La Meije, from Tete le Maye. Parc National des Ecrins, Hautes Alpes, France.

“Find what is for you a river of infinite, meaningful fascination. Dive into it, and keep swimming.”

That thought came to me today, while hiking in Parc National des Ecrins, in the Hautes Alpes of southeast France. It struck me as an apt summary of how to make life as rewarding an experience as possible. It also summarizes why Kath and I are now in the French Alps instead of the Canadian Rockies.

For us, the the river of infinite, meaningful fascination is hiking the Earth. We dove into that river in 1989, when we moved to Calgary, Alberta—ostensibly because of a job offer but really so we could devote weekends and vacation time to hiking the nearby Canadian Rocky Mountain National Parks. From then on, where and when we would hike has been a central consideration in every major decision we’ve made. As a result, hiking soon became—and still remains—not just our passion but the basis for our livelihood.

And when your passion and livelihood are aligned, you’re no longer swimming upstream through life. You’re going in the right direction: pulled along by a strong, if often unseen, current, because you had the foresight, courage, or just good fortune to dive into your river of infinite, meaningful fascination.

This is where “opportunities” arise that to others might appear to be pure luck but are in fact the result of the life-changing decision you made to dive in. You’re looking for these opportunities and are able to recognize them because your attention is focused rather than fractured as it is for most people. You’re not just seeking these opportunities, you’re instinctively—and sometimes laboriously—doing what’s necessary to create them.

So, while it was logical for us to return to the Canadian Rockies this summer after working all winter in Utah canyon country, what we really wanted to do was spend this summer hiking the Alps. We assumed we were heading back to Canada for the summer, and that’s what we told friends, but we’d long been sleuthing out ways to comfortably yet affordably resume exploring the Alps, researching a future book.

We were prepared. To make it possible, we’d even gone so far as to sell our home in Canmore, Alberta, before heading south to Utah for the winter. We loved that home. But we knew we could rent an apartment, or live in our trailer, upon returning to Canada. Moreover, we knew that the freedom to hike when and where we wanted required complete—particularly financial—flexibility. That’s how committed we are to our river of infinite, meaningful fascination. Swimming downstream isn’t necessarily easy. Staying in the current sometimes requires extraordinary devotion.

Our sleuthing focused on buying a used campervan in Europe. On our last trip to the Alps, we rented a car and camped in our tent for months. Occasionally we abandoned the car and backpacked, or hiked hut to hut. Prior to that, we’d hiked in the Alps while relying solely on public transport. This time, we wanted to be more comfortable, particularly because we’d be working: writing, managing photography, and conducting business when not hiking.

We eventually learned, however, that non-E.U. residents cannot legally register and insure a vehicle in Europe. Yes, there are companies—mostly in Holland—that sell used campervans to non E.U. residents. They do it by registering and insuring the van for you, in their company’s name. They even promise you a “guaranteed buy-back.” But insurance companies are expert at finding reasons not to pay claims. A wrecked campervan owned by a non-E.U. resident but insured by a Dutch auto dealership is sure to spark suspicion. It’s easy to see how you could end up impoverished, slogging through debt the rest of your life if you had a major collision while driving a campervan purchased from a sly, Dutch salesman.

Next we looked into renting a campervan. We were unable to find one we could afford that was big enough to comfortably live and work in for months. So, we were off to Canada… until we connected with France Motorhome Hire (www.francemotorhomehire.com). We’ll tell you more about them in a future blog post, but within a few days of corresponding with Hannah—who owns and runs France Motorhome Hire along with her husband, Phil—we made a u-turn and were on our way to France. Hannah understood and appreciated our hiking/writing project and offered us a long-term rental that was within reach for us.

I’m writing this blog while sitting comfortably at the table inside our “Sky 20” motorhome, parked next to a roaring, glacial stream, in Parc National des Ecrins, in the Hautes Alpes of France. We summitted a minor peak here today: Tete le Maye. The culminating panorama was dazzling. We stayed up there for a couple hours, gazing at massive peaks and glaciers in every direction.

So most of our blog posts for the next few months will be about hiking in the Alps. We hope they inspire you to hike here. When that time comes, we hope you’ll find our suggestions helpful.

And… if you haven’t yet found your river of infinite, meaningful fascination, we hope you do.

Jumpingpound Ridge

Here’s one of the Canadian Rockies’ easiest, most convenient trails: a blessedly undemanding, scenically captivating, foothill ridgewalk usually available by June. You’ll begin hiking after a mere one-hour drive from Calgary. The path quickly lofts you above treeline, where constant scenery will pull you onward.

Jumpingpound is popular with mountainbikers, but hiking is equally rewarding here. The broad, level, grassy ridgecrest often allows effortless striding. The views are vast—out across the prairie and deep into the Rockies’ front range. Wildflowers—including moss campion, alpine forget-me-not, and rock jasmine—are abundant.

