The Great Adventure

Day One

It has been a while since I last had the opportunity to grab my camping gear and head out into the wild, with nothing more then a compass and a map. With a few days off work, and with prior arraignments falling through, I found myself with loads of free time, and some energy to burn. Thus, with the aforementioned availability, I choose to pack up my backpack, grab my water filtration system, jump in the car, and point it toward the mountains.

With the last meal of civilization in my hand, a beautiful turkey and avocado sandwich, I embarked on the last great adventure.

There is always an abundance of time to think while driving through the prairies, although I must admit the majority of my rather excited thoughts were drifting toward a paper I am working on during this drive. I guess that while I was floundering in my own thoughts, I failed to notice my battery light flick on while I was in the middle of nowhere. Suddenly, all of the gauges failed on my dashboard, from the gas to the speed, followed by the death of the stereo. Finally, the power steering and the breaks went on the old thing, encouraging me to use the emergency break as an excellent backup method of reducing speed while on a major highway.

After costing into the Wal-Mart parking lot, a fortunate coincidence of proximity, I looked under the hood only to discover a smoking alternator. There was sadness all around.

To cut a long story short(er) after rather lengthily (four hour) negotiations with AMA and my very personal and hygienic tow truck operator, we decided the best recourse was to tow my poor car back to Lethbridge, a one and a half hour ordeal or close proximity to the rather hairy, smelly and overall uncouth tow truck driver. However, by the end of the trip we had become fast friends, even sharing a laugh or two as we pulled into Lethbridge. Stage one of the journey was over. By this time, it was evening, and I was not going anywhere that evening.

Day Two

I awoke with the first rays of the sun, due in part to the burning desire to get out onto the road. After calling every car repair shop in town, I fell upon one in particular, Romie’s Auto (a quick shout out to Dave, if you ever come across this posting, you are without a doubt the best General Repair man in town, hands down. All of my word to mouth business will be directed toward your shop. Cheers again), who took time out of his busy schedule to find an alternator for a good price, and install it all before lunch, an unheard-of courtesy here in Deathbridge.

Thus, several hundred dollars later, I was back on the road without missing a beat. Smiles abounded this time.

Once again, the drive flew by, with a multiplicity of thoughts invading my cranium, pushing out the general cares of life that so often consume my unaware cognition. However, as I neared the Rocky Mountains, and passed side roads and abandoned buildings, I began to notice a strange feeling of uneasiness in my belly. Was I afraid I was going to miss something important while I was away? Or was I uncomfortable with the concept of leaving civilization for so long? Perhaps I felt uneasy based on my lack of preparation for this outing, or proper conditioning. Nevertheless, I brushed away all nagging doubts, and pulled into the Provincial Park for the next leg of my journey.

Regardless of where I drove in the park, I found a curious lack of rangers or registration booths. Not wanting to loose anymore daylight, nor get tangled up in some worried bartering with the officials (sorry mom and dad, but I really wanted to get out there), I parked my car at the gate to the backcountry route, slung my 70 L bag, filled my canteen and headed up the mountain. The weather as I left my car was a balmy 31 degrees and blue skies as I left my car that fateful Wednesday afternoon.

Armed with the trusted park map, as well as a geographical map of the area and a compass, I grabbed my gear and a newfound walking stick, and struck out for the backcountry.

After roughly and hour and a half of hiking, I realized that the maps were not taking me in the direction I was expecting. With some recalculations, and a trip or two to a peak to get my bearings, I finally found my first destination, a backcountry spot roughly 5 km from the base park.

However, due to the late start, the heavy pack and the hours spent lost, the trip had taken a considerably longer route, leaving me breathless, as I struggled to set up base camp before the evening darkness fully closed in. I found a fantastic spot, a grassy knoll secluded by towering pines. With little to no time to spare, and focusing a little to much on the cloudless night sky, I set up my tent and lit a blazing fire over which I had a wonderful tinfoil dinner with a side of havarti cheese and hot chocolate. After securing my food in the trees, 100 meters south of my camp, I placed a few heath logs on the fire to last through the night and climbed into a comfortable little bed.

