Volume 6: Pete in Canada Part 15. Beaver Las Canada. 1 Continent, 2 Blokes, Infinite Weird Sh*t
Day 34 – Banff
Today was a pretty chilled day as we recovered from partying with the cast of “On the buses”. We headed for the Banff Gondola to take us to the top of Sulphur Mountain. At the foot of the mountain Brad floated the idea of hiking to the top, an idea I gave as much thought as the thought of using my testicles to put out the camp fire each night. Hiking up a mountain with its peak just short of 2,300 metres after a big night on the turps with the Canadian equivalent of Blakey is no cure for a hangover. I put forward a convincing argument to Brad not to hike up the mountain (I think it consisted of the words “You’re f%$kin’ kidding aren’t you?”) and we were soon on our way up to the top of the mountain on the gondola. Before you get on the Gondola there are signs advising that your $22.50 is helping to pay off the gondola. That sign also informs you that over 10 million people have ridden the Gondola since it opened. You’d think the $225 million in revenue generated would provide for hot tubs on each gondola, or at least a masseuse, but all you get is simple gondola ride and the reminder that if you weren’t such a fat bastard or hung over you could save $22.50 by hiking the mountain.
Once at the top of the mountain you can take a pleasant stroll to the old weather observatory at Sanson’s peak. The peak is named after a bloke that used to climb the mountain every 1 or 2 weeks (depends if he was hungover on whether he did it weekly?) to gather information about the weather. When he first set out he put in a request to the bigwigs in Ottawa for a supply of some weather report paper. What he got back was 33 years of blank report paper. In a typical mindset of yesteryear when it was a shame to waste anything (god bless our disposable society of today where we’re not burdened with that problem anymore), Sanson hung tight and not only completed the 33 years worth of paper but continued the job for another 10 years. Although, you’d reckon after a few years you’d realise there’s no one else climbing up the mountain, so there’s no one to contradict your results, so you’d just kick back and put any numbers on the reports and spend your paycheque from Ottawa “investing” in the local saloons. In keeping with the educational requirement of tour life, I read of how some of the animal inhabitants of the mountain hibernate for up to 9 months a year (I’ve known some unemployed people who share a similar trait), and that the plants and smells change depending on which level of the mountain you’re on. It was at Sanson’s peak we showed our true love for Canada by cracking open a couple of cans of Molson Canadian and saluting the Rockies. If we had a dollar for each bloke that walked past and remarked “you guys have got the right idea” we’d have been able to pay for the building of our own Gondola. As I took in the amazing view I could see Tunnel Mountain which now simply looked like a hill from our vantage point. A quiet beer at Sanson’s peak admiring the view, now there’s a MasterCard ad just waiting to be made. Priceless.
After enjoying that pleasant moment we headed into town and strolled around aimlessly. In keeping with the great luck that can come your way while on tour, we stumbled across a party in a park to celebrate the 100th anniversary of Alberta joining the Dominion of Canada. It was part of a province wide party and this particular party in the park had its 5 minutes of fame by being part of the national television broadcast. This was a pleasant way to wind down a chilled day as we sat on the grass listening to live music while sinking a few cans. As this was a family event, a band called the Hibby Jeabys performed an early set whilst potentially infringing on a number of copyright laws associated with the Wiggles and their music. To follow the Hibby Jeabys was a band called Chronic. As the stage was now mainly surrounded by children, the decision to put on a band whose name was a colloquialism for marijuana seemed in poor choice. When said band than started singing James Brown’s “Sex machine” it was a win for poor taste all around the world, with many thanks going to Chronic for knowing their demographic and how to amuse me by still having the courage to go with the song and making the car ride home for many families all that more interesting. I could just pictured the squeaky voices of little Timmy coming from the back seat of the car “Mum, dad, what’s a sex machine?”. Chronic finished their memorable set, the TV coverage crossed to the park for 30 seconds and a short while later a small fireworks extravaganza kicked off to celebrate the occasion (of Alberta’s 100 years, not Chronics set). The nights entertainment was wrapped up by a country singer named Naren Ord, who by now was performing to the much more mature audience of 10 to 12 years old surrounding the stage. At least she acknowledged them and the fact they probably wouldn’t get her songs. I purchased her album and decided to make it the unofficial soundtrack for our tour.
To finish off our day, we had a pint at Melissa’s Restaurant and Bar. It was a subtle hint from the universe for Brad to head back to Montreal after I was gone. I was in bed by 11pm in order to recharge the batteries for tomorrow.
Day 35 – Banff
Today we did some more hiking, in the part of the park founded by the explorers best known for masturbation; the Lake Minnewanka trail. While the Stoney Indians convinced whitey that meant “Lake of the water spirits” I’m pretty sure they were laughing behind their back knowing they’d just pulled off one of the greatest practical jokes in Canada in getting the Europeans to refer to a lake as being surrounded by small masturbators. The Europeans must’ve been suspicious because at one period of time the lake was referred to as Devil Lake, before officially being named Minnewanka. To make the area sound all the more gay, there is a nearby campsite named “Two Jacks” which I’m assuming was named after 2 Europeans caught jacking each other off. I’m sure it was only for some local missionary that it wasn’t officially named “Two Jacking offs”.