Want a short, simple, round trip? Begin and end your hike at the Jumpingpound trailhead. We prefer to hike 17 km, one way along the entire ridgecrest between the Jumpingpound and Dawson trailheads. This necessitates a two-car shuttle (unless you’re willing to hitchhike), entails an elevation gain of 640 m, plus an elevation loss of 976 m, and requires 6 to 8 hours hiking time.

You’ll find complete directions to Jumpingpound Ridge in Where Locals Hike in the Canadian Rockies. It’s Trip 45, on page 231.

It’s Wednesday, August 31, and our annual blast of winter-preview weather has arrived. It’s 4°C at our house in Canmore. It’s been raining all day. The clouds are so low, the mountains ringing our town are obscured. Tonight, the rain will likely turn to sleet or snow. And when the clouds clear, the summits will be white. But the clouds will clear. The lashings of wet snow will melt off the peaks. Summer weather will return—soon. This is just the annoying-yet-motivating reminder notice we always receive this time of year from those capricious Weather Demons who lord it over the Canadian Rockies. “Take full advantage of optimal hiking weather,” they’re saying, “because those days—numbered to begin with—are now fiendishly few.”

Weather info sources that will help you plan the remainder of the 2011 hiking season:

http://www.theweathernetwork.com/

http://www.weatheroffice.gc.ca/canada_e.html

http://www.skibanff.com/conditions/cams

http://www.skilouise.com/conditions/mountain-cam.php

http://www.skimarmot.com/conditions_webcams.html

When traveling outside Canada, we often say “Banff” when someone asks us where we’re from. It’s just easier, because most people have at least heard of Banff National Park, while relatively few are familiar with Canmore. But we wince when we do it, because we love Canmore and feel proud and fortunate to reside here. There are dozens of reasons for that. Among them… Friendships, of course. Our “pit crew” of healthcare professionals, including our chiropractor, massage therapist, and Chinese medicine practitioner, all of whom are superb. The setting. Where else can you step out of the bank, or the grocery store, or the hardware store, and find yourself staring up (literally up) at a massive wall of peaks? A small commercial centre, clustered around an authentic Main Street, that is — in our opinion — among the two or three most atmospherically pleasing in Canada. An energetic, adventurous, athletically-charged, core population. … But the primary reason we’re enthralled with Canmore is that our backyard affords some of the best hiking in North America. We were reminded of that yet again when we recently left our house after a late lunch, drove only a short distance, and began hiking—at 3 p.m.—into the headwater basins of James Walker Creek. Our article about it will appear in the Calgary Herald in August. Meanwhile, here are a few photos from that hike. They articulate precisely why, for us, Canmore will always be home.

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

The Opinionated Hikers on Patrol for You

Old Goat Glacier is a prime hiking destination near Canmore. The trail into the basin below the glacier is now free of snow. The basin itself is an ideal destination for families with hikers-in-training. You’ll encounter snow on the ascent above the basin, but it’s melting quickly. Meanwhile, hiking on the snow is easier (especially when descending) than on the talus. At the upper reaches of the ascent, however, you will encounter deep snow, but only for a short distance. Just follow the post-hole tracks of the hikers who’ve preceded you. Once you’re atop the moraine, above the glacier, you’ll be hiking through minimal snow. For details, read Where Locals Hike in the Canadian Rockies, The Premier Trails in Kananaskis Country near Canmore and Calgary, Trip 2, page 32. The Old Goat Glacier trailhead is behind the campground near the dam at the north end of Spray Lakes Reservoir.

The Opinionated Hikers on Patrol for You

For weeks, clouds have persisted in hanging about the Canadian Rockies like giant, sodden sponges. The rain—though we applaud its forest-fire prevention value—is getting tedious. Last weekend was the only break we’ve had during this long spate of grim weather. We dashed up to Three Sisters Pass, which overlooks Canmore, and… wow… we urge you to get up there soon. It’s a spectacular hike. And now is the perfect time to do it, as explained in the following, field-report supplement to the description in our book, Where Locals Hike in the Canadian Rockies:

round trip
6 km (3.7 mi)

elevation gain
595 m (1952 ft)

key elevations
trailhead 1670 m (5478 ft), pass 2265 m (7429 ft)

hiking time
2 1/2 to 3 1/2 hours

difficulty
moderate

maps
Gem Trek Canmore and Kananaskis Village

OPINION
Any sunny weekend, spring through fall, it’s possible to arrive at the Goat Creek trailhead (launch pad for Ha Ling Peak, Trip 41) and find the parking lot so full there’s barely room to squeeze in a motorcycle. There might be 100 hikers on the peak, giving it an irksome, ant-farm atmosphere.

It was precisely such a day that we drove a few minutes farther down the road to the Three Sisters Pass trailhead and discovered… nobody. We hiked all afternoon in solitude.

