Canadian Rockies - A Northern Attitude

 "If I get too close / And I'm not how you hoped / Forgive my northern attitude / Oh, I was raised out in the cold. / If the sun don't rise / 'Til the summertime / Forgive my northern attitude / Oh, I was raised on little light."

- Lyrics to "Northern Attitude," song by Noah Kahan

We belted the chorus along with Noah Kahan as our rented black Honda Civic swept to the right and around the curve of Canada's Highway 93, the Icefields Parkway. Rain squalls swept through the valleys carved between peaks by enormous glaciers and tall mountains gathered clouds before their faces as if shy. As we climbed and descended, mountain lakes of pale aqua and deep turquoise dotted the left side of the road and healthy pine forests rolled to either side - a green quilt thrown over rock shoulders.

This was our third day in Alberta, Canada, visiting the Banff National Park, Lake Louise and the mountain town of Banff.  Accustomed to the dryer Rockies of Colorado, with forests dented by the pine beetle and undergrowth turned pale brown by intense sun and lack of rain, the Canadian Rockies were like Rocky Mountain National Park on steroids. Not the height of the mountains - Colorado has taller peaks - but the intensity of the colors, the size of the glaciers remaining, the health of the forests and the relative lack of people all combined to give us a particularly Canadian Rocky Mountain high. 

In our hike to the top of Parker Ridge that third afternoon, we walked through a forest of young pines throwing off a wet, evergreen scent redolent of Christmas, of the best pine air freshener ever created. Our boots beat a regular rhythm on the wet ground, stepping around tree roots and over rocks, ascending via switchback and staircase to the top of the ridge where we could look right and see the massive Saskatchewan glacier feeding into the glacial plain below. We captured photos before a snow flurry descended, tiny pellets slapping us in the face despite our raincoats and hoods.

Later that day we had hot drinks at the Columbia Ice Fields information area, sitting on a porch absorbing sunshine while the glacier-generated katabatic winds flowed over and around us, bringing the chill of the glacier to our seats. We didn't spend much time motionless, but jumped up again to explore the "Toe" of the glacier and retrace our steps back along the canyons and lakes of the park.

The natural splendor of the mountains, the shocking cold of sudden fall (from highs of 52 we returned to 85 - degree temps in Denver) and the joy of hiking with my daughter relieved the stress of recent weeks and provided perspective to the routine cares and worries of our "real life." Just to know that such beauty exists, that adventures await, and that our bodies can carry us on amazing hikes over and among mountains - provided a shift in attitude that can't be replicated. There's a popular saying here - and in Banff- "the mountains are calling and I must go." True for me and my family, and how lucky we are to seek them.

Hiking through Heartbreak

Aden and I went winter hiking on Saturday, a sunny warm day which made us think (erroneously) that the trail would be clear. Rather, the shady trail up the first Boulder Flatiron was snow and ice-packed, and we managed the ascent with assists from various trees and rocks (ie crawling on hands and knees). We knew the downhill would be precarious as we weren't wearing spikes or yak trax on our hiking boots., which error was constantly noted by the skilled and well-outfitted Boulder hikers who passed us.

"Be careful" called one mom as we slithered by.

"Don't worry, we're going very slowly" I reassured her. 

Even the precocious four-year-old in her wake piped up, "Oh I see why, they're not wearing spikes."

But the view from the top was stunning: blue skies and pine trees, a broad vista of the plain with Denver and only a faint layer of smog beyond. After exchanging hellos with a prospective CU parent and son from the Virgin Islands (the only people with worse footwear), we decided to go down a different route to avoid sliding off a rock face.

The path we took abruptly ended - or was lost - in a snow-covered rock field and we hesitated, unsure of the best route forward. After checking GPS, Aden fixed a path across and down the mountain, zigzagging from tree to tree. We checked every foot placement, every step, laughing and swearing at the same time, both grateful for the need to concentrate. As two individuals currently struggling with heartache (though of different types) we both found that need for focus and survival helpful in taking our minds off painful subjects.

After we finally arrived at a maintained trail, my daughter realized that we were close to one of her favorite outlooks. Only problem - we had to scale a boulder-covered hill and crawl through a small hole in the rock feature to reach it. I looked dubiously at the narrow aperture and raised my eyebrows when Aden demonstrated how to hoist one's self up through arm strength alone, lower the head so as not to get clobbered, and then slither through on her belly. None of those actions are in my normal repertoire, but there was no way I was going to be left behind.

As I clawed for handholds and dragged my chest and belly across the rocks, I was bombarded - not by rocks - but by a sense of deja vu. My father used to take us out hiking and climbing in Montana when we were kids, dragging us through rough terrain, up steep crevasses and along terrifying cliffs. It occurred to me that my father was literally in the air around us - as well as living through his granddaughter - encouraging me to be strong. I nearly burst into tears (which would have made the ascent even more hazardous), but then I felt embraced and emboldened by my two angels.

I made it, careful not to look down until my derriere was firmly planted on a stable rock seat. We sat and took in the spectacular view for a while, and then Aden helped me down the way we came up. We slipped and slithered the rest of the way to the car, laughing at our narrow escapes. My clothes were much the worse for the wear but my spirit was slightly better, and I was filled with gratitude for the support from family members past and present.