Glacier NP - Canada

Outback Canada can be scarey. On the drive from Golden to Revelstoke, and then Revelstoke through Glacier National Park on the way to Penticton it is probably best to lock yourself in the car, forget about toilet stops, and keep the wheels rolling. Driving itself is a nightmare as the highway is full of semi-trailers carrying logs piled so high that the logs on top roll around precariously, tape unravelling as they struggle up the hills and scream down them. And if the semis aren't pulling along forests on their backs, they are rattling around with oil tankers. Even a big van, like Jimmy (our van) is dwarfed next to these machines.

Then, finding a safe place to park for the night is like looking for for lost keys... they turn up, but only after searching for hours in ever despairing hope... maybe here... ah no... then maybe here.... oh no... (repeat at will). All the stops we found outside the national park were next to the highway; far to noisy and dangerous. I didin’t want to be sleeping on the wrong side of the road when a log toppled down off a semi, or a tanker spilled its fill. So, it was that we decided to drive into Glacier National Park to find a spot to stay. But whereas Banff NP and Lake Louise had been crawling with tourists, in Glacier NP there was a deadly silence. We drove into the first campground which was deserted, desolated and far too close to the highway for comfort. Defeated, we drove on.

The second stop looked more promising, and we began to cook dinner, but became more and more unnerved about spending the whole night. I went to the toilet block where I found posted a Missing sign on the door – Missing, in Glacier NP, male, 17 years old, brown hair, brown eyes, last seen, here ....and an awkward smiling picture of a teenager in school uniform. Soon later a semi pulled over and a burly redneck rolled out. No coincidence it seemed. With a long grey beard, gruff face, bloodshot eyes, skin black with tattoos, wrinkled with scars and fading ripped black shirt he was unapproachable at best; kidnapper at worst. No doubt he had seen the inside of more than a few Canadian jails.

We then watched as an old lady pulled over in her bomb, behind the redneck's semi and got out to talk with him; to finalise their kidnapping plans. He soon got back in the semi and drove on. She let her Saint Bernard out of the car – her lollipop lure – sat down at the picnic table and waited. She waited and waited, fishing for unsuspecting, naive tourists. And it worked! Some Japanese girls came out of no where and within no time where gawking, patting, and loving the Saint Bernard. Who would blame them!? He was beautiful, and his nature so loving and serene. His father used to rescue mountaineers in the mountains, but now, Baby Bernard was being used as a temptress.

I was relieved to see the Japanese girls make their due escape, but that meant we were their next targets. Wary of getting into any trouble we quickly finished our dinner, jumped in the van and were off... but the old lady stayed determined. If the Saint Bernard lure wouldnt work, she would just follow us in her bomb. Baby B was shoved in the back and her tires squealed as she pulled out onto the highway after us... Quick Nic! I said, but she kept following. We were tired and needed to sleep somewhere... so eventually we turned off at the third possible stop for the night, hoping for our lives that she would keep going. My stomach turned in knots. Stop being silly! said Nic, but l knew we weren’t meant to be there.

We pulled over and she drove on, to my utter relief, although I started to worry that later that night we may still have a visit. Together we began reading the sign.... silence..... I turned to look at Nic and his eyes grew wider, wider and wider. "Look!" he said... "bulletholes!!", he said. And sure enough bulletholes were scattered all over the sign. Not little bulletholes, but big deadly bulletholes from a powerful shotgun. Lets get out of here! he said .... and we did.

Bears in the Bugaboos - Canada

Canada is famous for its wildlife, so we were constantly on the lookout for anything moving. Anything that is, from the abundant deer and squirrels to the elk, the elusive moose, and of course the bear. One of the first things you need to do before hiking is to equip yourself with some bear spray. Having never held a weapon before, (although US customs would probably disagree) it was a little overwhelming to carry around such power at your fingertips, even if it was just in the form of capsicum or pepper spray. We needed some practise. With Pam and Dale as our outdoor ed teachers, we headed out on a hike up “Observation Peak” with the intention of letting off some old bear spray; old so ineffective, but good to practise. The practise went well, but we also found that summer around Banff can involve four seasons in one day. On the way up it snowed; yes it snowed! – in summer, and at the summit the sun shone; then on the way down it blew a gale, and we were back in shorts down the bottom. The Canadian fauna is surely a hardy bunch.

Bears generaly dont eat humans, but, they are omnivores and the grizzly has on occasion dug their claws and teeth into the odd person, perhaps because of fear, perhaps because of hunger, or maybe just because they were having a bad day, - and their victim was having an even worse one. So, it helps to be alert and careful. Walking in groups of 4 or more is recommended (there have never been attacks on groups that size or bigger) along with making alot of noise so that the bears are not surprised to see you. After months in the French alps learning to be a light on my feet, quick and efficient in the mountains... I now find myself stomping around, kicking rocks, shouting and singing random songs and generally making random inarticulate comments. ... the bears need to know that we are coming.

