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Once my
second daughter needed help and sent tickets for Bill and me to fly to Calgary and
babysit her three boys ages 10, 3, and 1. It was our chance to complete the
four breathtaking parks that together form a UNESCO World Heritage Site. We
visited the more popular two, Banff and Jasper, the better-known parks on the
Alberta side, years before. Kootenay and Yoho National Parks on the British
Columbia side of the Canadian Rockies are only 3 ½ hours away from their home.
They are all
connected to Calgary through a section of the Trans-Canada Highway, one of the
longest national highways in the world at 5,000 miles through ten provinces
from the Atlantic to the Pacific. We visited Kootenay and Yoho on separate
weekends. On the third weekend, we
revisited Banff and Lake Louise, just 1 ½ hours away. We reserved the newly
opened Glacier Skywalk on the Columbia Icefields between Banff and Jasper for the last
weekend.
Having
negotiated this highway many times, I expected each drive to be uneventful. On
the first drive, however, I caught a glimpse of a scene that would haunt me
through all eight drives to and from Calgary. There was this lone red car,
rising on the road, driving straight into an enormous white mountain. Sigh. I could not get to my Nikon fast
enough; the strap was curled around my foot.
I resolved
to be more alert, constantly looking for another chance. Bill welcomed the
change; I was no longer the disinterested passenger. A little while later,
another chance came but it wasn’t as magical. The car was black, and the road
was flat. The following Saturday, we were back on the same road and got another
chance! The mountain was more majestic, but the car was white, disappearing
into the mist.
Frustrated, I wished we
could just stage the scene! My husband reminded me that there were plenty of
other beauties all around. I was thrilled to see an enormous yellow truck
blazoned against the gray mountains. White fluffy clouds cavorted with the
snowy peaks for a mystical effect. A colorfully painted train ruffled against
the Rockies’ skirts. Curvy pedestrian bridges punctuated the highway humdrum.
There was the ubiquitous RV, in all shapes and sizes. Occasionally, a
red-roofed log cabin enlivened the greens. The Canadian Rockies are such a
special place. But I felt empty-handed when I got home.
On the last
weekend, a snowstorm was forecasted. But we still went and stayed at Canmore,
the town before Banff, for the night, hoping the weather would clear. It
didn’t. I hated the cold, but it was our last weekend. The way to the Glacier
Skywalk through the Icefields yielded zero results. When we reached the highest
elevation, more than 6,000 feet, endless rows of frosty evergreens gave me a
wonderful Christmas…in June! Was that going to be my saving grace?
But on our
final drive home, the gods granted my wish. Although the car was not red and
low-lying clouds covered the mountain, the road had a slight rise that
recreated the magic I saw the first time. On the rest of the road back home, we
tried to outdo each other with the titles I could use when I entered the photo
in Viewpoint’s Photo Show: Into the Mist, Into the Clouds, Into the Unknown. I
was sure my photo would get a lot of nods because it evokes all sorts of
feelings: why we drive beyond the mountains, beyond the ordinary, beyond the
obvious.
It doesn’t matter how many times I go back to the same place. It doesn’t matter if I drive the same old road. Something else will catch my fancy. I am free to listen to whatever my heart whispers. Even if it’s just chasing a photograph.
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