Waterton Lakes and Glacier National Parks combined together are supposed to be an International Peace Park, to demonstrate the cooperation between the United States and Canada. These parks, "bridging two nations" are not quite as cooperative as they would like to think. There are two separate entrance fees and two separate sets of confusing camping rules and backcountry permits. The rangers of one park don't know what rangers in the other park are doing and trying to plan one seamless excursion between the two places is fruitless. The American park ranger with whom we tried to coordinate even told us to ask his Canadian counterparts to say the word "about." While I have to admit that this was funny, it doesn't display much cooperation or peace.
Speaking about cooperation, please read an essay I wrote about the controversy of public land and the battle between wilderness advocates, multi-use recreationalists and industrial interests. Beware those organizations who lobby for "wise-use" of the land. It is simply an attempt to further industrial interests in the name of recreational improvements.
So, Tara and I rolled into Waterton Lakes National Park not knowing anything aboot where we should stay or visit, eh. The town of Waterton Park has to be one of the greatest secrets in the world. Nestled in a grand glacial valley next to the long oval of Upper Waterton Lake, it is a rustic little tourist town of unimaginable beauty. And practically no one is there. We sallied around town and enjoyed lunch at one of the neat cafes on main street. I dipped into a buffalo burger which tasted like beef to me.
I'd read about an epic hike to a high altitude, hanging pool called Crypt Lake and we busily made preparations to shuttle our rumps up there. The Crypt journey has got every single thing one would want in a short backpacking trip: boat rides, dense forests, wildflowers, waterfalls, grueling climbs, caves and, of course, a perfect alpine lake.
We procured our permits and began a frantic food-planning session. Tara is notorious for misplacing her shit and as the five o'clock ferry was tootin' its horn at the dock, she couldn't find the car keys. With me screaming at her from across the parking lot--I'm so compassionate--and just as the boat was about to pull away, she re-discovered their location. With breast heaving, (Memo to Readers: this is a literary expression) she flopped onto the boat just as it was bustling off to sea. I think I need to buy her some of those "mitten-clips" to bolt down all of her gear to her clothes. We need to strap her dome on good and tight. The weather was ideal and we floated away across the serene expanse of blue as our boat driver enjoyed
a smoke and steered us to the opposite shore.
After an afternoon lounging on the dock in the sun, an evening with some good cookin', and a night swatting the skeeters, we were ready to mosey up the trail. The hike from Waterton to Crypt is only five miles long but rises about 2,500 feet. It creeps its way under steep canyon walls next to the creek and dramatic elevation rises create some spectacular waterfall moments.
The wildflowers in Waterton Lakes National Park create a trailside colorburst unlike anyplace I've ever been. Tara and I were awestruck by their variety. Near the top of the hike, much of the travel is over large snowpatches. Even here, glacier lilies poke up through the ice to reveal their summer brilliance to the blazing sun.
The excitement really began at the apogee of the Crypt Lake trail. Amid huge piles of snow, we dumped off the packs at our designated campsite. A gushing stream, coursing under the ice, was a symphony of tumbling water. I got a room at the top of the world tonight and I ain't comin' down.
Unburdened by gear, we continued up the path, cutting across a boulder-strewn slope under the dominating face of a thousand-foot cliff. At the very last stretch of rock, just before the lake, a tiny dark hole led right into the massive wall. A forty-foot tunnel, requiring a tight squeeze and a stooped scramble is the only way through. Fat people and claustrophobics need not apply.
Crypt Lake is so gorgeous. Fuhgeddaboutit! Situated under towering peaks, the water is clear as a crystal and coated with a thin layer of glassy, snow-covered ice. It evidently gets its name because there is no apparent water outlet to drain the puddle. After a short search, we found the drainage creeping
silently from an underground channel (photo at right). The crick gurgles out peacefully and then, twenty feet later, tumbles violently over an incredibly high rock wall. The scene is ugly, like, not at all. My head was trippin'.
