so very quiet, though? To be fair, when we took a short hike around Lac Beauvert, the honking of hundreds of geese could hardly be described as quiet – far from it – but it was soothing to see and hear something real rather than fabricated. It made sense. So did the industry and purpose we saw from a dipper busily splashing and feeding along the banks of a small stream. The beating and rushing of wings as geese flew in organized Vs straight over our heads was a wonderful sound.

The roar of the wind blasting in our faces straight off a glacier at 8,000 feet was quite the noise. Elemental, in your face, but in a good way. Not quiet, but this was noise free from nastiness and negativity.

We had space to think, room to breathe, and the chance to tune into a different set of sounds. Sounds that heal, promote calm, and encourage a positive mindset. Perhaps we’ll need quite a bit of this in the coming weeks…

Might I suggest you get outside this weekend? Turn off the intrusive soundtrack of recent days? Hug a tree, jump a stream, climb a hill, skim some stones, hike in the woods? Remember, there is a reality beyond our political constructs – this reality needs our help – and it sustains our conceited constructs. Go on, go out there, appreciate what we’ve got and hope we still have it in the years to come.

When you get home, smile and wave at your neighbors, even if you’re not too sure about their ballot box leanings. Take a very deep breath, then another and another. What a world we’ve made for ourselves. Here’s hoping we’ll figure out how to make it better.

Thanks for reading, and I hope you have a peaceful Remembrance Day and weekend.

Loose connections

I’ve always had a few of those…

I was sat on the C train this morning, the lazy part of my route to work where, for seven minutes between the walk each end – yup, I’ve timed it – I stare out the window and sometimes come up with a plan for what to write about. Sometimes inspiration strikes, and sometimes the mind wanders.

I like the old trains better than the new trains that are being phased in, even though the new carriages are shiny, and rattle and squeak free. The old ones were made in Dusseldorf, and for a onetime European there’s something satisfying about the low-tech solidity of the old school cars. Being busy not getting any younger, I find myself liking old stuff more and more. And sometimes my mind wanders.

Standing at the urinal in an old movie house last week (this is all true, and it is ok to read on, honest) I was entertained by all the movie posters plastered onto the walls. Interesting wallpaper. One that particularly caught my eye (it was straight ahead and at eye level – good etiquette suggests you shouldn’t let your eyes wander too far in this situation) was for Terrence Malick’s Days of Heaven. I have to confess that I’ve never seen this movie but always wanted to. I have seen Malick’s Badlands, and it is one of my favourites.

A somewhat grisly heartland road trip, featuring two young criminals/serial killers on the run, Badlands is a haunting/disturbing tone poem. Made in 1973, it is, despite the description I’ve just offered, a quite beautiful film. And what a cast! Sissy Spacek, Martin Sheen, and Warren Oates. (Warren Oates! His face, and his world weary persona, they are made to be seen on the big screen. Etched and interesting. Have you seen Bring Me the Head of Alfredo Garcia? Yikes. Weird isn’t even close, but Warren Oates inhabits his role!) Sometimes, I miss the 1970s.

Getting back to Badlands, I first saw it on TV back when I was an impressionable thirteen year old. I don’t think I should have been watching it, but Ma PlaidCamper was a bit of a Martin Sheen fan, and so transfixed that she didn’t notice me sat there. I was mesmerized by the nature of the movie – in an environmental sense, and in how it was made. An American road trip movie with cool cars, crime, lots of fields, small towns, roadside billboards, and a nihilistic Sheen in a jean jacket smoking a cigarette. Well, how could that impressionable boy resist? Maybe I’ll watch a double feature this coming weekend – Days of Heaven and Badlands…

dscn6973 — Cool (I like old stuff – not that this is that old)

We weren’t at the old movie house to watch an old movie. A friend was playing with her band Magnolia Buckskin – that’s a cool name, huh? It was a benefit gig to raise money to support a village in Nepal, a place rebuilding and picking up the pieces after the earthquake in 2015. As usual, Kathy and her musician buddies put on a great show. One of their songs, Edge of the Water, appeals because aside from the wonderful playing and vocal harmonies, they sing about how being at the foot of the mountain or edge of the water is to “be a part of something bigger than me…” Hard to argue with that – we are fortunate to lead the lives we do.

