Part 2: Cycling Glacier, Banff, Jasper - Day 5.

Layover day - but no slacking off. There is an array of hiking choices available to us, centered around a climb to the Plain of Six Glaciers. So, after a reasonable-hour breakfast, we move off up to Lake Louise and the hiking trails that wind their way around the feet of the peaks and into them.

Surprisingly, given the numbers of people at the resorts (the lake was packed yesterday with strollers and amblers) there aren't that many on the trails. Later on our way down, after many hours of hiking, the traffic coming up increases to freeway levels: clearly the dedicated ones get here early.

Groups of tour members form as people fall into their own natural walking pace and destination choices. I hike with Bonnie, her son David, his girlfriend Emily, and Steve, Amy and Jacob. We are heading to the lower teahouse of the Plains and then on to the foot of the Upper Glacier itself. The pic below shows our ultimate destination:



The main feature of the Plain of Six Glaciers is the main Upper Glacier atop a sheer cliff wall, and the rubble strewn Lower Glacier (the grey crevasse-marked surface lower in the pic) running down the valley, starting below the cliff. Our hike (about 10km round trip) took us partway up the side of the mounts surrounding Lake Louise and then onto the lateral moraine of the Lower Glacier itself to near the foot of the cliff. The moraine is visible in a lower pic - it is the rubble, rocks etc pushed to the sides by the Lower Glacier as it traveled down the valley. Nowadays the moraine is much higher than the surface of the Lower Glacier - the glacier has been much larger in times gone by. There are 4 other glaciers in the Plain (obviously!) - these are less accessible and smaller although they all contribute to the grandeur.

The day was crisp and clear and the hiking a little sweat inducing but fairly easy. The initial path wound its way through forest amongst tallish trees but as we progressed, the trees became less plentiful and shorter and mid-height bushes became the more dominant feature. Here and there water trickled across or down the trail from the rocky sidewalls, and moss and other moisture seeking plants clustered near pools and on wet rocks. Very pretty and idyllic. As we ascended we were offered glimpses of the moraine trail, the Lower Glacier and the run-off bed which fed water into Lake Louise.

There was a lot of dung on the trail, and I wondered if creatures of the forest cavorted here at night. As it turned out, it was plain old horse dung: said horses are used to run up supplies to the several teahouses situated at points on the trails.

Arriving at one of these teahouses, we got our first good look at the Upper Glacier and the cliff wall. Pics of the teahouse and the Upper Glacier from the teahouse's perspective are below:




We stopped in on the Teahouse and caught up with some other tour members. Some people sampled the wares whilst I and others just enjoyed the view - apparently the tea was less than spectacular, certainly less spectacular than the view! The teahouse is staffed, from what I could see, by mostly young ppl who spend a week at the place: I assume it has staff rooms, and there are little cabins in proximity for that purpose as well I guess. A barefoot young girl (an off-work staff member I assumed) dressed in fluffy pajamas and wearing quite large purple plastic reindeer antlers sat on a bench near the Teahouse chatting on a mobile phone - for some reason I found this fascinating. The antlers were fastened to one of those hair bands that are U-shaped and go over the top of the head and rest behind the ears - whenever she nodded or shook her head they bobbed around for a second but somehow stayed firmly put. They were slightly iridescent and an occasional flash from the light bouncing off them flickered in my eye. These antlers had me hypnotised!

We had been at the Teahouse for around 15 minutes before we moved off to ascend some more. The Upper Glacier calves (drops smaller sections of itself) fairly regularly we had been told, and some people were hoping to catch a glimpse of such a calving. At one stage we heard the characteristic crack of such an event but by then it was too late: if you hear the sound from that distance then the event has already passed. We saw the dust cloud from the calving, and later near the foot of the Upper Glacier we saw the fresh snow from the calving that had made its way down to cover a small patch of the grey surface of the lower Glacier at the foot of the cliff.

Departing the Teahouse, we hit the trail again: very soon all the trees had disappeared and only low bush remained. At this point, the trail became quite sharply cut into the mountain and the view down the edge toward the Lower Glacier was fantastic. After a few switchbacks, the trail merged with the lateral moraine and we started ascending this itself. Below is a great pic of Bonnie, Steve, Amy and David on the moraine itself which snakes down the pic behind them, and also visible is Lake Louise far in the background. The past size of the Lower Glacier is obvious - the moraine is far above the current floor height of the glacier in the valley.



