A few years ago we visited Teddy Roosevelt National Park, a final stop on a 5-National Park tour that included Badlands, Tetons, Yellowstone, and Glacier. The views at the final three parks had been so sweeping—so moving and life-changing—that when we got to Teddy Roosevelt park and did the scenic drive, at every lookout the rest of the family gave sarcastic, “Wows” and “OOO, look at this sad muddy river,” while I tried to pretend the trip was not over yet. Noticing my distress, WallyBen piped up, “Come on, guys! Let Mom have her last hurrah!” 

We finished the scenic drive, complete with a distanced bison herd sighting—again, an underwhelming experience after having a big boy walk within petting distance next to our car in Yellowstone—so close that WallyBen was certain his life was over. We stopped at a Visitor Center to see the final viewpoint of the trip before our remaining two days of driving home. While approaching the overlook, we passed a woman who looked around 90 sitting on a bench in front of the Visitor Center, holding a park map. A woman—her daughter—was talking to her, “Can I help you walk over to the view, mom?” 

“Oh no, I’m just fine right here.”

Her daughter shrugged and headed the less than 50 yards to the view of the badlands of the park. The old woman opened the map and leaned in to get a closer look at the pictures of the views printed along the edges. It took everything in me not to pick her little frail body up into a cradle hold and run her over to give her her very own last hurrah. 

We started doing these national park trips post-Covid. A year inside, pondering all the years we didn’t really do much of anything outside of the Midwest because of little ones and hassle was all it took for me to want to break free and see the world while we can. Lockdowns, restrictions, and a sense that the world would never be the same gave us the travel bug. We’ve got to see the world while there is a world to see. 

We saw Utah parks in an RV. We got up close and personal with moose and bears on the above mentioned trip. We achieved our “real hikers” badge in the Rockies. And now with WallyBen entering high school, every trip feels like some kind of last hoorah or another—a countdown to our oldest’s adulthood has begun. Five more summers to see the world—what should we see next? 


Glacier was by far our most treasured place. And a search on any listicles available on the World Wide Web of epic hikes, epic views, epic drives to do before you die will land you not far from there—4 hours north to the Canadian Rockies. We headed there in June. Our itinerary: Waterton, Jasper, Banff, Lake Louise, and Canmore, with a few bonus days in Glacier on either end. Every day: as much hiking as possible in the early season, PBJs for lunch, delicious dinners at the nearest available breweries, and maybe even more hiking (which I called “walking”—a trick to get the kids to hike again after they were all hiked out for the day—a trick they quickly picked up on). 

But you see, I was desperate. Desperate for animal sightings, for taking advantage of non-rainy moments, for as many expansive views as possible. Glacier gave us our share of rain (as it tends to do in June), but it also gave us some of our favorite moments. A reclusive log cabin in the woods, a moose crossing the road as we drove into Two Medicine, a grizzly bear grazing out our car window, a solo view of a sacred waterfall. On a hike—a fox snacking on a squirrel or marmot of some kind while all its friends shrieked nearby. Is there anything more nature-y than the crunch of a tiny skull? 

Our first few days in Glacier we acclimated to the mountains, to being on vacation, away from it all, to remembering to look up and soak it in. By the time we got to Canada, we thought we were ready. But nothing could have prepared us for what awaited for our week roaming the mountains between Banff and Jasper. The ski-resort cool of doing everything right in Banff, the charm of the old train town community of Jasper, the glory of every stop on the Icefields Parkway, and the serenity of Morraine Lake and Lake Louise. 

We hiked through forests, around lakes, along canyons, through fields of snow. (This was especially fun, given the two week heat wave we were missing back home. Given that we all used microspikes, and the pair Husband Wally wore belonged to my father, who passed away just over a year ago. My dad was there with us in a way, as we looked at the first glaciers ever to take my breath away.)

The beauty of it all was enough to warm my soul for a long time coming. It is hard to pick a favorite hike, a favorite view. If I close my eyes now, I picture the family skipping rocks across Morraine Lake. Bouldering to get near Consolation Lake while marmots dart through the rocks all around. Sitting in a lofted restaurant at a brewery in Banff while watching shoppers dart around to avoid rain. Laughing on a boat on a glacial lake while a storm rolls in and makes it impossible to go anywhere. 


