Boogity, boogity, boogity...

With a mixture of excitement and trepidation I set off on the long walk from the airport to the Clarion Hotel in downtown Anchorage which acts as the gateway hotel for Trek America’s Alaska tours.  I had signed up for the company’s Alaska & Yukon Explorer trip and was looking forward to being around people again after two months on my own.  But how would I adapt to having people around me again 24/7 and how would I cope if the group turned out to be a group of over-excited teenagers who wanted to party all night and sleep all day?  I decided that it was too late to worry now and devoted my energies to navigating my way through Anchorage’s busy network of roads using the impossibly bad map that I had picked up at the airport. 

When I arrived at the Clarion I was pleasantly surprised to discover that - contrary to what I had read online about Trek America’s gateway hotels - it was actually a pretty damn good hotel.  They let me check in early which gave me the day to go off and explore Anchorage.  After enduring an ugly industrial area as I walked across town from the airport I had hoped that downtown would prove to be a modern metropolis with towering skyscrapers, or maybe a quaint little town like Banff, so you can imagine my disappointment when I realised it comprised one street full of gifts stores and dodgy looking bars and very little else.   Frustrated at this discovery, I made my way back to my hotel to see if my roommate had arrived.  He hadn’t and, convinced that I must have missed something, I decided to head out on foot once again. 

A couple of hours later I returned with sore feet and a realisation that, with the exception of the nearby mall, I had pretty much seen all of Anchorage the first time around.   On my return I did notice that there was now a shiny white van and trailer in the parking lot outside - not something that would usually get me excited but this one had Trek America signage on it - the next instalment of my trip had officially started!

It’s a very rare event when you’re pleased to hear an alarm clock at 6am so it should be noted here that Wednesday 9^th July 2008 was one of those days.  After a quick hello to my roommate (who finally arrived long after I’d gone to bed), a shower and breakfast I made my way to the hotel lobby where I found a group of people who seemed to be similarly dazed and confused as to who was who and what was supposed to happen next.  I introduced myself to anyone who would listen - including, it later transpired, some people waiting for a Holland America bus tour - and soon learned that our group comprised 12 Europeans, one American and a yet to materialise tour leader.  With perfect timing, just as we were starting to look at each other and wonder if they would actually show, in strode Emiko (complete with shades and a huge coffee!) on the stroke of the agreed 730am meeting time.

We were taken to a meeting room at the hotel to complete some paperwork and one-by-one we introduced ourselves formally to the group.  Looking back it seems funny that we should have felt nervous doing this as, by the end of the trip, Bridget, Catherine, Chrisitan, Dirk, Donna, Elke, Jolande, Kristina, Mags, Martin, Tom, Rob and I would all have become good friends.  But I guess it takes time to get to know each other and to gel as a group. 

Paperwork done, it was outside to the van in which we spend untold hours eating, chatting, reading, listening to music, eating, sleeping and then eating some more over the course of the next 21 days.  To the accompaniment of the A Team theme we climbed aboard and headed off.  The trip was on and 4,000 miles of Alaska, the Yukon and the NW Territories lay ahead of us. 

After brief stops at the car rental office and the supermarket it was out onto the open road and, finally, out of Anchorage.  It didn’t take long for the scenery to change for the better and we soon stopped at the spectacular Turnagain Arm overlook where Emiko herded us together for a group photo.  With 13 extra cameras being passed forward she soon regretted her suggestion and I can only remember one other instance of a group photo for the entire duration of the trip!

Kenai Fjords National Park was our first ‘proper’ destination of the trip and, after our first lunch together, we headed off up the Harding Icefield Trail.  The NPS literature made a real point of stating that the trail is very strenuous and that it will take 6-8 hours to complete the roundtrip but nothing was gonna stop us and, despite not starting until mid-afternoon, we raced up the trail.  Well, we raced up until we hit the snow at which point we slowed considerably and soon lost a couple of the group who turned back.  They probably made the wise choice but I decided to press on, despite boots that were completely devoid of any grip whatever, managing to slip over a dozen times or more and get thoroughly soaked and cold.  This lack of grip would prove to be advantageous on the way down as we soon discovered the easiest - and by far the most fun - way of descending was to simply run and slide down the slope as if we were wearing skis.  Dirk, Tom, Emiko and I had a great time ignoring the switchback trail and going off piste.  Sliding straight down the thirty degree slope saw us race ahead of the others who had gone the more traditional route but, like the tortoise and the hair, we were passed when we made a faux pas and ended up lost! 

