The Canadians are not to be outdone. At the Waterton Lakes National Park the Prince of Wales Hotel rises like a grand layered cake, again in the Swiss style, with a vast lobby supported by carved wooden pillars, lit by lanterns on an iron chandelier weighing at least half a tonne, ornate balconies at each floor. Afternoon tea is served by lads and lasses in PoW tartan kilts in front of picture windows overlooking the lake and mountains to the west. In 1932 Waterton and the US Glacier NP combined to form the world's first International Peace Park.
About 60% of Waterton burned in 2017 and most of this was now closed to visitors. I walked a brief trail through a charred area, ghostlike but already some plants returning, fireweed of course (willowherb back home), thimbleberry and some nice white flowers I didn't know. A couple of guys were coming back ... they'd been shaken by a bear encounter further on and their bear spray hadn't deterred it. Waterton claims to be the windiest place in Alberta and sure enough there were icy blasts down the lake towards the town, with some rain. I laid low for a couple of days, watched England v Columbia in the pub with a few other anglophiles and had a couple of short hikes. Beautiful prairie nearby, violet-blue lupines, pinky-mauve geraniums, creamy white northern bedstraw and patches of bright yellow compositae stretching into the distance; a group of park workers were walking through with knapsack sprayers, tackling the dreaded spotted knapweed. One evening there was a ranger talk about how the ecology of the Park is dependent on the wind; it started off seriously enough, with discussion of elevation, isobars and precipitation, but soon turned into a one-woman drama with various props, a ladder and lots of running around trailing scarves. Quite a show and the kids were enthralled.
I'd picked up a leaflet about the Head-Smashed-In Buffalo Jump, a UNESCO World Heritage site not too far out of my way, where the foothills of the Rockies meet the Great Plains. It was used by the Blackfoot people and their ancestors for at least 5000 years until the mid 19th century to provide food for the tribe for the winter and materials for their clothes, tools, shelters. I turned up one morning just in time for a traditional dance performance. Finding out I was from Scotland, the MC asked if I had bagpipes and a kilt; he's amused that people still think he lives in a wigwam. I was invited to join the drummers for the opening ceremony; that went well and the dancing began, a proud, colourful and energetic bunch of performers. Afterwards I had a chat with Peter, the chief, and got a photo with him; I think he was hopeful about a new era for the First Nations in Canada.
The visitor centre is well designed, built into the low sandstone cliff that runs above the plains here, and the exhibitions describe the importance of the buffalo to the culture as well as its near extinction towards the end of the 19th century. Thankfully some folk saw the writing on the wall and a few groups of animals were saved to subsequently provide all the stock for re-introductions. The site of the main jump is very close ... everything depended on planning, meticulous timing and the cooperation of all, as there might only be one opportunity each fall to get it right. One person dressed in a wolf skin would appear upwind behind the herd, another in a calf's skin in front to lure the buffalo in the right direction; they would have to shape-shift, moving and sounding like the animals they were imitating. Once the herd started moving it was down to the rest of the tribe, stationed on the surrounding bluffs, to make enough commotion to funnel the animals towards the cliff. At the last moment the 'calf' would veer to the side and the rest was butchery, with raw kidney considered the reward, a delicacy. The nearby wooded river valley was a sheltered place to spend the winter.
Heading west over the Rockies again, over the Crowsnest Pass, misnamed, should be Ravens, I picked up a youngish hitch-hiker. For three years he'd been spending spring to fall on the long distance trails, had just walked through and over Glacier NP, which I'd driven, and was about to start on the Great Divide Trail, 1100 km through the Canadian Rockies. He seemed very lightly equipped and told me he was carrying just 20lbs ... a sleeping bag, a bivvy bag and tarp, a down jacket, a light shell and two spare pairs of socks. He'd reluctantly started carrying bear spray but no water filter. Otherwise he had his clothes on .... a t-shirt, shorts and leggings; and trainers. For food he carried cereal bars, some dried fruit and nuts, and for dinner each evening ate cold instant mash, no stove. Covering about 30km a day he planned a place to stop every four days or so where he could get a good feed. Respect!
I was now in British Columbia and pulled into a rest stop where there was an official boat-inspection station. Didn't have a boat myself, but all watercraft are required to get clearance before use, the main threat being the introduction of quagga and zebra mussels which now play havoc with the ecology and infrastructure of waterways elsewhere in north America. They arrived from Europe in the 1980's in ballast water. I had a quick chat with one of the team. She told me that the larvae are microscopic, easily transported on gear or boats and they'd already had a few finds on craft travelling into BC that year. It's a serious issue, and was throughout my journey in the west, with notices posted at many waters and large fines for avoiding inspection. Motorised boats have now been banned in some areas. However, will it just be a matter of time I wonder?
Stayed at a cheap motel in Cranbrook, friendly folk but on the main road amongst an endless strip of malls, so noisy. Next day I met up with Chris Bosman from the Nature Trust BC (see www.naturetrust.bc.ca) an organisation founded in 1971 which owns or manages 70000 ha across the province. Interestingly some of the funding for habitat acquisition in BC comes from a surcharge on fishing and hunting licences; I'd come across something similar back in the USA where a small proportion of the sale of guns and ammo goes to conservation!
