Wanderlust

Two German hikers in Mt. Robson Provincial Park, British Columbia, taught us the meaning--to Germans--of the word wanderlust /ˈvandərlʊst/.  While we've borrowed the word, in English the meaning has wandered.  For them it is the very strong desire to be out walking or hiking in the world, in nature, in the mountains.  Think of the Romantics; think of Rousseau's Reveries of the Solitary Walker, they said.  We ran into this particular pair of wanderlusters a number of times: we camped near them and talked with them in the front-country Robson Meadows Campground the night before we started our backpack, and we also saw them on the Berg Lake trail the day we set out--the day that they hiked 26 miles round trip into and up high to Berg Lake and out and still had plenty of time to explain wanderlust when we asked them why they thought we were seeing almost as many Germans as Edmontonians on the trail.  Edmonton, Alberta, is the closest big city; most of the people we asked said they lived there.  And then all those Germans!  "Wanderlust...it's a German thing," these incarnations of it told us.

We never achieved a 26-mile-day level of wanderlust on this trip, but we did surprise ourselves with what we can still do and how much we still like it.  In addition to backpacking to Berg Lake, we also dayhiked along the Icefields Parkway on the way north and south and also while camped at Berg Lake.  We pretty much had on bottines souriantes.  

On our way north we stopped for a quick trip along the Wilcox Pass trail with its beautiful series of vantages on the Athabasca and Dome Glaciers and the Icefields Parkway.  Beautiful views off to the south, too.   Click on any picture to see a larger version.

The next afternoon at Robson Meadows Campground (about an hour west of Jasper town), drying out from a rainy night at the Icefields Campground, we briefly saw the south face of Mt. Robson, 12,972 feet and more than 10,000 feet higher than where we stood, the highest peak in the Canadian Rockies.  We spent the next six days walking up the Robson River valley (from 2,800 to 5,400 feet) around Mt. Robson (13 miles each way) to Berg Lake on the north side of the peak and also exploring the Mumm Basin and Snowbird Pass trails.

We had been expecting to shlep heavy packs, cross many bridges, and see beautiful country--
and boy howdy, we did!--but we were surprised that a wonderful part of the Berg Lake trail was meeting other hikers and some climbers.  (This summer is the 100th anniversary of the first ascent of Robson.)  


We met many friendly and very happy people but not casts of thousands--the park allows anyone to day hike and bring dogs on this trail, but it limits the number of people who camp and doesn't allow dogs overnight.  Backpackers make reservations in advance for particular campgrounds and attach laminated permits to tents when they pitch them.
 
Each of the seven defined campgrounds has a group of 5 to 26 tent pads marked off by low wooden frames, 



sometimes even a bench.



The sign behind the tent pad very politely says of the forest behind it, "Notice: this area is closed to allow for re-generation of plants and ground cover.  Thank you."





So--organization and limits.  Without them, this trail would be loved to death by too many people and tents everywhere and anywhere.  In addition to the permit and campground system and  structure, this trail has the infrastructure of a good community.  Of course we were grateful for the trail itself (originally built in 1913 by outfitter and guide Curly Phillips) and for the uncountable bridges, but the surprise for us was the camaraderie of the little towns in the cooking shelters.  



Mind if we share your table?  Where are you from?



Here are Eric, Barbara, and Heinz cooking at the Whitehorn shelter.  Barbara and Heinz are the kind and friendly people we talked with the most over the six days we were all on the Berg Lake trail.

 
Here, near the middle of this photo we took looking back from the switchbacks up through the Valley of a Thousand Falls, you can see the glinty braids of the Robson River, the roof of the Whitehorn cooking shelter, and--maybe, since it's tiny, tiny from this point--the Whitehorn suspension bridge. 














Rain, rain, hail, hail.  What a thrill, though, between hail storms to get our first glimpses of, first, Mist Glacier

and then Berg Glacier!








Home on the trail has a kitchen, bathroom, and living room, but these work differently from the more permanent ones that we think of as home.  The kitchen routine requires water filtering and even finding the right place to filter and cook.  That's the Berg Glacier in the background of the photos of Eric cooking at Berg Lake and filtering from Toboggan Creek. 

 
Some of the bathrooms along this trail are composting toilets, 

and the living rooms have good places to read and bliss out.



We didn't sit around much while we camped at Berg Lake, though; we wanted glacial prospects.

We saw Berg and Mist Glaciers from the Mumm Basin trail:


 

and the Robson Glacier from the Snowbird Pass trail.

 

 








And but so, as David Foster Wallace would say.  Glacier gazing leads to discouraging climate-change contemplation.  Off in the distance in the photo to the left is the toe of the Robson Glacier in 2013.  We're standing where it was in 1911.  

And here is the Robson Glacier's lateral scour line from near Berg Lake:




This is both a beautiful place and a picture of Earth on the move-- 

  

very beautiful and very much on the move with Toboggan Creek rolling through, icefall, rockfall, and the glacier's calving.



We enjoyed beautiful weather for our two days at Berg Lake and then for the hike out, too:
 

 
Eric and Whitehorn Mountain

Barbara and Heinz near Marmot Campground 
 
 

 Emperor Falls




 


And the ups and downs--
arg, both--
on the way down, too.
















Man, this trail was plenty challenging, but many times we imagined it years ago without its wonderful, helpful bridges.  Here's the suspension bridge near the Whitehorn campground.  We crossed it traveling through with our backpacks and also while camping there to filter water from a side stream that is clearer of glacial flour than the Robson River that the bridge crosses.

 

Here's Eric taking a break and reading the sign on another bridge, the one below Kinney Lake,

 





and here is the map posted near the parking lot.

On the drive back home, we stopped for food, fuel, and an architecture-based historical walking tour in Jasper. 