Rather amazingly we all made it safely back to the van and headed off to nearby Seward where we checked in to the Breeze Inn for the next two nights.  Having had a nice hot shower and warmed up ended our first day in a nearby restaurant and bar - a perfect end to a very enjoyable day.  Those worries of the previous day had long since disappeared.

Over the coming days we would do a mix of hiking, cycling and even sea kayaking.   There were various extras which we could do, such as whale watching cruises, but I was glad that there was no pressure to do them and, being on a lesser budget than some of the others, I would usually end up doing a hike somewhere or other.  My doctor would have been proud of me.  Until the evening, that is, when I would usually end up amongst the group ‘closing the bar’, as it became known!

After leaving Seward we headed out to the Alaska Wildlife Conservation Center which proved, for me, to be one of the real highlights of the entire trip.  We then clambered back in to the van and headed off to the unique combined rail/road tunnel which led us to the equally unique town of Whittier.  From Whittier we took an eight hour ferry ride along Prince William Sound to the town of Valdez.  A few people, myself included, were not particularly looking forward to such a long time on a ferry but the US Forest Service had rather thoughtfully provided us with a guide by the name of Jim who provided a fascinating commentary and constantly scanned the shoreline for wildlife.  He also spoke passionately about the Exxon Valdez disaster - twenty years after the event he was still emotional about it and you couldn’t help but like the man.

We didn’t reach the campground in Valdez until around 1030pm and it was past midnight by the time we finally got all the tents assembled for the first time and sat down around the campfire to toast marshmallows and chat.  After such a manic first few days we were enjoying our first night of camping together - a little too loudly it turned out - and had to be reminded of the time by Emiko… this midnight sun business was sure gonna take some getting used to! 

A couple of days later, after a brief stop at the old Valdez town site, we settled into our seats in the van for our first long drive of the trip.  Destination: Wrangell St Elias National Park.  Unlike the other Trek America group which we hooked up with in the park we had the luxury of staying in the fabulous Ma Johnsons Hotel in ‘downtown McCarthy’.  Now I would find it hard to explain to anyone who has not been the town of McCarthy so I will not even try - I will just say that, if you are even remotely in the area, you absolutely must add it to your itinerary.  Simple as that.  Ignore the fact that you must drive the long unpaved McCarthy Road, ignore the fact that you must leave your car in a parking lot - the same parking lot that the other Trek America group were camped in - and walk a couple of miles into town and just do it.  It will provide an unforgettable experience - it was certainly one of the most popular destinations of the entire trip.

Whilst we were staying in McCarthy we took the opportunity to visit the nearby town of Kennecott which was once the site of the world’s most productive copper mine but which now lays wihin the boundary of the national park.  Whilst in Kennecott we were able to do a guided glacier walk and go ice climbing on the Kennicott Glacier, as well as take a fascinating tour of the old Kennecott Mill.  All of these activities were enjoyed by everyone but the most memorable experience of the day was probably the speed at which we managed to upset the staff at the bar in Kennicott.  We’d not even finished walking through the door before we were getting attitude from the server for no reason whatever.  I think it’s fair to say, by the time we left half an hour later, the attitude had been returned in spades.  I still have no idea what that was about but, hey, what can you do?

After a night camping in the town of Tok - where our arrival on the campground was greeted with a rumour amongst the other campers that we were a band on tour! - we crossed the border into the Yukon.  Up until this point we had enjoyed fantastic weather but, after a long hike in nearby Kluane National Park, we returned to the campground on the shores of Kluane Lake where Chirs managed to anger the gods by going for a swim in the icy water.  A huge storm blew up minutes later and the weather didn’t improve again until a couple of days from the end of the trip.  I am not sure which was worse: the change of weather or his near streak from tent to lake and back.  I think I’ll have to go with the latter! 

The change in weather also coincided with us arriving to tackle the 730km long Dempster Highway.  If, like me, you were thinking that the weather outside wouldn’t matter when the plan was to spend two days in a van driving let me explain that the Dempster is an unpaved.  Whilst it would surely have provided a test of endurance in the dry, it proved to be a real challenge in the wet weather.  With the top surface having turned to mud it gave Emiko ample opportunity to hone her rally driving credentials and quickly earned her the nickname McRae. 