Chris needed to look at a few things on one reserve, Cherry Creek, along the Kootenay River, and he took me with him. It's a lovely spot, a mix of open forest, which they partly logged in 2004/05 to create a mosaic that mimics the effect of natural low intensity fires; grassland and hay fields cut by a local farmer; and wetlands which they're expanding by creating new scrapes. A group called Ducks Unlimited have been involved with the wetland work, undertaken in 2017, very fresh, I got my boot stuck in some gooey mud, but already being used by waterfowl and we spotted a turtle basking on one of the introduced 'loafing logs'. In the grassland the control of spotted knapweed came up again; the local indigenous group have trained goats to control invasive plants on their ground, mainly to protect their harvest of bitterroot. These lower valley lands are often bio hotspots in BC and especially important for ungulate winter range; however they are where many people live and new development is targeted ... much was lost to big hydro schemes on the Kootenay back in the 1970's. On the way in and out we passed through land owned by the neighbouring Tunaka First Nation, with whom Chris previously worked; they are now developing tourist facilities including a golf course, rv park and casino.
I had a few hours to spare that afternoon as I was waiting for a message about my next stop, and Chris had recommended a visit to nearby Fort Steele. It's a late 19th century 'heritage town', many original buildings ... housing, hotels, stores, a living museum with the blacksmith, leatherworker and dressmaker working their crafts, and there was an old timer demonstrating gold panning, each time managing to find the same five flecks at the end of the process. The town had grown up at a strategic crossing on the Kootenay river and developed as a staging post and supply depot for the miners on their way out into the mountains to stake their claims. It was surprisingly sophisticated, the main hotel now open again for bnb .... for instance the dentists looked pretty similar to today, rather than just a hammer and pair of pliers; I was reminded of a quote from somewhere about how 50% of the worth of advances in civilization could be attributed to dentistry and, as someone whom one dentist latterly observed as having 'a lot of metal in the mouth' I can only agree. There were actors playing out little scenes; I caught part of the daily gossip tour, where 'the line between historical and hysterical is sometimes blurred', the madam trying to persuade a young lass to join her euphemistically named 'variety show' with onlookers telling the girl how much shame it would bring upon the family. Funny, it reminded me of a recent party back home in Forres, (won't mention any names Karen), fancy dress I hasten to add.
I got stuck in the Kootenays. I'd heard the name but knew no more; it turns out this is a stunning area of two mountain ranges, the Selkirks and Purcells, with long ribbonlike lakes running north-south between the ranges. These are real mountains, up to 9000 feet, with their own glaciers and although there are some provincial parks here it's a much quieter region than in the national parks. I called in at Nelson, reputedly one of the centres of hippiedom and the growing of the BC bud; in fact, as a run-down town back in the sixties the economy was apparently revived in part by the development of hydroponic marijuanana growing. It's a happening place right enough, and apart from the dispensaries has several micro breweries, a thriving supermarket of a food co-op, lots of music and arts, and great cafes including the Oso Negro with cool shady garden.
I'd arranged to stay at a fledgling retreat centre about an hour north, the Sentinel, for a week or so, to help out and have some down time; it's sited on the west shore of Kootenay Lake, looking across to the forested hills, the rugged Purcells above, with the snowy cone of Mt Loki peeping through. Idyllic, I ended up staying three weeks on and off; Gillian, one of the founders said I'd been held by the energy of those mountains and do you know I could almost feel it. Check out sentinelbc.ca (I'd told some folk it was sentinel.ca until a couple of people pointed out that looked like a strange perhaps more permanent retreat ... it's a storage company). Every morning the sun rose across the lake and above those mountains at 0700, and every evening lit them up at sunset, just as the bald eagle flew by. And I was there for full moon over the water too.
There was another volunteer, Jaime, a quiet hard-working guy who'd grown up in the area; we helped with gardening, firewood, building stone walls and pulling a lot of spotted knapweed, a thankless task given how abundant it is locally. It was pretty laid back and there was swimming, kayaking and a hot tub too. I thought I'd left fundamentalism behind in the US but one day a young evangelical new-ager turned up to volunteer, all crystals and chakras. He hardly ate anything and drank only distilled water from a magnetic bottle. He was in meditation pose at every opportunity and repeatedly told us that 'we are all one' which he'd then demonstrate by again assuming the lotus position whilst Jaime and I shifted more rocks. He told me that we all come from the fungi, and I said 'well it makes a change from the goddess but yes he did have his moments'. I didn't really, thought of it afterwards. On reflection I think he was referring to the recent discovery of fungus like fossils in 2.4 billion year old submarine volcanic rocks in South Africa, so maybe he's right. He moved on after a week, searching for a more receptive audience bless him.
A short way down the road Fletcher Falls tumbles onto the beach and there are of course endless opportunities for hikes. I'd heard that the alpine flowers were particularly good at Monica Meadows so set off there one Sunday, a long drive up a dusty dirt track but then the walk itself not too demanding through a forest of spruce and fir. I emerged into a lovely flowery world with paintbrush, lupines, anemones, a small creek running through. Then a treeline of sub-alpine larch which gives the landscape a softish look and is supposed to be great in the fall when the needles turn to gold. Some ancient veteran larches had survived fires of years or centuries ago, real gnarly characters. When I came across a small lake glistening in the sunlight the perfection just took my breath away. At the top great twisted and folded sedimentary cliffs, and a 360 degree panorama of snowy peaks, the Horseshoe glacier and Macbeth icefield. Whoever Monica was, she chose the place well. Don't tell anyone about the Kootenays, keep it as our secret.
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