At this time the vegetation disappeared and we ascended along the moraine into a lunar-like landscape, with huge rocks, rubble and fine pebbles mixed together. Streams of water bubbled down the sloped rock sides and simply vanished into the more coarse portions of rubble to emerge, I presume, at the sides and under the Lower Glacier itself. Here is a pic of the Lower Glacier - its grey rubble strewn surface makes it appear to be simply another rock plain, but amongst the many crevasses criss-crossing its surface, flashes of blue reminded us of the packed ice below:



We were now getting about as close to the Upper Glacier and cliff as we could without descending onto the edges of the moraine and the Lower Glacier itself. It looked possible and I was tempted, but I'd have seemed pretty foolish if I'd got stuck so resisted: probably a good idea! Here's the closer pic of the Upper Glacier:



At this point, out of nowhere in this vegetationless plain, a squirrel materialised! Boldly going where no squirrel had gone before, the little critter ran straight up to me and stood up and inspected the hand I reached down to it. A quick sniff and finding no food, he scurried on to the next prospective supplier, David. David proceeded to take just about the closest close up of a squirrel known to man - here's my pic of him taking his pic:



The industrious critter did the rounds of us all (sorry buddy - no supplies) and then flitted off downhill in search of more bountiful visitors. He'd obviously carved out a successful little scam at this altitude - most Least squirrels I'd seen (the smallest and commonest of the squirrel bunch around this area) were about the size of a large house mouse with the tail being the same or bigger again. The pic clearly shows this guy was the King Kong of Least squirrels - big (but not porky) and buffed up! Too late I remembered I had some trail mix (nuts, m@ms, etc) but my attempts to entice him back were fruitless - he was leaving this tight-arse group behind!

Arriving at the end point of the moraine, we sat viewing the Upper Glacier in all its glory. Off to the right up a slight rise, a waterfall flowed over a small cliff and I decided to quickly climb the 50-odd meters for a higher vantage point of the Upper Glacier, and a pic of the waterfall itself. 20 minutes later up a deceptively sharp and slippery trail (lots of small loose rocks), I eventually reached the waterfall, turned around, and found that the cliff it tumbled off blocked any view of the Upper Glacier. Very smart! Anyway, got a pic of the waterfall and the trail I ascended and a short rest before a just-as-tricky descent.




At this stage, after a couple of hours of hiking our group decided we'd head down, estimating that we'd be back at Deer Lodge around 1pm. Other intrepid members of the Tour had bigger plans, and later that night Mark showed me some great shots of where they'd explored, including one of Jabe apparently (I say apparently because he was a speck in the zoomed-in photo) planting a flag at the top of the highest point of the known universe and claiming it as his own! He really WAS a mountain goat after all!

On the way down, we came across a rock slide field in which a parade of what Bonnie later informed me were Inukshuk had been constructed: the Wikipedia entry explaining what these are is below - read it coz it's fascinating:

Wikipedia entry for Inukshuk

Bonnie is a lovely lady, slight but strong, with a gentle but determined personality and with the claim to fame of proudly wearing a 'vote Barack Obama' t-shirt despite being from Texas, George 'Dubblya' Bush country (she wasn't a fan of George bless her!). On the way down the trail she later spoke at length with me about Obama and his politics - I'd vote for him! Bill, Bonnie's husband, also met up with us at this time and raised some points. Bill is a quietly spoken man who considers his words carefully, and from my small chats with him throughout the tour, someone I came to recognise as a highly intelligent and interesting person. I felt an instant like for him, and indeed the whole Stump family of himself, Bonnie, David and Jeffrey - it is clear where both David and Jeffrey get their quiet strength from. In retrospect I consider it a pity that my sometimes clumsy attempts at communicating do lead me to be reticent in initiating conversation in general. The family had real substance as persons, and struck me as being amongst those small group of individuals who are far deeper and stronger than shallow acquaintance can reveal.