Apart from a number of ‘exciting moments’ on the mud the only real moments of note during those six days were stumbling upon a grizzly and her cubs, the flight to Tuktoyaktuk where we were able to swim in the Arctic Ocean and the ‘team building exercise’ when we attempted to build the gazebo in the middle of a huge rainstorm.  My favourite memory from the Dempster though was when we finally turned off the Dempster towards Dawson City and back on to the billiard table smooth tarmac.   You know that polite round of applause that sometimes goes around a plane when you land?  Let me tell you that this round of applause was entirely spontaneous and thoroughly genuine.  The local tourist board issue a certificate to anyone who travels the length of the Dempster but, whilst it went nicely with the other four I received for various other silliness, I think we deserved a greater reward than that.  Ewan McGregor and Charlie Boarman had a TV series to follow their exploits - I think we deserved that at the very least!

Seriously though, we were lucky that our group were able to deal with the challenges of the Dempster: I could imagine it causing mayhem amongst a less mature group. 

One of the downsides of buying a pre-packaged trip such as this is that there will always be something that you don’t enjoy but at the end of the trip we all had a chat about our best and worst memories and we were collectively at a loss to explain why Trek America retain the Dempster’ as part of the trip.   Whilst I would have had the time of my life driving it in a rental car, it is a thoroughly different beast when you are crammed in the back of a van with 13 other people.  The only visible signs of damage were a chewed up tyre, a damaged lighting cable and dust-filled locks.  But, under the surface, it must surely have done untold damage to the van.  Not to mention the sense of humour of those on board.

Dawson City.  What can I say?  Apart from a few problems when we arrived and half of us ended up foregoing the camping for a couple of nights in the Downtown Hotel (the closest we actually came to any of us falling out which was quite an achievement given the amount of time we spent in the van) it was precisely what was needed at precisely the right time.  Some scumbag had stolen our beer cooler a couple of days earlier in Inuvik but this was soon forgotten as we hit the town with the mission to make up for a night without alcohol! 

The majority of us decided to become members of the Sourtoe Cocktail Club - an exclusive club open only to those brave enough to neck a shot of their choice containing one unusual addition: a human toe!  Induction into the club is a long drawn out event which the ‘toe master’ milks for all he is worth before finally uttering the words, “you can drink it fast, you can drink it slow… but the lips have gotta touch the toe!”  The deed done (and another certificate collected!) it was time to head off to Diamond Tooth Gerties Gambling Hall to consume vast amounts of alcohol, eat pizza, gamble and watch the dancing girls.   A cross between a school disco, a working mans club and a small-town casino, Gerties is thoroughly tacky but great fun nonetheless… like the rest of the town I couldn’t quite put my finger on what I liked about the place but like it I did. 

Next morning all that alcohol didn’t seem such a great idea when - having started the day with a spot of gold-panning nearby - I joined a few of the others to hike up to the top of the mountain that overlooks Dawson City.  By the time we reached halfway I was convinced that I was going to die but we finally made it up to the top and I swore there and then that I would never again let another drop of alcohol pass my lips - a promise I kept for a whole two days. 

Sadly, after two fantastic days in Dawson City, it was time to get back in the van and hit the road once again: this time we had a mammoth 425-mile drive and a border crossing ahead of us.  It didn’t start off well with a hairy drive up the muddy road leading out of Dawson City.  Apparently this is a spectacularly beautiful road but, thanks to the still-angry weather gods, all we got to see was thick fog and heavy rain. 

We approached the border a little nervously - each of us having had our fair share of hassle from US border agents over the years - but, rather amazingly, were through and back into the United States in less than five minutes.  “How many people are on board?” the agent enquired.  “Fourteen”, came the reply, to which he muttered a stunned “what? In THAT?!” before taking our passports away for inspection, shaking his head as he walked.  When he returned he was still in disbelief and simply handed back the pile of ‘freshly-stamped passports before waving us on, still shaking his head.

