It was sometime early June 2009, after a winter of being housebound watching too many episodes of Survivor Man and Man vs. Wild that I became enamored with the idealistic thought of a wilderness survival trip of my own. I decided that a one nighter in the Canadian Rockies with no preparations or supplies might be fun. It would be a 24 hour outing in the height of summer, what could possibly go wrong? I managed to coerce my brother and two friends into making the excursion with me on August the 22 of 2009.
The trip roster included: Brent, an avid camper with a respectable wilderness skill set who would be completely in his element. James, who quite possibly misunderstood the type of survival trip, intended and who, instead of battling the elements, was battling his internal organs by consuming heroic proportions of fast food, marijuana, nicotine and unmixed hard alcohol. He was at least good enough to go along with the theme of forgoing the usual logical camping preparations but needless to say he entered a coma-like state early in the evening. And then there was my brother David, a fashionable hygiene freak by nature who reluctantly left the comforts of his trendy inner city dwelling after much cajoling by me. It would be a decision he would come to regret dearly in the early morning hours. And finally there was myself, totally out to lunch, deciding to make a survival trip into the Rockies having not even camped at a regular site for almost a decade. At this point foreshadowing the events to follow would be completely unnecessary.
Our preparations consisted only of a purchase of a fancy hand operated portable water filter the night before and a stop at Wal-Mart so David could pick up a sleeping bag that he wouldn't end up using. The exact location of our foray into the wild was a last minute decision made in a truck turnout on the side of the TransCanada as we entered the Rockies. After consulting a hiking book we settled on the location of Paradise Valley/Lake Annette, one valley over from Lake Louise which, according to the book promised ridiculous scenery and minimal human traffic. We left our vehicle at the trailhead about 3pm with everything on our backs which basically boiled down to 2 knives (I considered this a bonus as I didn't think to bring one), 2 cans of bear spray (thankfully brought by James and Brent previously unbeknownst to me), 3 sleeping bags, 1 portable water filtration device, 2 packs of cigarettes, 60oz of dark rum in plastic water bottles, a bit of food (most notably a can of beans) and a firework with no wick.
At the trail head, immediately after embarking on our hike which in hind sight could be aptly dubbed a death march we encountered a sign posted by the park rangers warning of grizzly bears in the area. Concerned only with my goal of wilderness camping I did not even give pause as I marched past. The only concern in my mind was that perhaps we would encounter some figure of authority on the trail that would make us turn around and all of our "preparations" would have been in vain. The other three, while unnerved by the sign (I would find out around dusk), were inclined to just walk on also, mistaking my flippancy for bravado. About 900 meters up the trail we came to a fork and this time there was an ominous folding placard placed directly in the path of the trail we needed to follow. Its purposeful location and large bold letters mostly in the color red left no room for misinterpretation. I hastily scanned it for consequences of our actions should we be caught breaking the law. The parts that caught my attention were: 1. No camping or fires anywhere in the valley, 2. A $5,000 fine and a court appearance for anyone caught disobeying any of the rules 3.That there were most likely Grizzly bears somewhere in the valley and 4.That hiking in groups of less than 4 was strictly prohibited. Fine I thought, as long as we aren't caught camping we should be able to at least argue our case in front of a judge since technically we would not be in violation of the terms dictated. My plan if we were caught was to say that we had become lost late in the day and I was hoping that they would buy it since we did not have any camping gear other than a couple of light sleeping bags. For some reason even at this point the Grizzly bear threat was still not a significant factor for me.
In the next 90 minutes we gained several hundred feet in elevation and managed to quickly place about 6kms between ourselves and the vehicle that had ferried us to location. It was, for 3 of us, a generally enjoyable experience full of the loquacious conversation that young men free from their usual irksome obligations are prone to. James, however, having consumed at least 6oz of hard alcohol prior to the parking lot departure and his 24 hour food ration of 4 assorted McDonald's burgers some hours earlier was understandably fatigued and frequently vocalized his disenchantment. On the brief respites that we allowed him we encountered a seemingly endless stream of the usual lollygagging types who infest our national parks, a typical cross section of bodies that would look more in place somewhere like a crowded Walmart or Tim Horton's drive thru. They offered us one irritating line after another like "you boys left a little late huh?" In retrospect I probably should have felt comforted to see that we were not the only party unperturbed by the signs and breaking the law. I was, however, extremely paranoid and suspicious of everyone that passed us, worried that someone would report the 4 peculiar characters hiking up the trail at the late hour with no more gear then them when they were all walking down. It also did not help matters that we were not in possession of the required back country camping passes. (We had attempted to purchase the passes earlier at the park gate when instead we were informed rudely that the season park pass I had been sold months earlier was for a single person only and we were now forced to buy a park pass for my 1 visible occupant. We were then told that we would have to seek out the information center at Lake Louise to buy the camping passes.) Shying away from the prospect of encountering another cagey national park employee we elected to forgo the tedious proposition of procuring the required passes.