But if I had to choose one favorite moment it would be this. We woke up early to beat the crowds for a popular hike at Lake Louise that goes around the lake and winds up into the trees toward a remote tea house nestled in the jagged peaks around the lake. We tossed on our layers and I again thought of the heat wave back home—friends and family sweating the day away while here I was, wearing two pants. The pre-sunrise alarm came with moods, so the family fought throughout the 20-minute walk from our adorable cabin to Lake Louise. (I mention this because the low maybe makes the recovery that much sweeter.)

We reached Lake Louise, the striking emerald body of water the indigenous people called “the lake of the little fishes.” We had seen the lake the day prior, when our bus to Morraine Lake dropped us here for a 45-minute stop that I will dub the “Instagram” tour of the lake. Get your pic from the end nearest the parking lot, edit out the hundreds of other people clamoring for a front row view, and you have your money shot. Today, we were going to head into the top right edge of that shot and see what was inside.

We all grumbled at each other on the first mile or so—a steady climb to this tea house, which serves pastries and hot drinks to hikers lucky enough to get a spot. As we worked our way up, we stopped on occasion to shed layers, and with them some of the tension from our earlier clash of feelings. We reached the second lake on the journey, Mirror Lake, and enjoyed a snack while taking in this little pool, hidden from the Lake Louise level below. Here I became extra grateful for our bodies, for our health, for our ability to explore and see what lies beyond the spot at the end of Lake Louise. For these years before our bones are too tired to get up from that bench and head on up to the viewpoint to grasp onto this hoorah.

We then continued on and worked our way up even further to the next lake—the icy Lake Agnes, which hosts the tea house. Here our hearts were warmed by delicious maple tea and a woman named Niamh from Ireland who invited us to sit at her table when she realized there wasn’t room for us there otherwise.

We cheers with our teas as she told us about her life in Ireland, her trip here to visit a friend, her mini solo getaway staying in hostels to see some of the beauty of the area. We were primed by her kindness to love the day, to love the rest of the hike, and with that warm glow we ascended the Little Beehive, which led to an overview of the three lakes we had already seen on the hike. We sat for a long while, just taking it in. Feeling small, yet connected. In awe of all the world has to offer. 

It brings tears to my eyes to recall this moment of peace, thinking about our journey to this point. It took everything in us to pull ourselves away. There was a lot more hiking before we would be finished. There was still so much more to see. So many last hoorahs. 

——

End note: 

And now, we have been home for a month and I am heartbroken, trying to put it into words. A month after our visit, one of the places we treasure, Jasper, has been devastated by wildfire. The below pictures are all in areas we visited or hiked in that are in the zone of the fire. You see the picture of the deli—as I took it, the deli owner walked in and struck up a conversation with me about our family, and I learned about his experience falling in love with Jasper with his wife and moving there to open this beloved sandwich shop. You see the canyon hike. You see the trees upon trees at the overlook. All now possibly damaged, gone. 

While browsing online and tearing up at every photo showing the devastation, I found this picture, with a caption, some hotels are gone. These photos are taken within on month of each other.

And, even more of a violation, here is a “red chair” spot that overlooks Jasper. These beloved chairs can be found at various hikes in the Canadian Rockies. Here you can see a wildfire tossed and turned the chairs, and the charred land and wildfire behind.


If we are heartbroken after only 3 days, I cannot imagine the trauma of the people of Jasper. While on a hike that overlooked the town of Jasper, we overheard a mom talking to a toddler. The town is quiet. The mountains echo. The toddler needed babbling. We listened as we rested. The mom said things like, “Aren’t we so lucky your daddy’s work brought us here? Aren’t we so lucky to live where we get to see the mountains every day?” And “We’ll keep doing this hike. We’ll keep doing it until next summer, when your legs are strong enough to climb to the top of that mountain.” She pointed to Whistler’s Mountain, where a gondola takes visitors to the top and you can hike to the peak. I hope the gondola is still standing. I hope they get to do that one day. 

I hope we get to do that one day also. And you. Now is the time to plan your last hurrah. Because time is slipping away. And the world is slipping away. And there is so much beauty still to see. 

Action plan, if you are looking to do something: 

  • Read Fire Weather about the 2016 wildfire in Fort McMurray. Amazing journalism that breaks down why wildfires are more prevalent than ever before. 
  • Vote for candidates who will support action to combat climate change.
  • Donate to the Jasper Fire Caring Community Fund
  • Visit these beautiful places (gently and mindfully) while you can. Take care of it when you are there. Fall in love with it so you know the stakes when you return home.