Triple Sis Pass lacks Ha Ling’s popularity not because it’s scenically inferior or markedly more difficult, but simply because it’s not a peak. Ha Ling is to Canmore what the Grouse Grind is to Vancouver: de rigueur. The pass near the three siblings? Obscure.

That’s the first of this trip’s many shining attractions: You might have it all to yourself. You almost certainly will not feel oppressed by a crowd.

Shining attraction #2: The bootbeaten route climbs through a relatively narrow drainage that briefly constricts to a sharp-walled gorge then continues up a canyon. In early summer, a snowmelt stream careens down the canyon, then cascades through the gorge. You’ll hike beside this stream most of the way. The sight and sound of it are refreshing.

Shining attraction #3: The straight-shot ascent through the gorge and canyon is beautiful. It’s rough for only about ten minutes, when bypassing the gorge. Otherwise the grade is merely steep, and the rocky terrain is exciting. Above the gorge, you’re out of the trees most of the way, so you’ll see it all.

Shining attraction #4: The pass is an impressive vantage. The far (east) side is nearly vertical, so it grants an aerial perspective of Canmore, the Bow Valley, and the Fairholme Range beyond. The iconic Three Sisters peaks are nearby. Big Sister looms directly above the pass.

Just one caution: Don’t hike here in summer. The stream diminishes by then and can vanish in fall. It’s a waste to devote a full summer day to such a short hike. And all that rock creates a natural oven that, on a hot day, will bake your enchilada. So schedule Three Sisters Pass for late spring or early summer, when the stream is rollicking.

FACT

By Vehicle
From downtown Canmore, follow signs leading uphill to the Canmore Nordic Centre. Reset your trip odometer to 0 at the Nordic Centre turnoff. Continue ascending on Smith-Dorrien / Spray Trail (Hwy 742). Pavement soon ends. After crossing Whiteman’s Gap, proceed generally southeast to 11.8 km (7.3 mi).

From the junction of Hwy 40 and Kananaskis Lakes Trail (50 km / 31 mi south of Trans-Canada Hwy 1, or 17 km / 10.5 mi north of Highwood Pass), turn southwest onto Kananaskis Lakes Trail. Reset your trip odometer to 0. At 2.2 km (1.4 mi) turn right (northwest) onto unpaved Smith-Dorrien / Spray Trail (Hwy 742). Continue to 51.4 km (31.9 mi).

For either approach, park in the small pullout on the west side of the road, at 1670 m (5478 ft). It’s 1.5 km (0.9 mi) north of the toilets and telephone near the north end of Spray Lakes Reservoir.

On Foot
From the pullout, walk the road south about 90 m (98 yd). Turn left into the broad, dry, rocky drainage. Follow it northeast about 120 m (130 yd) to where a cairn (left / northwest) indicates a narrow path. It exits the drainage, rises onto the dryas-covered bank, and enters forest. Paralleling the drainage, the path leads generally northeast.

At 1773 m (5815 ft), about 15 minutes from the trailhead, begin ascending. Two minutes farther, drop 1.5 m (5 ft) to continue on the path. At 1828 m (5996 ft), about 30 minutes along, pass a slabby, tributary drainage (right / southeast).

The drainage soon narrows into a sharp, bedrock gorge. In early summer, a cascade fills the gorge, but by fall in might be dry. At the bottom of this gorge, rockhop across the stream, then bypass the gorge via the narrow, rough, bootbeaten route ascending steeply on the right (southeast) wall.

The bypass route climbs among tight trees. In about ten minutes, it drops left, onto bedrock at the top the gorge, at 1880 m (6166 ft). Proceed up-canyon by re-crossing to the left (north) side of the stream.

A cairned path—bootbeaten into talus, scree and dirt—makes the rest of the ascent straight forward. Ahead, the path briefly crosses to the right (south) side of the stream, then resumes on the left (north) side.

At 2135 m (7003 ft), about 1 1/4 hours from the trailhead, the path veers left (north) into forest and steepens. It exits the trees just shy of your destination.

Crest Three Sisters Pass at 3 km (1.9 mi), 2265 m (7429 ft).

Big Sister soars to 2936 m (9630 ft) from the right (southeast) edge of the pass. Middle Sister (Trip 1) is directly east. Little Sister is east-northeast. Canmore is north-northeast. Beyond the town, the Fairholme Range creates the Bow Valley’s far wall. Above you, north-northwest, is the Ehagay Nakoda Range—the massif comprising 2545-m (8348-ft) Mt. Lawrence Grassi, and Ha Ling Peak (Trip 41). Southwest is the Spray Valley, from which you ascended.

Returning from the pass, sure-footed hikers reach the top of the gorge in 30 minutes. Look left for the cairn indicated where the bypass route ascends into the trees on the southeast wall. It takes about ten minutes to descend the bypass route. Maintain a swift pace and you’ll intersect the road, near the trailhead, about one hour after departing the pass.

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.