To ski or not to ski?

Friday the 13th, Valentine’s Day, and Family Day, all wrapped up in one weekend – a rare occasion indeed. For us, it was another opportunity to get together with family and friends at the Ribbon Creek hostel to spend time in the mountains. Since Ben, our long time organizer, was ready to retire from this job I had volunteered to take over from him, which led to some anxiety until we finally had enough people together to secure the group booking. It would be a great place to stay even if we hadn’t been able to book as a group, but it is nice to have the use of the whole hostel, and it makes it much easier to cook and serve the amazing potluck suppers we have come to appreciate over the years. It was a much different group than before with only a handful of the core group present, and as usual we all had a wonderful time.

Here at home the snow pack dwindled under Friday’s rain, and with dismay I watched the ten or so centimetres of snow we had gained the week before shrink before my very eyes. Carl had made a cross country ski track around the home quarter, and it was so nice to take off right from the back door for a quick ski. Leo, too, much appreciated the opportunity to check out the perimeter of the field; on his own he doesn’t go very far away from the house. The rain would likely have wiped out our trail by the time we would return on Monday – but surely skiing in the mountains would more than make up for this.

It was dark by the time we turned off the Trans Canada highway onto Highway 40 south, the Kananaskis Trail. The rain had long since quit, the sky was clear and full of stars – but even in the glare of the headlights we could see that there was no snow whatsoever on the embankments and in the ditches. The thermometer showed temperatures just above the freezing mark when we turned into the hostel parking lot, and soon a few of the younger crowd had a bonfire going in the fire pit. It was hard to believe that we were here to ski.

Yet we have seen the Ribbon Creek area itself with little snow before, and still we could always count on Peter Lougheed Park for good trail conditions. It was snowing on Saturday morning, and everyone rejoiced: this bode well for the day’s activities. The sky showed hints of blue behind the white veil, and the mountains looked beautiful with the fresh snow. With the slow gain in altitude on our way to the park came a slow increase in the amount of snow along the side of the road, and when we reached the park entrance we were quite heartened: it seemed we had not brought our skis in vain. 

When we parked our vehicles at the Boulton Creek parking lot we were surprised to find it almost empty. We had never experienced that before! Soon we realized that conditions were far from perfect: the waxless skis gathered snow and made gliding difficult even in the flat parts of the trail, while for us with our wax skis it was difficult to find the right balance between too much and too little wax. We worked hard on our way uphill and were glad when we reached the picnic bench at the intersection of Whiskeyjack and Pocaterra trails. Here, we didn’t have to stand in line for our turn to sit down for a while this time, and we took our time replenishing our resources with the lunch we had brought. 

The sky had cleared by now, and Pocaterra’s gentle decline made skiing once again enjoyable. Most of our group decided to take the shortest way back to the parking lot, however: Packers, a bit challenging in the steep areas, took us back down through the quiet forest, and by four we were back at the hostel for a hot shower and tea.

 Sunday morning dawned bright and clear, and from my quiet corner on the couch in the common area I watched the blush from the just risen sun creep down the snow-capped mountains in the west. Since it hadn’t snowed since the previous morning the trail conditions in Peter Lougheed Park would likely be even more challenging than the day before. Maybe it was time to try something else. Expecting the snow masses we had grown accustomed to from our visits over the years we had come unprepared for anything but cross-country skiing and had left snow shoes and hiking boots at home. What to do, then? Carl had hiked up to Chester Lake the day before, and he assured us that we didn’t need snowshoes to do the 3.5 km hike – and, he said, it was beautiful up there! 

To get there we again drove into Peter Lougheed Park, but this time took the turn-off onto the Smith-Dorrien/Spray Trail (Hwy. 742) and followed it for about 20 km. Slowly but steadily the road climbed through the magnificent Rocky Mountain landscape. Soon it was completely covered in ice and snow, and by the time we reached the Chester Lake trailhead we had gained about 200m in elevation. Contrary to our experiences the day before this parking lot was full of cars, a sign for the popularity of this snowshoe/cross-country ski trail. Its proximity to Calgary makes it a prime destination for Calgarians on weekends. Though it meant sharing the trail with more people than we would usually like to do this would prove to be a benefit for us: all those snowshoers had nicely compressed the snow for us, so that we didn’t have any trouble walking, even with our less-than-perfect shoes (I, for instance, was wearing my cross-country ski boots). 

We truly did enter a winter wonderland! Soon after we had left the parking lot the trail became fairly steep, winding back and forth through stands of tall evergreens. The age spread of our group was considerable: from our nine-day old grandson and two-year old granddaughter, each carried by a parent, to sixty-one years. Slowly we made our way uphill, stopping every once in a while to make room for returning snowshoers or hikers, for me, a perfect excuse to catch my breath. After about a third of the way the trail flattened out, and we reached the first of two meadows. The pristine snow glittered in the sunlight, untouched by human feet except close to the trail where – who could resist the temptation? – hearts had been trampled in celebration of Valentine’s Day.

We crossed another forest and entered an even bigger, more beautiful meadow before we reached Chester Lake. It was early afternoon by now, and most of the visitors were on their way back already. We had the lake almost to ourselves when we ate our lunch, surrounded by the three peaks of Mt. Chester, Mt. Galatea and The Fortress, the silence in this magnificent mountain world profound. How fortunate we are to have all this only hours away from home! 

 

Mt. Chester

We turned around, eager to reach the forest: a cold wind had sprung up, and it was time to get home. The way down was less strenuous, but required careful attention on the steep part of the trail because it was fairly slippery. A few people slid down on plastic bags, and one boy used a shovel, like the gold seekers crossing White Pass to get to the Yukon. 

It was the end of yet another wonderful day in the mountains, and we had learned that even in winter it doesn’t have to take skis to explore Kananaskis country. Maybe next time we will bring snow shoes –but then, maybe next time we will have perfect skiing conditions everywhere again.