I think we might have to put the double feature on hold. Weather permitting, and highways being open, we’re planning a short road trip up to Jasper, and an escape from election fever. Or is it election fatigue? (I’m mystified that there is even a doubt in this particular race. One candidate is a misogynist and xenophobe, and that information there is enough to make a sensible decision…but I’ll stop, because although the result does have an impact on our lives, it’s not our election. Back to the road trip!)

The route is one of our favourites by car, full of scenery that’ll make you feel small yet part of something bigger than ourselves. Some Magnolia Buckskin for the soundtrack, no cigarettes, won’t carry a gun, we’re not on the run, and nihilism doesn’t appeal, but I wonder? Can I still squeeze into that old jean jacket? Might be a few loose buttons to go with these loose connections. I’m losing the thread. What was I saying? Imagine if my train journey was longer than seven minutes…

Thanks for reading! Please feel free to share a story, or a movie or soundtrack recommendation, and have a wonderful weekend!

Ice, mists, clouds, and sun

All on a short autumnal hike! All rather busy at school, so this will be a short autumnal post. Excuses, excuses.

I think I’m suffering from just a touch of nature deficit. I don’t know, define yearning…

Emerald Lake, Yoho BC is just the place to be for a quick circular hike. We were there a little while back, and the day was bright enough, but cool in the shade. We kept up a brisk PlaidCamper pace to beat back the chill, stopping every now and then to admire the light playing on the water, or the cloud shadows floating along the slopes.

Mists drifted across the lake, and the sun glittered off the surface. The cloud reflections were pretty in the blue-green mirror.

The small rise in temperature kept it pleasant, and stepping off the path and hugging the shore for a while was wonderful when the sun cleared the mountains.

A delightful hike, and the only challenge was how icy parts of the trail were after a night of snow-rain fall. A good excuse to slow the PlaidCamper pace and take in the view. Ice, mists, clouds and sun, tall trees and snow dusted mountains.

Why, if it wasn’t for those pesky work commitments, I think we’d be there now. Define yearning…

If you ever find yourself in Yoho BC – and I hope you have that opportunity – and even if time is not on your side, take an hour or two to stop at Emerald Lake. It’ll make your day!

Thanks for reading, have a wonderful weekend – I hope you find yourself outdoors and having a fine time!

Larching about

Ouch! That’s a terrible title – a bit of word play, close to larking about – but it’s not really working is it? Never mind. The OldPlaidCamper brain is firing on fewer than usual cylinders this week, so I’d best keep it brief…

After a decent run of weekend getaways into the mountains, our calendar has come up short, and we’re city bound for the next little while, with work and social commitments. No complaints (well, not too many), and a post this week that looks back to a hike up to see some fall larches.

dscn7235 — Rest stop – break out the chocolate

We committed to the Taylor Lake hike a few Sundays ago, determined to set out rain or shine. We didn’t really get either, with the weather set in at steadfastly grey, and a few wispy bits of white cloud clinging to the higher reaches, rather like a late middle-aged male hairline (we’ve been studying metaphors and similes at school…)

Being familiar with the trail, we felt prepared to take on the ascent at a slow and steady pace, armed with granola bars, chocolate, some almonds, plenty of water, and a willingness to stop and admire the view whenever slow and steady was too fast. That was quite often. Everyone knows that the best way to lighten the load in a heavy pack is to eat the contents. Not the spare socks though.

dscn7232 — It’s not a lark, but was slow and steady (very sensible)

With a lighter load comes a lighter heart, at least for this old hiker, and the uphill going was almost pleasant. All a bit of a lark, and we reached our destination in less time than expected – the chocolate was that good!

The top of the trail reveals wide wetlands and one end of the lake quite suddenly, an almost startling contrast with the enclosed tree-lined path on the way up. It all opens out, and you see the larches clinging to the slopes, you see sky after being under a canopy of trees, and you have a long view reflected in the rippling lake water. It is quite a release and reward at the end of an uphill stretch.