So scared was I in fact, the first few times we went into the forest that I wouldnt let Nic go ahead more than a metre. Hikers coming from the opposite direction would look in distaste at the way the peace had been disturbed. Ironically it was songs by Canadians they would hear.... a repotoire of Celine Dion, Shania Twain, Bryan Adams ... they still didn’t like it. But the bears were nowhere to be seen. We did manage to spot lots of other wildlife ... plenty of deer, elk, marmots and squirrels, so after photographing those creatures in the first day or two, by the time we arrived at the Bugaboos I had well and truly put the camera to bed. The bear and the moose remained elusive. (Tragically the moose’s defence is to stand majestically still which of course means they are sometimes killed by cars... if they haven’t already been killed by men going “into the wild” to live.)

Ahhhh the bugaboos. There is a 50 kilometre four wheel drive track to get there, then you need to wrap your tyres up with chicken wire to ensure the porcupines don’t get stuck into the rubber at night. The walk in takes a few hours, or a few more if you have heavy gear, but when you get there. Woweeeee! There are towering spires, a climbing delight, Superb. Unfortunatley for Nic, I am just not that great at crack climbing yet, so climbing at the “Bugs” will have to be for another trip.

Much to our delight though, driving out of the Bugs, we saw a bear eating berries on the side of the road. A bear, a real bear which when he heard the car, stood up on his hind legs, and ran like the wind across the road and into the bushes. So quickly in fact that there was no time for ooos or ahhhs or photos or posing.... besides Nic did just as advised and kept driving. But what a magic encounter, a bear in the wild.

Later we learnt he was “only a black bear” – not a real grizzly, as he didn’t have a hunch on his back, and he wasn’t brown, but rather black, but, nonetheless we saw a bear in the wild, and he looked scarey. So even if I get fed up with my parents, decide to give all my money to Oxfam, abandon our car, reject consumerism and society itself, I am not going into the wild.

Everyone is cool in Canada - Calgary, Canada

Everyone is cool in Canada. The girl at the AMA – the Alberta Motor Association, the guy at the 7 - 11, the checkout chic in the supermarket, and even the dudes we met who worked at the “dump” are cool. And everything is big in Canada. The roads are big and wide, the cars are SUVs with trailers, the houses are mansions and of course the Rockies are really, really, really BIG. The country itself is so big that it takes 8 hours to fly from Calgary to the Northwest Territories; that is like flying Sydney to Bangkok, or Paris to New York!

Before exploring this big, cool, and “neat” country though, we needed to find some wheels that included a home; or a home that included wheels, or something or some way of getting around and sleeping. So, we spent our first week at Pam and Dale’s house in Calgary, looking for vans and then fitting one out. We chose is a giant white auto GMC Safari with 6 cylinders and 8 seats, 6 of which we promptly ripped out and left at the dump. We nick-named the van “Jimmy Carter”, picked up the appropriate number plate... 5.10 and with hammer and saw got cutting and nailing. Nic, using his engineering skills had dreamt up a design for Jimmy which he tried to explain to me and which I just couldn’t quite understand. After questions and more questions, eventually he just sighed and looked at me in despair... “just do what I say”... clearly I was never meant to be an engineer. Miraculously, or so it seemed to me, the van was converted into our new little home. The bed came together and fit perfectly in the back leaving just enough space underneath to store all our climbing gear, clothes and a spare jerry can (Jimmy C’s odometer doesn’t work...) and just enough room at the back for a little kitchenette with storage, an eski and a wash basin. Perfect. We were ready.

Although time is on our side, Canada is so incredibly big we decided to limit our stay to the lower west coast, Alberta and BC – home of the best climbing. The rest will have to wait. We spent a few days around Canmore checking out the local crags at Grassi Lakes, Heart Creek and Cougar Creek where the crag called the House of Cards had some awesome sustained routes on a solid limestone. Then we moved onto climb the quartzite at the back of Lake Louise where we went from living in virtual obscurity to being celebrities overnight. Lake Louise has a constant stream of tourists who take a walk around the lake passing plenty of warning signs about the bears, but no warning signs about the crazies they find half way up the cliffs... As I was facing the wall, belaying Nic I heard voices from behind...

in Japanese - “whaaaa, sugoooooi (amazing) ! Spiiiiider-man!”;

in Texanese - “ why do you think they aren’t wearing helmets?” “well, helmets are hardly going to help them if they fall aren’t they”....

in Englishese - “daddy, I want to have a go”... “no son, that’s far too dangerous”

then a Canadian man trying to get my attention.... "excuse me, excuse me, sorry, uh how did he get the rope up there?" me - "he took it up there".... him "no..." me - "yes" him "that's a "BIG WALL" me - "yes" .... him " that's so COOL" .... me "you bet!"

