STORIES

MY FIRST SOLO HIKE

Location: Banff National Park, Alberta, Canada

Trails: Sentinel Pass, Paradise Valley

Elevation at Sentinel Pass: 8566 ft

Elevation gain: 2383 ft

Hiking level: Moderate – strenuous

Distance: 6-7 miles
Date: June 2, 2001

FOREWORD

Though I have relived the particulars of this hike in my mind many times over, only recently did I decide to record the events of that day 18 years ago, and as part of the process I researched the internet for facts and images to help refresh my memory and fill in gaps with regard to distances and names of places. 

I also learned two words “scree” and “talus” which are a collection of broken rock fragments at the base of crags, mountain cliffs, etc. the difference between them being size. Scree is made up of gravel-size chunks while talus is comprised of angular stones and boulders.

THE HIKE

I did my first solo hike in June of 2001. As part of my work as director of admissions at Canadian University College, I was scheduled to attend the graduation of Chinook Winds Adventist Academy in Calgary to award scholarships on the first Sunday morning, so I decided it presented the perfect opportunity for a weekend adventure of my own in one of the most beautiful places on earth—the Canadian Rocky Mountains. I had always enjoyed hiking during school camps in Mahableshwar and Khandala, with my preferred place being in front with the leader where one could almost forget the noisy group behind though I did once make an exception when I lagged behind with a boy I liked.

So on the Friday before I made the 160-mile drive to Canmore where I had arranged to stay at Wilma’s Bed and Breakfast. Wilma Neish is a close friend of my mother’s from the years she lived in India; she had left keys for me with a neighbor as she was out of town. Canmore is a small town about a half hour’s drive from Banff National Park.

I awoke early with butterflies in my stomach in anticipation of the day ahead and dressed quickly in layers as I had learned to do since moving to Alberta--a short-sleeve t-shirt, then a long-sleeve one, and on top of these a hoodie. For the bottoms, long johns, fleece sweatpants, socks and sneakers. At home in the prairies we were already wearing shorts, but I wanted to be prepared for whatever turns the weather might take in the mountains. A light backpack with a bottle of water, an egg salad sandwich, an apple, and M&M's completed my gear. I had a quick breakfast, restless to be on my way, sitting in Mrs. Neish’s living room with the most dramatic view I have ever seen from a private home. A whole side of a mountain dominated the view in her picture window.

In Banff I stopped at the visitor center and thumbed through the hiking trail maps on a rack. I decided on one based on length and scenic beauty. Other than some elevation gain and a few switchbacks, the trail I picked appeared relatively easy.

The trailhead was located in the parking lot of Moraine Lake, approximately another half hour’s drive from the town of Banff and after locking up the car, I began the easy walk through the thick wooded Larch Valley that slowly but steadily ascended allowing me to glimpse wonderful views of Moraine Lake below me. The air was brisk and exhilarating with bird song filtering through rays of sunlight. I am a steady hiker not a fast one. I enjoy discovering little snapshots of nature alongside the path, but I am always aware of the distance I need to cover.

When the trail leveled out and opened onto vast meadows, I was surprised to find large areas still covered in snow, because back at home, the snow cover had all but vanished a couple months earlier. The meadow was bordered by larch trees, which unlike their evergreen relatives, turn orange in autumn and the snow under these trees were covered with rust colored pine needles making for a picturesque scene. I skirted the patches of snow whenever I could, until I had no choice but to follow the trail into the ever deepening snow, but my high energy and enthusiasm did not lower my spirits even when the snow rose higher than my knees and when I sank below the crusty surface into the soft snow right up to my thighs. Walking through snow this deep is labor intensive and luckily for me, the trail ultimately returned to level hard ground. I brushed off the layer of ice and snow that had coated the outside of my sweatpants and the exposed sections of my socks around the ankles and continued.

Up until this time, I had not encountered any other hikers on the trail, and so my heart soared when I spotted three persons in the distance silhouetted against the sky on the crest of the pass between Mount Temple and Pinnacle Mountain. My mind, ever vigilant and observant, an effect of hiking alone, now calmed immediately at the thought of others on the same trail, until I realized they were returning from the direction I was headed. As they neared, I saw that they were dressed in full ski outfits and were carrying hiking poles, and the first slivers of unease dampened my hitherto unadulterated elation. Had I prepared adequately for this terrain and climate? What sort of landscape lay ahead? Should I persist or abandon my plan? Was I being reckless?

As the three men came abreast, we exchanged greetings and my heart sank when in response to my queries, they said they had gone only as far as the pass and were now headed back. No, they had no clue what the trail was like on the other side. I forced a smile and bade all three of them, in their ski suits, ski goggles and hiking poles, a good day and allowed them to think that was my plan as well, lest they wonder at my naivety.

I shoved any lingering doubts to the back of my mind and reveled in the thrill of the views. Ahead was an arduous climb on a steep incline where the zigzag of the switchbacks, clearly visible on the scree slope, ascended to Sentinel Pass. At the top of the bare windswept pass, I sat on a boulder to rest and eat one half of my sandwich while I looked back at the panoramic view--the Valley of the Ten Peaks. Rows of jagged peaks, each one towering higher than 10,000 feet pierced the cloudless sky all around me, while at lower elevations, coniferous forests lined the perimeter of the sunlit meadow. The beauty was intoxicating; the high altitude air so clear and unfiltered, I felt I could touch the peaks and gather them into my arms.

