Hiking the Iceline

We had been hiking in Canada's Yoho National Park for over two hours now, and I really didn’t understand the appeal. We had traipsed here from glorious backpacker destination, Banff, following a recommendation from a not too sober stranger.

Go see the Ice line. He commanded, and my two friends and I obeyed.

Now, pulling our aching bodies up past scented pine trees, nervous fingers twitching near bear spray at every rustle, I wondered what could possibly be worth this. Who marches out hungover into the wilderness on the advice of a stranger? We struggled on, grumbling, staring dully at our rapidly blistering feet as the trees around us grew small and twisted.

When I finally looked up, I was staring into a barren vastness. The landscape around us was almost lunar; ridge lines stretched out above the valley giving way to vast expanses of rocky slopes. Below a huge valley was bristling with pines. A cool wind touched my arm. I looked up at a tiny speck above us, an eagle circling on an updraft effortlessly.

We wandered along the ridge, quiet and timid. There was space everywhere. I had never realized how magnificent and intimidating being on the edge of such a huge absence could be. Helped by a friendly hand, I scrambled up a scree slope towards the base of a glacier, and stumbled, literally stumbled on, a small, perfectly formed lake, nestled in the bowl of the mountains. This lake was an unearthly blue and icy cold, lifeless and beautiful. The silence could make a person giggle nervously. My heart was pounding. I edged along a ridge line; a dislodged pebble rattled away with an echo.

We were relieved and disappointed to finally hear voices. Other hikers marched past; smiles and nods exchanged. The eerie calm lifted and we were back in the real world.

When I finally stumbled from the trailhead into the parking lot, I wondered how I could describe this hike. If I even could. Sure, I could describe the practicalities of planning the trip: check the weather; bring bear spray; go in a group; pack warm clothes. But I couldn’t describe where I’d been and how scary and tiny and awesome I had felt.

I decided I wouldn’t tell anyone at all. Then I remembered that a stranger had told me to go, and I had listened. People were looking for a hike like this, even if they didn’t quite realize it in the midst of the party. And I guess that’s why I climbed above the trees with a hangover, a can of bear spray, and hiking shoes that hurt.