The fear of unsuspectingly being taken from behind by a gay camper was very soon replaced by the fear of unsuspectingly being taken from behind by a bear. As we entered the Minnewanka trail there was a sign posted saying the track was restricted and was closed further up due to an aggressive bear in the area. The track had been closed in the last week due to a mother bear not being overly happy with a female hiker getting too close to her cubs. Only a couple of days after that attack, 2 male hikers had been attacked on a different trail when they got between a sow and her cubs, saved only by their bear spray. I’d read all about these attacks in Wild Bills Saloon, which was named after a crazy bastard called “Wild Bill Peyto” from the early frontier days, who was most famous for walking into a bar with a lynx strapped to his back before setting it loose in the bar for his own enjoyment (god bless the good old days of the wild west when you could just shoot someone if you didn’t like their hair cut). Anyway, back on the track and it was stupid male pride between Brad and I that saw us start walking on the track. Brad was starting to question my manhood as I suggested we go no further, before I saw an elderly woman come walking down the trail. I was damned if I was going to let a retired woman out man me, so we headed off on the trail (I also worked on the theory that I only had to be faster than the slowest person in a bear chase and I figured I could outrun an old chick). As we walked across a large specimen of faecal matter which had exited a reasonably large bear we both thought it wasn’t wise to continue on. Still trying to pump out our chests, it wasn’t until we got off the track that we both admitted to thinking the same thing. It was only a few hundred metres up the track where it was officially fenced off with a big Warden Service sign warning of the dangerous bear and a big part of the local map shaded red advising you may lose some limbs to a pissed off bear in that region.
After that, ultimately safe and un-dangerous adventure, we headed back to the campsite for a barbeque dinner. As I ate my chicken wings I studied the habits of the local squirrels. It seems it’s a 21 step process to find a suitable tree to take your nuts, as they hopped from tree to tree before based on some criteria finally climbing up one. Fair enough the process is so intensive, I’m quite protective of my nuts too. As for the mosquitoes and bugs, they all seem unfulfilled with simply buzzing their life away as they move so slowly killing them proves no challenge. It’s safe to say Australian mosquitoes have a higher living standard and more to live for as they are far harder to kill. As we ate we also listened to Naren Ord’s CD through the rental cars stereo. According to her lyrics “life is a train” which is confusing as I always thought life was a highway according to Tom Cochrane.
For tonight’s entertainment we headed into town and kicked off from Melissa’s. Having now spent 34 days on tour, we had officially ran out of things to say to each other. The conversation had run so dry I was left with no other choice but to take on the usual suicide mission of approaching a table full of women and asking if we could sit on their table. The head of the table was named Melanie and thankfully was a very affable lass who warmly welcomed us onto their table. Before long Brad and I were happily chatting away with people other than each other. The girls, and unfortunately a few of their male friends, after a few hours decided to go to another bar. They invited us so we happily tagged along. The night eventually became an absolute blur where I think we eventually ended up following the girls to Tommy’s night club. We got separated in Tommy’s and again Brad and I went home only with each other. Man I’m starting to get frustrated.
Day 36 – Banff to Jasper
Today we set off on a longish drive north to the Jasper Park. Inside the national park you can be forgiven for thinking the cannon ball run is underway. I don’t know how many times we were sitting on 100kph only to see some massive RV overtake us and the other 4 cars in front of us in a single pass. With such beautiful surroundings of emerald rivers and spectacular snow capped mountains, one could only imagine that doing mach 1 in a vehicle larger than many houses would not enhance the experience.
We stopped around 100km from Jasper at the Athabasca glacier, a massive piece of ice situated in the Colombia Icefields. It was a rather gloomy day, with clouds as far as the eye could see, but we still went into the information centre to check out activities and get the daily requirement of education. In one of the most confusingly embarrassing things I heard on tour, Brad asked the chick at the information desk “So where is the glacier?”. She gave him a look of “You’re f#@kin’ kiddin’ aren’t you?” followed by a “oh, you’re serious” look, before replying nearly in unison with me “That would be that massive piece of ice out there”. Whilst the glacier had melted considerably in the last 100 years (thank god there is no global warming otherwise I’d be worried) the huge slab of ice that is the Athabasca glacier, I’d hazard a guess, has enough ice to fill eskys the world over several times. Quite frankly, not knowing where the glacier was would be like driving from Brooklyn to New Jersey and saying you didn’t notice Manhattan. Poor old Brad, I think he may have taken one shot too many to the head while playing Rugby league, which now restricted his brain from scanning sentences for the obvious before they exited his mouth. Those 35 days of drinking we’d embarked on probably didn’t help.
