26 July

Just before 7am, driving directly into a crater in a half-full Lake Louise parking lot.

I’ve barely gone anywhere, and already the landscape is trying to swallow me.

At least it wakes me up, is my thought.

By 7am on the dot, the beginnings of an audience, a sell-out crowd, have made it from their cars to the lakeside viewing point … and busy congratulating each other for having made it here before any shuttle bus hordes.

In the glacial cool of the early morning, we’re all busy admiring the improbable scene through smartphone screens.

Everyone is rubbing their eyes, wondering … is this for real; and, more importantly, questioning if they’re fully awake.

The lake and the surrounding mountains remain patient throughout.

Clouds drifting over, sometimes hovering, casting exclusive shadows over the landscape.

For the brave, the trails – to tea houses.

Where I’m tripping over uncoordinated families, disorganised hikers.

Getting to Mirror Lake is an effort this early, everyone spending a good deal of time getting some breath and balance back.

At Mirror Lake, we’re staring into reflections of nature.

Further up, the voice of the beehive, overlooking angles in rock which shouldn’t really exist. And upside down with it.

Everything tilted, everything turned up to 11 … Canada’s loudest scenery.

All around me, a striking mystery of nature – best left unsolved in my eyes.

I don’t need to know the specifics or the origins to appreciate the drama.

Moving up the escalator again, Agnes is waiting – with a lot of hot water and some special moves, in clear view of gloriously gothic scenes.

We’re all drinking tea now. Me, Julie, Dirk, and the five American teenagers, who I share my pot with.

Connections can sometimes be made without words.

They are winging it, all the way to university, occasionally sleeping in a car. I receive mixed reactions when I ask if they’re enjoying the trip.

Julie, meanwhile, has driven up the west coast solo in the past, over the course of several weeks.

The teenagers marvel at our ingenuity and bravery and self-sufficiency, as if travelling alone is a New Thing.

All the way through this, mountains of tea, and now there are folk queuing up for this … and it’s not even 9am.

The staff tell us they live here – no need to hike, no need to queue, no need to commute, or get helicoptered in.

Conventions are left at the Lake Louise trailhead, along with a wi-fi signal. Which suits me.

The first tea house is a go-around, followed by a steep climb, towards the Plain of Six Glaciers, all the time with familiar faces following me, the hangers-on.

The second Alpine tea room is surrounded by painted people, panting people.

More tea and chocolate cake, this time upstairs on a veranda, with the best view, as agreed with my drinking companion from up the road (Calgary).

The $2 lemonade in the gazebo; the shirtless, the mirthless. Too many people.

A good job we’re all toilet-trained, as the helicopter goes back and forth with our excretions, while we queue up in the heat of the midday sun, taking great care not to fall down the well.

This is how we live now.

Up through the shadow of the valley of hikers, Lake Louise is seeing us on our way.

Ridiculous peaks and glaciers surround yesterday, today and tomorrow, in stern-faced valleys of scree and icecap detritus.

I’m just happy to be hanging on to a sandwich, while folk slide down this mess on their arses, semi-uncontrollably, all around me.

It’s a different atmosphere up here.

I abort when the avalanche strikes, branching off into three avenues, a thick erupting cloud of snow predicting it’s arrival, followed seconds later by a heavy dull noise bouncing off the valleys and crags.

I am not the most unsure … some people are more awestruck than me.

At the viewpoint, a photographer.

Down the valley, four horsemen, but no apocalypse.

Further down, the horseshit. Even further down, nuns on the run.

I’ve arrived back at the lake, finally … semi-exhausted. And quite clearly seeing things.

Such as folk paddling about in the clear turquoise waters.

Further along still and around the lake, a wedding party, surrounded by riff-raff and stupid scenery.

It’s all very orderly, except when it’s not.

The road leads back to the hostel and the bar, where I’m grateful for some respite from the incessant crowds.

Which forces me to take an immediate beer and sit in the sun, in a bid to comprehend everything I’ve seen.

Former music journalists Jesse and Lyn from Vancouver Island turn up and join me, and the talk is all about pop and indie and travel and independence and our lives lived up to this point and by now we’re all definitely enjoying a drink and some stimulating company.

I see off an elk burger right in front of them, while trying not to make a mess.

When Jesse and Lyn leave to go for dinner, I order a final beer … if only so that I can enjoy the final moments of sunlight on what has been the most outrageous of days.