As promised during the hike we were treated to some of the most awe inspiring sights, sounds and smells to be found in Banff National Park. In the absolutely perfect weather we all eagerly devoured the buffet of color, sunlight and fresh air that was a welcome and needed reprieve from our 21st century domestic city lives. The beginning of the hike paralleled the unswerving Paradise Creek to an intersecting bridge that crossed to the east after which the trail gently ascended to the shore of the small but exotic Lake Annette, Shakira of the Canadian Rockies. Standing on the western shore staring out across the petite body of pearlescent blue waters, almost underneath the Mount Temple glacier/snowpack all my problems, worries and everything that was wrong in my life (namely the using of tools, the smells of sawdust and musty basements and laboring in strangers sewage) that had been nagging at my mind just blissfully melted away. After enjoying a cigarette and the siren song of Annette we continued on a little further, crossing a rockslide after which point we glimpsed down into Paradise Valley. Right before the trail descended into the valley we opted to turn around as camping in the valley was strictly verboten anyhow. We made it back to Lake Annette by about 6pm and tracked the north shore towards a clearing we could see from the trailhead and to our surprise stumbled upon a makeshift rock fire pit. After surveying the area and concluding that the spot was perfect in every way we hastily made our camp preparations as the sun was already dangerously close to being eclipsed by the mighty peaks that buttress the valley below. We were enjoying our own secluded company when, as if on cue, a couple who looked like they were armed with generous portions of granola, colorful new gortex clothing and trekking poles suddenly appeared atop a rocky outcropping on the opposite side of the lake. If they had any clue as to of the hell that would break loose later that evening I am sure they would have quickly moved on. As we foraged for dead wood to stoke the fire for the evening the suspected telemarking enthusiasts were disturbingly unconcerned by the crashing of dead trees and creative profanities that echoed loudly in the quiet valley. The evening was otherwise uneventful; we all enjoyed trading stories and strong drink. The days parting gift was a twilight avalanche spectacle as night finally licked the glacier above us, suddenly freezing the day's melted snow; banishing a huge white chunk the size of a trailer home that exploded as it cascaded down the mountainside dusting the boulders below coating them like icing sugar on French toast.
It was around midnight, as I was drifting off into a pleasant lucid sleep in my clothes on the ground beside the fire that David blindsided me with the revelation that he was hearing things in the woods. At first I only shrugged the alleged noises off but about 15 minutes later I too was hearing the peculiar sounds. Initially we concluded that it was just more rocks and ice making their noisy journey earthward, but the concussive thuds and cracks they caused were unnerving as the geography of the valley caused the sounds to come from the woods directly behind us. Suddenly our occupation of the wilds felt very inappropriate, like a XXX wedding gift, before hand it had seemed like a fun idea but at the opening it was an altogether different experience. Heightening bear paranoia, conspicuous crunching in the woods and the late hour would prove to be the easy recipe for our ruin.
