Once Wild

A special moment to be on the Columbia

We were adrift on the waters of the Columbia, summer’s end nearing like the next bend, slowly coming into sight.  I was attune to the river’s inherent wildness. I took note of the seasonal changes to occur, as, with any wild river, low water subsequent to the high. 

I had a profound realization. In nearly 28 years of life, growing up downstream, I had, not once, seen the Columbia fluctuate in flow. Surely you have, you just never noticed! Well, most likely yes, but never in accordance with the seasons. The Columbia where I grew up changed when the dams decided it was time for a change, by the human hand. For the first time, I witnessed the seasonal fluctuation of the Columbia River. I thought it to be...Remarkable.

Noticing bends in the river, swaying around large gravel bars, and the waterways which we used to explore. It was all different. No longer could we paddle down the overgrown and narrow channel, sure to be stopped by a log jam. Reeds and grasses which we would gently skim over now stood two meters overhead. Wildlife, particularly beavers, escorted us downriver, tail slapping and creating sprays welcoming us to their home (Beavers definitely do not do this, but it’s a nice thought). The Columbia, for once, felt wild. 

September 2nd, snow lingers in the alpine. The exposed bank displaying the water level fluctuation.

Sat face to face, tethered bow to bow and stern to stern, we floated the lazy Columbia. A salad containing assortments of fruits and vegetables was served as dinner, complemented by a small charcuterie. Washing down the exquisite cuisine was none other than “Alexander Keith’s: the original craft beer”, as I believe it is called. 

Is there a finer way to experience such a unique area, passing through without a trace or trail, enjoying the company of friends both new and old? The recognition of wilderness leaves me noticing that I had never thought of the Columbia as wild. I am thankful to experience the sleepy untamed waterway. It is not far, perhaps a day's float, where the wild Columbia succumbs to the works of man, a wild river is tamed, a reservoir born, and the songs of motorboats replace that of the birds.

Loved to Death

There it is, a typical photo taken of the glacial blue waters of Lake Louise. Beautiful. A photo is worth 1,000 words, but what is outside of the frame? A photo as we all know, is a glimpse of the actual subject, perhaps 1/5th, perceiving the image with only our eyes leaving our other senses famished. 

A typical photo at Lake Louise, the throngs of tourists left out of frame. June 2021

On the day we traveled to the Lake Louise area, smoke decayed our views and tainted the lungs. Knowing that lake parking is full by 7am, we chose to ride the Parks Canada shuttle bus at 8am. As expected, the lake shore was already pulsing with parking lot sight-seers. 

A toy dog in a pink vest barks incessantly at another dog which pays little mind to the obnoxious creature. It’s owner, sporting similar pink attire, doesn’t seem to mind obstructing the triple wide path. 

A man in a full headdress and traditional indigineous attire stands at the lakeside. White feathers and furs punctuating the outfit. 

“May I get a photo with you?” I asked as I dropped five dollars in the basket near his moccasin adorned feet. “Yes, of course” He replied in a soft voice. 

“What’s your name?” 

“Alvin”

“Thank you Alvin, I appreciate it” 

My dad took our photo, then joined in. 

Alvin and I. Smoke clouds the sought after view.

Crowds don’t last long in national parks. The parking lot is a coagulation of tourists, arriving to snap a picture for the gram, turn back to the car and leave to the next destination. I believe there is a distance from each parking lot where one can see crowd numbers reduced by 90% or more. Lake Lousie crowds reduced drastically once elevation gain was involved in the hike, say 200 meters from the lake shore. Crowds naturally regather at stops along the trails such as the Tea Houses or the Beehive, but many trails between the destinations consisted of an abundance of solitude. 

A smoke-marred view of the second Beehive and the absence of crowds.

The trail is ours, stepping stone to stone, admiring the trailside creatures who have been fed several too many times and of course….the human feces….Wait...WHAT?! Yes, that is what you read; We observed multiple instances of trailside human feces complete with toilet paper. 

A visitor leaves their feces in a body of running water…what a gem! Please, please please never do this.

