Our tireless, adventurous friend, Ian, recently accompanied us on a 12-hour-marathon, bike-hike trip to Piper Pass via the Little Elbow and West Fork Little Elbow river valleys. Approaching the pass, I asked him, “How many people do you think get here each summer?” He paused, glanced at the feint route underfoot, gazed at the gorgeous valley we’d just traversed, and said, “Not many. Maybe three parties each summer, at most.” Kathy and I agreed with his assessment, which prompted another question: Why so few?

Sure, reaching Piper Pass this way is an arduously long daytrip requiring athletic endurance. But Calgary and Canmore are heavily populated with outdoor athletes, many of whom are skilled, enthusiastic mountainbikers. And judging by the number of cars parked on weekends at many K-Country trailheads, hiking is as popular as ever. So why aren’t the strongest and keenest probing the wilder niches of their backyard wilderness?

We have no idea. But we do know this: A decade ago, more people were surmounting Piper Pass this way, because back then the final approach (southward, through the upper reaches of the West Fork Little Elbow River Valley) was much more apparent than it is now.

Thanks to equestrians, the former road extending 4.7 km (2.9 mi) past Romulus campground is obvious to its end. On the ensuing trail, you’ll face no navigational difficulty until you’re beyond the big meadow and have begun ascending the last swath of forest. Here, however, the way forward withers as the the grade steepens. The narrow-but-distinct trail gradually dwindles to a route, then sporadically vanishes. Unless you’ve been here before and know how to proceed, or your navigational instincts are honed by experience, the various game paths are as helpful as they are confusing.

You have the heart of an explorer and the stamina of a triathlete? You’re aware the word “epic” is vastly overused, and you understand its true meaning? We need you out there. Maintaining a route like this requires the passage of many boots. You’ll be richly rewarded. You’ll see a wild, spectacular valley surrounded by rugged, handsome peaks. You’ll earn a gratifying sense of accomplishment. And you’ll no doubt enjoy it all in solitude.

But when tranquility becomes a near-permanent state, that means the trails are not receiving the boot-beating they need to remain in existence. Better to say “hello” a couple times along the way then have to wonder “where the heck did the route go?”

You’ll find complete directions to Piper Pass via the Little Elbow in Where Locals Hike in the Canadian Rockies, Trip 39. Here are a few updates you’ll find helpful:

• At the first ford, look left. You’ll find a trail traverses the steep forest allowing you to bypass the first and second fords. This bypass takes only a couple minutes.

• At the minor fork described in the 3rd paragraph on page 203, do not stay left on the bench. Instead, bear right, descend toward the river, then turn left (upstream). Hike through the rough, washed-out gully to regain the trail just ahead.

• After crossing the big meadow in the West Fork Little Elbow River Valley (where Piper Pass is visible ahead), note when you re-enter forest at the meadow’s south end. About seven minutes farther, you’ll encounter a fork. Proceed left (south-southeast). Right (southwest) soon ends in a rocky wash-out among the trees.

• Where the grade finally steepens and the route all but disappears, don’t worry. Go up. Do not continue traversing south. Game paths will assist you if you’re unable to keep to “the” route. By ascending, you’ll promptly dispatch the forest and attain the edge of a steep-walled ravine. From there, continue ascending along the ravine, quickly passing the last of the trees. You’ll soon be in the alpine zone, with Piper Pass in view just ahead.

Final suggestions: (1) Bring friends. The more boots pounding the route to Piper Pass, the better, and the more of us appreciating wild places, the more us who’ll protect them. (2) If you can bear the extra weight, carry a pair of clippers. By snipping a few tree branches here and there, you’ll help ensure this exciting wilderness route remains hikeable.

Click on “comments” (below) to see what others are saying, then join the discussion.

Last Sunday morning, we hiked up French Creek canyon and encountered enough deadfall to discourage a gazelle. So we retreated, opting instead to spend the afternoon hiking King Creek Ridge, where we knew we would fully appreciate what remained of that gorgeous day. We left the King Creek trailhead parking lot at 4 pm. We had the entire ridge to ourselves. The magical, evening light kept us shooting photos for an hour atop the crest. The entire hike, including the strenuous ascent and descent of the ridge, was exhilarating. After working our way through the narrow, steep-walled gorge cut by King Creek, crossing and recrossing the lively creek, we arrived back at the trailhead at 9 pm, completely fulfilled. If you’re fit and have a little scrambling and routefinding experience, we urge you to go soon, while the crest of King Creek Ridge and the skirts of the nearby Opal Range are still luxuriously green. For details, read Trip 19, starting on page 108, in Where Locals Hike in the Canadian Rockies, the Premier Trails in Kananakis Country, near Canmore and Calgary.