People watching in Paris III - France

We arrived in Paris at exactly 25 minutes and 57 seconds past one as the train stopped at Montparnasse when the man opposite us twitched his moustache, and the lady beside us gave a relieved sigh. How exciting! To be in the city of Love! Was everyone here for love? To find love; to celebrate it? Who were all these people? As our cafe chairs face the streets, each passerby is a performer and a spectacle for us to enjoy....

Meet the local St Germaine drunk. He likes ... dipping his bare feet into the River Seine; red wine that burns the back of his throat; watching the falling stars at night. He doesn’t like the way his shoes flap when he walks or the way his nose goes numb with cold in the winter.

Meet the local Montmartre dancer.
She likes ... walking in public without underwear; twirling her batton in a sunshower; lighting matches and flicking them. She doesn’t like it when her hat full of change falls over, or when she steps in dog poo with bare feet.

Meet the old singer near the Louvre.

He likes ... enunciating words from French classics in unusual ways; the mortified look on strangers faces when he bursts into song; falling asleep during the day on the grass . He doesn’t like it when his music sheets get stuck together with chewing gum, or when his belly pops open the top button of his jeans.

And meet the Sedanese vendor at the Tour Eiffel.
He likes ... reading the backs of toilet doors where he hides from the police; swinging his mini Eiffel tower keyrings in circles to make a loud jangling sound; showering in the park fountains at night. He doesn’t like running for false alarms or working for criminals.

But the statues around Paris are uninterested in what the locals like or don’t like. They sit day in day out bored with the lives and dramas that play out underneath them. Uninterested in the social injustices, the illegal immigrants and the budding performers. Uninterested in the city of love....

Amelie was far more curious. In the film, Amelie wonders just how many people in Paris are having an orgasm at any given moment! "15!" she says to the camera, surely a gross underestimation in summer. There were boats going up and down the River Seine every minute with more than 200 people on each one, queues for the Louvre and Musee d'Orsay and the Tour Eiffel that seemed to go on for days, and parks with picnicers covering every inch of grass. 100! I'd say.

Dinner at the table - Chamonix, France

Chamonix is a strange mix of dirt poor mountaineers and guides, and filthy rich tourists, and it does a fine job catering for both. There are climbing and skiing shops with slashed prices and massive ranges. Then there are jewellry shops for window shopping – or window licking as the French translation goes, and impeccable restaurants and hotels where you pay as much as you like. The town itself has some stunning architecture particularly that built in the 1920s when the olympic games were held, and with Mont Blanc in the background, it is a little girls fairytale place.

Mountaineering, or “alpinism” is so accessible in the alps and around Chamonix that it is no wonder there are so many people who do it. Each morning from Chamonix you can see little centipedes of headtorches going up into the mountains, and a milipede going up the Mont Blanc. There are guides for hire, and plenty of helicopters buzzing around to pick you up if you get injured, lost, or just too tired to come down (or so it seems). But if the thought of walking up Mont Blanc is too exhausting, the cable cars make it soo accessible that you don’t even need mountaineering boots, let alone crampons or ice axes to go up. A truly easy mountaineering ascent. But really, indulging in the Savoie (pronounced savwa - but think savour) specialities of tartiflette, fondue and raclette is best enjoyed after a tough day of hiking and mountaineering. Hmmmm.

A little overwhelmed with the crowds on Mont Blanc, and not wanting to be one more leg in the milipede, Nic and I decided to do something a little more unique, and possibly more rewarding. We decided to go up to the "Table" and dine...that is go up the “Arete de table”. We would take our baguette and cheese to eat when we arrived; to eat at it, or on it; we couldn’t quite decide as we could only see the "Table" from a distance. The Table is a rock formation which resembles its name, and forms part of the Aiguille du Tour – near the Col du Chardonnay. To get there we had to do a 4 hour hike up to a bivouac spot on rocks near the glacier. The route itself took a day and involved some glacier walking and an arete climb, the crux of which was a mantle move onto the Table which is quite exposed so gets your heart pumping. But sitting there and enjoying the stunning views of Mont Blanc, Aiguille Verte and the other mountains was awesome. Perhaps next time we will pack a table cloth, napkins, the china, the silver, and a chef; go in formal wear, and really enjoy dining at the best "table" in Chamonix.