That’s how Ben, the organizer of
our Family Day skiing weekends in the mountains, inevitably ends his
invitations to immerse ourselves once again in the joys of hostel life and
mountain air.
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| Ribbon Creek Hostel |
We arrived at Ribbon Creek hostel
in the Kananaskis area west of Calgary late Friday evening. Last year’s rustic experience
at Mosquito Creek fresh in my mind, the brightly lit hostel awaiting us this
time was a welcome sight. Warm air embraced us when we opened the door, and
most of the others had arrived already. Old friends were greeted happily, and introductions
were made with others we hadn’t met before. Soon beds were chosen and made in
the fourteen-bed dorms, a by now familiar process, and we could relax with a
glass of wine with the others, catching up on news that had happened since we
had seen each other last, almost a year ago.
“Long,
smooth glide ... long, smooth glide ....” – The words echo in my head when my
legs are finally starting to find the easy rhythm that, suddenly, will turn
mere movement into something magic. My legs are cooperating, but my lungs aren’t
yet, my heart still beating rapidly after every small incline. The lack of snow
in our area means that there has been no cross-country skiing for us so far,
and I am quite out of shape, I’m afraid.
There is snow at Ribbon Creek,
and here, in Peter Lougheed Park, another thirty kilometres farther south,
there is a LOT of snow. We had hiked
in this area in July, through snow melting practically under our feet, glacier
lilies opening up where snow had been the day before, the hillsides scored by grizzlies
digging for the tasty roots of cow parsnips. Now the bears are asleep – at least
we sincerely hope so! – and glacier lilies and other alpine plants are resting
under several feet of snow.
On Saturday we drive all the way to the end
of the Kananaskis Lake Trail to see what the parking lot, where we started out
on our hike, looks like in the winter. The hiking trails are on the other side
of Upper and Lower Kananaskis Lake; from the ski trails we get a different view
of the valley below.
We park at Elk Pass parking lot,
managing to secure a spot for our Corolla. Family Day weekend sees many
Calgarians venture out to this area to engage in winter sports, and about twenty
other cars are parked already. The trail system is quite extensive, however,
and here, about ten kilometres away from the Visitor Centre, heavy traffic on
the trails will not be an issue. It is snowing lightly, the temperature a few
degrees below freezing, and we decide to wax only lightly and wait how the
conditions will develop.
Elk Pass starts easy enough, with
a slight incline, but after about a kilometre the first steep climb awaits us.
We’ve skied here before, so I know that only a little bit further along the
trail an equally steep decline will take my breath away in a much different
way: the exhilarating feeling of gaining speed, of snow spray in my face, the
breeze forcing tears from my eyes. I am not a downhill skier, and am careful
not to get carried away on these downhill runs. I snow plough until I can see
that there is a) nobody coming up the hill who is in danger of being mowed down
if I lose control, and b) an end to my descent is in sight, with the hope
of eventual slowing down and stopping. Then, and only then, I’m getting brave
enough to set my skies on a parallel course and just let go.
Conditions are slightly sticky,
which makes scissor-stepping uphill quite easy, but when we leave the dense
spruce and pine forest at the top of Elk Pass and enter the forest meadows Tyrwhitt
trail leads us through we have to work continuously, pushing tiring leg and arm
muscles to make progress even in the relatively flat areas. “Long smooth glide
...,” I keep thinking, but so far I’m waiting in vain for it to happen.
It doesn’t really matter,
however: this is a beautiful day! The transformation from the slightly wintry
conditions at home to the deep winter landscape up here is amazing! Small
spruce trees look like round little people in white coats, their branches all but
hidden, stumps are wearing chef hats, and once in awhile a clump of snow,
plopped down from a perch high above, has burst on the trail, taking a few pine
needles with it in falling. The silence is a tangible presence; there is no
sound that doesn’t belong. Slender dark trunks creak in the wind, swaying a bit
under their load of snow; the chatter of a chickadee; from time to time a hello
from a couple of fellow skiers in passing – once, high in the sky, a lonely
plane intersecting the narrow opening in the tree tops that marks the trail. For
the moment, there is no other world beyond this fairy tale mountain landscape,
this clean air with its slight scent of spruce and snow.
Crossing a low bridge I catch one
of my favourite sounds: the murmur of a creek, gurgling quietly under the ice
shelves growing from its banks. It is running quite freely in the center, the
water so clear that I can discern every single pebble. I kneel down and watch
for a little while: this is too precious to pass by. At home I will not be able
to hear this sound for many weeks; everything is frozen solid, and ice bridges
will be usable for a while to come. How can it be that a small creek here is
frozen only in spots while a huge river like the Athabasca is an artery of ice?
Tired, we are happy to find ‘Whiskey
Jack’ trail a smooth and fast downhill run, requiring little effort for its
more than four kilometres. Only a couple of kilometres left to ski on Boulton
Creek, a single-lane trail winding through dark pine forest, and we are back at
our car, a bit sore, but happy.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Conditions change on Sunday: the
sky is still mostly overcast, but it is not snowing, and skiing is a lot
faster. And finally, on the last third of the trail, it suddenly happens: the
longed-for sensation –the rhythm of moving arms and legs, breathing and heartbeat,
all working together in harmony. I watch the tips of my skis taking turns in
leading the way, listen to my breath, feel my body relax into this state of
grace.
Yours for the long, smooth glide ....