Occasionally we receive a note from one of our readers that we want to pass along to everyone following our blog. This one is from Rick Vigrass, of Calgary. We think his concerns are valid, his questions are important, and his suggestions deserve consideration:

Craig & Kathy,

Did some thinking as I slogged up and over the snow yesterday and wondered if you’d consider posting this on your blog:

Over the past 3 summers, I have hiked 6 of the Premier Dayhikes described in the Copeland’s book: Don’t Waste Your Time in the Canadian Rockies. I haven’t been disappointed with any of them. Yesterday was no exception as I visited Niles Meadow and had an exceptional view of the Daly Glacier. It was a great day. The condition of the trail takes nothing away from the experience which, consistent with all the dayhikes designated by the Copelands as premier, is outstanding. But the fallen trees across the trail gave me pause to reflect on how much we value our trails and how we are looking after them.

Without knowing the details of the Park’s trail maintenance budget and philosophy, the reality is this trail hasn’t been cleared for years. Several of the fallen trees were old. Some are waist high and hikers have been forced to go off trail. I cleared the small ones I could lift by hand but there are still many left. If I would have known and packed my Swede saw and had extra energy, I could have cut out several of the smaller fallen trees.

So what do us serious hikers from Calgary, Canmore and other places do? Do we spend our energy lobbying Parks Canada? Do we adopt-a-trail ourselves and put something back into something we get so much from? I for one would adopt-a-trail and participate in any training required by Parks Canada. Perhaps someone could encourage that by listing trails and adopters on a website so there is some organization and token recognition. Maybe Parks Canada could hold an annual winter supper for the adopters and give each one of them a copy of the Copeland’s latest book or some other suitable token of appreciation. After a few years, maybe the adopter’s name could be posted at the trailhead. What are your ideas and comments on this? How much do we value our trails and what are we willing to do to have them? I would be interested in your response.

Regards,

Rick Vigrass

After several weeks at home in Canmore—working long days, getting minimal exercise, chafed by the reality that little hiking is available in the Canadian Rockies until June—we felt strange, unsettled. The nomadic life is strong in us. So after taking care of essential business and stacking the rest onto our laptops, we migrated south. Early spring is ideal hiking time in southern Utah.

Leaving the icy mountains behind, we headed to the land of sun-pounded slickrock domes and sandy-floored, sinuous canyons. We traded a palette of grey and straw, for red, orange and yellow. We pitched our tent under grand cottonwoods, sat out late beneath the starry, cobalt sky, woke up to temperatures that invite hiking in shorts.

We hope you can take time this year to visit Canyonlands, Capitol Reef, or Zion national parks, or the vast, high-desert regions surrounding Moab, Torrey, Boulder, or Escalante. Bring our book Hiking from Here to WOW: Utah Canyon Country. It will ensure you make the most out of each day. You live in western Canada? A 20-hour drive is all that stands between you and another planet: southern Utah. If your home is in the northwest U.S., you’re close enough that four or five days is all you need for a quick but fulfilling canyon-country adventure.

While driving through the outskirts of Calgary, we passed a housing development with a huge sign: FINAL PHASE! Our interpretation was, yes, this is indeed the historic, final phase for these absurdly huge, utterly unsustainable, hilariously boxy, anti-architecture mansions. Even a dim awareness of reality (peak oil, climate change, global economic decline) is sufficient to recognize that these trophy homes are monuments to excess and will soon be unwanted embarrassments. Besides, homes and mortgages of that magnitude have always been anchors that severely curtail one’s independence. They represent the final phase of whatever liberty their owners previously enjoyed.

Continuing our drive south of Calgary, we saw other housing developments spilling across the prairie. All the homes are boxes. All are “detached” but none is more than a couple meters from the nearly identical box next door. All are drab shades of the drabbest colours: taupe and grey. We could not live there. Such pervasive monotony would quash our creativity. The comforts those boxes provide would not compensate us for the soul-deadening affects of uniformity, repetition, and predictability.

We’d rather be in a downtown Calgary condo, where we’d have the Bow River and several big parks nearby, and where we could participate in stimulating city life.

Approaching Lethbridge, we could see the weather was worse on the southern horizon. We stopped for gas and discovered the approaching snow storm had already knocked out the city’s electricity. Without electricity, gas pumps are inoperable. Plus the Coutts border crossing was closed, as was the highway in northern Montana. “Don’t try it,” someone told us. “Cars in the ditch everywhere.”

It seemed the snow had defeated us. Our four-hour drive south was wasted. We turned back north. But nomad determination kicked in. “I bet we can outflank this storm,” Kath said. “We’ll drive west over Crowsnest Pass into B.C., then probe south.”

It was longer by four hours, but it worked. It was a more interesting drive, too. And it allowed us to keep moving. That’s the nomad philosophy: Keep moving.