Day Three

I brought no watch, so there was no way for me to know what time it was when I was suddenly roused, however I assumed it had been a few hours since I had gone to bed, as the heath logs had ashed roughly half through. At first, I was completely flustered an unsure as to the manner of my rude awakening, only slowly realizing there were rather loud and rough pawing to my south. I peered out the tent, only to recognize the rather large and hairy shape of a bear rummaging through my food stash, no longer hanging from the branch. With much trepidation and with substantially less courage then I would like to admit, I gripped my trusty camping knife with one hand, and reached for the bear banger with the other. Before I had a chance to actually fire the little device, which I assume only creates a loud and bright distraction as I have never actually used mine, the bear became aware of my presence, and decided almost instantaneously that I was neither tasty nor interesting. And with that, the mighty master of the woods turned and headed southwest in search of more delicious and nutritious berries.

It was sometime before I actually fell back asleep, but eventually I did, only to be roused again several hours later, at the break of dawn, the prominent and recognizable “huffs” of full grown elk. Peering once again out the front door of the tent, I noticed not one, but eight full-grown elk, at least two of which were males, with majestic and frighteningly large anglers rummaging through the campsite. In retrospect, pitching a tent in a well protected glen, where obvious dear lays were everywhere probably was not the most intelligent choice for campsites, as they tend to bed in similar locations regularly, but such was the decision of the time. The elk were aware of my presences, but seemed to deem me no great threat as they continued to mill around the site for what seemed like hours.

When I awoke again, it was not to the sounds of rough elk breathing, but to the not so gentle pitter-patter of a torrential downfall and thunderstorm. As earlier mentioned, I had not placed great care as to the location of the tent in relation to the hill, due to the clear night sky. However, I regretted the decision almost instantaneously as the flash floor quickly invaded the tent and my sleeping gear. The storm was brief, but very heavy. However, quite miraculously, almost none of the precipitation actually remained after even a half hour.

Fortunately the logs remained with several strong cinders still glowing red, with which I was able to rekindle a blazing fire, but not without feeling extremely lightheaded and out of breathe. On the fire I cooked a strengthening meal of oatmeal, (several of the packages were undamaged), and hung my gear to dry. However, the hike in and the breathless fear of the night had left my water dangerously low, and so I headed out in search for the creeks which were located close to my campsite, or so the maps proposed.

After a long and difficult search, it became clear that the summer had dried up all of the creaks, and only tiny patches of mosquito-infested pools remained. So there I was, hardly any food left, and no water to speak of in the middle of the backcountry with a decision to make. Head back and replenish my food stores in town, and head back out, or rough it through. I decided my hunting skills were lacking (haven’t killed an animal on my own… ever), and should return to town for food. I packed my still wet equipment back up, and set out in search for some “clean” pools of water with which to strengthen my hike back. Finally, I was thankful for the bear visit, as besides leaving me several excellent examples of bear scat (poop); it had also left several deep prints, which had filled with water after the storm. Thus, with my trusted water filtration pump, I drew water from those prints into my camel pack, gathering enough, barely, to sustain me on the hike back.

I looked forward to my hike back, as I now knew the way, and the trail was predominantly downhill. However, as I mentioned earlier, the rains had drawn out a dormant menace, the dreaded mosquito swarms, so think in areas that I was unable to see more then five feet. I wanted to take a picture of this phenomenon so badly, but to slow the pace even for a second caused the number of mosquitoes on my body to swell from at least ten at any one time, to hundreds. There were moments where they were so think, that as I brushed my hand over my head to remove the feasting flies, others swooped in to take the place of their fallen comrades.

After a brief two-hour hike, I had returned to the car, only to discover that somehow, my allergies (until then a non issue) had begun to surge. I found the park rangers on the way out, in an effort to pay for the use of the park, only to discover that the park had shut down the backcountry camping several years prior, and the rangers on duty, young teenage summer workers, had no knowledge of the areas at all. Hindsight, they say, is twenty twenty.

As I drove back to the town, roughly an hour away, the allergies became worse and worse, leaving me with one eye swollen shut, with patches of gunk where the lid squeezed shut, and the other quickly following suit. I reached Pincher Creek and bought as much after bite as possible (unfortunately they only carried after bite for children) and anti histamine (the worst kind possible… Claritin).

As I sat in the car, waiting for at least one eye to open for the drive, and afraid to put on the after bite, as I was unable to stop rubbing my eyes, and after bite does not react well when it comes in contact with eyes, I surveyed my losses. I had blown an alternator, gotten lost, been unable to locate water, been eaten alive by the devil fly, experienced an allergy attack unparalleled in my young life, and witnessed a bear devour my food stash. With great remorse, I faced the devastating truth.

Nature – 1
Matthew – 0

We will meet again nature. We will meet again.