Jasper has lovely gardens, planters, and a community vegetable garden along the railroad tracks.  Here are some of the flower beds outside Robinson's Grocery. 

 


Seeming to float with fanny packs in place of the heavy backpacks, we hiked up the Cavell Meadows trail near Jasper and saw marmots, pikas, and the Angel Glacier. 

We worked hard but had a lot of fun on this trip.  We didn't push to our limits and took the time we needed, including about 3 hours each morning to filter water, breakfast, wash dishes, and pack up.  We sure did not pass anyone on the trail who didn't pass us sooner or later.  Still.  We're thinking of backpacking into the Titcomb Basin in the Wind Rivers next summer.  Less rain.  And wanderlust!

 









Wanderlust feels distinctly Thoreauvian to me, and wanting to go to the Titcomb Basin--and maybe back to Berg Lake--brings thoughts of some things Thoreau said in the Ktaadn section of The Maine Woods.  He sees the mountain as representing "the unhandselled globe, ... not lawn, nor pasture, nor mead, nor woodland, nor lea, nor arable, nor waste-land, ... the fresh and natural surface of the planet Earth."  The mountain for Thoreau and the glacial topography around Mt. Robson for us are "unhandselled"--unused.  We look in such places at raw matter, "vast, terrific," and feel a jolt of recognition but maybe not full understanding: "Talk of mysteries!--Think of our life in nature,--daily to be shown matter, to come in contact with it,--rocks, trees, wind on our cheeks! The solid earth! the actual world! the common sense! Contact! Contact! Who are we? where are we?"  Wanderlust seems a great word for a yearning for that recognition, mystery, and contact.

Heavier Packs

We've walked the neighborhood Three-Trees-New-Trail loop twice more, while experimenting with heavier packs, first 30 and then 40 pounds.  On today's hike we ran into friend and neighbor Gary Bevington.  

 








On a side note: these things that look like the dog slept on them are the remains of the arrowleaf balsamroot plants, those plants that were so extravagantly showy in May.  

We leave for our planned 6-day backpack in Mount Robson Provincial Park and some day hikes in Jasper and Banff this Thursday.  In just a few days we've progressed from wondering if we can carry the packs to having made trail and campsite reservations in Mount Robson.  Here we go.

Refinishing the Doors and an Experiment

Eric spent long days over the whole last week sanding and re-spar-varnishing the exterior doors, mostly glass but with wood frames and jambs.  Many of the hours that he worked, I read aloud to him from Michael Pollan's Cooked. 

And the experiment: today we returned to thinking about the now-much-closer trip to Banff, Jasper, and Robson Parks.  This felt like the day to try a hike with loaded--today half-loaded anyway--backpacks.  We're testing our backs, knees, and hips.  Can we still do this?  It's been 14 years since our monumental backpack to Dusy Basin and beyond in the Sierra Nevada.  Today we each put a sleeping bag in the bottom of the pack and then added filled water bottles and canned juice up to about 20-25 pounds.  Things seem to be working so far, and, to add to the fun, right at Jumbo Saddle we ran into the weed-eating sheep and their guard dog. 

We'll try heavier and more realistic packs tomorrow.  

Rain at Last

Missoula last had measurable precipitation on July 12, when we got .02 inches.  In the whole month of July there were only .09 inches of rain.  Normal for the month is 1.06", and we are very nearly 3 inches behind the year-to-date normal precipitation total of 8.86".  The ground has been cracking, and the wildfires have started, so the sound of rain on the roof today thrills us.  Here is rain on the rain chain that drains the roof gutter near the front door:
 
 








And here--at last--is rain on the serviceberry, lavender, and driveway:




"The gentle rain which waters my beans and keeps me in the house today is not drear and melancholy, but good for me too. Though it prevents my hoeing them, it is of far more worth than my hoeing. If it should continue so long as to cause the seeds to rot in the ground and destroy the potatoes in the low lands, it would still be good for the grass on the uplands, and, being good for the grass, it would be good for me."  Thoreau, "Solitude," Walden

Real Grass

Eric is starting to water less now that we have real grass.  At first he watered twice a day; now he has progressed to twice a week.  Here is the back yard, first on May 15
during the patio-building project:


Next on May 23 with the new patio and fresh topsoil ready for seeds:


And finally with real grass on July 22:

And in the front yard, we had a sand pile for five years--sand waiting for more patio building. Here is that sand pile during the project on May 15:

After Bob Johnson and his crew finished building the back patio, we moved the remaining sand down the slope and over to the edge of our lot (a bit of it shows in the upper right corner of the photo).  We also used a hand truck to move the boulders near the middle right side of the photo into place.  Then we weeded, spread Eko Compost, and planted fescue and blue grama.  Here's the old sand pile area on June 29:

And here's the same area on July 29:

Now we're on to other adventures, like trying to take a short hike every other day to get in shape for hiking in Banff, Jasper, and Robson Parks in a few weeks.  On yesterday's walk we saw the just-arrived-for-the-summer weed-eating sheep at Jumbo Saddle.  Here's a link to a 2010 Missoulian article about the sheep and Enrique Marquez Banda, the shepherd: Weeding-Eating Sheep in Missoula's Open Space. 

Butte

"If there is nothing new on the earth, still the traveler always has a resource in the skies. They are constantly turning a new page to view. The wind sets the types on this blue ground, and the inquiring may always read a new truth there."

--Henry David Thoreau, Friday, A Week on the Concord and Merrimack Rivers

 
We had a wonderful weekend in Butte at the Montana Folk Festival.  On Saturday, sitting in the grass and watching the skies around the Original Headframe change, we heard musicians from Ireland, Portugal, Louisiana, and Italy--right there under the skies of Butte.  The music of Canzoniere Grecanico Salentino still soars in my head.  Click on their name for an eye and earful!