Life on the 40

I'm fortunate enough to have "K" Country (Kananaskis Country) as my backyard. It's aptly named 'Cowboy Trail', as the #22 follows a long-standing cowboy path. It's a different world out here - no smog, limited traffic noise (except for the long-weekenders on a mission to fill every campground, usually pulling a huge trailer with a boat towed behind...all of which means if you get stuck behind them on the highway, you're in for the scenic 60km FOREVER drive), limited crime (setting off firecrackers at 2am is one of the nasties we have to deal with), we can SEE the stars without a telescope, kids can still play in the backyard without having to watch them every second. Sounds like an episode of 'Leave It To Beaver', but it's true.

So my point? As part of my backyard, highway 40 runs through K-Country, looping from the transcanada (#16) to Longview (on the #22 south). PEOPLE, get a map if you can't keep up...

It's really a day trip from my driveway, as long as you're not trying to hike every path and stop at every day-use area. I'm a huge attraction for all the relatives, as I'm game to taking everyone through so they can appreciate the beauty of the region. Good way to make brownie points, and possibly make it into the will! The route is filled with splendiferous views, beautiful hiking trails, and (you've got it), wildlife.

This picture is the quintessential experience on the 40 - big horn sheep. No, I don't collect antlers, so this guy was safe. However, I should've taken him home to do my part in protecting the environment...I could've retired my lawnmower. These sheep are relatively accustomed to people invading their territory, and can be seen regularly licking salt from the road (hence, 80km/hr is plenty fast on this curvy road...never know when wildlife will pop out in front of you). I stopped, rolled down my window and started talking. I think he could smell my salted pretzels. He must've stood with his head in the window for 3-4 minutes - my poor dad was sitting in the passenger seat and was only slightly freaking out. The dang sheep wouldn't leave, so dad tossed a pretzel (yes, I know...don't feed the wildlife, but it was either that or he was coming in through the window) about 5 feet away, and he backed up and blinked (sheep-talk for thanks I think) and meandered towards the pretzel. We were able to continue driving unmolested and highly energized with our brush with a 'local'.

One of my favourite hiking spots is Ptarmigan Cirque. It's only a 6K, but the first 3K are almost vertical. NOT a hike to do the day after your lower-body gym day. It's usually very busy on weekends, but the Saturday we went it was practically deserted - the dead giveaway was that we could find a parking spot in the day lot. We figured we were fortunate, but as we were entering the trail, a BIG yellow sign: WARNING - BEAR IN AREA. We were ok, we're adequate amateur yodelers, and it's a better workout to climb and sing. The intrepid two continued onwards and upwards...on the top loop (thank god, it's almost flat - good recovery time) we ran into a lovely older couple resting before heading down (give me rollerblades, and I'd make history on the way down) and they informed us that the bear was a GRIZZLY with a CUB!!! Arggghhhh, so much for our hopes for just a black bear - we must be insane to use this trail?? They told us they had seen her last week, but on the other side of the valley. Whew - at least they hadn't seen her today. Generally, the trip down is significantly faster (due to gravity, not skill) but after we heard that story, I think we set a local record for getting back to the parking lot (and for the longest continual yodel - move over Ricola man). But we'll go back, but this time packing mace and a crucifix.

Stunning or Stunned?

A recent journey to Nova Scotia revealed how much I rely on CAA and the infamous 'trip-tik'. I, a standard Type-A ENTJ issue, was armed for cavorting around an unknown province in a rental with unlimited kilometers. The unlimited kilometers being an important point as in I'm also Ukrainian and therefore am determined to squeeze the most possible value out of every dollar I spend...hence, unlimited kilometers translates in my language to 'drive until you drop, and stop only to pee in a ditch when absolutely necessary" (incidentally, Nova Scotia apparently subscribes to the same pee-in-the-ditch theory as they don't appear to believe that tourists actually desire to stop in at a tourist centre to use the facilities, buy dust-collecting souveniers or simply pick up a map, not that the map would do you any good).

Back to trip-tiks...so the whole trip became the quest for the map. Or, more in point, quest for the points indicated on a map, but not reflected by any bloody signage anywhere. One beach (according to the guidebook, a pristine beach not to be missed) was only found due to my sheer lack of caring what kind of road I drove the rental over, and bumped and humped my way down some god-forsaken back road (turn left, the map says...newsflash, there's no road - good thing I wasn't blindly following a GPS. Two cheers for the cheap rental with no perks) figuring that eventually two things would happen: A) I'd miraculously return to the main road unscathed, or B) I'd end up a dried husk in the backwoods, living off small animals I could run over with the car for food while hoping my super-power beacon ring I was wearing out of the Fruit Loops box that morning actually worked.

This lack of signage was not an anomaly - I kept the faithful CAA map and everywhere I couldn't get to because there were no friggin' signs, I labelled with highlighter and my own unique interpretation of colourful language (I imagine it may vaguely resemble written Klingon).

There was one spot I was determined not to miss. The guidebook screamed its importance with passion: NOT TO MISS, STUNNING LIGHTHOUSE EXAMPLE, SOARING CLIFFS...etc, etc. Besides, it was close to a rock-hounding beach that semi-precious gems were supposed to wash up on shore already polished - who could resist that? Determined, I clung to the wheel, faithful map on the passenger seat staring at me. I think I heard it mutter "it's no use, just find a good pub and settle in", but NO! I would find what the guidebook promised and, gods be praised, according to my calculations, I should be there in good time for perfect light and a sunset.

I jostled my way through town on what was supposed to be a main highway. Personally, rally driving between potholes a cow could lay in comfortably, with suburban residences five feet from the road, I'd be scared to have children. Mind you, if the potholes lined up just right, all the neighbourhood kids could play 'whack a mole' by bobbing up & down out of potholes...just a thought.

So, not one soul in sight to even think about asking for directions. Had I been in Ireland or Scotland, I would have stopped at any old house and banged on the door, but how do you excuse yourself as a tourist when you're from the same bloody country? I think that would look fishy (pun fully intended). So I kept on driving this road, even when it when from flat to a forty percent incline, I stolidly continued. Look! The end of the road! I can see a mini-sized car park and what looks like a sadly abandoned ice cream wagon. Foreboding indeed - who could abandon ice-cream? Did the owner retire? Die from exposure? Go blind from the stunning view?

I parked the car, carefully locking the doors (I hadn't seen another person, or vehicle, for over an hour in either direction, who was going to steal the rental anyway?) and carefully made my way to the edge of the cliff. The camera was ready to capture perfection. Look to your left to see what I saw. I was stunned, then outraged. What complete imbecile had been inspired to record this lighthouse as 'stunning'? It was a garage with a playhouse on top of it painted red. Even this I could tell from looking down fifty feet. I think he was stunned to even think that word had any right to belong to this location. Even the cliffs were non-stunning, not to mention collapsing into the ocean, so 'walk the path at your own risk'. This bloody place was so isolated, if I went over I'd be back in the second coming before anyone even knew where to start looking for me.

It started to rain. I left. Good thing it's an island, because with no road signs, all I could do was veer left, knowing that eventually I'd come full circle.