Soon we arrived at the tiny town of Chicken for a toilet (and souvenir) stop.  Although it was only 11am it didn’t stop a couple of the guys toasting our arrival back in Alaska with a couple of bottles of Alaskan Amber - the drink of choice on this trip - at a local bar!  All too soon though it was back into the van and onwards.  For hour after hour Emiko drove on towards Denali National Park, stopping only to fill up with gas and let us out for toilet and photo breaks.  To anyone else it would have been a tiring day but we were old hands at this by now  - we’re thinking of entering a team in next year’s Le Mans 24 hour race. 

This was to have been our last night of camping but upon arrival at the McLaren Campground we were offered the use of a cabin for an extra $5 a person which left the group split once again.  Personally I thought it was the bargain of the century but others decided that they preferred to camp alongside the river instead.  I guess looking back now that it was a shame not to spend one final night around the campfire but I sure don’t regret staying in that cabin - after all we were able to keep the heat in and the mosquitoes out… whereas the guys down by the river had the exact opposite problem to contend with!

Denali is huge - no getting away from that - and the discussion of how best to see it had gone on for several days.  Now it was finally time to make up our minds.  No private vehicles are allowed to tour the one single (unpaved, of course!) road into the park - you must take a long bus ride in - but our choice was between an 8-hour round-trip to Eielson Visitor Center or a 12-hour ride out to Wonder Lake.  The latter was said to give you a better view of Mt McKinley but, rather tired of travelling by now, I went for the shorter trip - which proved a good decision as the weather once again played its part and prevented any of us from seeing the mountain! 

The weather didn’t stop the half a dozen of us who stopped there from doing a hike up a nearby mountain before hopping back on the bus and heading back to meet Emiko who returned us safe and sound to our cabins to freshen up.  After a quick freshen up we headed off to the restaurant opposite for our much-requested pizza night.  I am still not entirely sure what the problem was but apparently not everyone was delighted to be sitting outside on the terrace, least of all Dirk who launched a somewhat fruitless attempt to get the manager to come out and grovel!  Most of managed to enjoy the evening nonetheless…

The following day presented us with more choices - two different flightseeing tours, ATVing, another bus trip, cycling or hiking - and, once again, I was the tight arse of the group and chose to hike.  I was glad I did and enjoyed a fun morning hiking with Bridget and Mags before catching the Dog Sled demonstration in the afternoon.  Despite the pouring rain I enjoyed them both and had to feel sorry for the guys who had paid extra for the flightseeing only to have their views obscured by cloud.  In the evening we headed out for a meal in the town before heading back to pizza restaurant once again to finish the evening off with a few beers.  We were even joined by Dirk who, in the spirit of peace, agreed to call off his war with the manager for the night.  Or maybe he was just thirsty?  Whatever, despite his protests that he hated the place, he was the last one to leave so it couldn’t have been that bad!

And that should have been that.  The following morning all we had left was a short drive back to Anchorage and we would then be saying our goodbyes and going our separate ways once again.  After a early start to the day when I was woken to wave Chris off - he had to be back at the airport early so had to make his own way there by bus - the day got better and better.  We loaded our luggage onboard the trailer one final time and headed off around 10am.  As we drove towards Anchorage the sun came out and we were finally presented with a view of Mt McKinley which was greeted with some excitement.  So unexpected was it that Emiko made the mistake of stopping for a group photo.  Once again 13 cameras were passed forward - nothing changes!  Although it had - three weeks and 4,000 miles later we had been through a lot together and had turned from a group of strangers to a group of friends.  For the past few days we had joked about a reunion in Barcelona next year but now, as the end of the trip neared, you could sense that people weren’t joking about it anymore - watch this space!

 Eventually we were back where it started - the Clarion Hotel in Anchorage - and unloading our bags onto the pavement.  I can’t speak for the others but, whilst I wasn’t in the least bit worried about saying goodbye to the van, I was a little bit moved to be saying good bye to the other guys who I’d been with for the past weeks and was delighted when it was suggested we meet for one final meal that evening.  As usual there was some disagreement over where we should go and, as usual, we drank far more than we should but it was a massively memorable evening in more ways than one (none of which I am going to go into here - what happens in Anchorage, stays in Anchorage!)  As people drifted off one-by-one, those that remained got drunker and drunker - somehow it was a thoroughly fitting end to a fantastic three weeks. 

“To Barcelona!”