Bonnie decided that she, David and I would build our own Inukshuk, and so she set about organising us two layabouts with purpose and authority. We all gathered rocks, and Bonnie selected those suitable and supervised construction. Before long we had raised the finest Inukshuk in the place. Well - we thought it rocked! After triumphant pic taking, we trekked off, strong in the sense of being that erecting such a monument to one's presence and existence on this earth creates. Undoubtedly as we passed out of sight the thing collapsed spectacularly! (Maybe not - when I go back I'll see!).



(Note: Technically, what we constructed was an Inunnguaq, because it was meant to represent a human figure; however due to my poor execution of Bonnie's instructions, it looked more like a Transformer than a person, so an Inukshuk it is!)

After a long trudge back to the Lodge, a bunch of us ate at the outside dining area and then I trotted off to my room for a shower and to phone for a taxi to get me to a bank: I needed some money.

Jacob decided to come along to check out the metropolis of the Lake Louise townsite ( at the foot of the 4km climb to Lake Louise), and he and I sat outside the Lodge near the entrance waiting for the appearance of said taxi. Minutes passed and I grew nervous - if this thing didn't appear soon the bank would be shut (4pm was the deadline). 3:50pm and I'm frantic - the taxi pulls up (it turns out the only one in town), the driver then informs us in perfect surfer drawl that he has to go UP to 'Le Chat' to pick up two more fares. I inform him in my best surfer mocking tone "like dude, I have to be at the bank at, like, 4 man, like, I, like, ordered dude" - the sarcasm flies so far over his head it craters into the moon, and he cheerfully informs me that we'll make it "dude". So, I fume silently as we head up to Le Chat and pull up next to two young Japanese ladies. Jacob is in the back of the unit, and cab-dude tells him "scoot over little dude so I can, like, pick up these two hot babes", and then proceeds to greet and crack onto these two ladies: I recognise enough Japanese to hear greetings , welcome and something about pretty ladies - the ladies laugh shyly beneath their hands! Oh man! just what I need - some horny wanna-be surfer cab-dude laying down the lines!

Crawling down the hill behind tourists fearing they'll fall off the edge of the earth if they go more than 20km/h, cab-dude alternates between cursing them and displaying his talent for recognising accents by declaring me Australian. I acknowledge his perspicacity, and tell him I'm from Perth, Western Australia, and then he does truly astound me by correctly coming out with the slang name for West Australians, Sandgropers! (so named because the majority of WA is sand, and also because said sand is inhabited by a creature so-called - a below-ground burrowing insect). He then really floors me by naming every other state of Australia's slang term! OK, impressive but I'm still gonna be late. 10 dollars fare later (5 bucks per person for myself and Jacob: man what a rort!) we are 'deposited' with a "later dude" outside the 'bank', which in actuality is a little booth inside a more general store. Standing in the cue, the teller in the booth looks past his customer and says, in perfect cab-man surfer voice "Hey man, the bank is, like, closed!" WTF? Jacob and I do a double take at each other, walk outside and burst out laughing. Is everybody in this place, like, a surfer dude?

Well, in fact, yes they are it appears! Either that or Goths! Jacob and I hit the general store, buy some water and food, and then hang out in the extremely small 'mall' and observe that the entire local population do indeed appear to be either dudes or Goths! Two parents and their young daughter sit down and start talking in word and tone perfect surfer-ese, whilst a bunch of Goths likewise do their tragic thing behind us! OK, say maybe the local mall is the hotspot for these social groups, but it was classic nonetheless.

We wander over to the local sport store to check out the bike jerseys: we both end up buying a 'Canada' variant, resplendent in red with the Maple Leaf. Wearing it, I feel like a Canadian National ice hockey team player, but with teeth. Up to the counter to buy it and the young guy serving has a slightly strange Canadian-ish accent. Detecting something, I ask him if he's Australian - yes, he is and, no bullshit, he is from Perth, Western Australia! Also, he talks surfer-ese! Oh man, this place is, like, totally infectious! Aarrgghhh!