The mountains are cast of age and power, no two peaks alike. A lake known for its glacial blue color rests several hundred feet below. The avalanche path ahead is overtaken by the densely packed spruce. And here, to my right, lies a pile of human shit. What a scene. 

Lake Lousie is loved to death. It’s visitors not accustomed to the outdoors wear shimmering sequin dresses, Louis Vuitton backpacks no larger than a cheezits box (their use comparable to a single pants pocket) and occasionally, the worst of all, is the person who carries a portable speaker 9km to the alpine tea house to serenade the rest of us with house trance that should have stayed in a club. 

Portable Bluetooth speaker with external charger for music all day at the alpine Tea House:/

What solutions exist? What could be done to mitigate the destruction of natural beauty while still allowing humans to experience such an environment? Is the Human, as a species, the ruin of the natural world? Surely we will find out within the coming century, if not sooner, as recently predicted by the International Panel on Climate Change (IPCC). 

Lake Lousie is not the only place loved to death, Arches, Zion, Yellowstone and several other national parks around north america are also being hampered by the explosive growth of the crowds as stated in a release from NPR. Areas which can be incredibly sensitive and will not be able to sustain themselves if further abuse continues. 

Lines, previously contained to amusement parks, are now in national parks in order to take photos. Tissues, wrappers, cups and bottles are no longer an uncommon sight on the trail side. Bags of dog waste sit idly and forgotten on a log or rock. The presence of the modern day human cannot be escaped in the areas that were once intended for such an escape. So, what is it that we can do to aid in the return of the pristine landscapes that were tales of awe inspiring  wilderness? How do we mitigate the over-use of our beautiful parks? 

I have no solution, it is a task that is far over my head, but I have a feeling that the answer lies somewhere in education and emotion….along with some policy changes. I would not harm an area I respect and admire. If respect and admiration can be felt by all visitors then perhaps one day we will see clean trails, clean parks and happy people. We, as the visitors to the land, can release our suppressive stranglehold, learn to love the land and respectfully walk among it once again. 

What instances of overcrowding and littering have you seen outdoors? What, if any, solutions come to mind for over-crowded parks? Leave your comments below. 

Human Feces on the side of the trail, complete with copious amounts of used toilet paper.

Smiles a Mile High

I can picture a thousand photos, each containing a smile. The smile is much brighter than the dirty humans they are attached to. For whatever reason these people are happy. They have trudged up passes, climbed mountains, walked for hours with a heavy load. These are not easy tasks, surely enduring hardships, yet they all have smiles.

I can recall many times when I had an honest smile after a hard day of being outside, something about exerting oneself outdoors manifests happiness. A time not so long ago, I had chosen to wake up at 3:30 am in order to skin up Mount St. Helens on a fine spring day, accompanied by my wife and childhood friend. We pulled into the parking lot of Marble Mountain Sno-Park, a dark forest concealed the volcano which we were set out to climb. Various climbers prepared for the day about their cars, adhering climbing skins and squeezing their feet into cramped boots. 

We came upon the treeline rather quickly, moments before the sunrise and the mountain which we aimed to climb was revealed. Our perception of distance skewed against the white blanket of spring snow, the summit was not that far off…

The trees thin as we approach the tree line.

The sun lingered to the east, it was a cloudless day and the temperature rose. Solange and I had never attempted to climb a volcano before, let alone on skis. We were green on a field of white. Clothes were shed as we all began to sweat in the morning heat, soon we wore clothes only to protect our skin from the sun. 

We were not alone on our mission, there were several dozen other climbers attempting the summit this blue bird spring day. Some experienced ultralight climbers with crampons attached to their bag, and others who appeared had set out for a mountain twice as tall with 65 litre bags. A wonderful mix of folks for a summit bid, I felt we fit right in. 

