Jasper: Day Two - Climb Ev'ry Mountain

Day Two and we wake to the fresh air and open space of our campsite. We decide to go into town for breakfast today - we haven't perfected fire-coffee yet, so it's safest to leave it to the experts for our first day. We pack up and wave goodbye to Snake Lodge.

We check out Jasper. The Clown is determined to do several things - climb mountains, white water raft, and buy a fancy ass knife thing with lots of attachments called a Leatherman. Sounds like something out of a horror movie - oh wait, that was Leatherface. Same thing. Anyway. There is some emailing, some coffee, some breakfast and then it is off to the mountains.

The first one was amazing. The Angel Glacier. It was listed as a four to six hour hike in the lonely planet book that the Clown carried with him and buried his nose in with clockwork regularity. The Clown also had a new fancy digital camera that he bought in Winnipeg and that he broke out at every opportunity, documenting the whole trip in 130 stunning photographs. He also documented Winnipeg in 170 other stunning photographs, including what I perceived as way too many of him and a young attractive buxom lass canoodling together - which was his right, naturally, but it was perhaps a little unfortunate that I wound up later with a whole slideshow of these shots downloaded onto my computer. Ick. I mean - I know it's all fair game - but I don't have to see it up close with a rockin' soundtrack to go along with it. Ick.

Anyway. The Mountain. Here we go.

The hike is long and rocky and through the woods until the trees give way to gravelly slopes and the trees shrink and the mountain flowers bloom and the wind whips and the clouds come closer and the terrain becomes increasingly alien and stark and beautiful. The Clown comments that the wind-whipped slopes echo the moors close to his homeland. We come to the top of the pass - mission accomplished! There's a sign planted that says, "Trail ends here." But there is a trail that continues nonetheless, up the rocky shores of the mountain to the highest point. We continue up. The road gets harder - my legs start to burn, my rabbit heart beats in my chest, but we are silent and determined and I will not fail, I will not fall behind, I will serve, a faithful and loyal companion on the road, a trusty Spaniel. I will not look back, I will not look down. Down is for the future, and Up is all I can focus on. Now is all I can focus on. This step. And this one. And this one. The way becomes slightly more dangerous, rocks skip and skitter down the mountain, the stones shift from slippery gravel to large cairns and back and forth until we are at last at the top. It has been quiet up this part of the trail, with most hikers giving in at the end of the road that we passed half an hour ago. But now it is surprisingly social. A young couple of hikers is already at the top, and while we sit and wonder at the 360 degree mountain diarama that surrounds us, a few others make their way up as well. An aging Hippie and his Nordic wife, a Determined Czech who complains that the beautiful mountain vistas could be better developed with more campsites and hotels and his stalwart and patient wife. They argue, the Hippie and the Developer, and their chatter is carried away on the thin mountain air. There is a glass mason jar with slips of paper and a pencil inside - anyone who makes it this far is encouraged to sign the guest book. I write, "I followed some Clown up here and now I have no idea how I'm going to get down."

True on more than one level.

N.