All you can do is find a spot and sit for a while, let your mind wander, and smile when you know that the return trail is downhill all the way. You might even discover another cube or two of chocolate at the bottom of your pack. Those discoveries and happy thoughts take years off you, and your legs feel fresh and ready – why, you’ll be larking about, all the way back down…

Thanks for reading, please feel free to share a story or leave a comment – what’s a hiking essential in your pack? – and have a wonderful weekend!

Between the rain and the snow…

…a chance to have a final paddle before winter really takes hold.

Being almost outdoorsy, we’ve hiked around Emerald Lake, snowshoed and skied over the frozen surface in winter, but we’ve never been out on the blue-green water. Last weekend, feeling adventurous, we hired a canoe – and what good timing! It was the last couple of hours the outfitters were going to be open and renting canoes for this season. We really left it to the last minute…

On Saturday, the forecast was for snow and more snow in Yoho. Above the tree line that was certainly true, but where we were staying, down in Field, we received rain and more rain. Freezing rain, rain that said drop your notions of paddling, and stay in front of the fire instead. So we did.

dscf3894 — On the water, blue skies, and it’s not freezing

Sunday, the rain stopped, and skies were blue, with a few large clouds floating down the valley. Friendly clouds, the sort that weren’t carrying snow (or rain), and the temperature rose a few degrees above freezing. As much as we love cabins, there can be too much fire time, so we dressed in layers and made the short trip to Emerald Lake.

Expecting a busy parking lot, we were surprised to see few cars, and happy enough to watch two busloads of visitors depart just as we arrived. I know, I’m such a misery. Anyway, after a stroll around the lake and a picnic lunch in a sunny spot, we decided just above freezing is plenty warm enough to take out a canoe. Didn’t want to miss out and wait over six months for the next chance…

dscf3890 — A sense of scale (spot the canoe)

With calm conditions, the paddling was enjoyable, and seeing the slopes from the lake offered different perspectives and a sense of scale. We’re so small, as I always seem to say after a mountain stay. Quiet off the water, and quiet on the water, save for the small splash of a paddle and the ripples we created. Generally speaking, I’m against making unnecessary waves, but these were okay.

Thanksgiving weekend, with the rain stopped, clearer skies, some warm(ish) sunshine, and floating across an emerald lake – it’s not always calm waters, but we had plenty to be thankful for right then – and right now.

As we clambered out of the canoe and slipped off our life vests, the wind picked up, and a few flakes of snow began to fall. Good timing! That’s about the end of paddling for us this season, but with the snow beginning to fly up top, and the white stuff steadily heading down the mountain along with dropping temperatures, there are plenty more different outdoor delights to be looking forward to. We’ll squeeze in a few late fall hikes, but I’ll admit it, it’s the snow I’m looking forward to!

Thanks for reading. Please feel free to share a story or leave a comment, and have a wonderful weekend!

Canadian Thanksgiving!

A brief post (something readers might be thankful for) to acknowledge Canadian Thanksgiving this coming Monday.

We’ve lived up in the True North for almost a decade, and we’re constantly thankful for the experience. As a nation, like other places, it isn’t perfect (many terrible mistakes have been made, particularly in relation to indigenous groups), but there is a sense of striving for a society that is working towards inclusivity and acceptance towards all – inside and outside the borders. It is, generally, a welcoming country, with many citizens who are prepared to live and let live, and where every day life for most people carries on without too much drama. Again, not perfect, and not for many northern communities, but (painfully small and slow) steps are being taken to right some of the past wrongs.

For me, the real drama is found in the landscapes of this great country. Personally, we have barely uncovered the tip of the wilderness iceberg here in western Canada, and beyond that there is so much more to discover from coast to coast to coast! Like the real icebergs and the true True North. Thousands of lakes large and small, tiny creeks and rushing rivers, more mountains (oh yes!), almost endless prairie, and an expanse of boreal and coastal forest to lose oneself in.

I know, I know, we’ll never get close to exploring all that there is, but it’s fun to think that we’ll try anyway. It’s the pull of the north (and the east, and the west) and a need to see for yourself and attempt to comprehend the nature of Canada. Impossible! Folly! But so alluring…

Fingers crossed, touch wood, and we’re hoping to celebrate a few more decades here, and be able to look back at travels all across this wonderful land.