Proving this, Jacob and I imitate surfer-ese walking all the way up the 4km hill back to Deer Lodge (no way was I stepping in the same taxi as cab-dude again) pissing ourselves laughing at our "like, excellent accents dude". We also compared this afternoon to the worst bear mauling. Short explanation, whenever something sucks we referred to it as a bear mauling. Bears do three things generally we theorize: forage, sleep and maul, and a mauling, whilst rarer than the other two, is not good! We hypothesize that it's better to be 'foraged' by a bear than 'mauled' by one. A guy trailed us up the hill part of the way, and we felt this was good, as, if a bear leapt out of the woods for a maul party, we would run downhill past him, knock him over and leave him as bear maul material! Later he passed us and we also felt this was a good sign - we would point out to the leaping-out bear that we could run faster downhill than the dude could run uphill, and hence he was again the easier maul target: the logic seemed sound! This is probably not in the least bit funny to anyone else, but we thought it hilarious!

That night, we were on our own for dinner. Sadly I have no idea what I did? I actually think I missed dinner due to a rage induced slumber. Brief explanation - the Lodge is adorned with public phones which only take credit cards. For some reason, no matter how many phones I used to attempt to call home, the friggin' things would not complete the connection. The same type phone that had worked with the same number in another hotel a few nights before would not work now! I got so worked up that I flew off the handle and starting cursing this one phone tucked (luckily) into a private little alcove. This phone became the focus of every little frustration that day: it had made me miss the bank, it had forced me into a taxi with cab-dude, it was the reason I had to walk my fat arse up 4kms to the Lodge from Surfer/Goth town! I went off like a frog in a sock! Talk about a cathartic experience! Telus (the phone company) I curse you until the skies blacken over, the seas dry up and the earth crumbles!

So that was the layover day: phone aside, one of the best days of the tour.

But the bike calls, and tomorrow it was back onto it, traveling along the Icefields Parkway to Saskatchewan Crossing. I was eagerly looking forward to it!

Incidentally, next morning I woke early and tried the phone again - it got thru' first call! You still suck tho' Telus!

Part 2: Cycling Glacier, Banff, Jasper - Day 4.

Wake to the sound of Jacob's mobile phone inbuilt alarm vibrating and beeping itself off the table. Early on in the tour (and today), he was in the habit of setting it to go off early and then immediately snoring back off to sleep! Later, with a combination of considerate mutual discussion and threats of his imminent demise, he started to set it at more reasonable times - like me, he is a reasonable guy! After a quick poke around outside to check out the weather I arrive back at the room. But what is this? Jacob has cycling clothes out: is he sleepwalking, is he dressing up because we are riding in the van? No - he plans to cycle later! Mi dios - es un milagro!

Today is van-it day - we shuttle from the Hotel some 320 odd kms to Banff National Park and our lunchtime stop at Muleshoe Picnic Area. Traveling along nice looking rolling roads is extremely frustrating as the route looks eminently rideable and the weather is perfect. Still, as we progress, it's pretty clear that there is not much along the way in terms of accommodation or feed stops out here at cycling distances, so maybe it's for the best.

We follow the edge of mountains - initially I take photos but the crushing weight of being in the van soon dulls that view. Later we pass thru' more open rolling prairie 'ranch' country, with the mountains receding off to our left. We go thru' a patch of country which is big on wind power: the huge fans on the turbines stand out from miles away and as we approach they assume immense proportions, standing like sentinels surveying the surrounding fields. It occurs to me that their presence signals the omnipresent force that turns them - another reason for not cycling here?

Pit stops and snoozes accumulate as we seem to inch our way toward our destination. Emily, a charming young lady along on the trip with her boyfriend David and his family, takes the opportunity of the van ride to catch up on some reading, but it evolves to a quick snooze on the backseat of the van, more reading, more snoozing etc.

I'm being driven slowly insane by the van rocking and engine hum, so resort to the rather antisocial escape of my iPod. At some stage someone says something to me - being an old rocker I don't hear as I've got my iPod turned up, Ala Spinal Tap, to '11'. Noticing some grins, I surreptitiously turn down the volume to hear someone say "...it's one way to tune out". Am hoping my sometimes prevalent insular nature isn't causing too much anti-Len feeling, but at this point I'm just about to go postal!

Here's a calming pic of one of the many peaks we passed - IN THE FREAKIN' VAN!:



Also a pic of a popular grass skiing resort - this sport really is huge over here, honest!:



(Note: the above is fictitious - it's just a snow ski resort sans snow!)

