Lake Minnewanka

‘The hill’s are alive with the sound of music, with songs they have sung for a thousand years, The hill’s fill my heart with the sound of music, My heart wants to sing every song it hears’

I’m sure if you filmed the whole ludicrous mix up from above it would have looked very funny like a proper 1960’s farce (without the air hostesses). All I had to do was wait for a coach to Banff. It was booked, paid for, I had printed out my ticket, the pick up location on the ticket said: 13:35 ‘Whistlers Inn, 105 Miette Avenue’. I left my digs at 11 am, went to the post office, wandered round the green, watched the outdoor yoga class, had pancakes in the cafe on the corner, phoned my Mum then at 13:10 went and stood on Miette Avenue outside Whistlers Inn and a door that said Hotel Lobby. All good I thought, so I waited.

Now picture this dear reader, Whistlers Inn is on a corner, part of it on Miette Avenue (a road facing the green) and part of it on a main Avenue that runs through town. On the very corner there is a souvenir shop so you can’t see what’s on either road without literally walking around the shop. But my ticket said pickup on Miette. So I waited there. Well you would (wouldn’t you?). Now meanwhile unbeknownst to me, a coach had arrived, on the avenue, the driver got out and looked around, went into the ‘other’ hotel lobby entrance and asked if they’d seen a ‘Jane Beckley’ ‘She’s probably  wearing black and mumbling to herself?’ (Obviously he didn’t say that, well he might have done)! No one had heard of me so he looked up and down the road once more, got in the coach and exited stage right. I was, oh . . . 5 metres away.

Yes dear reader I had phoned the office, yes they said it was all fine (they lied) yes it was a series of unfortunate events. Eventually I called again to be told the coach had left for Banff . Apparently it was my fault, ‘coaches always pick up from the front of the hotel’. I pointed out what it said on my ticket. ‘Yeah I don’t know why it says that, the coaches always pick up from the avenue’ the girl from the office kept repeating this as if it would help the fifteenth time. ‘But I’ve never been to Jasper before, I don’t quite understand how I’m supposed to know that?!’  I try to draw on my inner Margo Ledbetter to demand compensation and hotels and taxis but all I can manage is a tearful Barbara Good. There are no later coaches, no buses, no trains to Banff today. I am put on hold. There is a long silence then ‘I can give you a ticket on tomorrow’s coach free of charge’. So generous.

So the next morning, (no I didn’t  sleep in the park or try to hitch I apologise for the hilarity which could have ensued but my over-arching objective was to stay alive for the whole trip) (luckily my air bnb was available for the night) I felt like I’d stepped into  the film ‘Groundhog’ day.  I left my digs at 11 am, went to the post office, wandered round the green, watched the outdoor yoga class, had pancakes in the cafe on the corner, phoned Josh, then at 13:10 went and stood on the avenue outside Whistlers- bloody-Inn and waited. And like a slightly demented octogenarian approached any coach (mini bus, van, motorhome, car, child on scooter) that stopped. Declaring I was ‘Jane Beckley’ ‘Going to Banff!’ and waving a ticket in front of them. After a few false starts it worked, I was on a coach drivers list, he was going to Banff, in a coach, this had to be it. I dragged Wilson up the steps, plonked myself in a seat, pulled on a seat belt and stared wildly ahead like a cornered Rottweiler. I was going to Banff. If anyone so much as suggested I had the wrong ticket or should leave my seat I would literally gnaw their arm off.

The mood, however, didn’t last long. There is one main road from Jasper to Banff and I think it possibly has the most beautiful views from any stretch of road in the entire world. The sky was clear and after a few snow capped mountains your soul becomes utterly uplifted. You want to fly with the eagles. Oscar and Hammerstein got it right, your ‘heart wants to beat like the wings of the birds, that rise from the lakes to the trees.’ It is truly awesome. It is overwhelming. I thought the views from the train to Jasper were something but when you drive into Banff National Park and along the highway you run out of superlatives.

