Saturday Night, on Monday Morning

Short Version:
Mountains. Deer. Coyotes. Lies. Gravel-eating goats. We ride up a steep hill, and then back down again. Dill Pickle.

Long Version:
The overnight chill had seen fresh snow fall on the peaks while we slept, and many of the mountains still had dense cloud shrouding them when we broke camp and set off for Jasper. The deer were out in force on the road and at roadside, including both reds and greys*, of which a number were horned. Also on the road were a pack of coyotes, which scattered at our approach, but not far. They were bigger than the coyotes we'd seen before, and one of them had silvery fur and a strange cast to its face that had us both in mind of wolves, although it was nowhere near big enough to have made the cast footprint we saw at the McBride Railway Station: that was as big as my foot, and had way more claws. We told the Park gatekeeper lady that we were just passing through on the way to Dunster, and after a brief encounter with a herd of goats eating gravel at the side of the highway we rolled into Jasper, secured the Reaper, and set off through the town and up a valley, on the Saturday Night Lake Loop Trail.

The chill overnight had turned into a cold day, but the initial twenty minute haul up the steep hill from the trailhead to Cabin Lake warmed us up to the point where we were both removing layers. The trail then took us along the face of the hill to the east of the lake, climbing and descending often, and rolling over some slippery roots and fallen trees. We hooked right onto a side-trail, which took us straight up a steep gully to Saturday Night Lake, which was really pretty. A quick bite then we blasted back down to the main trail and continued up the valley, which seemed to get wetter, rockier, and rootier with every pedal stroke. We crossed several streams using a variety of methods, including riding over sound bridges; walking across broken ones; and at one point employing a leaping relay, where Nene jumped across and was passed bikes before I joined her on the far bank. Tree roots were everywhere, at all angles, and were saturated and incredibly slippery. By the time we reached the High Lakes campground we were more tired than 2.5 hours of up would normally engender; partly the drain of being cold but mainly a result of the constant battle to make the bikes move forwards, and to stop them moving sideways**.

The first downhill section was rocky and technical, and called for cautious riding, not too fast. That was what I thought, anyway - Lovely Wife not so much. She came flying down the hill, bouncing over rocks and through gaps, and only managed to avoid plowing into me by falling off. That made me very popular. The rest of the 5km to Minnow Lake was less steep but still both demanding and great fun. Apart from the bit where I fell off, although one of us thought that was both amusing and just.

And then the flying downhill started. It was open and flowing, and small shifts in weight distribution had us diving between trees at a huge rate of knots. It reminded me of the Deer Leap Segment of the North Umpqua River Trail, only without the effects of being poisoned. We passed several lakes and swampy areas***, avoided a number of Surprise! rocks and negotiated some switchbacks, then were rolling past the trailhead and back through the town to the van, four hours after we'd departed. The fact that it was still where we'd left it and unticketed despite our lack of displayed National Park Pass was pretty cool, as was the fact that the supermarket directly across the road sold our new favorite potato chip flavor: Dill Pickle.









* = Kind of like my beard

** = Actually, by the time we reached the top we were both factoring the side-slipping into our line choices, and using it if not to our advantage, then at least with intent

*** = We'd heard a radio interview with a wildlife expert the night before, who'd stated his opinion that he most dangerous animal in the Canadian wilderness was the bull moose during rutting season. Which is now. He said that avoiding swampy areas was a really good idea, and on the way up the initial climb from the trailhead we'd commented on how great it was that we were heading up, into the rocky, alpine regions, rather than staying low, near the swamps and grassy places the moose prefer. Oh, how we chortled each time we reached a swampy lake shore. Ha ha ha.