I just recently read and reviewed a book by Patrice La Vigne, who wrote a book that I just loved reading, Between Each Step: A Married Couple’s Thru Hike on New Zealand’s Te Araroa. I loved it because Patrice relayed her back-country journey with so much interest for me, it just sounded like a completely wonderful adventure with very few hiccups and written with great finesse and talent.
So, after I posted I really got to thinking about how different Patrice and I travel through and see the world. For several days as I was really wondering if there was something I just didn’t “get” about backcountry travels, living totally off the grid and with GREATLY reduced comforts and amenities.
In that tiny little space in time, in a very weird coincidence of fate, I got a call from a friend who was suddenly partnerless on her bucket-list backcountry journey by canoe, 21km down to the very end of Maligne Lake in Jasper National Park. There was no time to think; I would have to leave Peachland the next day to arrive in Jasper that evening and head out on the wilderness jaunt the next morning. I said yes, not because I really wanted to do this (it was certainly NOT on my bucket list!!) but because my friend was so desperate to go and would have been broken-hearted not to. She assured me she had it all organized, under control and was more than equipped with what we would need as she is an experienced and avid back-country camper (and I’m not lol).
I arrived in Jasper the next day to see a pile of equipment that I’ve never contended with nor do I recall seeing during my very non-back-country “camping” experiences in university – a water filtering device, an electric outboard motor and 4 giant batteries for the cargo canoe, dehydrated food, a room full of tent stuff and dry-bags for everything (in case the canoe tips over, uh, WTF did I agree too?!). I tried not to look skeptical but I don’t think I was very convincing…. We had more than a couple of adult beverages and hit the sheets for what would be the best sleep I would have for the next few days.
It wasn’t until we were on the lake and heading 21km to the end that I really realized how uncomfortable with the whole experience I was. Once we left the dock there were fewer and fewer people-sightings with every kilometer that we paddled (the motor was lame so we had to paddle to assist its lousy performance). A shitty hamster-wheel of bad ideas kept circling in my head, “anything could happen and nobody would know, how do we get help if we need it, we could tip and die at any time and they’ll never find our bodies”. The commercial tourist boats would blow by every so often, but they turned out to be more of a threat than a comfort as their giant wakes created waves that could have tipped us over at almost every passing. After 14km, there were no more of those as they only go as far as the very famous Spirit Island and then, our only human contact was the very few people who were lucky enough to make it to the reasonably-civilized campsites.
The camping, itself, was exactly as I remembered it. We had to work for everything; unpack and repack canoe twice for the two campgrounds we were booked at, build and dismantle shelter twice, make a fire, cook food with rudimentary tools, clean up better than we found things, heat water to wash face, walk a mile to take a pee. We were dirty and sweaty for 3 days and we got too much sun. Sleeping on the ground sucks and that dude snoring in the tent about 40 feet from ours could have been my first homicide if did I not have my trusty silicone earplugs (which you probably shouldn’t wear if you’re sleeping in a tent in the backcountry lol). Very fortunately, we had absolutely stellar weather but I can imagine just how shitty things could have become had we been stuck in a deluge of rain, snow or even high winds.
On the way back to the dock our shitty little motor died around Spirit Island so we basically had to paddle the whole 14km back in what suddenly was becoming a very stormy day. Big, black clouds were circling and the wind started up. Relentlessly, we persevered through our fear of being beached in the middle of nowhere overnight with limited provisions (as we had run out of some of the REALLY important ones: propane for the little stove thing, water – the filter thing broke! – and wine, WTF, that’s when you know that shit has officially hit the fan). Some higher power must have seen our anxious state and staved off the storm until we were back safe and sound.
Here’s what I took away from this experience:
- I don’t like backcountry camping. Being a total “Type A”, I DO NOT like to feel like I am not in control! I like to feel safe, experience comfort (& even some luxuries), relax and step away from cooking and cleaning when on vacation. I had to cook, clean and bust my ass continually for 14 years of B&B ownership so perhaps I’ve reached a place in life now where I can say that, at least for me, vacations will not be so heavily dependent on my abilities in those departments, I think I’ve proven myself there sufficiently. I also like to know that wherever I am, I am not that far from cell service or the capacity to get real help if I’m in serious need of it.
- Maligne Lake and it’s surrounding scenery is beautiful but after looking at google images of where I was, I see that there are much better photographers out there than me and perhaps I didn’t really need to risk my life to see those images in person.
- I am in awe of people like Patrice and Justin La Vigne, who have the stamina (and the desire) to travel the backcountry for months on end.
Once again, thank you for stopping by so that I can share my thoughts with you; I’d love to hear your feedback and welcome your comments!
s.