Banff National Park

First views out of Jasper including some wild mountain goats just having a munch of grass by the roadside

The drive is five hours but it feels like thirty minutes. Part way down you come to the Colombia Icefield Glacier in the heart of the Canadian Rockies. It is one of the largest non-polar ice fields in the world. Our driver stopped so we could view it from across the road and take a million selfies. You can take excursions where you hike out onto it and whizz down on your bottom then make snow angels (well I imagine that’s what these excursions do?). I did of course get carried away and take A-LOT of photos and rather like my student teenage self I decided that black and white would make it moodier and more dramatic (!) (Feel free to roll your eyes)

 

Panoramic view across the road to the Columbia Icefield

Ice ice baby

Now I did hint I took a million pictures, and despite best efforts (pressing my iPhone against the coach window) (highly sophisticated photography) it’s still not as glorious as the real thing but it gives you some idea. So sit back, kick your slippers off, grab that last viscount biscuit and enjoy a coach ride through Banff National Park:

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Disappointing views of Banff National Park

Beaver Street

Well. It would be rude not to include a least a bit of beaver on a trip to Canada. Yes, during my now even shorter stay in Banff I was living on Beaver Street, in Beaver Cabins to be exact, and they were delightful. A little group of ‘historic’ cabins actually a ‘Class B Alberta Heritage site’ I’ll have you know! (Essentially some sheds built in the 1950’s) (so really old). Actually it had been a little tourist accommodation spot since 1910 ish when the owner just had tents up but I fortunately had the very sweet little ‘Lnyx’ cabin and I thoroughly recommend it. Just a road back from the main drag, but super quiet and within walking distance of everything. Perfect. And the owner who knew I’d had trouble with transportation had left a little note and chocolate bear to cheer me up. How lovely.

Unfortunately Banff itself is a shabby, ugly, mess of a town with no good views. I don’t know how anyone manages to live there:

So I settled easily in to my fairytale Alpian-esque  town and as usual I picked up the free local paper to have a read. Now I always like to check out the local newspaper, it gives you a flavour of the place (and sometimes there’s money off pizza coupons.) The front page was innocuous enough, if the top news was a girls rugby match well this should be full of Church fetes and sponsored walk photos I thought.

Local newspaper Banff

So you can imagine my surprise (and frankly my alarm) when I opened the paper to find: a woman had nearly died when she fell out of her kayak in the river, a black bear had wandered into a hotel lobby in Canmore (the next town) a local man had died from a fall while out climbing and a grizzly bear had attacked a man on the walking trail round lake Minnewanka. What no school performance of ‘Grease’? No protest over local bypass?! Lawdy. This was not the Wimbledon Gazette.

Just the normal, gentle, day-to-day life in the Canadian Rockies

Lake Minnewanka

So you can imagine it was with some trepidation that I set out to find Lake Minnewanka the next morning. I suppose the good news was that someone had already been attacked for me, like a royal taster, taken the bullet as it were and now that part of the trail would be closed. I would stick to areas where there were more people about and hopefully some I could out run. I didn’t have any bear spray as it was pretty expensive on my budget and so I decided pushing an old American tourist over may suffice.

Or always walk with the less able. . .

Some of my expeditions to stupidly named places have been just that, expeditions, traipsing about on buses, ferries, trains! So it is always a delight to find a bus that goes directly to where you want to be, and even more of a delight when it has the name emblazoned on the front:

Stupid names on buses. . . still so so funny

Lake Minnewanka ‘Water of the Spirits’  is just five kilometres outside Banff town and at twenty one kilometres long it is the second largest lake in the Canadian Rockies. The journey to Minnewanka was about the easiest and most beautiful to an amusingly named place I’ve taken (Yorkey’s knob obviously a rain forest classic too). On the way we passed more mountains, lakes and some more goats. These a little smaller with charming white bottoms. (Obviously their official Latin name)

Lake Minnewanka didn’t disappoint either. For a start it had lots of great signs.