At about 3am the rug of reason was pulled violently from under us by a clearly audible snapping and cracking that only wood underfoot can produce. This was followed by faint approaching rustling in the bushes near the lakeshore immediately in front of us. To this day I maintain it was definitely not my imagination. I looked at my brother Dave and to say that his face was filled with terror would be like saying Hitler raised his voice during his pep rallies. Had David actually seen a bear approaching I doubt the muscles in face would have been capable of expressing any more fear. I am positive that I looked the same or worse. My ability to maintain a calm facade completely evaporated, replaced instantly by a primal fear that burned in the bottom of my abdomen. I was lying there by the fire and could only see about 10ft in any direction because of the intense light. Instinctively I found myself milliseconds later in a crouch about 10 feet behind the fire near the lean to that Brent had installed earlier in the evening, scanning the surroundings with a impotent combination of fire blind eyes and city deafened ears with my brother somehow beside me. My recollection is a little hazy but we either left the mace or the knife by the fire, maybe both. We tried feverishly to rouse Brent from his hovel to no good end. Frustrated we tip toed back to the fire only to find a completely inert James and after shaking him frantically we came to the grim realization that he had entered a deep stage of substance induced coma and was utterly useless. We did, however manage to recover the bear spray and small knife. Motivated by the continued bush rustling in approximately the same location as before and by the prospect of potentially defending our camp with only two against a wild animal that might outweigh us by as much as 500lbs we went back to the lean to and tried once more. When nothing seemed to work David groped blindly for any human limb available and, finally finding Brent's exposed feet and ankles, began to manually extract him from his refuge. Initially a little groggy and confused he said nothing but as he came to his feet he could tell by our combat ready posture and abnormal voice tones that there was trouble afoot. After explaining to him what was going on with a combination of whispering and commando style hand gestures he went immediately into survival mode and, without saying a word, sprung into action traipsing straight off in the direction of the bush rustling. If there was ever a time in my life I felt less manly or totally dumbfounded I can't recollect it. Bolstered by Brent's bewildering tactical maneuver, and, not wanting to send our friend into what we were certain were the jaws of snarling death we followed in hot pursuit this time knife and bear spray in hand. We neither saw nor heard anything by the time we arrived at the lakeshore. Not sure of the appropriate procedure when confronting a bear in the wild we instinctively split up and commenced an independent survey of the surrounding woods. Remembering advice from the late Timothy Treadwell, one of the craziest people to ever grace our planet, I began making loud guttural noises and when Brent and David followed suit our newfangled din served as the queerest anti-bear chant ever conceived. When I would pause intermittently to gain orientation I had to chuckle as it seemed we were all deeply embroiled in some kind of fantastic semi-religious ritual. It was a strange scene. I'm sure that if the couple across the lake witnessed the debacle taking place it has gone down as one weirdest nights of their lives. If we had encountered a grizzly bear and been mauled or worse at this point I am sure that they, or anyone for that matter, would have said we got what we deserved and rightfully so.
After a fruitless search we regrouped by the fire which was by then petering out to coals. We began to discuss our options. Regrettably I purposed an impromptu evacuation of our camp to the steel box of a cargo van we had some 6kms+ down trail that in my mind would serve as perfect lodgings in bear country. The other two intelligently quashed my plan as a long walk in a dark valley seemed far more risky than just staying put. Brent, inwardly deciding that fire light would rectify the situation piled a few hours' worth of wood on the pit as Dave and I debated the perils of a night expedition. Within minutes, and much to my dismay, he produced a 6ft blaze which generated light that was so intense that even casting a glance in its general direction was like staring directly into the sun after coming out of a pitch black room. At this point I was begging to get really pissed off. I couldn't see a bloody thing and on top of that I was cold, tired and still had a disproportionate amount of adrenaline surging through my veins with no outlet at which to direct it. It was at this moment, having lost all ability to properly articulate my emotions that I snapped and yelled as loud as humanly possible "stand up and fight like a man". A bit of stray voltage perhaps. Had it not been for the "seriousness" of the circumstances I think we all would have had a good laugh at my strange choice of words. Feeling a little better after expelling my curious battle cry I did a few more solo laps in the surrounding darkness for good measure and then set down once more by the fire.
By the time I got back Brent had already retired to his shelter and Dave and I once more found ourselves by the fire with the inanimate James. We established an anti-bear fire corral that was basically two or three big logs stacked to our backs and sides. As we sat against them peering into the foreboding gloom two little headlamps suddenly clicked on in unison. Having been woken in the dead of night, nerves completely shattered no doubt by my triple decibel outcry our hardy couple had finally had enough. We sat, morbidly entertained as one little headlamp stood perched on the rubble knoll as the other environed at a distance of perhaps 20-30 meters for a short while. Finally after about 20 minutes of this the two lights converged once more, and then turned into a strobe as they quickly packed to break camp. To our astonishment, apparently unsatisfied with the level of security that their wide open acclivity afforded them, they began to head due east which forced the scaling of a very steep and loose slope which would have been a challenge in the light of day. The realization that they would rather take their chances with a perilous middle of the night ascent rather than stay within our close proximity made me feel a little rejected and even more alone. I wish I could know if they chose such an extreme course of action because of us or because of the bear threat. The thought to call out and ask crossed my mind but the prospect of being showered with verbal abuse lest I be the reason be me kept me quiet.
