Mt. Assiniboine broke me. Or should I say, Looney* night at The Keg** brought the hammer and an ill-prepared, hung-over pack-jockey met the chill of the Rocky Mountains the next day. Whatever the cause and whatever the reason, Assiniboine looked at me and said like John Davis***, "I'm gonna drop a little west side skill. You best step back cause I'm gonna kill, gonna kill."
And it goes a little something like this, hit it: I woke up on a couch at some dude's apartment after having been treated with Canadian hospitality the night before. This is a polite term for buying a visitor liquor until they see double just to prove that you can outdrink 'em. The two guys whom I drank with were patriotic sports fans and skilled at coming up with persuasive arguments as to how Canada has produced the best baseball players in history. With Larry Walker stroking like .380 this year, it was hard to disagree.
Anyway, it was 6 a.m., I was wide awake & feeling pretty good despite the binge and I snuck out of the house to go camping. It was ass cold. No problem, I just puffed up with a little fleece action. It started to rain. No problem, I just broke off a little Gore-Tex.
The Rig had a flat tire. Problem. Not having changed a flat in a couple of years, I fumbled with the slippery jack for about sixty minutes before the task was completed. My kaknbawls almost froze up and I was cussin' like Tourettes patient. A la A-1 Steak Sauce:
And it goes a little something like this, hit it: I woke up on a couch at some dude's apartment after having been treated with Canadian hospitality the night before. This is a polite term for buying a visitor liquor until they see double just to prove that you can outdrink 'em. The two guys whom I drank with were patriotic sports fans and skilled at coming up with persuasive arguments as to how Canada has produced the best baseball players in history. With Larry Walker stroking like .380 this year, it was hard to disagree.
Anyway, it was 6 a.m., I was wide awake & feeling pretty good despite the binge and I snuck out of the house to go camping. It was ass cold. No problem, I just puffed up with a little fleece action. It started to rain. No problem, I just broke off a little Gore-Tex.
The Rig had a flat tire. Problem. Not having changed a flat in a couple of years, I fumbled with the slippery jack for about sixty minutes before the task was completed. My kaknbawls almost froze up and I was cussin' like Tourettes patient. A la A-1 Steak Sauce:
 It gets ya here. |  It gets ya right here. |
New wheel rolling, I assembled the gear and booked up the wavy gravel roads back into Kananaskis Country and
the Spray Lakes region. From the Mt. Shark trailhead, I intended to start a four day assault on Mt. Assiniboine, one of the most impressive peaks in the Rockies, and its surrounding lakes and streams.
At 10 a.m., my pack already filled and shouldered, the temperature dipped again and it started snowing. That that doesn't kill me, only makes me stronger. I made one last jittery photo stop and plunged steadily up the now flake-covered trail. You are foolish, young Skywalker.
The first day's hike was nine miles and an absolute slog through dense forest. Rarely did the trees part to reveal any of the surrounding mountainous splendour (Canadian spelling, eh). Not that a breakthrough glimpse would have mattered, because the low clouds roiled and obscured like a vaporous shield.
After an hour the snow stopped but the cold stayed on, oppressive and crushing. My cheap pocket thermometer
read 21°F at 3 o'clock, when I sprawled out at my campsite, totally spent. Mid-July had suddenly become early November.
My campsite was situated next to a tumbling stream. I warmed up somewhat by cooking some dumpling soup and crawling into my sleeping bag to read before the waves of sleep pulled me under.
I don't know if it was a pot of bad broth, the nipple-peaking temperatures, the tough hike, or the previous night's drankin, but I woke up at 7 a.m. the next morning with a fever and stomach a'roiling. It took all the strength I could muster to make it clear of the tent to toss around some cookies. Bite, some things they bite!
Feeling as sick as I can ever remember being, I regretfully decided to abort. In the darkest hole, you'd be well advised not to plan my funeral 'til the body dies. In 24 hours, Assiniboine, without my even seeing it, had issued its beat-down.