We reached Jasper late in the afternoon in what was now officially a cold, miserable, rainy day. To be honest, I was quite relived when the Park Ranger at Whistlers camp ground said all of their 700+ sites were being used as I didn’t look forward to setting up my tent in this weather. I floated the idea that we get a hotel room so we drove around for a while before settling on some motel on Connaught Drive. At over $190 a night it seemed excessive for a simple room with 2 queen beds, but my rock dinted ass eventually convinced me and Brad that it would do. It seemed like luxury after camping, with its TV, rockless mattress, and toilet with plenty of leg room where I could take a nice relaxing dump. It also meant I could get up in the middle of the night and take whiz without worrying about being attacked by a bear.
The location was good, so after treating ourselves to pizza whilst watching TV in the motel room, we walked into town as the drizzle had finally lifted. We spent the night at Pete’s Pub, drinking and dancing the night away with a group of chicks on a hen’s night. Sadly, the only action for me tonight would be the action of having my picture taken with the hen and various chicks from her party passing around a big afro wig. There would be no testing of hotel bed mattress action. This lack of action was frustrating given I finally had a bed that had springs and not rocks, coupled with the 10 or so beers I had, saw me teeing off a verbal barrage at Brad for some reason after we got kicked out of the pub at closing time at 2am. 36 days on tour together is a long time. The verbal barrage lost steam after Brad suggested we kick on to Whistle Stop Pub. The effects of alcohol are a mystical wondrous thing, 1 minute I’d had enough of the bloke, then the next thing I thought he was the greatest thinker on the planet for suggesting we drink more and I couldn’t wait to have another beer with him. We stumbled into the Whistle Stop Pub. Ordered 2 beers. The bar chick said no we’re closed. Poured herself a drink. We laughed, then ordered 2 beers. Unfortunately, laughing and pretending you didn’t believe something was said doesn’t stop it from being true. She reiterated that they were closing. There would be no more beers.
Drunk and emotional, we caught a cab back to the motel and enjoyed a comfortable night’s sleep.
Day 37 – Jasper
Today was a cruisey day, with my ass taking full advantage of the bed by sleeping in and missing the 10am cut off for my complimentary breakfast. We checked out of the hotel around 11am and made the short drive to Whistlers camp ground and set up our tents near a small stream.
With the campsite setup, we made for Mount Edith Cavell. The creators of the 14.5 km road must have thought that only mountain goats were going to be the likely users, as never before have I travelled on a more pothole riddled strip of asphalt. I had been reminded by a road sign in Banff that my park fees were hard at work, apparently work that doesn’t extend to filling potholes (which helps to explain why umbrellas cost $22 a piece as there’s no way an umbrella truck could travel this road to help deliver the economies of scale that would enable cheaper umbrellas due to lower transport costs). As the peak of Edith Cavell is at 3,363 metres it was of course cold, with the only hint that it was above zero degrees being that the rain had not turned into snow flakes. A short hike from the car park takes you to a small pool of water, with big ice blocks most likely dropped by the Giant in the clouds as he spilled his scotch chasing Jack down his beanstalk. We couldn’t see the peak of the mountain due to cloud cover, but it was still an awesome site as mini avalanches of snow fell down the rocks. With all this ice, you’d have thought Edith Cavell was a real bitch, a real ice maiden to have such a cold place named after her, but as I took in my daily tour education I read that she was a British nurse who’d helped people escape to Belgium during in WWII (nothing like a good Belgium waffle to take your mind off the Nazis). I can’t remember which country this great British nurse was helping them escape from, but I’m assuming it wasn’t Britain. Further along the hike as we passed relatively barren land I read of how a glacier had formed on the mountain during a mini 400 year ice age (400 years: short in terms of ice ages, long in terms of having to listen to a non-stop loop of Bjork music). The glacier had now pretty much melted, with a sign posing the question “Will the ice comeback?”. Not having a black texture on me, I wasn’t able to write under the sign “Fuck no, haven’t you heard of global warming?”.
Just off the car park are the public toilets, which are essentially all elevated porta-loos with no plumbing, with the crap left to accumulate in a pile much like what you see in Canberra during an election year. Thankfully, it was cold otherwise it would have provided a fearful smell. In summer I’m imaging the information centre when giving directions to Mount Edith Cavell simply advises tourists to wind down the windows in the car and head for the smell.
Now fully educated on Mount Edith Cavell, the only thing to do was head back down the mountain and kill the brain cells that didn’t know anything with beer. We stopped in the Whistle stop pub after 5pm where we had 3 pints and I updated my tour diary. It was after the second pint that we realised it probably wasn’t a great idea to drive if we decided to have pint 3. Brad floated the idea that we could go see a movie to give us some time to sober up. That sounded like a great idea so we ordered the third pint, consumed it and headed for the local cinema. As it was a small cinema we only had 2 choices, Dukes of Hazzard or Wedding Crashers. Having seen the Shakespeare inspired Dukes in Montreal, we of course chose the Wedding Crashers. With the tickets only costing $8 and popcorn and coke only a further $5, this may well have been the cheapest activity to do in the entire national park.
We sobered up so much during the movie, we decided to have another pint at Pete’s Pub at the conclusion of the movie. It was a real sausagefest so we pilled the pin and headed back to the campsite for a cold’s night sleep.
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