I Love You like a Rock

I’m in a cheap motel in Drumheller, Alberta as I write this. I am in mourning for the mountains. I kid you not.


After I dropped Connor off in Lake Louise (see previous posts), I found a campsite minutes away, and decompressed among the trees and the sound of the enamouring, turquoise, Bow River. The next morning, I hiked the three kilometers to the actual Lake Louise and back, smiling most of the way except when I found the bear poop on the trail. Then I began singing. Have you heard me sing? It worked. I saw no bears on this day.


 I broke camp in the rain, and left to discover Banff. I’m sure that the park itself is wonderful, but I was unprepared for the town. It was crammed with tourists, and after the quiet of the morning, I found this unsettling–almost traumatic.


These mountains and streams are nice, but I need to buy pants and a key fob. Nice try, nature!


  I managed to find a quiet, dark pub; a refuge, similar to the one in Diagon Alley. I was tended to by a kind young man with a thick, lilting Irish accent– a leprechaun, probably. I caught my breath, had soup, and made a B-line for my van. 



Yes, I'm generally grumpy. We know this.

I followed my gut, drove a couple hours south into the Kananaskis  Mountains and found a camp site in Peter Loughheed Park, Lower Lake site. All along the drive, I was, I think, falling deeper, and deeper in love. I kept staring like a schoolgirl, not wanting to look away. Even in the rain, I felt twinges. The very process of emerging from my tent after a rainy night, was almost sacred. Everything was fresh, and the soft ground felt like velvet under my feet.

(This shot is a short walk away from the sites.)

Instead of a gate, the Lower Lake campground had hosts; a delightful couple who lived there in a huge camper; did the rounds, raking the sites and keeping things neat. I liked them both very much. Both had weathered, cheerful faces and seemed to enjoy the campers and being outside. Both were quick and nimble, I’m sure, from hiking through this idyllic setting. They came around before nightfall and warned us of a mother Grizzly and her three cubs just outside of camp. They assured us that she would not be a problem but suggested that we stay on our sites for the night and not take any evening strolls.

I considered sleeping in my van, but trusted the hosts and kipped in my tent. The Grizzley was likely warned that Suzanne’s in the park, and she might start singing.



All through B.C., and Alberta, campers are constantly reminded about bare camping: leaving nothing out to attract critters. In walking past the sites in the numerous campgrounds I’ve been in so far, I’ve noted that people take this seriously and abide. Nobody wants to be an unfortunate headline. 

Camper picks bad time to try peanut butter body mask. 

I left the Lower Lake campground like someone who didn’t want to go home. This was, basically because, I didn’t want to go home. I figured that I would visit Canmore and then droop myself east to Calgary and begin shuffling towards Ontario, but this was a mistake for me. Canmore was like Banff, but on fewer steroids. I had a second breakfast in a restaurant full of– I’m trying not to judge, but Jesus, there were a dozen perfect women brunching in yoga garb. I deduced that they had already done yoga (you’d hurl eggs benny during downward dog if you yoga’d afterward), but they all looked so perfect (Do rich people sweat?).  One woman actually stopped and touched her toes on her way to the bathroom. I almost lost my toast! My poor attitude may have been because I had not showered in a few days and my feet were wet, but Canmore wasn’t cranking my vibe. You get this, right?

But, there I was. I couldn’t leave the west on such a pissy note, so I drove north. I passed Banff, Lake Louise, and relented to an intrinsic tractor beam drawing me along the Trans-Canada up to the junction where it meets the David Thompson Highway. 


I was back in love again. 


There was snow, but I didn’t mind. I made the turn east on the highway, glad to have the mountains almost to myself so I could say goodbye. I was distracted by more turquoise rivers, and the Hoodoos, that looked like something on an architects table. I stopped often, and was able to stand and just be there, by myself. There’s just something about that terrain. 

Late in the day, I arrived in Rocky Mountain House. I found a place to stay, had a meal, and went to bed wondering how I was going to deal with the prairies, heartbroken as I felt about the mountains. I can’t explain this feeling other than resembling the feeling of leaving a loved one; someone who thrills you each time you look at them. 



Sigh.