This was Tara's first overnight backpack trip and I was overjoyed with her attitude of exploration and discovery. It gives me so much pleasure to share my love of an outdoor treasure with someone to whom a wild setting is unknown. Especially with someone as cute as she is. Hee hee.
I leave you with a look at Crypt Lake with Tara goofing around in the snow. "Do sumpthin' silly," I said.
Speaking about cooperation, please read an essay I wrote about the controversy of public land and the battle between wilderness advocates, multi-use recreationalists and industrial interests. Beware those organizations who lobby for "wise-use" of the land. It is simply an attempt to further industrial interests in the name of recreational improvements.
So, Tara and I rolled into Waterton Lakes National Park not knowing anything aboot where we should stay or visit, eh. The town of Waterton Park has to be one of the greatest secrets in the world. Nestled in a grand glacial valley next to the long oval of Upper Waterton Lake, it is a rustic little tourist town of unimaginable beauty. And practically no one is there. We sallied around town and enjoyed lunch at one of the neat cafes on main street. I dipped into a buffalo burger which tasted like beef to me.
I'd read about an epic hike to a high altitude, hanging pool called Crypt Lake and we busily made preparations to shuttle our rumps up there. The Crypt journey has got every single thing one would want in a short backpacking trip: boat rides, dense forests, wildflowers, waterfalls, grueling climbs, caves and, of course, a perfect alpine lake.
We procured our permits and began a frantic food-planning session. Tara is notorious for misplacing her shit and as the five o'clock ferry was tootin' its horn at the dock, she couldn't find the car keys. With me screaming at her from across the parking lot--I'm so compassionate--and just as the boat was about to pull away, she re-discovered their location. With breast heaving, (Memo to Readers: this is a literary expression) she flopped onto the boat just as it was bustling off to sea. I think I need to buy her some of those "mitten-clips" to bolt down all of her gear to her clothes. We need to strap her dome on good and tight. The weather was ideal and we floated away across the serene expanse of blue as our boat driver enjoyed
a smoke and steered us to the opposite shore.After an afternoon lounging on the dock in the sun, an evening with some good cookin', and a night swatting the skeeters, we were ready to mosey up the trail. The hike from Waterton to Crypt is only five miles long but rises about 2,500 feet. It creeps its way under steep canyon walls next to the creek and dramatic elevation rises create some spectacular waterfall moments.
The wildflowers in Waterton Lakes National Park create a trailside colorburst unlike anyplace I've ever been. Tara and I were awestruck by their variety. Near the top of the hike, much of the travel is over large snowpatches. Even here, glacier lilies poke up through the ice to reveal their summer brilliance to the blazing sun.
The excitement really began at the apogee of the Crypt Lake trail. Amid huge piles of snow, we dumped off the packs at our designated campsite. A gushing stream, coursing under the ice, was a symphony of tumbling water. I got a room at the top of the world tonight and I ain't comin' down.
Unburdened by gear, we continued up the path, cutting across a boulder-strewn slope under the dominating face of a thousand-foot cliff. At the very last stretch of rock, just before the lake, a tiny dark hole led right into the massive wall. A forty-foot tunnel, requiring a tight squeeze and a stooped scramble is the only way through. Fat people and claustrophobics need not apply.
Crypt Lake is so gorgeous. Fuhgeddaboutit! Situated under towering peaks, the water is clear as a crystal and coated with a thin layer of glassy, snow-covered ice. It evidently gets its name because there is no apparent water outlet to drain the puddle. After a short search, we found the drainage creeping
silently from an underground channel (photo at right). The crick gurgles out peacefully and then, twenty feet later, tumbles violently over an incredibly high rock wall. The scene is ugly, like, not at all. My head was trippin'.This was Tara's first overnight backpack trip and I was overjoyed with her attitude of exploration and discovery. It gives me so much pleasure to share my love of an outdoor treasure with someone to whom a wild setting is unknown. Especially with someone as cute as she is. Hee hee.
I leave you with a look at Crypt Lake with Tara goofing around in the snow. "Do sumpthin' silly," I said.
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