This was a song my mom used to sing, complete with hand gestures for each word, like pointing to your nose for knows and putting your hands on your hips for each hip hip hoooray! It must have been the influence of the girl scouts singing every minute of my last adventure that had me singing this Chester song every time Ben uttered Chester Lake.
I arrived in Canmore by Greyhound from Calgary. After a short nap on the bus I woke to mountains. I felt at home and equally awed at the newness of this place. Canmore also felt familiar, a bit like Telluride. And the familiarity continued when Ben picked me up at the bus depot. While I'd never met him, his mom and my mom were good friends with the same name, and his sister Bonnie is a friend of mine from the jewish high school community. Ben sounds like Ruthie, and looks like Bon.
Saturday night we enjoyed Thai food and a radler on his porch, remarking that the smoke from earlier fires had indeed dissipated. We swapped stories and planned the adventure for Sunday.
Ben drove out on the gravel Smith Dorian road, also known as Spay Lakes road, past the reservoir and into Spray Lakes Provincial Park. This is Kananskis Country. We parked at the Chester Lake Trail Head. We began the hike to the right as our objective was Headwall Lakes and a circuit back to the car. Along the snowshoe and cross country ski trail we marveled that the weather was holding, and the sunbreaks caught the vibrant red Indian paintbrush on the trails edge. We turned left at a large carin, and climbed higher into the basin. Last years floods had damaged the bridge, so we picked our way through the braided stream crossing.
The scree fields were immense and the Headwalls made it clear I was in the Rockies. Towering geology with fabulous patterns loomed above me and stone over stone beneath my feet. I love the alpine.
We lunched at the first lake and then pushed higher. From the second second we followed the stream in the squishy green moss to nearly the end at the basin of Fortress Mountain. Climbing the scree ridge was tough going, but at least it wasn't raining, there were no bugs, and I wasn't carrying skis. We made it to the col! What views! What a valley in each direction!
The decent was remarkably steep. I was plunge stepping in loose scree, boot skiing rocks. We travevered across the slope to hit a snow patch. Ben called it glissading, I called it boot skiing. Inthe mixed corn, sun cups, and ice runnels, we skied to the basin beside a lake. The coal inthe rocks made for beautiful patterns. The descent to Chester Lake was straight forward, the meadow there was expansive and beautiful with glaciated peaks in the distance.
The final push was a slog, on a wider mountain bike road. We just wanted to get to the car, and I wanted out of my boots. We did it!
http://www.everytrail.com/fullscreen.php?trip_id=737675
Ben drove a loop back to Canmore, which wasn't shorter but offered more views and an ice cream stop. I had the Canadian maple walnut!
He drove me to Banff and I write this next morning listening to the thunder and rain drip through the trees outside my hostel window. It will be a good rest day and a chance to explore town.
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