The other side of Sentinel Pass comprised a boulder field that dropped steeply about 1500 feet. On the open talus slope there were no trees, no bushes, not a green blade of grass or leaf. It looked as if some humongous giant dump truck had spilled loads of rocks there. There was also no visible trail on the stark slope. On top of one boulder, I observed a few small stones heaped together that might have been set up as a trail marker, but it was of no help. However, way down below where the rocky slope gave way to level ground, I could make out a slender trail. This gave me the assurance I needed to continue. When you are in unfamiliar terrain, there is safety in a visible trail.

I had little choice but to forge my own path going down. Jumping from rock to rock is always fun for me, and this is exactly what I proceeded to do. I am sure footed and have excellent balance—what’s more, the rocks were dirt-free and provided great traction. I was making my merry way down the center of the slope in this manner with good speed; a goat tripping gaily down the path couldn’t have been happier, when a low rumble below me froze me in my tracks. I felt a tremor underfoot and sensed rocks moving below and instinctively grasped a rock slide was forming. I have experienced many earthquakes and tremors in my lifetime and this felt similar. Thinking quickly, I was certain my safest bet would be to get to the largest boulder nearest to me. Now scrambling nimbly over the rocks as quickly as I could, I made my way to a large boulder on my left and squatted there in its shadow trembling with fright and alarm. I was smack in the middle of the talus–marooned and in harm’s way. No, my life didn’t flash before my eyes, but I felt very close to being buried in a rock slide and I saw clearly in my mind’s eye what that might be like.

When the rocks quietened and settled, I crawled as lightly as I could to the left edge of the slope, and made my way down to the trail feeling great relief. My earlier unease wrought with doubts returned. Had my extreme optimism and feeling of indestructability blinded me to the risks? And yet the experience of making it down the rock slope was liberating. Yes, it had been truly bad. No, it was worse than bad. It had been terribly terrifying and yet I had come through unscathed. One thing I was sure about I was not going back over those treacherous rocks. There would be no backtracking. I was convinced the worst was behind me.

I took another break when the trail entered Paradise Valley, a tiny valley surrounded by soaring pinnacles with a patch of sky above. It was one of the most remarkable places I have ever been. The grandeur of the gigantic mountain peaks, some of the highest in the Rockies, overwhelmed my significance in every way. I felt small, a pebble or an ant amidst the immensity of this landscape. I was humbled by nature’s awesome presence. Munching on M&M’s it began to snow lightly, and while flurries floated down into the valley and shadows began to creep up the slopes, I came to a sobering realization. If anything prevented me from getting out alive, it would be days, perhaps even weeks before somebody found my body. What if a misstep on the rocky slope had twisted my ankle and rendered me incapable of walking? What if I had surprised a bear with cubs, or hungry after a long hibernation? I had seen no sign of any other hiker on this side of Sentinel Pass, and no one knew where I was. My husband was out of town at a conference. My daughter was at a high school senior retreat, and though my son knew I had planned to hike in the mountains that day, he had no clue where. It was incumbent on me to get out alive. 

I quickened my pace when I noticed the sky darkening even though it was still early afternoon. I had failed to remember that the sun sets earlier in the mountains even though being June, and the days relatively long, here surrounded by mountains on every side, daylight was heavily muted by shadows, when the sun dropped behind a mountain. 

The trail turned darker as it entered the forest and before long I was confronted with a new problem when the trail that traversed a wooded mountainside abruptly ended in snow. Perplexed and anxious at this new conundrum, I took tentative steps in various directions trying to locate the trail, unsure if it continued straight ahead through the snow, or taken a turn. In the end there was nothing to do but push forward guessing at the direction of the trail. The scariest thing for me when hiking alone is losing the trail. I would never survive a night here in below freezing temperatures. As a girl, I had been a Pathfinder for five years, but with a poor sense of direction, I had zero confidence in myself to find my way without a clearly marked trail. Further ahead in three or four more sections snow had completely obliterated the trail, but I trudged on with fear and hope. Fear that if I lost the trail all would be lost, and hope that all would end well, each time I picked up the trail again.

Thus I continued until I descended to lower elevations where the trail was well defined with no more trace of snow. Now with the dangers well behind me, my composure returned and I stopped to rest at a rugged bench beside a rushing stream. I removed my squelching shoes and soaking wet socks. It was after I had wrung out at least a half cup of water from each sock and had put them on again, that I encountered another hiker who was walking a shorter loop at this lower elevation. When I mentioned nonchalantly that I had come over Sentinel Pass, he was a little surprised, saying hikers don’t usually use that trail until late in the summer because of snow. I was grateful to have his company the last mile of the trail. What’s more when we got to Moraine Lake road, he gave me a ride to where I had left my car.

Before proceeding to Canmore for the night, I stopped at the public hot springs in Banff and soaked my weary muscles while I reflected on the day’s events and gathered my thoughts for graduation the next morning. No one would be the wiser for my experiences that day, except I.

AFTERWORD

Today with boundless access to the internet, cell phones, GPS, and other technologies, a hiker can plan and execute a hike with greater confidence and safety. The lessons I learned are many; the most obvious one is to tell someone exactly where I am hiking, and I can truthfully report that the handful of solo hikes I have completed since this first one have been successful and tame—totally story unworthy.

If you decided to hike these trails today, here's a sample of the warnings and instructions you would find on the internet:

• An extremely steep trail descends the steep talus slopes on the north side of Sentinel Pass to Paradise Valley. The trail/route is only recommended for hikers versed with route finding skills and comfortable climbing extremely steep, scree slopes with shifting rock. 

• From Sentinel pass, descend down the right side via the hiker's path of Paradise Valley to avoid rock slide hazard on the left side (same side as Sentinel). Be careful for rock fall. 

• As of 2012, a minimum of 4 people is required due to park restrictions from bear activity.

http://hikingwalking.com/index.php/destinations/ab/ab_rockies/banff/sentinel_pass 

[July 18, 2019]