I've probably already said, I've scheduled myself a week in these here Rockies, and the next three nights are to be spent in Banff, a three or four hour motor south along what is purported to be the greatest drive in the world: the Icefield Parkway. In the first 30mins or so it dawns on me I have grossly underestimated my car. It is not a toy. Nothing of the sort, in fact. It is actually the one in charge in this relationship, the brains behind the operation, and proves it by talking to me as we ascend into the cloudline: "There could be ice on the road, so drive carefully, yeah," it warns. "No need to fret though. I've engaged the traction control so if things do get slippery, we'll be alright. I know these roads pretty well anyway."
When SKYNET comes to rule, the Chevrolet Impala license J36556 will be commanding the front line.
Curse the elements: the grey duvet extends all about, hanging just above the trees, only offering the briefest glimpses of mountains through the haze. Such a tease! Like the softest comely brush of the skin at your hip, followed by a sudden goodbye. Urge inducing; guttural potential. And yet, crushingly disappointing.
I intersperse the journey with irregular breaks, as determined by the National Park signs at the road side:
*Horseshoe Lake, where I wander through the forest whistling David Thomas Broughton tunes to ward off the predators (though with their cloaking devices and mid-range laser cannons, it is probably futile. Guffaw).
*Athabasca Falls, a touristy and reasonably impressive drop in the Athabasca river, which flows from the Columbia Icefield (more on that later, I expect) right out to the Arctic Sea near Inavut in the Northwest Territories.
*Beauty Creek, which is pretty much just that.
And it is in the vicinity of Beauty Creek that, once more in life, I am proven too hasty in my assumptions. Wafts of cloud cling to the road in spectral visions as, from the sky, the sun attempts an impersonation of deathbed 'light at the end of the tunnel'. But then! Patches of blue, rockfaces, and more. The tops of mountains, thinning cloud, and sunshine! The cloud duvet was low and the elevation of the road has brought me upon it. It sits behind me, below me, masking the valley beyond, and all around the precious mountains are revealed!
The next few hours are a joy; the landscape I came here to see in all its' glory. Eyes wide, mouth open, heart full; a new relish for the adventures and for the road ahead.
The aforementioned Columbia Icefield itself is out of reach, high atop the peaks of the mountains on the BC/Alberta border. The Athabasca glacier running from it, however, is not. A rapidly receding tongue of ice, feeding its' namesake river, darts down from the icy plains above and immediately takes its rightful place amongst the wonders this planet has to offer which have befallen these eyes of mine. High banks of rock and shale, scarred by the frozen drag, are pressed up against both sides of the glacial valley - evidence of the former scale of the ice flow. Nearby literature tells of the effects of climate change: how, in as little as 100 years time, the glacier will disappear at its' current rate of reduction; how the forests are making their way upwards, advancing on the peaks; how this magnificent alpine region could become alpine no more, wildlife wiped out as habitats recede into nothing.
I press on. Already I have been five hours on the road and have covered only a third of the distance I need before nightfall. After today I'm starting to get quite fond of my car. All he asks of me in the partnership is to keep a cock in my ankle, poised above the brake pedal. I am more than happy to oblige. The pain is worth it.
The remainder of the journey, well, I don't know that I can do it justice with words alone. I'd need to carve out a piece of myself and somehow implant it into you, dear reader, to give the first inkling of how this place makes me feel. I thought walking in the very footsteps and up to the toe of a glacier was affirmation enough of the human capacity for awe and wonder, then I drove the other 180km to Banff. Whichever part of my disparate being thought itself wanting upon the train has been restored a hundred times over.
The crags, the cliffs, the caps and the creeks, the woods and the wildlife and the waterways, and the sheer unadulterated devastation at the revealing of a pure and shimmering emerald lake as the corner of a mountain trail is rounded...I am in a very, very happy place this night.
See for yourself why, on youtube.
No comments:
Post a Comment