The people we know, the place we live, where we’ve come from, and where we are going – so much to be thankful for!

Thanks for reading, happy Thanksgiving, and have a wonderful weekend!

Small in the Fall…

…is how you might feel, huddled by a campfire, amongst the trees and beneath the slopes out at Louise.

We made a hasty exit from the city last Friday, ignoring the forecast calling for a rain-snow mix in the middle of the night, and more hopeful for the promised sunny days.

We often anticipate looking up, peering between the branches as skies darken, eager to spot the first few stars making their appearance. Then, as the light truly fades, there is the spectacle of star after star gleaming in the darkness, until there are more than you can reliably count. Any cares from the week drop off, and you remember your little place in the wider scheme of things.

Well, on Friday night, the forecast was quite wrong – but not in a good way! The promised rain-snow mix came early, with darkness falling even more swiftly than expected due to the cloud cover racing in on blustery winds. Hmm. Instead of our upturned and expectant little faces being greeted with sparkling constellations, it was a heady mix of swirling smoke from the fire, and sleety rain from above. Lovely. On the plus side, it stopped when we were asleep, the temperature didn’t drop below freezing, and Saturday dawned bright and sunny – as promised!

We took a hike east and west along the banks of the Bow, stopping for a picnic lunch that involved layers on and layers off as the wind delivered brisk gusts. Fall, you are a contrary season, with your pleasant warmth and sudden chills, each chasing the other, upstream and downstream. Summer in a sheltered spot, then a strong hint of winter when we stepped into the breeze. Enjoyable either way.

Happily, the wind dropped as Saturday evening arrived, and the smoke from the fire was mostly straight up. The only showers were rising orange sparks, spitting up with each exploding knot in the firewood. This time, we did get to sit and see the stars appear, and the only effort was in not dozing too long, lulled by the warmth from the fire and a bottle of IPA.

What seem like major concerns tend to diminish and become more manageable when examined beneath the stars, and against time measured by mountains. There are natural cycles far longer and more necessary than political, economic, or news cycles. Shouldn’t our human cycles of concern serve, rather than determine, the natural cycles? I wonder…

Generally speaking, after some time outdoors, the big stuff isn’t all that, and as for the small stuff? Why, it almost disappears. There is a joy to feeling small, particularly so in the fall and by a fire, if you’ve got a little time.

Thanks for reading! Please feel free to leave a comment or share a story, and have a wonderful weekend!

Time to reappear!

Last week was about disappearing, so to balance that out, it’s time to reappear. Our break is about over, and we’ve had a very pleasant summer. I wrote last week about the temporary need to check out, suspend membership of the human race, and it did reflect how I felt at the time of writing. However, having had the good fortune to be able to sit, read, write and reflect with few disturbances the past week, I thought that this week I’d share one or two of the great people we’ve met on our recent travels. They were previously unknown to us, but each interaction affirmed that people are, by and large, pretty decent – it seems that when we escape group or mob mentality, humans get it right…

Where to start? How about Daryl, the tree surgeon we met a few weeks ago at Green Point campground on Vancouver Island? When we arrived at our designated spot, a large silver pick up full of chainsaws, ladders, ropes and climbing equipment was blocking the entrance. Daryl came over and introduced himself, explaining that he and his work partner were spotting trees, ensuring that those with weak roots, rotten cores, or loose branches weren’t about to come tumbling down on an unsuspecting camper:

“Don’t worry, we’re talking about in the next couple years. That said, don’t pitch your tent there, don’t tie a tarp on this one, or that one, and maybe not that one either!”

Looking around, we could see Daryl had been busy, with little blobs of red dye on trees that were going to require action. It was good to know he was out there keeping things safe. We stood and chatted for a while. Daryl loved his work, and he loved living on Vancouver Island.

“I hardly ever leave the island – why would I? My wife and I like to go kayaking and camping most weekends, and it’s all within a couple of hours of our home. It’s all here!”