Shortly after treeline we decided it would be time for a break, grab some food and assess our progress. We aimed for the last sapling to be seen before vegetation was absent from our trip. While sitting down for a snack we assessed our fitness and our feet. Our fitness was great, we all felt energized and motivated to reach the top. Our feet on the other hand were not as keen to continue climbing. Solange and Jeremy had formed, rubbed and popped blisters on their heels. We had a ways to go. Out came the first aid kit for some critical bandaging to prevent further rubbing. Luckily, from when I was in New Zealand, I had brought home Compeed, perhaps the finest blister care dressing available, at least to my knowledge. As I dressed the raw heels, passerbys commented that they would share their mimosas for a foot massage to which I replied “sorry, this is my last customer for the day”. We all laughed. Feet were once again squeezed into our boots and skis attached. We were on our way. 

The first spot for resting and foot care.

There is something about the rhythm of the skis gliding across the snow which I found to be soothing. The sure sound of progress that was hard to denote in a vast landscape. Our group spacing would expand far enough to make conversation difficult, leaving you to converse with yourself as you put one foot in front of the other. The conversation in my head was inversely related to elevation, the higher I got the less I thought about. I was more focused on my next step, and the next and the next. Soon I had resorted counting to five at which point I would restart and count again. We were approaching the summit, slowly. 

We rested at the base of the final climb. Watching other climbers take on the steepest slope yet with skis on their back wielding ice axes as they continued up the pitch. We had no ice axes with us, arresting a fall would be precarious and the odds of falling into others below were high enough that we explored alternatives. To the east the terrain was more gradual, it was not a direct route, but it would be much more manageable for our experience and gear. After much consideration, we opted for the longer, more gradual route. 

I was exhausted. Sweat poured from me as my overdressed body began to slow. I was stuck in my wool base layers and rain pants. The ambient temperature reached 60F [15C] degrees and the reflection of the sun was baking me. The taste of sweat filled my mouth, the feeling of it beading down my skin and soaking into my clothes. We were nearly there, 200 meters. After all the 1400 meters we had climbed, I was hurting. Every few steps my ski would slide back and I would fall on the warm snow. The summit was so near. I grew more fatigued with each step. The mental fight in my head was in round 5 of 5, in one corner the desire to summit and in the other, the rationalization to turn around. The view was probably the same anyways, right? 

The snow had warmed a significant amount. Each step had to be well thought out for the last 50 meters or I would slide down to repeat the last few steps. The slope began to taper off, each step now was confident as I rounded the last slope. Finally, the top. A quick glance around and I spotted a higher point to the west...shit. Luckily the path was mostly flat along the way, being sure to stay away from the edge and the cornices that shrouded them. 

Traversing the top

Our summit. There we were, all three of us. Smiling. We plopped down and took off our boots. I was more than thankful to be at the top, my water was nearly gone and my stomach growled for food. Jeremy passed a Snickers bar to both Solange and I, a true saint of the hills. We laughed and recounted our hardships of the last push for the summit as if it had been long ago. Descriptions of pain accompanied by vague narratives of locations. We gazed out from the summit enjoying our snacks, it was great to be here. 

Summit Selfie!

We took the time to gather ourselves, in no rush to return. The caldera of a once great volcano provided endless beauty, it was so raw and young (from a geologic perspective). Spirit lake could be seen in the distance, barred to all travel except from the scientists who studied the recovery of the area since the eruption in 1980. 

Spirit lake and Caldera

While at the top we learned that the climbers summit, which we were at, was not the true summit. The true summit was to the northwest and stood 25 meters taller than where we sat. Exhausted and mentally unprepared, we could not be bothered to traverse over, down and up. We were content with our so-called summit. 

Letting the feet breathe at the summit

We switched our ski boots from touring to ski setting, clipped into our skis, and began our vertical mile descent back to the car. Carving through the spring snow melted my sorrows, my pains and hardships, I felt truly alive. Having climbed a volcano, to ski it down could not have put a bigger smile on my face. I savored every turn as I passed people still climbing up. I earned my turns and it poured the essence of joy into my soul. 

Nearing the bottom

The GPS track and elevation profile of the climb.

Base: 824m(2703ft); Summit:2522m(8274ft); Distance: 17.2km(10.7miles)