After an eternity, we arrive at our lunch spot. By this stage my brain is fried and I remember little of lunch, or the spot itself. I do remember pulling on cycling clothing, getting my bike handed down off the roof racks and the joy of being back in the saddle again! And lo and behold - the morning's promise was true: Jacob is cycle-clothed up and ready to go. Good thing too - he should cycle more: he's good because he weighs less than several kilos, has long cycling legs and looks like Alberto Contador the 2007 Tour de France winner.

Off we go, up Bow River Valley along the Bow Parkway (why do they call these roads 'Parkways' - there is no room to park?) towards our destination, Deer Lodge at Lake Louise. I ride up to Julie - her partner Jabe has abandoned her to do the childish 'man-dance' thing with other testosterone fueled brethren up ahead. I snort inwardly at this pathetic attempt to affirm one's manliness (a practice I will never partake in on the tour!) and chivalrously offer to ride with her and provide a bit of a windbreak. (At this point I will say that all the above re: Jabe is literary license: he is a thoughtful, caring and constant riding companion to Julie, who tolerates his presence and only tells him to go away when his innate competitive urge senses there is some lamer like me ahead going up a hill and is dying to be passed).

After some minor adjustments to on-road speeds (such that I am left with the cheering but false impression that I am doing my part to provide a tow, whilst Julie is happy enough with our dawdling progress at my slovenly pace that she isn't immediately driven to point out my utter uselessness) we commence a lovely ride upon rolling roads amongst clean forests. It's a perfect day for a ride.

At one point we come upon roadworks - a new section of road is being constructed. Traffic is restricted to one half of the road and the mobile stop sign is against us! Bleh! The operator of said sign, a rather bored looking lady in a traditional roadie ensemble of boots, plastic pants and vest adorned with eye-gougingly bright flouro colours and complete with last decade's fag-hanging-out-of-mouth look, eyes us suspiciously: how to deal with a bunch of cyclists (another unrelated bunch of riders has snuck up behind us) with a procedure that accounts only for cars? Her solution is brilliant - make us stand on the other side of the road (where the cars soon coming the other way will run us over) and let the cars piled up behind us thru' first!

So, dodging cars both ways, we eventually are 'allowed to pass' and we move on, gloating on the fact that at least at the other end cars will be held up by us! Haha! We arrive at the other end just in time to see two huge dump trucks pelting down the wrong side of the road against the stop sign: again we stop and wait for fear of our lives. I shake my head in wonderment - the lolly pop holder at this other end of the construction (a male identikit of the previous female) looks at me as if to say 'So what?'. *Sigh* - everyone is a potential power-junky!

The bonus of all this is that the next few kms are on baby-bum smooth roads - pedalling is a mere trifle.

Julie and I come up to a layout and statue on the right identified as Castle Mountain Internment Camp - it sparks our interest and we hop off to investigate. During the First World War, the Canadian government interned a large-ish number of peoples from the Austro-Hungarian empire (mostly Ukrainians but also some Canadian citizens of such descent) in this place as a security measure. Like the WWII internment of American citizens of Japanese descent, the futility and inhumanity of the policy is apparent now, hence the memorial. Visitors have covered the statue with coins - not sure of the significance of the gesture but it seemed right. It occurred to me that internment is a political solution to a social problem - today in Australia, the Howard government proudly boasts about how its record of immigrant internment has stemmed the flood of 'illegals' to this country: meanwhile thousands of genuine refugees rot in these places on the off chance that some may be 'non-genuine' or a 'threat'. I'd send the policy makers to this sad spot in Canada where we stand, but I doubt they'd see the real picture.

Below is a picture of the statue: why I'm grinning like a moron is beyond me. My only defense is that I hadn't read the story engraved on the nearby plaque yet:



Continuing on, we spy Jabe rolling the other way: he has as usual come back for his girl! Together we all tootle on across the rolling terrain until, descending a short hill, I feel the rear of my bike starting to pogo - bleh, another flat, rear wheel this time. Strangely enough, it's a semi-flat - neither flat nor full and in stasis! So, I tell Julie and Jabe to go on and I'll wait for the van and its foot pump (my pump is crap and wouldn't put anything more in this tire).

