Boogity, boogity, boogity...

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.

A little unsure what to expect I woke early grabbed my bag and set off on the short walk from The Canadiana to Union Station.  It was a nice morning and it was nice to be walking across town alongside the workers and residents of the city rather than other tourists.  I quickly arrived at the station and was ushered into a private lounge where we were checked in and offered a complimentary breakfast buffet.  A quick glance around the room had me worried - there was a mix of train spotter types, retired couples and crazy looking cat ladies, all of them considerably older and smarter dressed than me.  I had a horrible feeling I wasn’t gonna fit in but decided, hey, what can I do about it now… might as well make the best of a bad situation and enjoy it.

Our time came to board the train and headed straight to my cabin to inspect what I’d got for my money.  It really didn’t take long.  I guess that’s because - at something like 6′ by 3′ - it was somewhat smaller than a prison cell.  I’ve never had to spend time in a cell and didn’t intend to start so I figured I’d be spending most of the journey in one of the glass-topped dome cars.

I spent the morning exploring the train, checking out the scenery from the glass topped dome car and waiting for my turn to visit the dining car for lunch.  It would become a familiar routine for the following three days where we would look forward to stopping at a station as if it were Christmas.  Invariably there was nothing to do at the stations bar get off and stretch the legs along the platform, watch the crew servicing the train and, on the rare occasion that the town actually had facilities, run to the shops to try and pick up a bottle of Jack Daniels.  I never did succeed.

There was absolutely nothing to do but sit, watch the scenery change outside the window, take naps, eat, drink and chat to the other passengers.  There was no phone, no TV and no internet… in short it was absolutely fantastic and I loved every minute of it.  After two weeks of racing round the maritimes - with no one for company other than the Winnie The Pooh bear that had been given to me as a lucky mascot - it was great to relax and let someone else do the driving - then again I really wouldn’t have minded having a go at driving that huge beast myself…

Since stepping off the plane in Montreal I heard precisely two English accents - just the way I like it - so it was quite a shock to discover that getting on for half of the 300 passengers on board were Brits on organised tours.   A number of us became regular fixtures in one particular dome car and between us we gained quite a reputation for being somewhat boisterous and enjoying ourselves.

At Edmonton we said goodbye to the (excellent) crew who had bought us in from Toronto and a new crew stepped on board.  Other than the occasional shout of ‘bear to the left’ or ‘moose to the right’, followed by the train being stood on its nose by the driver, that was the most exciting thing to happen until the Rocky Mountains came into sight on Thursday afternoon.  After the endless big puddles’ of Ontario and the prairies of Manitoba they really were quite a sight.

At Jasper we all got off the train; once again I went looking for a liquor store (once again without success) before standing in the station watching the increasing pandemonium as the station crew rushed around aimlessly trying to service the train whilst the majority of the Brits boarded a convoy of buses waiting to take them to their hotels.  It was a shame to break up the party on board but I looked forward to meeting a few more characters as I climbed back on board for the last (overnight) leg of the journey to Vancouver.  With another tour group - mainly consisting Australian tourists - stepping on board it didn’t take long.

We arrived three hours late and it took an absolute age for my bags to be unloaded but I had loved the whole experience.  I had relaxed, opened up to people and learned a lot about myself.  The person who stepped off the train in Vancouver was very different to the one who’d stepped on board in Toronto.

I was woken by an alarm clock for the first time in three weeks as I had an early train to catch.  I was heading back to Toronto for the first time in three years.  Last time I visited it was the height of summer and the temperatures were in the high thirties - this morning it was cold and raining.  I hoped that the change in weather wouldn’t change my opinion of the city.  In the end it wasn’t the weather that change’d my opinion but the fact that it no longer seemed the clean city that I remembered.  I was somewhat surprised to realise it was now pretty much like any other big city; litter blowing through the streets, weeds growing through the pavement, abandoned cars and people begging on the streets.  I was quite sad to see it but couldn’t quite decide whether it had actually changed or whether my memory was playing tricks with me.  I suspect, as is often the case, it was the latter.I picked up another rental car and headed out of town towards the Mosport race circuit which was probably 100km out of town.  I reached it in pretty good time and staked a claim to a prime tent pitch near the track and then set off to explore the track.

Mosport probably has no right to hold be holding major races - it is in dire need of some much needed investment to bring its spectator facilities up to date - but then that’s probably why I ended up liking the place.  I am not sure that I can compare it directly to any particular circuit but possibly it was a little like Oulton park was in the 1980s with a little bit of redneck thrown in Talladega style in terms of crowd.  In other words it was good fun - but make sure you go for a major meeting - the Canadian Touring Cars are pretty tedious.  Having said that the heavens opening as the VW Jetta series came out on track certainly livened up the day! 

The rain didn’t let up but thankfully Mosport are good enough to provide showers so I was able to warm up before heading off towards Oshawa.  I was planning to visit some relatives but they were out and I ended up spending an hour in a nearby Laundromat watching the rain streaming down the windows.  I was in two minds whether to head back to the Glen Rouge Campground - where I’d stayed previously - or to find a motel for the night.  I settled on the former and was rewarded, as I approached the campground, with the weather turning and a nice dry evening.  I headed along the road to a local bar and spent a few hours chatting with the locals and enjoying the Guinness before heading off to bed.

Next morning I went looking for the Canadian Motorsport Hall Of Fame which had been closed the last time I’d been in town.  This time it wasn’t closed - it was closed.  Permanently.  Which was a shame but I got to do another lap of another circuit so add another to the list.   

I dropped the car back to the rental company and made my way to my room for the night - the Canadiana Backpackers Inn - which was within easy walking distance of the waterfront and CN Tower.  I was relieved to discover that, far from the expected sub-Super 8 level, it was probably the cleanest and brightest room that I have stayed in thus far and the price for the location certainly couldn’t be faulted.

The main reason for stopping at Toronto was simply to catch the train to Vancouver the next day but there was one thing that I never got to do on my last visit and that was to visit the CN Tower at night.  As there was still several hours until I needed to be there I headed down to the waterfront to kill time and ended up in the middle of a carnival.  It was Victoria Day and there were all sorts of festivities to celebrate.  One was a huge international food marquee next to the Harbourfront Centre where I managed to bag a fantastic Indian and a beer for a bargain $10.  I was very happy indeed!

After a couple of hours I headed back to the hostel and used their wifi to start making a dent on bringing my blog up to date and then headed back out to explore the areas which I’d not seen on my last visit.  I must have walked six or eight miles and what I saw really opened my eyes to the city.  Eventually I made my way back to the more regular tourist area and spent some time walking from one end of the waterfront to the other before heading off to the CN Tower.

Surprisingly the queues of earlier in the day had subsided and I quickly acquired a ticket.  This proved to be the easy part - getting into an elevator for the ride to the observation level would prove somewhat more time consuming but eventually I did and I stepped out of the elevator to be greeted with the magical sight of the most sensational flame red sunset.  I had timed my arrival to perfection.

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I spent best part of an hour on the observation deck watching the sky turn all sorts of amazing colours before taking the elevator up to the Skypod where I spent two further hours standing watching the city light up in the darkness.  It was quite captivating and the most spectacular thing was the sheer number of fireworks going off all over the city; I’m sure they were quite spectacular from down on the ground but, from up here, they were quite comical.  It was a sight that will stay with me for a long time - one of the highlights of the trip so far and one which made me fall in love with the city all over again.