Indeed it is. Daryl was knowledgeable, friendly, and not too busy to stop and say hi and talk about what he was doing. He had a good sense of humour, too. As he was leaving:

“You know how I said these trees were okay for two years or more? Well, if it gets windy, that’ll change. You might want to move your tent. Or not. It should be alright. Sleep well!”

Funny guy…

When we got to Little Bear last week, we’d about unpacked our kit, and were just wondering if it was too early for a cold one when we heard voices drifting down from further up the mountain. People? At “our” cabin and on “our” mountain? Oh no – we were meant to be disappearing…

A young boy, about twelve or so, and his grandparents hiked into view. They waved “hi” and apologized for disturbing us. They seemed surprised the cabin was occupied. It turned out the grandfather hadn’t been up this way for more than a decade, and had wanted to show his grandson and wife the cabin, and the tremendous view across the valley. They pointed out distant mountains they’d hiked with their grandson earlier in the summer. The couple had first come to Bozeman from Minnesota in the 1960s, to work at the university:

“And we never left. We love it here, working and now retired. This area is special. Can we show our grandson the inside of your cabin?”

Well of course. The boy was completely taken with the cabin, eyes and face lit up with excitement. He was still young enough not to be too cool about old stuff. It was clear he hero-worshipped his grandparents, hanging on their every word. When we told them where we’d booked the cabin and the modest cost, the grandson looked absolutely thrilled when his grandfather suggested he might come up sometime:

“When you’re a little older, with your own friends, for a few nights?”

It was late in the afternoon, and they had to get back to their vehicle and head down to Bozeman. Waving farewell, they disappeared from view, but we heard what they were saying:

“Isn’t it great that old cabin is being used? What a place! We gotta come back sometime!”

Isn’t it great that there are plenty of friendly folks out and about? It’s easy to be suspicious, or wary, particularly when you are relatively far from home. It’s easy to generalize (that’s why I do it!) about how humanity is going to hell in a hand basket, especially if you take all the bad news stories as the only stories out there. But that’s not always true – it’s just that the good stories don’t always get heard or the same air time. Sometimes, having a little time out to reflect can help me remember that.

Thanks for reading, and have a wonderful weekend!

Montana medicine

I’m writing this in a Montana motel room on a Saturday night. I know, life in the fast lane, and we sure know how to have a time of it. Actually, all is pretty good. The room overlooks the little pool, some kids are playing in it nicely, and we have a couple of beers cooling in the fridge. To be honest, it’s a bit of a selfish post this week.

After a relatively fraught couple of weeks, this might be just what the doctor ordered. Our trip to see friends and family in the UK was great fun, but there was a real feeling of Brexit blues about the place. Most people we know voted Remain, so their shock and upset over the outcome is still very real. Huge bewilderment and disbelief at the path Britain is now on. We haven’t lived there for fifteen years, and even from a distance we are struggling to make sense of it. It’ll take time, and tremendous optimism, to see how the situation can be improved. Perhaps I’ll write more about this later, if I can make sense of it all. We certainly left Britain feeling quite exhausted, and our Brexit incomprehension was a factor.

We are now headed down to Little Bear cabin, and very happy to be on our way. I’ve spent the past week or so sitting and feeling sorry for myself in a darkened room, waiting (im)patiently for my eye to be up to the task of reading small print and taking on some sunlight. Well, finally! (although I’m not taking a retinal tear lightly…) Obviously, I’ve been a model of quiet and calm recuperation, with barely a complaint. Still, Mrs PC did seem to pack up and jump in the car with even more enthusiasm than usual…

Part of our journey through Montana went from Choteau to Wolf Creek on route 287. What a route! Rising and falling through rolling grasslands and golden hills, with mountains in the far distance all the way, this was a great road! It felt like essence of Montana, with hardly any other traffic, blue skies with high white clouds, a pleasant breeze in through the windows, and space, space, space. After a week indoors, and a couple of weeks before that negotiating Britain’s crowded roads, today’s journey was delightful.

What a relief to be able to read a road map, read road signs, roam along empty roads, and see to the far horizon. Little Bear is waiting, and we are ready to empty our heads for just a little while. Some Montana medicine, and it’ll be easy to take. Everybody should have some; even if you already feel good, you’ll feel even better!