Despite the relative luxury of the Monte Carlo Motel in Barriere (and I mean that sincerely - it really was very nice) I was restless all night and barely slept.  I’d started to think about home over the past couple of days and it was causing me to feel uneasy somehow. Pulling my last clean shirt from my bag and finding it was my England football shirt was the last straw - the truth finally dawned on me - I was starting to feel homesick!  I guess it’s natural after a long time away from home but it was something that I really wasn’t expecting.  Although I had absolutely no inclination to head back to the UK I couldn’t help but miss the place the place - until the start of May - I called home.  More importantly I missed the people I left behind there.

Rather than retracing my steps I decided to head back to Vancouver by way of the Sea to Sky Highway, stopping overnight in Whistler.  I’d been promised a spectacular drive but, truth be told, I really wasn’t feeling it initially - in fact I was feeling quite disenchanted with things in general.  The rain had returned, the scenery was very average and the road uninspiring - in fact it was very reminiscent of home and it was putting me in a bad mood.  Eventually I turned the music up real loud, pressed the gas pedal even louder and eventually came out from under my own personal dark cloud and started to enjoy the drive.

And what a drive it turned out to be with the road snaking its way through canyons and clinging to the side of mountains like spaghetti stuck to the side of a pan.  Whoever suggested they run a road through that route was quite clearly insane but I’ll love them forever for giving me two hours of insane fun.  Suddenly running across tight hairpins, washed out sections of road, narrow one-lane bridges, huge streams of water running across the road and zero visibility as I (quite literally) drove through the clouds all contributed to a challenging drive but the most memorable thing will be the rockslides.  We’ve all seen the signs warning us we’re heading in to a rockslide area, right? But how many of us have actually seen rocks suddenly falling off a sheer cliff to our left, covering the road ahead with debris?  I counted five different instances in a little over ten miles. (The rocks were mainly baseball sized but there was the odd rock which was beach ball sized which certainly added to the fun!)

I’d arrived in Whistler expecting to find somewhere like Banff or Jasper but I was to be seriously disappointed.  What I actually got was Basingstoke-On-The-Hill.  It was full of shiny new Starbucks, clothes shops and offices belonging to companies organizing mountain biking trips and ATV rides.  The rest was a construction site - which is to be expected given the Winter Olympics are coming in a couple of years - but I soon discovered the place had about as much soul as an outlet mall.  Disappointed I headed back to the campground where I was greeted by two black bear strolling past my tent.  Inspired by this sight I vowed to give the place another chance; heading back into town and signing up for an ATV ride up the mountain the following morning.  I’d actually got quite excited about the idea but, having woken up horribly early, I arrived at the shop to be informed that the trip had been cancelled due to ‘inclement weather’ (not enough punters, more like.)  I took this as a sign and left as quickly as I could - which really wasn’t very quickly at all given the never ending road construction. 

In need of a change of scene I decided to hop on the ferry to Vancouver Island which I liked a lot despite the continuing rain.   Pacific Rim National Park - on the far side of the island - is small but it had some fun hikes which I was able to enjoy after stopping off in Tofino and paying a small fortune for some waterproofs.  I spent a couple of nights camping there which proved to be pretty lonely but me, Jack and a roaring campfire made a good combination and made the evenings pass just that little quicker.  I did a lot of hiking - and a lot of thinking - on Vancouver Island and, by the time I got back on the ferry to head back to the mainland, I had straightened a few more things out in my head. 

I’d heard great things about Vancouver - earlier in the trip I had been really looking forward to getting there but, as if the two days of constant driving rain weren’t enough, my own black cloud was back and I couldn’t wait to get to the airport and head south across the border to open a new chapter in this adventure.   I didn’t dislike Vancouver - there is absolutely nothing to dislike - but my mind was somewhere else and it was just delaying me.  I stayed for a couple of nights at the Capilano RV Park which, although it could do with a little bit of renovation in the shower department, was fantastically placed right on the edge of the city - I’d be surprised to find a campground located so  closely to any major world city anywhere else.

If you were hoping for some sort of travel guide to the city - sorry, you’re not gonna get that here - I’ll give just two bits of advice… don’t, whatever you do, give in and buy a ticket for the depressing Vancouver Trolley (which other tour anywhere stoops so low as to point out such delights as the Department of Social Security office?) but do make sure that you watch the sunset, and the city light up, from the Lions Gate Bridge.  It was quite fantastic. 