The next few hours were an insomnious blur of scary noises and late night perimeter checks. The two of us consumed what would normally be a 3-4 day supply of cigarettes. The night was turning into a tortuous event that reminded me of a Meat Loaf song... it just would not fucking end. In the segments of silence that our surroundings mercifully afforded us we did; however, manage to steal a glance skyward noticing the wild assortment of tiny twinkling dots in the sky, a striking juxtaposition to the oppressive darkness that had enveloped us so completely. As I sat by the fire that night, shivering and unable to sleep, part reflecting and part stewing on the events that had unfolded in the past 10-12 hours, I began to fully appreciate my predicament and had a few revelations. The first was that earlier in the night I was more concerned with encountering a man in a goofy costume complete with hat and badge than 800-1000lb's of wild, snarling, hairy brown fury. How ridiculous. The second was I had been so focused on being able to camp and "have a good time" that I had not even factored in that the whole experience could easily turn into a steaming pile of shit should some unforeseen event we had completely neglected to prepare for materialize such as a hungry wild bear or even a little bit of rain.
Mercifully, around 5am, suffering from anxiety overload I finally entered the 7th stage in the Kubler-Ross Grief Cycle and fell into a dreamless sleep. I am told when David tried repeatedly to rouse me after more bush rustling all I could offer was semi-conscious gibberish.
The minute the sun finally douched the valley of disgusting darkness David stood up and dusted his hands on his pants. This woke me and I stood crookedly, stiff from dozing atop the dirt and not my usual chiropractor endorsed pillow top marvel of sleep science technology. I donned my pack that I had readied earlier in the sleepless portion of the night, collected our garbage and generously doused the fire with lake water. We finally succeeded in rousing James who couldn't understand why we were up so damned early or why we felt the need to hike back to the van in the suns virgin rays. When we explained what had transpired the night before he was a little surprised to learn he had slept through the calamity and unenthusiastically joined us for the hike down.
It took us only 40 minutes, less than half the time the trek up, to retrace our steps and make our way out of the god forsaken valley. We were probably in far more bear danger as we trudged out of there in complete silence spaced roughly 15 feet apart with the exception of James who was at least a few hundred in tow. Arriving at the folding placard I patiently waited for Dave and Brent who were less than a minute behind and after about 4 to 5 minutes James finally materialized and in a violent display of displeasure at our haste soccer kicked the public notice and calmly continued on down the trail. When we reached the parking lot shortly after we encountered a large group of French speaking tourists about to embark who fell silent as we sorry group of filthy refugees hobbled to our van. I fumbled with my key fob for a while with frozen fingers and when I finally managed to get the door open, the dramatic rescue scene from CNN flashed in my head of 40 Cuban's being plucked off their capsized vessel off the coast of Florida by the coastguard and I finally had a chance to truly appreciate how they must have felt as I climbed into the sanctuary of the vehicle.
Naturally, and much to the dismay of my wife, the lasting impression that the trip has left on me is not the one you might expect. Now sitting comfortably at my computer protected by walls and doors, no longer vulnerable to potential wild animal attacks I wonder if I had it right the whole time? After all, we walked away no worse for wear except maybe a little sleepy. Had we heeded those signs and turned around we might have ended up in a campground having a fire in a metal pit surrounded by hot dog eating slack jawed yokels with RV's, or worse yet back in the city. Instead we were treated to refreshing raw spectacles of nature and something that as humans these days rarely have chances to fully experience or appreciate: the primal fear of a wild animal attacking you while you are in a semi-defenseless state. Looking back and taking certain things into account like my not even considering bringing a knife or bearing spray into the wild I know that I got exactly what I was after: a non-vaginal camping trip where I could shut the material tower building part of my brain off and turn on just living and being. It was riveting. Admittedly next time I would do things a little different. I will definitely bring a knife, some sort of large animal deterrent and a God damned flash light.
In the aftermath, strangely enough I have been left craving more. To borrow a loose translation of a lyric from an obscure punk song; when were old and useless and our lives have become scrap books of old friends and faded memories at least a few will stand out and this one, for me, surely will. It won't be long until I will once more be racing sunsets, stealing warmth and retiring illegally atop the earth......