Our swan song for Canada was the world-renowned Icefields Parkway, our last big scenic tour in the country. I had traveled this highway many, many years ago, when it was called the Canadian Rocky Mountain Parkway. I recalled it as 140 miles of breath-taking views at every turn in the road. My memory was correct.

Camped at Pocahontas campground northeast of Jasper, not even on the Parkway yet, a hike up the trail revealed some of what we were to encounter.

As we drove further into the Park, even the scenery behind us was eye-catching.

The Dall sheep are accustomed to the scenery, but they love the salt left from winter snow/ice treatments. They’ll come down (oblivious to traffic) and lick it out of the cracks in the road.

Just before the final descent to the Parkway, an overlook reveals Jasper nestled at the base of the mountains.

South of Jasper, the Parkway unfolds its treasures. We spent almost as much time stopping and rubber-necking as we did driving.

The cliffs rose up from the road edge in many places, and falls and seeps were everywhere.

 A sad thing about this very beautiful locale is how crowded and touristy it has become. We are made to think of a Canadian Disneyland. And in every magical natural setting, there seems always to be found some tacky tourism bauble. In this case, it’s a skywalk. It appears that we’ve learned nothing (or maybe something tawdry and commercial) from the similar Grand Canyon ugliness, and tourists do pay for the privilege of standing on a glass plate above a sharply sloped wall of rock. But really, isn’t it possible to enjoy the majesty without resorting to carnival tactics? We drove on by.

But the saddest thing about the Icefields Parkway is my abject failure in capturing its grandeur in photos. I’m going to blame the camera, because in fact there is no lens that can match the human eye in breadth and scope. There, I’m off the hook, it’s Nikon’s fault.

The phrase “towering snow-capped peaks” has been well-worn in travel literature. But that’s exactly what totally surrounds the Parkway on all sides. What’s more, those peaks aren’t gleaming in the distance – they start at the edge of the road, and go seemingly straight up. The Canadian Rockies are newer than their U.S. sisters, and they look it – sharp, razor-edged crags that appear little weathered since they were formed.

The incredible forces of plate tectonics, Pacific smashing catastrophically into North American, are everywhere to be seen. Monstrous slabs of stone are tilted at crazy angles, pointing skyward in mute tribute to the forces of geology.

Some worthy side-trips presented themselves. The Maligne Canyon is an intricate, beautifully carved slot canyon with water flowing energetically below to show how the canyon was formed. It’s almost as if the river had decided to stay in “demo” mode.

Athabasca Falls are similar flows, churning glacial waters pounding the rock lower and lower each millennium. The access trail crosses many bridges back and forth across the falls chutes, with great views of the thrashing of the stonework.

An older abandoned chute was made into a beautiful access stairway.

Which leads to the lagoon at the bottom of the Falls.

All this splendor goes on and on and on, mile after mile of wonder. But by late afternoon, the weather had started to close in. We needed a camp, but many of the small campgrounds had already been closed (mid-September), so we elected to make a side-trip out of the Park. We drove out the David Thompson highway (11) and found a nice Provincial campground. But just as we were about to settle in, the hosts told us of a no-fee spot right down on the Lake. So we went a few more miles up the road to check it out, and what a great tip — it was a splendid wide-open spot right on the shoreline. Although there were lots of fire-rings, almost everyone had gone home for the weekend, and we had the whole place to share with only a few other campers. Our nearest neighbor was 300 yards away.

It rained all night, but we were (as usual) totally cozy in Howie. The next morning, clouds shrouded most of the wonders around us. But as we drove out of the Parks, there were still some amazing sights that September morning. For example —

Nah, just kidding around a little.

The weather had totally changed the appearance of the landscape. We felt like we’d moved to a different planet.

At Lake Louise, the cold dreary day did not keep everyone off the water.

Perhaps they were just trying to escape the crowds ashore? This September day was considered “light” crowding, well into the shoulder season and far after the summer throngs. Pretty spot, but like Yosemite and some other wonders, this place is being loved to death.

We moved on. The weather wasn’t scenic, and we had pretty much seen enough tourists for a while. We headed down just south of Radium Hot Springs to a Provincial campground to spend our last night in Canada. On the way, we stopped off to see the odd formation called Natural Bridge (how novel), on highway 93. This is a view of the true essence of the region’s relationship between water and rock, in miniature to a degree. The rock was so hard, and the water so persistent, that a labyrinthine tunnel was created. There is a solid rock path across the river, switch-backing over the twisting flow.

Farther down the highway, man’s artless mimicry of Nature carves a roadway through stone. Functional, but no grace.

At the U.S. border, I managed to screw up my lane and stopping point big time. I ended up in the wrong lane, past the kiosk, and with nobody ready to check passports, cargo, etc. A mean-looking guy glared over at me from the next lane and shouted “STOP!”. I apologized and said I’d misread the signage. He looked at me disbelievingly and said “You misread a Stop sign???”. 

The squinting, Machiavellian border guard informed me with a scowl that he’d call the Highway Patrol and have me busted for running a stop sign AND a stop light. I was flabbergasted, mortified, and irritated all at once. Karin was – – – simply amused. She had been watching another guard inside the building, and he was cracking up. So she asked the ‘bad’ guy “You’re kidding us, right?” and he then grinned a rascally Yes. He spotted Karin’s accent and they exchanged a few words in German. He looked at me and told me sternly that SHE would never have fallen for the ribbing. I relaxed, and stopped counting my insurance cost increases. Welcome home.