Day 9 August 7, 2010 Revelstoke to Vancouver

Revelstoke to Vancouver, via Okanagan.

On the road by 9:30am in a drizzling rain, we headed southwest to Sicamous, BC. Despite the extremely friendly ladies in the Sicamous Info Centre and the allure of a local festival and fireworks that night, we would only be stopping through to check out the beautiful Lake Sushwap- the beginnings of ‘Lake Country.”

We traveled along lake shores, eyeing Mara Lake and it’s forested, low-laying mountain backdrop. We scoped out a small beach area and made it in for a quick dip in the bath-tub warm water. As we continue to drive south, we pass through the towns of Enderby, Armstrong, and Vernon.

When Kalamalka Lake came into view, just east of Lake Okanagan, we stopped for another quick dip in it’s turquoise blue waters- in what we thought was Lake Okanagan at the time. Upon my checking out our BC map and seeing that the highway ran quite some distance from Lake Okanagan, I ask Storm “What lake did we just swim in?”

“Lake Okanagan,” he says with fair certainty.

“How do we know that? I’m checking the map and it really doesn’t seem possible,” I reply.

“The Gremlin. The Gremlin told me,” says Storm.

“Ugh the damn Gremlin. Well it’s wrong, that was Kalamalka Lake, not Lake Okanagan,” I say.

“That’s disappointing,” says Storm, “Now I can’t say I swam with the Ogopogo lake monster.”

Smith then chimes in, “Ah, yeah... I was looking at the maps before we went swimming and thought it couldn’t be Lake Okanagan, but I didn’t want to ruin your excitement about the Ogopogo.”

Kalamalka Lake, BC

Kalmalka Lake

As we reach the outskirts of Kelowna, Smith, a real estate appraiser, wonders aloud, “I wonder what every does here. All these big, nice homes. What drives this economy?”


“I know tourism is big,” I chip in.

Having seen sign upon sign advertising real estate agents, Storm says “Lot of real estate agents here, eh?” Storm pauses and we nod in agreement, and goes on, “Looks like they’re probably just selling houses back and forth, and employing themselves while they’re at it.”


We continue on, getting ever-closer to the heart of Kelowna.

“Oh man, there must be a big airport somewhere beyond that lake. Look at that jet going in to land,” Smith pauses, then goes on “Well, that, or we’ve just witnessed a major disaster and it crashed into the lake.”


We eventually pass by the Kelowna airport, at which point Smith then says,


“Ok, with an airport that size there’s gotta be something more going on here. We’re not seeing all of Kelowna. What is going on here?”



Having heard great things about the Okanagan wines, I was sure to pick up a winery guide book at our Sicamous tourist centre stop. We soon discovered that there was a "Bonitas" winery in the middle of the winery loop between Peachland and Summerland, BC. Buried amongst rolling mountains and dry, arid desert, Bonitas Wineries was a taste of luxury on a balmy, but cloudy summer afternoon. We tasted a deeply oaked and buttery chardonnay followed by a musky, cherry laden merlot begging you to grill up a steak. The winery overlooked the Southern part of Lake Okanagan.

Bonitas Winery outside Summerland, BC.

After our brief, but flavourful stint in the heart of the Okanagan wine route we continued south to Penticton.

With plenty of time before we were "due" in Vancouver that evening, we spotted an enticing looking driving range. While Bob's Golf wasn't the snazziest of driving ranges, we were shooting into the rolling desert hills enjoying the warm air and some "exercise."

Storm taking his losing stroke. Smith won the Okanagan Golf Challenge- judging being on "overall flair."

As we pull out of the driving range lot, looking out at the dry grassy land around us, Smith says, "This is probably prime territory for cougars, eh?"


"Why, have you seen a lot of bars?" asks Storm.


"No man, I mean the actual animal," replies Smith.

After our final gas fill-up (which ran us about $400 for the whole trip) in Penticton, we climbed into the Saturn one last time.... next stop:

VANCOUVER!

As we take in the sprawling dry mountains, the car quiet, Smith brings up Lake Okanagan again,

"I'm just going to say we swam in Lake Okanagan, okay?"

"Haha... okay, but the blog's been written and it says otherwise," I reply.