Thanks for reading, and have a wonderful weekend!

Mountain magic! A spell was karst…

…on a magical trail beneath mountains hiding behind murky mists.

At school, we’ve been working on starting stories, so apologies for the opener. It may not get any better, but rest assured, I’ll stay away from fiction and stick to the facts. PlaidCamper facts, anyway. Perhaps you’re a little concerned about the spelling?

Last weekend was a holiday long weekend, and, as science, statistics and superstition has taught us, that meant lots and lots of rain, starting at 4pm on Friday, then stopping at 8am on Tuesday. So, camping plans were abandoned, and a new hike sought on Sunday, never mind the weather. We wanted to visit the Spray Lakes area south of Canmore, into Kananaskis country, and follow the Karst Spring trail. A trail leading to a geological feature? Let’s go!

Spring time, and a long weekend – let’s go!

A weather eye out the window just before departure confirmed it was raining, but by the time we exited the parking garage it had started to snow. Hmm, I thought. Still early, and when it warms up, it’ll soon be just rain again. Forty-five minutes later, we were crawling across the prairies and into the foothills in driving snow. I am an almost outdoorsman.

We had fun(?) slipping and sliding down the Smith-Dorrien Highway, likely a lovely dusty road in summer, but current conditions had reduced it to a series of water-filled potholes linked by treacherous gravel stretches. Those were the better bits. When we weren’t slipping and sliding, we were bumping and jumping, and not in a good way.

Smith-Dorrien Highway (later in the day)

Such fun. The snow had become so heavy that we couldn’t see the mountains or the lakes – and this is a narrow valley. We ploughed on, arrived at the trailhead lot, staggered out of the car, reattached loose fillings, and set off on the Karst Spring trail.

It was probably the lack of any views due to the snow-rain (Snow-rain? Ha, I knew it would improve!) mix still falling, but the first part of the trail isn’t that interesting – scrubland and small trees each side of a wide track. Stick with it though, and after a couple of kilometres the trail rises into denser coniferous forest, and the atmosphere changes. The path narrows, and the humidity increases. There is more standing water on the ground, and the forest floor, boulders and fallen logs are covered with moss. Patches of wild flowers grow here and there, and witch’s beard hangs from branches. Enchanting!

A sharp left turn descends to Watridge Lake. This lake is popular with anglers looking to catch trout, but no anglers were present. In fact, we saw only six other hikers all day. The first couple we encountered barely fifteen minutes into our hike. They’d been camping overnight, and looked damp, and thoroughly downcast. When we told them they were mere minutes from the parking lot, their faces lit up, and they actually started to run! We were happy to help!

Past Watridge Lake, the trail becomes magical. You have to cross wetlands on a narrow boardwalk, which lends a sense of achievement when you don’t fall off. The forest was hushed, melting snow a threadbare carpet on the mossy floor, with drips and drops of rain falling softly. As we followed the path, the faint sound of rushing water grew steadily louder.

Another turn or two and we were alongside the most delightful creek! We knew the spring couldn’t be too far, and continued up the pathway as it hugged the cascading creek.

Photographs don’t do justice to the mossy, emerald treasures we saw as we approached the source of the spring. Hiking boots don’t allow for much of a jig on a muddy, rock and root ridden path, but I swear I did a little dance of joy. Steady, PlaidCamper. Must have been a sprinkle of fairy dust, or maybe an allergic reaction to Fairy Slipper (thanks, Walt) pollen, but this was a special place.

With time pushing on, and an increased chill in the air, we couldn’t hang around too long. We did promise that we’d return, perhaps in the fall, to uncover the autumnal charms of a truly wonderful trail.

We’d fallen under the spell of Karst Spring, a magical place deep in the forest, hidden in the shadow of mist-shrouded mountains. (We’ve been working on story closings as well – apologies once more!)

On our drive back home, the cloud cover lifted enough for us to see some of what we’d missed on the journey in. Wild country.

Thanks for taking the time to read this, it is always appreciated. As ever, please feel free to leave a comment or share a story, and have a wonderful weekend!

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