On Monday morning we packed up the gear and drove out to Jasper. We had lunch at Tim Horton's in Edson, but the nostalgia of a honey cruller couldn't match the emotional impact of the first sight of the mountains as you come over Obed Summit. Fiona and I both had tears in our eyes. We've spent some time travelling through the countryside and mountains of Scotland, and have found ourselves making extremely positive comparisons between the two. I think this was mainly because it had been so long since we had been in the Rockies. There really is no comparison. The mountains are proper, rugged mountains, with a degree of wilderness that leaves you with the impression that survival should not be taken for granted. The Scottish wilderness, while incredibly beautiful, gives you a more welcoming first impression, like you could build a nice summer home in most places.
We set up camp at Whistlers campground, taking up two sites - with a couple of tents on one and the tent-trailer on the other. The weather continued to co-operate, with no rain in the immediate vicinity. Soon we were doing all those things you do when camping in Canada - chopping firewood, building a fire, commenting on how poorly others had built or manipulated the fire and fixing their fire-related mistakes.
We witnessed the birth of a new Canadian frontier character - the LumberMark, as Mark busied himself providing a large pile of chopped firewood for the camp. Never one to rest on his laurels, Mark also assumed the role of chief coffee-maker, proving once again he is a true Renaissance man.
The local squirrel soon came to visit the camp, intent on stealing all varieties of nuts that we were enjoying with our fire-side beers. He posed beautifully for Fiona's pictures before being run off by a rival.
Dinner for the evening was a Brooymans camping delicacy - canned ham pasta. In our first tentative steps in a move towards glam-ping, it was enjoyed with a nice wine, which turned into rum and cokes as it grew dark. Adele was soon roasting marshmallows, with advice streaming in from all sides on how exactly that should be done. The first night was clear and crisp, and as the sun ducked behind the mountain, the stars came out. We tried to use Hanneke's new iPad to help identify the constellations, but even the temperatures that were rapidly approaching freezing could not convince it that it wasn't in Ghana.
The first night in the tent-trailer was quite cold and combining that with the snoring of a certain semi-Scotsman resulted in some surly campers that morning. A roaring fire, a nice coffee and a hearty breakfast soon lifted the gloom and we headed off to our first destination - the gondola up Whistlers mountain.
We had seen the little red carriages going up and down the mountain from our campsite, and with a dodgy forecast for the rest of the week figured that we should take this earliest opportunity to go up to the top and see the sights. According to Hanneke and Jul, we might even get to see some ptarmigan.
We were a little dismayed to see the price of the gondola ticket, but paid the toll and, in the end, were happy that we did. Normally my fear of heights would have presented a problem, but with a firm death-grip on an internal railing, eyes fixed firmly ahead and an inquisitive niece to distract me I made it to the top without losing my marbles.
We all walked out of the gondola house together, but upon turning the corner were soon split into various groups by a cold, biting wind. Some decided to stay closer to the shelter of the gondola house, Hanneke and Jul went off in search of the elusive ptarmigan (finding only feathers) and Dad, Adele and Mark had the mettle to finish the hike all the way to the summit. I decided to quit halfway up in order to spend some more time taking pictures and tracking down the cute little pikas - I assure you it was not due to any fitness related issues.
It was incredibly scenic from the top. There was a wide, branching valley, with the Jasper townsite situated in the middle, with blue lakes and rivers snaking through. Pyramid mountain displayed an incredible range of colours. Little flowers managed to grow behind the shelter of a boulder on the scree slope, and little pikas ran out onto patches of grass to stuff their little faces.
After an hour or so at the top, everyone was cold enough to stomach the idea of heading back down. We went into town and had lunch at a brewpub Jul recommended. Other than a really strange painting of Mark Messier and Gary Coleman (?!), everyone was well satisfied and ready for our first afternoon in the mountains.
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