Pointing to the Gremlin, Storm then says, "You know, I think the lake must have been recently re-named then, and the Gremlin is just out of date. I definitely felt the Ogopogo. So that, or the Ogopogo jumped lakes."


The boys will have to read up on my recount of the adventures before they fill you in on their own "enhanced" versions- like the cougar that Smith fought off one dark night, or the talking Bass named Jim that Storm caught somewhere between Regina and Saskatoon.


We arrived in Vancouver Saturday night to a chilly 15 degrees, with the odometer reading 303,050 kilometers- making for a 5,476km trip end to end.

Our arrival in Vancouver in Kitsilano. Thanks to the Skuportergraham Houeshold for hosting us.

It was defintiely not the most direct route, but it was one that showed us some of the best that Canada has to offer- crystal clear lakes, rolling hills, golden prairie plains, towering angry mountains, tasty beers, world-class wine, friendly people, and a landscape built for spontaneity and adventure.


While Storm flies home to reality tonight and Smith takes in the sights of Vancouver and Vancouver Island for another week, I'll be continuing on. To where... I'm not quite sure yet. But I picked up a bottle of Bonitas Winery Merlot that will pair nicely with a steak under the stars in some tiny town, somewhere.

I'll be making a visit to Vancouver Island, and likely heading up into Northern BC.

The blog will continue, but the posts less frequent while I spend some time enjoying the buzz of Vancouver.

Next stop:

???

Day 8 Pictures: Banff to Revelstoke, BC

Smith and Storm on the trail back from our night of bush camping in Banff

The drive to Revelstoke

Tasty glacial water in Johnstone's Canyon, Banff

Storm's stellar outift for the Johnstone's Canyon trail

Day 7 Pictures: Jasper to Banff

Heading out for backcountry camping in Banff, AB

Lake Louise, AB

Jasper

Columbia Icefield, Jasper

Between Banff & Jasper

Day 8: August 6, 2010

Banff, AB to Revelstoke, BC

I woke up deep in the mountains today, squished between two large, smelly men. Struggling to open the zipper, I threw open the tent fly and took a long breath of quiet, cool air. While getting to Banff from Jasper proved pretty easy and awe-inspiring, getting to this wooded site surrounded by dense, dark forest was not so easy.


After our spectacular day taking in the evian-bottle scenery along Highway 1, we pulled into the mountain village of Banff late in the afternoon. Smith went into the visitor centre to pick up our wilderness passes for the night while I stocked up on overnight essentials- sausage, bacon, buns, and cheese. Apparently the visitor guide wasn’t overly impressed with our last-minute scrambling to venture into the woods as out-of-towners. Smith reassured him with our experience camping in Northern Ontario, to which the guide says,

“Oh, well then. You’re more likely to come across bears over there than you are here!”



I guess we got lucky in Ontario.



Wilderness passes and meat in hand, we drove back north toward Jasper to take the Johnstone’s Creek Trail into the mountains. We had loosely discussed the ‘ideal’ time for us to be heading onto the trail, which we kept pushing back to make ourselves feel safer about the hike- and likely darkness- we had ahead of us. Just as we pull into the trailhead, we’re slowed behind lineups of cars lining the narrow sideroad. Heads were craned out and kids faces pressed against mini-van windows all toward the low-laying field next to us. We join the rubber neck club and catch our first black bear sighting. Too far to be photo worthy, and increasingly concerned about our dwindling daylight, we quickly move on.



While we dig out the luxuries and replace them with our bare necessities, I ask Smith if he was able to get a trail map to take with us.

“Nope,” says Smith. Storm then pipes up,

“So Smith, the trail starts just at the washrooms over there?”

“Hah... Ah, yeah, that’s the start,” says Smith, with a clear twinge of sarcasm. He didn’t have a map and clearly wasn’t sure.



“Looks good to me,” I say.

Loaded up with gear, we head onto the paved trail into Johnstone’s Canyon. Passing by the last of the day hikers, we didn’t stop too often to take in the 70-foot deep canyon as the sun was no longer on our side. With the late summer days working in our favour, we knew we’d get to the marked camp area, but that was assuming all went well- and that we were going the right way.



