Trip - Day 4 – Wednesday, April 21, 2010

Considering the strain I had put on myself the day before, I felt revitalized to a point that I was certain I had recently starred in a shampoo commercial. Noel opened the door just as I swung my feet off the couch and presented me with a coffee and breakfast sandwich from Tim Hortons. We watched hockey highlights while digesting what would surely haunt us halfway up the mountain we sought this beautiful morning.

A new employee where Noel worked was to join us on our trek, so we met up with Elaine and headed across the highway to park at the base of Mount Lady MacDonald. The 8,550 foot (4,550 not considering sea level) peak was named in 1886 after Susan Agnes Macdonald, wife of Sir John A. Macdonald, the first Prime Minister of Canada. John A., most likely seeking an apologetic gesture for a night of hard drinking, chose the mountain in the Fairholme Range as they travelled on the then brand new Canadian National Railway while they headed to Vancouver, British Columbia.

Again, we all took a quick stretch and stopped at a bench for our customary beer, then hit the wooded trail to begin our climb. Elaine was a stark contrast to Noel and I, aside from her long hair, breasts, and eyes clear of bloodshot. While we wore shorts and a shirt, she was decked out in a smart pair of pants, layered shirts, a hat, and that go-getter, British accent. We asked whether she had climbed before to any extent, and she brushed it off with little mention of a few hills here and there. I was concerned she may suffer some heat exhaustion being so over-dressed, and secretly hoped she would remedy this as any single, sexually deprived 26 year old could imagine she would. To our surprise, she never broke a sweat the whole hike, and was much better for the climb than anyone would have given her credit for. Turns out she was modest, and had been part of treks in France and New Zealand, to name a few places.

The initial portion of the climb was similar to the first section of Ha Ling the day before, with a steep incline, a cover of woods, and several beautiful vistas at which to catch your breath. Traffic was a little heavier on this side of the valley, with hikers passing in all directions every so often for the first hour or so, all of them well spaced and letting off loud shouts to ward off any cougars, bears, or serial killers. Like Noel, the more experienced of the crowd bounded past us with the agility of mature sheep, some of these morning-trippers well into their 60’s.

After a few breaks, where Elaine and I exchanged “fuck its hot, how does Noel keep going” glances, we neared the edge of the tree line and found ourselves in a rock field that required some attentive footfalls. A few times we would edge between boulders that had to weigh more than several trucks. Noel stopped us at one point to show us where, barely a year before, he and another of our high school crew had spotted a cougar. This, obviously, instilled no more confidence in my safety, and I kept a keen eye on the bear spray hanging off of Noel’s belt, as well as any rocks I felt I could use as weapons or suicide clinchers. If I could off myself in that brief moment between a cougar’s pounce and the impact, I would gladly do so.

Eventually, the trees thinned and diminished, we took a brief rest on a ledge overlooking Canmore from the East, then plodded up a ridge toward the Teahouse and lookout platform. To our left, the mountain slipped leisurely into the Bow Valley, while on our right a grazing meadow for Rocky Mountain sheep sat silent in the windless midday.

Not 15 minutes after catching our breath, we stepped onto the first plateau of Lady MacDonald, as far as we would go that day. The view, as with the day before from Ha Ling, was spectacular. We were about another 1,000 – 1,500 feet from the proper summit, but time and energy were already running thin, and the platforms would serve us well for an hour rest before descending.

The Teahouse was at one point likely a great idea. The now dilapidated structure was intended to be a sort or mountain-side restaurant with beverages, sandwiches, photo opportunities, and overpriced trinkets to mark the climb. Originally, a gondola was planned to attract more tourists to the platforms, while still allowing hikers to enjoy the trail from an alternate route. Favorably, the local government and population decided against the eyesore burdening the entire hillside, stating that if visitors wanted a gondola ride, Banff was a half hour up the road.

While it is still a fantastic view, one can hardly avoid the assumption that the original concept would have been somewhat quaint, even if only enjoyed by hikers and not throngs of bluehairs with fanny packs and matching sweaters. Of the two platforms, the octagonal structure boasted a wonderful deck on top, with what would have housed the business end underneath, windows offering gorgeous views in most directions. Now, however, the makeup had fallen rather dreary, and was littered with beer cans, condom wrappers, and other rubbish. Just 100 feet away, a platform about 20 X 60 sat unfinished, was devoid of any mentionable characteristics, but offered a great place to stretch out and could serve as the most unwatchable stage in concert history.

We sat and had a few beers, talking amongst ourselves about nothing too much, and watched another couple of hikers make their descent from the proper summit. As we relaxed we would take stock of their progress toward us, and eventually they boarded the platform and sat along side us. Throughout the eventual “hikers” conversation, we learned that their route had begun where ours had, but they had bypassed Lady MacDonald in favor of another ridge to our West, an inches wide trek with mirrored 1,000 foot drops that likely took about an hour or more to conquer. They had started almost five hours earlier, had logged quite considerable distance and elevation, and looked fairly well for their wear. I felt quite out of shape, sweating even after our rest, and was put directly to shame upon finding out the wife of the couple was also pregnant. I felt labored with only a shit in my stomach, let alone a being contriving its life.

What goes up must come down, and instead of replaying our climb in reverse we opted for a steeper shortcut down the hill, rattling off the altitude in about half the time it took to accumulate it. Elaine and I both had the burn in our legs and back, and when we hit flat ground to make for the truck, we shared a deep breath and hive five. Noel, as usual, was skipping and turning cartwheels, seemingly unaffected by anything that had occurred over the 3 hours or so since breakfast.

As per his work schedule, Noel punched in, leaving Elaine and I free to explore parts of Canmore. She was fairly new to the area, and I offered to show her some of the back country from the comfort of a moving vehicle.

Before we headed into the mountains, we opted to look for supper first. We tried a few places, but she ate no meat or dairy so we had a hard time finding a suitable menu. At one spot, she asked politely if there was anything that would suit her dining options.

“I’m sorry, but most of our selections do contain meat or dairy,” offered Darren. (Well, he looked like a Darren, anyway. Darrens have a look, don’t they?)

“Perhaps they could just make me a salad?” she offered.

“I will ask, and for you sir?”

“I only eat meat and dairy, so is it possible you could just walk a live calf up to the table? I’ll be happy to take care of things from there.”

While Elaine blushed, the waiter retreated to the kitchen. He returned some minutes later to apologize, stating that only items off the menu can be ordered. Elaine, being as well-mannered as anyone could possibly be at such brutal customer service, ordered water and we promptly left.

After a while cruising the back roads and making small chat we headed back to the hotel and parted ways. Later that night, Noel and I enjoyed a final soak in the hot tub then called it a night. As I drifted off to sleep I mulled over the fact that I had climbed two mountains in two days. Granted, I was a long shot from being suspended by twine over a plunge to my death, but as a person whose most notable conquests have been on flat land or messy beds, it felt good. It also felt good to see the weather report for the following few days, and know that all activities would be held at lower altitudes, in a sitting position, scotch in hand.

Ahhh… vacation.