2 minutes later I'm jack of that game and decide that I'll ride the remaining few kms to Deer Lodge on my front wheel! Well almost - standing out of the saddle, I lean forward and put most of my weight over the front and off I go. This works pretty well and I gain confidence and speed. Going up a hill, I hear a shout behind me: "yeh, go Len". It is Alisa (they let her out of the van-cage she continuously drives) and she mistakenly thinks (I assume) that I'm pounding up the hill out of the saddle for the sheer pleasure of it! Reaching the top, I inform her that necessity rather than glory has seen me standing, at which her opinion of me plummets another fathom or so. Recalling her evil decision of the previous day to send me up a near-vertical hill on a ride to some crappy lake, plus the fact that she now thinks me lower than a snake's belly, I quickly glance around to see if we have any company and do a quick mental calculation around the mechanics of disposing of a body in the surrounding forest. But no - she is far too cute: mind you, it was a close call!

Alisa, safe in her ignorance, and I continue toward our destination and a short while further along, we rejoin Jabe and Julie who are waiting. For what? - who knows! Still, I enquire about the use of Jabe's pump, and it ends well with me conning Jabe into pumping my tire up himself. That's what comes of beating ppl up hills Mr!

Approaching Deer Lodge, he again beats me up the 4km rather nasty little hill that leads us to our final destination for the next two days. Julie (she can motor) and Jacob(! - yes he can ride) follow soon after and we settle down outside the lodge in the eating area to have a few beers (which reminds me - I still owe Jabe and Julie for my drinks!)

With ppl from the group sporadically appearing at the Lodge, Jabe, Julie and I cycle the (maybe) 800 meters up to the lake itself and have a wander. The lake, whilst lovely, has a very manicured look to it, no doubt to appeal to the many international tourists who visit it and stay in the charmingly named Lake Louise Chateaux, a sensitively designed little abode right next to the lake. Its dimensions are well in keeping with the surrounding environs: it's as tall and huge as the mountains that surround the lake! (evidence below):



I mean, it stands out like the proverbial dog's balls and is shit-ugly to boot. Sorry, but way to rape the place for fiscal gain! Fittingly, it also rapes its guests - $7 for a can of Red Bull? Pffttt - keep the frickin' drink!

Here's the manicured lake, complete with boathouse which will shortly feature in the recounting of the Polar Bear Club Lake Louise Escapade:



Trailing back down to Deer Lodge, our shockingly misnamed (I didn't see one!) but much nicer accommodation, we wander into the rear carpark and catch up with the vans and others. At this time, I get to replacing my rear tube - it's still pretty full, but I'm taking no chances. Whilst doing so, I notice more evidence as to why Deer Lodge is poorly named - it's crawling with squirrels! So crawling in fact that one of the cute little suckers finds an open peanut butter jar left on the fender of our trailer. Here's the little critter, bold as brass, actually diving headfirst into the jar!



Brandon finally managed to scare it off, but only after he escalated the stand off with the threat of deploying thermo-nuclear weapons.

Off to our rooms, and mine and Jacob's is great. Deer Lodge itself is an excellent place, with a nice somewhat twisty layout, various rooms for meetings, little nooks for privacy, plus an interesting lounge area complete with an enormous bison head mounted over a gas log fire! The restaurant is also very nice, and that's where we retired for the lovely evening meal.

It was at this meal that the suggestion of Polar Bearing in Lake Louise raised its head, courtesy of guide Doug, the head honcho of all things Polar Bear. Up until this time I had, apart from the daytime dip at Lake McDonald, not Polared: only really because it hadn't occurred to me again. Well now it did. A few drinks helped to sweeten the idea.

Let me briefly describe Lake Louise: it is a high altitude mountain lake - fed by Glaciers - Glaciers are vast piles of ice (frozen water) constructed in nature's freezer - these particular Glaciers reside in an area called the Plain of Six Glaciers - there are therefore 6 glaciers and they are very real and very large - this Plain resides in an area about a long stone's throw from Lake Louise - this Plain drains the barely thawed ice water coming off the glaciers into Lake Louise. You get the point.