Minnewanka has a bit of a mysterious and interesting past. People have hunted and camped along the shores for more than 100 centuries. The First Nation Stoney people called it ‘Minn-Waki’ or ‘Lake of Spirits’ it seems they respected and feared the lake for its resident spirits. Early European settlers called it Devils Lake. . . slightly sinister don’t you think? I’m not sure what those spirits were, perhaps a relative of the Loch Ness Monster lived here or perhaps it was just a story to keep other hunters away? Nonetheless quite intriguing and the intrigue continued; in 1886 a beach house Lodge was built on the shores and by 1912 a summer village was established with hotels, restaurants and alike. A dam was built to supply the town with hydro electric power. Then in 1941 a bigger dam was needed to supply the growing town of Banff so the lake was raised by 30 metres and the town of Minnewanka Landing submerged forever. The inhabitants were made to move away and the village is still lying underneath the lake, a sunken watery ghost town. If there weren’t spirits before I’m guessing there are definitely spirits about now.

However on the surface all appears blissfully tranquil. . .

Lake Minnewanka

Given more time, bear spray and a friend to hike with I’d love to walk round the lake but it’s always good to have things to look forward to isn’t it? And I know dear reader, you think I exaggerate (as if!) but you have to respect nature, the warnings were serious:

I just read that Lake Minnewanka has been fully closed down due to an incident this Monday evening (9th July) when a bear trampled a tent. No one was hurt and all campers have been evacuated. The park had only just posted restricted access to the lake the day before, with advice requiring people to hike in large groups, carry bear spray and leave their dogs at home. So maybe my decision to have a nice sandwich in the cafe and enjoy the view was not so ‘unadventurous’ but prudent after all. Contrary to popular belief it seems I am capable of ‘sensible’ thought. Lawdy.

More Lakes

And anyway I had to hurry on the bus back to Banff to pick up my afternoon excursion to Lake Louise. The high mountain lakes of Louise and Maligne are a good hours drive from Banff so I booked myself on a little tour like an elderly Miss Jane Marple. (Really I just felt I hadn’t seen enough good views yet.) (I mean honestly there must be something worth photographing in this dreary backwater mustn’t there?!)

Nah. . .

So I do have yet more ‘postcards’ from the Rockies but before you switch off entirely with festering jealous thoughts and make a mental note to scratch me from the Christmas card list for being ‘undeserving’ or ‘think-she’s-been-spoilt-enough-this-year’ memos. I want you to watch this. The water in the lakes is glaciel, so although it was a lovely June day in the mid twenties the water is cold. Very cold. I mean . . . 5-6C cold. You don’t swim in it. That’s why falling out of your kayak is extra treacherous, you don’t have long till your body is in a lot of trouble. But. Doesn’t stop the Japanese does it? I’m sorry I didn’t catch the initial stampede into lake Maligne, I heard it, I think everyone for a few miles heard it, mass hysterical screaming echoing against the mountain sides. By the time I had rounded the path I could only catch the stragglers but they so entertained me with their joyous life affirming abandon. I give you . . . Water torture for fun:

Such fun!

It was impossible to be amongst the mountains without sticking The Sound of Music on your playlist (especially with goats everywhere). To be honest I needn’t have worried so much about bear spray as most days I would be found traipsing around repelling bears and hikers alike with ‘the hills are alive with the sound of music, ar-ar-ee-ahhhh!’ and the words of the Mother Superior we’re never far from my thoughts. So for this slideshow, kick off your flip flops, find the gluhwein, stick your fancy dress Nun outfit on (oh come on, I know you have one) and sing like Julie! (Everybody now, after three, one, two, . . .)

‘High on a hill was a lonely goat herd, lay ee odl lay ee odl lay hee hoo, loud was the voice of the lonely goatherd lay ee odl lay ee odl-ooo’

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Next stop. . . Balls Falls!