journey east: day 5

This was our third camping adventure together, and our second one to Yoho, though this time Yoho wasn't our intended destination. In a few months we'll gather once again for an outdoor excursion, this time in Newfoundland. These trips are as much about leisure as they are about hiking. It's hard to say what part of our WCT trip gave the greatest pleasure, wandering from campsite to campsite exploring beaches and old growth forest, traversing bridges, and climbing ladders, or the down time at the end of the day when we would build a fire, rest our weary feet, walk the beach and luxuriate in the notion of having nothing really to do until the next morning.

One of my favourite leisure activities, something that's carried through all three trips, is playing Yahtzee. Before the WCT adventure I hadn't played the game. What an introduction. Now, five dice always travel with us. Fortunately no one has lost an eye, yet, from hurled dice.


Not sure who Tracy is but this is one of my score sheets from Yoho 2006. The initials at the bottom indicate the winner of each game. Another sheet here.

June 6, 2006

An interesting date (6/6/6) considering the following. The last words from Greg this morning, aside from, "No, I don't want any trail mix," was, "If we're not back in the morning go to a warden for help, but not that guy who said 'you will die." Derek's last words were, "I forgot my socks:" I wonder how close to Field they were when Derek realized he'd forgotten them and turned back. It was a very brief return visit.

They are off to hike the Burgess Highline Trail. I hope all goes well. I've taken the day off. No hiking. My body is not feeling up to it. Besides sometimes goofing off is just what the soul needs.

I made a trip into Field around noon. It is hard to peg the size of the town, the permanent population that is. Bed and breakfasts abound. Along Kicking Horse Avenue most of the houses are b+bs, and many have vacancy signs in front. Stephen Avenue is the only other named street in the town. There are probably 80 houses in town, so population around 250? Why would a place with only five roads have both a First Avenue and a First Street. I imagine a point in the distant past when a debate rose over the naming of streets Field. Likely numbers were chosen because names were too political. However, the folks in Field might find added quaintness if they now changed the numbers to the names of local features, like Takakkaw (Falls) or Ogden (mount.) Mind you, there's something quaint about numbered streets in such a tiny place. Perhaps Field never became the town its original founders (likely the C.P.R) thought it would. And a more likely scenario is the town manager for the C.P.R. used numbers because it was easy.

I have spent most of the day puttering: washing pots; looking for stuff-I'm missing a nalgene bottle; sorting the seemingly endless volume of travel information I have, most of which will never be of use but I'll hold onto anyway, just in case; making tea and meals; and lounging in my easy chair.


Mt. Stephen's presence at the campground was hard to ignore.

The mid-afternoon sun is moving swiftly across the sky. I've been following a small spot of sun as it tracks across the campsite through a small hole in the forest canopy. In the past hour, while writing, I've moved a fair distance. I'll have to move again soon.

There is barely a whisper of a breeze. If I think about it I can feel cool drafts wrap around my forehead and gently tickle the hair on my arms. For the moment there are no trains rumbling through to Kicking Horse Pass and there aren't any trucks barreling down the Trans Canada Highway with their engine brakes thundering as they sweep west from the pass. It is quiet. The sound of the Kicking Horse River filters through the forest and birds above and me whistle. For most of the day so far magpies have been scouring the campsite looking for worms, grubs and free lunches. I left a bag of trail mix alone for five minutes and a magpie got into it. I watched one magpie pluck what looked like a caterpillar off the table. It stood on the ground and holding it in its beak beat the thing into submission. It was a ferocious mashing of caterpillar into earth. At some point it must have felt confident in having subdued its prey and flew off, presumably to eat in private.

So far it's been a gloriously lazy day. I think I'll read for a bit.

Some time passes.

In the six or so hours Greg and Derek were gone, and for an hour after they got back, I read 80 pages of a book. I note this only to set my progress against Greg's prolific ability to consume books at a rate probably four times that of me. I'm trying to write by firelight. It's tricky fumbling in the dark this way.


A typical end to the day.

Clearly, Derek and Greg returned from their hike. However, things didn't exactly go as planned. There was still a lot of snow on the Burgess Highline Trail and the two intrepid adventurers weren't able to get far enough along the trail to ever put their lives in danger-although it could be argued just puttering around the campsite is enough to put both in danger. Rebuffed by the snows of Burgess, they ventured off to cross Yoho Pass. Again, they were stymied by heavy snow pack. But before they finally turned around they had a rest and it is at this resting point where Greg and Derek both last witnessed the existence of Derek's Costanza sized wallet resting in the snow.


Some of the last photo evidence of Derek's wallet. I shudder to imagine the size of the raven or squirrel that may have made off with it.

Where it went from there will forever be the subject of great postulation and speculation involving rogue Grizzly bears and Kodiak sized ravens and squirrels. On a happy note, sorry Derek, it meant I would have an opportunity as well to hike up to Yoho Pass. We were destined the next day to retrace Derek and Greg's footsteps to see if we could find the missing wallet, or the fiendish beasts of the forest that may have absconded with it.