So, Doug and I (myself unsure quite how or why) set off from the warmth, harmony and lights of Deer Lodge into the dark of night and up to Lake Louise. We are accompanied by 'observers' Mark, Stuart and Alisa. Why we need three observers is beyond me - I suspect it is humans turning into meat icebergs they come to witness. I am dressed in my shorts style bathers, warm jacket, hiking boots with no socks and carry a Lodge towel - haha, I want to dry off after! Doug has more clothes, the bastard!

We arrive at the Lake and make our way around the boardwalk to the boatshed in the previous pic. We had decided to go from here as the Lake edge is neatly manicured with rocks, and Doug and I figured wading into this turquoise coloured slushy was not on - no body attached to a sane or insane mind would advance any further into water which froze the toe that first slid into it! The shed had a dock from which we could dive.

Reaching the boatshed, we find our way locked by a gate. At this time, my brain was clearly not functioning correctly as I immediately started to see if I could open this gate! Being unable to, Doug and I again debated the wisdom of wading in - not a chance! With encouragement and various solutions offered by the others, I decided to climb over the gate and did so, as did Doug. In the interim, I think the others found a way to get around the back of the shed and onto the dock - either way we all ended up on the dock itself.

The next portion of the tale I relate in complete fact - Doug will disagree but I was there and I know!

The dock was nice and low over the water so a clean entry looked good. I had already planned to dive shallow as I wasn't sure what was out there; well, apart from icebergs. The scene was somewhat surrealistic as the dock had this weird light which very slowly pulsed in and out of operation - in a cycle of about 2 minutes it went from dimly lit to off and back again. Perhaps they were trying to emulate the atmosphere which possibly existed around the time the Titanic struck the iceberg? Our false bravado was still with us - we disrobed to bathers, he wearing budgie smugglers (google it if you are blank) and I my more modest short style bathers, and struck various he-man poses whilst Stuart shot the evidence. Stuart also recorded Doug doing some weird nipple-massaging/twisting (I did not ask!)

At this point, Doug seemed to become obsessed about diving in when the light was on: because we hadn't yet fully comprehended the cycle of this light, it seemed at one stage all the lights had gone out on both the boatshed and Doug's courage. But sure enough, said light slowly pulsed back to dimness and we were ready. Or well, at least I was - I proposed "on the count of three". For some reason Doug, head honcho of the Polar Bear Club, King of Crispy Cold, Icon of the Icebergs, Founder of Freezing Inc., standing on this slightly chilly dock, near naked, within quivering distance of frigid water, wanted to count down - FROM TWENTY!

ARE YOU SHITTING ME???

Man, I was outta there - counting to three I ran and dived, followed closely (to his credit) by Doug. There is an old Bill Cosby skit about a guy going for a similar dive in a similar lake: a phrase from it springs to mind. "And my eyes did not close, for they too wanted to know what had hit them".

It was cold, cold-of-death, freezer-in-morgue cold. And yet as we (immediately) swam back to the side of the dock, I felt alright, so alright that I pulled myself up on the dock, backed back, and plunged in again. Doug followed. This time the skin on my forearms immediately disappeared, or at least the lack of feeling from that area indicated as much. With several teeth dropping from my skull I realised that maybe enough was enough!

After toweling off and dressing in what little I had (the bathers remained frozen on my lower torso) the air felt surprisingly warm and we all sauntered off to visit the 'Chateaux', Stuart taking delight in continually pointing out the pic of Doug's weird nipple thing (I still didn't ask). Surprisingly, we gained access (me looking like I imagined some strange large Japanese guy who'd just taken part in a bizarre Japanese TV torture show would) and tottered around checking out 'Le Chat' and its shops and well-heeled denizens.

So that was it - still alive, I and the others made our way back to Deer Lodge, Doug and I surely having accomplished the most 'Polarish' of swims know to the tour.

Tomorrow, Day 5, and I wake up looking a day younger than I am thanks to a frozen body; a layover day sees us hiking to the Plain of Six Glaciers for a closer look; we check out a Teahouse hidden in the woods; Bonnie, David and I achieve immortality thanks to an Inukshuk; Jacob and I discover Lake Louise township is the mecca for Surfer and Goth culture, and walk/crawl up a 4km hill imitating surfer-ese and laughing insanely at the prospect of a bear mauling; and I get to within a molecule of blowing up and beating an unco-operative phone to death!