They say that a roadtrip isn’t about getting to the destination - it’s about the journey. It’s about the discovery.  This past week - from the very moment that I made my way down from the top of Whistler Mountain back in Jasper - has seen this trip cease being an extended sight-seeing trip and has become a true roadtrip in every sense of the word.  It’s been a tough week but I’ve learned a lot about myself, confronted some demons that I could conveniently ignore back home and I’d like to think that I’ve come out of it stronger.   Having said that… I’m sure ready to head south across the border and start a new chapter of this big adventure!

Camping is a fantastic way to save money and is always gonna be a better way to meet people than being stuck in a motel room but, my god, when it’s cold… it’s cold!  After enduring what must be one of the most uncomfortable night’s sleep in history I chucked the tent on the back seat of the car and hit the road and headed off towards Jasper.  Early.  It proved a wise move as, whilst it may be just 230km in length, the Icefields Parkway is a long drive.  Not that it’s an issue, mind… National Geographic Magazine quite justifiably voted it in the top ten scenic drives in the world.

Entering the parkway I was reassured to see that park staff were checking vehicles for parks permits.  I had bought mine a month ago and this was the first time that it had been checked - I was starting to think that I should have saved my money!  It’s pretty much like driving through the gates of a safari park with black and grizzly bear, moose, elk, wolves and all manner of other wildlife competing with the sheer beauty of the place for your attention. 

Thankfully the road was never built as a means of getting from Lake Louise to Jasper quickly (you have Highway 1 for that) and there are numerous pull outs and overlooks to stop and admire the scenery, do some hiking or read the many interpretive signs which attempt to explain this complex landscape.  This is all great, of course, but what people really want to see are wild animals going about their business.  Bears being the real prize.  Spot a bear alongside the road and all the politeness goes out the window.  Spot a bear alongside the road and you have a three lane wide traffic jam as people jostle to take photos of it from their cars.  You even get the odd nutter who will insist on getting out his car - I’m afraid to say it but usually with plates from south of the border - who will insist on getting out and approaching it as if it were his pet cat.  I guess it’s all part of the character of the place.

After visiting every lake that I could find in the area I finally managed to find the one that featured on the front of my travel guide.  Even if it hadn’t become a personal challenge to seek it out (none of the park rangers could point me in the right direction - I suspect they were messing with me) it proved well worth the trudge through the deep snow to find it.  The fact that, if it weren’t for a Japanese couple, I would have had the entire place to myself added to the beauty of the place.  Lake Louise may get all the fame but, for me,  Peyto Lake is the place to visit.  Simply stunning. 

Halfway along the route, just after crossing the Bow Summit and entering Jasper National Park, you will arrive at the Crowfoot Glacier.  I’m not a huge believer in the theory that we’re destroying our planet but, after seeing how the glacier has shrunk over the past 50 years, it is undeniable that something is changing and my mind returned to a poster I’d seen the previous day - over a photo of a Cree family were the words ‘Once you’ve cut down the last tree and drained the earth of the last drop of oil maybe then you will realise that you can’t eat money’ - me thinks the white man is the stupid one.  It is perhaps the ultimate irony that, to see what damage we are doing to our planet, we have to drive ourselves there. 

I’d arrived promising myself that I would just take a quick look at the glacier and that I wouldn’t splash out the $38 that they were charging to drive me out onto the Columbia Icefield in a specially-built ‘Snow Bus’ but, having stood at the foot of the Crowfoot Glacier - just a tiny part of the huge Columbia Icefield - I couldn’t resist and was soon boarding the bus and heading off down a hair-raising 30 degree slope onto the ice.  It was an amazing (and very cold) experience and I was glad that I’d done it but now time was getting on and I had a decision to make - do I stay overnight in the lodge here or press on?  As usual I pressed on and, after stops at the Athabasca Falls and a couple more places I finally made it to the campground at Jasper around nine - a mere 14 hours after I’d set off.  As I say, it’s not a quick road!

I’m not normally one for hanging around in one place but I like Jasper a lot and spent a couple of days there exploring and hiking as many trails as I could.  On the last day I decided to take another excursion - up to the top of Whistler Mountain.  At 7,500ft it was quite a climb although I guess I should confess here that I did actually take the Jasper Tramway up part of the way… though the last 600 or 800ft were pretty hard work for a fat git like me so it was with some pride that I finally reached the top. 