During my return hike, shattered and stone cold illin', I had to take semi-hourly breaks to keep from collapsing. It was one of the worst hikes I've ever participated in. I got back to the vehicle sometime in the late afternoon and called my girlfriend for some sympathy. I felt like a kid at summer camp, "Mommy, I hate it here. Everyone picks on me."
Anyway, I made it out sick but alive and all the wiser. I set up camp
again and went into a fitful, sweaty slumber as my body tried to rid itself of the poison. Twenty-four hours later, my appetite returned and the demons were exorcised. It was most frustrating that I was in the middle of one of the most incredible places on the planet and I couldn't see it and was too fahked up to enjoy it.
I had to just suck it up and move on. I'm doing the best I ever did, I'm doing the best that I can.
With one last salute to the power of the Canadian Rocky Mountains, I headed back up the road. Please note that as soon as I was ready to leave, the sun came out.
I've got no new open space info to drop your way this time around. I would be interested in hearing some readers' opinions about an essay I wrote about two months ago. It concerns the state of our environment. Please read it and send any comments to email@openspace1.org. I will post any worthwhile feedback, criticism, etc. Is there anyone out there who's interested in these issues besides me?
the Spray Lakes region. From the Mt. Shark trailhead, I intended to start a four day assault on Mt. Assiniboine, one of the most impressive peaks in the Rockies, and its surrounding lakes and streams.At 10 a.m., my pack already filled and shouldered, the temperature dipped again and it started snowing. That that doesn't kill me, only makes me stronger. I made one last jittery photo stop and plunged steadily up the now flake-covered trail. You are foolish, young Skywalker.
The first day's hike was nine miles and an absolute slog through dense forest. Rarely did the trees part to reveal any of the surrounding mountainous splendour (Canadian spelling, eh). Not that a breakthrough glimpse would have mattered, because the low clouds roiled and obscured like a vaporous shield.
After an hour the snow stopped but the cold stayed on, oppressive and crushing. My cheap pocket thermometer
read 21°F at 3 o'clock, when I sprawled out at my campsite, totally spent. Mid-July had suddenly become early November.My campsite was situated next to a tumbling stream. I warmed up somewhat by cooking some dumpling soup and crawling into my sleeping bag to read before the waves of sleep pulled me under.
I don't know if it was a pot of bad broth, the nipple-peaking temperatures, the tough hike, or the previous night's drankin, but I woke up at 7 a.m. the next morning with a fever and stomach a'roiling. It took all the strength I could muster to make it clear of the tent to toss around some cookies. Bite, some things they bite!
Feeling as sick as I can ever remember being, I regretfully decided to abort. In the darkest hole, you'd be well advised not to plan my funeral 'til the body dies. In 24 hours, Assiniboine, without my even seeing it, had issued its beat-down.
During my return hike, shattered and stone cold illin', I had to take semi-hourly breaks to keep from collapsing. It was one of the worst hikes I've ever participated in. I got back to the vehicle sometime in the late afternoon and called my girlfriend for some sympathy. I felt like a kid at summer camp, "Mommy, I hate it here. Everyone picks on me."
Anyway, I made it out sick but alive and all the wiser. I set up camp
again and went into a fitful, sweaty slumber as my body tried to rid itself of the poison. Twenty-four hours later, my appetite returned and the demons were exorcised. It was most frustrating that I was in the middle of one of the most incredible places on the planet and I couldn't see it and was too fahked up to enjoy it.I had to just suck it up and move on. I'm doing the best I ever did, I'm doing the best that I can.
With one last salute to the power of the Canadian Rocky Mountains, I headed back up the road. Please note that as soon as I was ready to leave, the sun came out.
I've got no new open space info to drop your way this time around. I would be interested in hearing some readers' opinions about an essay I wrote about two months ago. It concerns the state of our environment. Please read it and send any comments to email@openspace1.org. I will post any worthwhile feedback, criticism, etc. Is there anyone out there who's interested in these issues besides me?
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