My First Backpackby Bob C
It was July 1976, I was living in Lethbridge, Alberta, in the shadow of the Rockies, when my friend Richard asked if I was interested in going backpacking with our friend, Steve. Richard and I had only car camped but Steve had lots of backpacking experience from his scouting days and was offering to show us how. In my younger days, my family often went to Waterton and I remembered seeing backpackers returning from trips and being fascinated by the thought of spending a night out 'there' - I was keen.
We started at the National Department Store in Lethbridge (an army surplus-type store) to buy some equipment. We decided to start with cheap stuff -- $20 Gorilla boots and $20 orange external frame packs. I brought a flannel-lined sleeping bag from home. Steve rolled it up, wrapped it in a 2-inch thick foam mattress and then tied the huge roll in heavy, unruly plastic to the bottom of my pack - state of the art 1976.
The concept of bulk food had yet to burst on the Lethbridge scene so, to make trail mix, we bought packages of nuts, raisins, coconut, etc., mixed them all together in a big bowl and divided it up. I don't remember what else we took for food but, thanks to Steve, I don't have any stories about heavy cans or cast iron frying pans that I've heard from other first backpacks.
Steve chose a place called Southfork Lakes. At the trailhead he made us take off our watches. 'There's a whole different time out there,' he said. (I know, it even sounded flaky back then.) To begin the hike, we had to ford the wide, cold, swift and hip-high Westcastle River. We did it in bare feet, one at a time, with a rope tied around our waists and one of us holding the other end on shore. I don't know whether Steve had ever thought about packing sandals or if he just enjoyed being rugged, but I've never done a ford that difficult since. The next thrill was bushwhacking up a 30 degree slope (that's my recollection, and I'm sticking to it), because we had lost the faint trail as it climbed steeply up and around the shoulder of the mountain. Our destination Upper Southfork Lake, lies in a hanging valley on the top of a ridge. When we got there, one of southern Alberta's typical hurricane-force westerlies was roaring through so fiercely that we could barely stand up. We retreated to the shelter of the high peaks at the lower lake, and set up our blue pup tent. We had dinner and then noticed some excellent snow for boot skiing and amused ourselves until the sun disappeared behind the ridge. We turned in and talked until dark. Because we were in a deep valley, night didn't descend on us for what seemed like three more hours, meaning that we must have gone to bed at about 7:00. Right, Steve, a whole different time . . .
In the morning we discovered that one of Steve's shoulder straps had made a tasty dinner for some small creature (lots of salty sweat) but he quickly improvised some repairs. The trail was more distinct going down and we were able to avoid another off-trail adventure. The river crossing also went without incident and safely on the other shore, we celebrated our first backpack. The next year we took an outdoor ed backpacking course and went on another trip with Steve. It was the year after that, when Richard and I planned our own trip in the Yoho Valley, that we realized 'Hey, we can do this!' and we never looked back. The next 15 summers found me haunting the trails of the Rockies, with the occasional jaunt to canyon country in the southwest US and the West Coast Trail, followed by 12 more summers here on the west coast. Having excellent travelling companions like the Club Tread regulars has made backpacking a thoroughly enjoyable experience (although I have yet to embrace rain).
As I approach the 30th anniversary of my first backpack, I find it hard to imagine spending a summer any other way.