I left Jasper with a heavy heart.  Last time I’d left by train, leaving a few new mates behind - this time I was leaving by car, leaving behind what really felt like new friends - the Rocky Mountains.  I’d loved my stay and vowed to return in the future to see how my buddies were getting on.

Yoho?  Yahoo, more like!  I think it’s fair to say, much as I loved my visit to the east of the country, I had now discovered the Canada that I had always expected to find.  No, I had discovered the Canada that I had always hoped to find.

The plan had been to fly through Yoho and head south to Kootenay National Park but I spent so long exploring Yoho - starting with a hike out to the majestic Wapta Falls, an aborted attempt to visit the Hoodoos due to a trail closure and a tricky walk around the perimeter of the stunning Emerald Lake followed by stops at Natural Bridge and the Spiral Tunnels - that, by the time I’d finally arrived in Alberta and Banff National Park I’d decided that my plans were too adventurous and instead I decided to make a break for Banff itself and see if I could find the guys that I’d shared much of the ride from Toronto to Vancouver with.  I couldn’t quite remember the name of the hotel that they were staying at so it was pure luck that I stumbled across it and checked myself in for the night.  I showered and returned to the lobby where I stationed myself by the roaring log fire and waited.  Within 25 minutes they returned from their day trip - to Yoho, would you believe - and I jumped out like Cilla Black.  Surprise, surprise!

I joined them in the bar to celebrate the 40^th wedding anniversary of another couple from the train before we headed to a different bar in search of a somewhat livelier atmosphere.  Having been up since 430am and hiked god knows how many kilometres it probably wasn’t the greatest plan to drink six pints and untold numbers of Jack and Cokes before finally stumbling back to the hotel at 3am but, well, let’s just say I did and that I regretted it in a huge way the next morning (and afternoon and evening, come to that!)

I arrived in Banff expecting nothing more than another random town and a (pretty expensive) roof over my head but I left Banff wanting to come back.  I briefly considered the idea that I should learn to ski and return in the winter but I quickly came to the conclusion that I would actually be a far more reliable method of starting an avalanche than the bloody great guns they used to start them in Glacier NP so I put that out of my mind!  I couldn’t quite put my finger on why but I liked Banff a lot and it was with a little sadness that I got back in the car and headed off towards Kootenay National Park.

One of the curious things about the national parks of the Canadian Rocky Mountains is how, to get anywhere by car, you zig-zag from one to another, through a third and then back to the first again, to the degree that they have combined the park brochure into one which is shared between them all.  I guess that this makes sense but, as a sad anorak that collects each brochure as a souvenir, this was a little frustrating.  Not as frustrating as the lack of detail that you will find in the independent brochures but frustrating nonetheless.

Isn’t it funny how the places that you look forward to visiting are often a disappointment - Glacier National Park is a very good example - whereas those that you visit on the spur of the moment often turn out to be a highlight?  Kootenay National Park was a highlight.  It was a little out of the way so I had visited largely to ‘tick another one off the list’ but I loved every moment of my visit, hiking more miles than I ever knew I could hike in a day.  In addition it was the first national park whose campground had been open this year.  And it had hot showers to boot.  If you’re in the area then you absolutely have to make the detour and visit.

Where am I now?  Back in Banff National Park, sat on a rock outside the shower block on the Lake Louise campground, watching the sun set over the mountains and stealing electric as I type this update.  I guess it’s time to head on back to my tent, crack open that bottle of Jack Daniels once again and try and work out where I go tomorrow to top the last few days.  Oh, this really is so much better than working for a living!

I had arrived in western Canada and, despite everything that it was throwing at me, I had a very good feeling about the next couple of weeks.  We’d arrived into Pacific Central Station in Vancouver three hours late which, if truth be told, really wasn’t a big deal.  What was a big deal was my bags not making it to the baggage carousel.  Having finally found a baggage agent to complain to we spent half an hour filling out forms only for the bags to turn up as we completed the last one. 

