29th September 2016

We weren’t bothered by bears during the night, but Jamie’s mobile phone went off at 2:20 am, shortly followed by the wailing of the Trans-Canada ghost train. The RV then decided to join in the fun of keeping me awake and set off its carbon monoxide sensor. After checking that the gas was off (the valve is outside, of course) and resetting the alarm, another wailing ghost train rattled by somewhere in the wilderness. I would have preferred the bears; they can’t possibly make such noise.

It wasn’t until nearly 9 am that I rose, not happy to learn that Jamie had slept through it all.

After a breakfast of coffee and cereal (again), we drove into the village as Jamie wanted a roll for his breakfast. While he was purchasing it, I used the Wi-Fi from the café to send some pictures and check the news.

Soon, we were pounding the Trans-Canada Highway towards the Columbia Icefield. Our journey so far had taken us through some wonderful, photogenic scenery, but today’s route upped the awe factor by another level. Scene after scene slipped by, briefly frozen in memory from films, nature programmes, and magazines. Alan Ladd and John Wayne, among many others, rode through here, bravely fighting “injuns” or protecting their claims from varmints.

In just under two hours, we arrived at the Icefield Centre, which is opposite the Athabasca Glacier. After checking out the information boards and the small museum, we purchased tickets for the Glacier Skywalk. Canadian customer relations are second to none, but when you just want to buy two tickets and get on the bus to the activity, the obligatory cheery welcome, followed by the getting-to-know-you chit-chat, and then the sharing of personal stories to make you feel at home (and, of course, if you have a foreign accent, it’s always followed by “I’ve been there,” “I want to go,” or “I know someone who has been”), becomes very wearisome. It also creates extraordinarily long queues. And, of course, I was in this one!

Luckily, after resisting the temptation to commit hara-kiri among the thronging Japanese milling all around me, it was a bonus to find that the bus was there waiting to whisk us away, and we didn’t have to queue.

The Skywalk is not, as you might expect, over the glacier, though I’m sure that at one time (blame global warming for that), it did jut out over the fearsome chasm that the glacier probably gouged out not so long ago. Of course, the floor is made of glass, and after being reassured by the guide that it could support up to 8 tons of weight and would not break if stood on, I opted to stay away from a couple of hefty Americans in our group, as I didn’t want to test his theory. After many photos, we returned to the bus and made our way back to the centre.

The café served a good chicken burger and fries with a minimum of chatter and a maximum of service. The ticket booth staff upstairs could certainly learn a thing or two from these people.

We drove the RV to the car park at the base of the glacier and trekked up the slope to the very edge of the ice field. There was a warning poster there which read: Do not walk on the ice. There are dangerous crevices here. The ice field rescue staff are extremely efficient and well-trained, but hypothermia acts faster than a rescue team can assemble. The last three people to fall into crevices did not survive. Yep, I got the message. Don’t cross the tape.

We followed the circular route, which took us along the front edge of the glacier and back to the car park. In the year I was born (1953), the glacier extended all the way to the Field Centre, which must be about half a mile away now. Along the route, there are many small signs indicating the year and showing the extent of the ice field at that time.

With the glacier now ‘done’, we headed back towards Lake Louise. We stopped several times to take photos of even more picture-postcard lakes, with a backdrop of forest and mountains. After yesterday, we were getting better at finding the right spots and angles for our photos.

We had an interesting amble around a closed Silver Horn campsite. It was a very pretty spot, with tables and fire pits dotted around small ponds that reflected their surroundings, just begging us to press that shutter once more.

Arriving at Bow Lake, we walked to the shore and admired the Bow Glacier at the far end. We considered trekking to it, but as it was late in the day, we knew it would certainly be dark on our return. We didn’t have lights, and of course, there were bears to consider, not to mention wolves, and let’s not forget the $25,000 fine for feeding them. We decided to return tomorrow and attempt the trek without being eaten.

We checked into the same campsite as the previous night, requesting a pitch nearer the showers. They gave us one across the road. I hoped it wouldn’t be too noisy.

We had our evening meal out of the microwave, listening to the radio, which was once again discussing Clinton and Trump. We opted to leave Canadian radio mulling over the American elections and drove into town, hoping to play pool in the local bar. Unfortunately, the table was out of commission, pushed against the wall to make room for more dining tables. We sat and watched a baseball game on the TV, enjoying a drink.

As we were leaving, they cleared the tables away and put the pool table in position, but three guys grabbed it before we could. We drove back to our pitch to find someone occupying it. After a little encouragement, he left.

We listened to a bit of radio before settling down for the night, dreaming of bears and wolves.