Smith was told the trail was just under 10km to get to Larry’s, the camp area we hoped to reach. He was also told it was pretty flat- a key factor in our decision to hit the trail at 7:30pm. If this trail was this visitor guide’s definition of “flat,” I can’t imagine what hilly or steep might look like.



Once we reached the top of the 4km canyon, the trail transitioned to a loose dirt path. We were encountering fewer and fewer visitors, and still hadn’t come across a single signpost reassuring us of our route. We paused to take in the last of the water views at the top of a 75 foot plunging waterfall. The canyon was narrow and in some places, featured flat, and for the adrenaline junkie, accessible rocks. Two such adrenaline junkies in their early twenties were perched at the very tip of the mid-river rocks, overlooking the 15m wide pool of white water far below. As one of the ‘dudes’ went to take a step back toward the main rock crest, he slipped and his body, from shoulders down, was fully submerged in the rushing water. Fortunately he had managed to grab onto a crevice in the base of the waterfall edge, and his buddy nearby helped pull him back up to ‘safe ground.’



As we continued on, it wasn’t until the 4.5km mark when we finally found a sign, which indirectly confirmed our direction thus far. We reached the “Ink Pots” at just under 6km and took a quick look around before pressing on. Spring fed water percolates up through the sand and gravel to form 5 blue-green pools known as “inkpots.” The swirling and bubbles can be seen at the bottom of the pools where the underground spring feeds the pool. They vary in colour as a result of the speeds at which they’re filled. The milky-green pools fill more slowly, as a result of the heavier suspension of fine materials as compared to the clear, deep-blue pools.



As we transitioned from mountainside hiking into the low valley, we could see the sun setting on the impressive mountains surrounding us. Nearly 2.5 hours from when we started, we finally reached the secluded camp area just under 10km into the bush. While that doesn’t sound overly impressive on a minutes/kilometre basis, the steep climbs and descents had us heaving, and swatting at skeeters, most of the way through.



We pitched our tents and headed over to the designated cooking area to whip up our sausages and vegetables over the open fire. Dark fell very quickly, and the temperature dropped to well below 10 degrees. We could hear the rushing river below us, and it wasn’t long before I was in full-on “bear aware” mode. While the boys were quick to poke fun at my paranoia, we all agreed that the key jingling, loud singing, and frequent forest scans were wise choices given that we were cooking dripping, juicy sausages over a relatively small fire in the pitch dark, deep in the Banff forest. We had played our cards perfectly to be the “unprepared, bear unaware hooligans” mauled by a family of grizzlies deep in the mountains.



While no such mauling happened and we did make it back to the tents a-okay, I was wired up and almost overly bear-aware. Without much to keep us warm, we all crammed into one tent to crash- as three smelly, smoky, and exhausted trekkers.



Having forgotten paper and lost the lighter the next morning, we felt like true ‘survivor people’ by successfully getting the flames going in the morning drizzle with nothing more than a good old-fashioned fire started from Grandpa Gibbs. The rain didn’t stick around for long, and we were packed up and back onto the trail by 11am. We greeted the plenty of cheery day-trekkers making the hike to the Ink Pots. On our way down as the sun poured into the mountain forest and our stiffness had somewhat worn off, Storm says,

“Well, we sure are bringing renewed meaning to the meaning of happy camper.”

One particular German woman in her late 50’s smiled when we said hello, and as I pass her, I look back. She had stopped dead in her tracks and was looking back down the trail toward Storm, who was just behind me. The look on her face was priceless- it was shock, mixed with confusion, topped off with a smirking grin.



Storm was dressed in short pink swim shorts he’d picked up at a Value Village in Sault Ste Marie, a drenched t-shirt tucked up into itself with his entire midsection bare, a large gym pack on his back and a school bag backpack strapped onto his front like a baby carrier. In each of his hands was a collapsible lawn chair swinging with each step.



“We were camping,” I say to the German woman.

“Ooooooh. I see!” she says with a beaming grin. I probably could have said we were part of the circus and she wouldn’t have replied any differently. She was laughing at Storm’s outfit- which camping hardly explained.

With less than 3km to go, we came across a British family taking in the view at a lookout point. As Storm and Smith came up behind me, one of the young boys, maybe 8 or 9 years old, whipped out a camera and started snapping pictures of us as we made our way past. Sure, maybe he thought some ‘dirty, smelly hikers’ might make for a good candid shot, but I think he was looking for digital memories of Storm’s shorts.