With everyone’s spirits raised - particularly mine - I enquired where I might find the car rental desk.  When I’d booked I had carefully checked that the desk was in the station but the station staff didn’t seem to think so.  In fact they were telling me that it was pretty much the other side of town and that I’d need to phone the rental company to see if they offered a shuttle bus service.  Could I use their phone to call?  Of course not.  So I called - at great expense, no doubt - from a public payphone on the station concourse and, after being on hold for 15 minutes, listening to how important my call was to them, I was suddenly informed that ‘all operators are currently busy’ and given the news that I was being transferred to their voice mail service.  Fantastic.

I stepped outside the station to see about taking a cab across town; only to be greeted with a huge line of people waiting.  Was this really happening to me? 

At that point - just as I was considering heading back inside and getting on the first train out of there - my day started to turn around at last.  One of the taxi drivers - surely the first in history to use his head - got on to his radio and requested 40 cabs be sent immediately.  Before we knew it there were cars roaring up from all directions.  Whilst all this was happening I’d got talking to the girl in front of me and it turned out she was heading to a meeting along the street from the rental company and was happy to share the ride.  On the way we had a good old chat - mostly about the straight line capabilities of the car in which we were travelling - and she refused to take any money for the ride when we arrived.  I picked up the car and, for the first time in history, actually got a clerk who was chatty and helpful (though I couldn’t help noticing that her phone was ringing off the hook as we filled out the paperwork!) and I was soon on my way into the Vancouver traffic in a Toyota Camry Hybrid, praying to god that I didn’t encounter Andy Green making his return run in Thrust SSC-Taxi.

I had no idea where I was heading - on the train I’d all but decided to throw my previous plans for this leg of the trip out the window - and decided to start with a drive through the city to see what took my eye.  Sitting in the traffic, fresh from three days of peace on the train, I decided that I really couldn’t face the hustle and bustle of the city right away and, within minutes, I found myself heading out of town towards the first stop on my original plan; a town by the rather worrying name of Hope.

After a quick stop to pick up provisions and a map I was arriving in Hope to visit the site of the infamous Hope Slide.  I’d been warned that it was very low key but the information boards told you everything that you needed to know; that is that, back in January 1965, a small earthquake cause 46 million cubic metres of mountain to slide down and instantly entomb 4 unlucky motorists who happened to be passing under 70 metres of rock and debris.  It was deemed cheaper and easier to construct a new highway than to move the debris so the motorists, and their cars, are still under there. 

As I drove through the Fraser Canyon towards my next destination - the narrows at Hell’s Gate - I couldn’t help but notice the number of landslides along the side of the road.  You access the site via a cable car - or gondola as they seem to be known here - and I had under an hour to make the journey before it closed for the evening.  I wondered, if I had been pulled, over would they accept my defence that I was unnerved by the number of rockslides and I was simply hurrying through the area to avoid a repeat of the big slide that I’d just visited.  In the end I arrived ten minutes before they closed for the day and was hurrying down to the bottom of the gorge to see the spectacle.  Unfortunately I have to report that it was a waste, not only of my time and effort, but of the $16 that I was relieved of for the privilege.  Maybe I’m being unfair - I had, after all, had the benefit of visiting the Grand Falls rapids in New Brunswick a couple of weeks before - so, if you are still planning on visiting, do yourself a favour and hike down instead (it is signposted but it is very tricky to see the signs!) or, better still, visit the tiny provincial park a couple of miles before and cross the canyon on an ancient suspension bridge instead.

Aware that there was very little in the way of accommodation in the area I backtracked to Hope and took the toll road out to Kamloops - a journey of around 3½ hours which was only possible after a couple of cans of Red Bull and the inspiration provided by crossing a snow-capped mountain range for the first time.

The following morning I treated myself to a lie-in before heading off towards the Rocky Mountains.  My route took me through Mount Revelstoke (where I was pleased to get back into the routine of hiking) and Glacier National Parks (where I couldn’t as the place was absolutely closed down due to their programme of avalanche control) before spending the night in the town of Golden where I finally got my hands on that bottle of Jack Daniels that I’d been so desperate for since I left Toronto.  Golden is a nice little town set at the meeting point of the Columbia and Kicking Horse rivers immediately between the Monashee and Rocky mountain ranges and, as I looked out of the window of my motel, I couldn’t help but look forward excitedly to re-entering the Rockies which I’d seen briefly from the train just a couple of days ago.