Jokes about the outfit aside, I must commend the boys on their gung-ho-ness for the bush camping adventure. While I made the trek with my ergonomic hiking pack, Smith was trudging with a canvas military pack strapped across his chest and Storm, well, you’ve heard what Storm was wearing. With the crowds growing as we descended into the canyon, we took one quick stop to take in the view, and to top up our water. The glacial water tasted spectacular- cold, smooth, with no distinct taste other than water in its purest form. During glacial recessions, the glacier scrapes at the mountain rock, creating what’s called “rock flour.” A the ice melts and begins its path down the mountain and mixes with the rock flour, the mixture is capable of absorbing all colours of light- except the turquoise blue colours we’ve seen throughout the parks.

We made it back to the car and back on the road by mid-afternoon, with plans to reward ourselves with another hot springs experience- Radium Hot Springs, about an hour south west of Banff. Stocking up on some more supplies for the evening, Storm and Smith made it into the Banff Safeway while I hit up the free wifi at Starbucks. While waiting in line with their bacon, chocolate chips, and granola bars, Storm tells me about this "goon" standing in front of them in line, sporting the cutoff tshirt, torn jeans, Saskatchewan Rough Ryders bandana, arms full of red bull, toilet paper, and all the fixins for s'mores. I laugh to myself... the other guy was the goon? Storm was tromping around the grocery store in pink shorts, a sweat-soaked tshirt, gashed legs, with arms full of bacon, chocolate chips, and a jumbo pack of chocolate caramel dipped 'granola bars.' And unshowered for over 3 days.

We crossed the Alberta/British Columbia border while traveling through Kootenay National Park en route to Radium, BC where we also had a roadside black bear sighting. The Radium Hot Springs were the perfect remedy for our aching muscles and doubled as a much-needed shower stop. With the final destination on the horizon and a Sunday deadline, we hit the road after Radium, through Golden and Glacier National Park and then onto Mount Revelstoke National Park where we got the extra hour we were needing. Passing through Glacier National Park early in the evening, the sky was dark and cloudy, with much darker, fiercer looking mountains at every curve of the highway. We found a small provincial park just outside of Revelstoke, BC sitting waters edge at Martha Creek, fed by Revelstoke Lake. We set camp and with tasty fire pizzas enjoying the shorts and t-shirt summer night air. Nothing beats the s’more and tetra-pack wine night cap.

Day 6 Pictures: Jasper National Park

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Miette Hot Springs, Japser, AB.

Only this was actually the icy cold pool at 15 degrees... but it was the only one without people and a nice backdrop!

The mountain (er... ridge, "Sulphur Ridge") that Smith and I made it to the top of.... not Storm.

Sheep. Not goat.

Jasper National Park

Day 5 Picutres: Prairie Drives to Pembina

The official Alberta/Saskatchewan border in Llyodminister.

Checkin out the Mindbender, pre-mindbend.

At the Saskatchewan/Manitoba Visitors Centre. What are these things? She said it was a "mahp."

West Edmonton Mall

Day 7: August 5, 2010 Jasper National Park to Banff National Park

Day 7: August 5, 2010




Waking up after a cool night not far from an icy river in Jasper National Park, we hit the road early and made frequent stops along “Canada’s most beautiful highway”- the Icefield Highway passing by the Columbia Icefield and Athabasca Glacier. We crossed the Saskatchewan Glacier, the source of the Saskatchewan river we had crossed not days ago.



The photos speak for themselves, but the scenery was spectacular. We couldn’t help but pull over at each and every look out. It was one of the quieter legs of the trip in the car- we found ourselves captivated by the towering mountains and sparkling blue river water- images we’re used to seeing in beer commercials and on bottled water labels. The drive from Jasper to Banff is one that every Canadian should experience.



We arrived at Lake Louise mid-afternoon under sunny skies amongst bus loads of tourists. We treated ourselves to a pitcher of Grasshoppper on the Fairmont patio overlooking the glistening Lake Louise. We’re now on the road to Banff, where we’ll be trekking into the mountains for some car-less camping tonight. Hopefully Storm stays on the right mountain this time.