A stop at several Farmacias resulted in Amy and Jared acquiring ear plugs, thus everyone had a good night of sleep in Mexico last night. We've come to discover a correlation between Sayulita and Whistler, both have transient populations, no need for a vehicle, and ample outdoor recreation. After many walks through the village up north, we've never come across this.
The day's main activity was the beach. Amy is still nursing her wounds from yesterday, so the boys were left to provide the day's entertainment. Since there's no photographic evidence of Wilson surfing, this lady arguing about the price of gummy bears will have to suffice,
We saw this guy on both days, he wheels a cart full of candy around the beach, it seems like the candy should melt under the midday sun, but somehow, he keeps a wheel barrow full of candy looking good. How many vendors do you see in the next picture?
We counted three. They come by every few minutes, peddling their wares. Amy buckled under the pressure, twice. Once for a nice silver thingy, and a second time for a snack from the Empanada lady, Jared also got suckered in for a snack.
Back to Canada, many vendors were hawking bracelets with common surnames or of your favorite team. When's the last time you saw a Stampeders bracelet? We saw plenty. But only one store sold this poncho.
Wilson tried to buy one for John and JP, but Amy and Jared couldn't bear the sight of seeing him wear it around town until we left. They even had a Winnipeg Jets poncho.
After some afternoon tacos and cervesas, Amy had the grand idea of going for a beach walk during sunset. The destination is the headland above Amy's head.
The three of us ventured into the great unknown, up the beach. The crowd got noticeably younger, kids surfing the waning rays of sunshine. While most seniors were sequestered behind the facade at the RV park, this cute couple didn't get the memo.
Fancy chairs and red wine, what were they thinking? Oh wait, they just might have the answer key. And we must not forget the body surfing dog.
We made it to the point just after sunset. The Old Man suggested we return by the route that brought us, Amy proposed hiking a dark jungle trail, a steep climb up a cobblestone driveway, and a long walk back to town via the ever dangerous Mexican Highway 200. The road itself isn't that bad, but walking along side that road at dusk is not exactly how your insurance provider hopes you spend your spare time. Back to the other plan, retracing our now darker jungle trail to the beach just in time for the colors to fade.
And of course, no night is complete without one last round of taco shopping.
There is nothing quite like eating dinner in a plastic chair on a dirt road and only thinking about how good the food is.
Day 0 of this trip started with an early wake up in Seattle, and a 4+ hour flight to Puerto Vallarta. After clearing immigration and the red light system at customs (we got green, so we're 2 of 2 this year in smuggling stuff across international borders), the big challenge awaited . . . could we find the guy that Amy thought she might have arranged to pick us up at the airport? The taxi company never verified anything, so we didn't know what to expect. As it turns out, Fidel was waiting with a big sign for Curtis and an ice chest with beer in the back of his suburban.
Sayulita is about 30ish miles north of the PV airport, we stopped at the super mercado, both Curtis and Amy secretly hoped for chaos in the store, so Jared would get a proper feel for being in a new country. Success on one front, it was certainly a new experience . . .this super mercado was something you might expect to see in West Berlin, bright lights, fancy music, and a selection that would rival any grocery store in the States. Chaos was no where to be found.
Fidel safely delivered us to our door step and the owners greeted us with smiles and got us settled into our new digs.
We had the penthouse area, all open air, with two beds, a kitchen and nice area to hang out in and observe the jungle canopy. Thankfully, the owners pointed one of these guys out to us, otherwise, it would have been quite a shock to look out at the jungle and see one of these staring back at you from 15 feet away.
We made it to Don Pedro's on the beach in time for the second quarter of the big game, a packed house with cold beers and ample HD screens, oh, and the Pacific Ocean about 100 feet away.
We awoke for our first day, or rather, one of us (CW) awoke, the other two of us had been up for some time. Between the birds, dogs, roosters and other critters, it was sleep depriving loud in our little abode amongst the trees.
The main reason to come to Sayulita is the weather and the beach . . . upper 70's on both fronts. After a quick exploratory mission, Wilson deemed these waves suitable for his vast skills.
There he is, the ultimate Land Shark. Jared looked on in amusement, and could barely contain his laughter when Wilson started to explain the ins and outs of surfing. What's the old saying . . . "Those that can't, teach."
A funny thing happened on this Monday in Mexico, the Old Man actually surfed. He never strayed far from the "little kids" waves, but he did manage to stand up and ride those waves. Meanwhile, Jared had his first ocean experience. After testing the power of the waves, he deemed himself ready for a boogie board.
The only serious injury of the day happened in town when Amy slipped and fell while negotiating one of the several construction sites. Apparently, Sayulita has been named one of ten "Magic Cities" in Mexico, and with that honor, a town gets all new roads, curbs, and sidewalks. One must be careful when walking. In reality, that's about the only dangerous thing about this part of Mexico.
In the afternoon, we ventured overland to La Playa Muerte, the beach of the dead . . .a scary place, nope, a nice secluded beach adjacent to a cemetery.
Our bungalow is oriented with great views of the jungle and the town, Jared snuck a look out the back side and found this.
With the sun beyond the western horizon, it was now time for our new favorite pastime . . . taco shopping. We've been grazing from taco stand to taco stand. Jared and Amy found this place during halftime of the Super Bowl and promised to return with The Old Man.
The guy in the green shirt is wearing an Expos hat, Wilson loses his bet on whether or not he's the only guy in Mexico with that kind of hat. Lalo took this picture, and what a treat it was to meet him. We garnered excellent local knowledge and he even managed to engage Jared in conversation of getting a job.
After our first round of tacos, it was out and about for a wild and crazy night on the town.
And of course, the obligatory, "It's legal for me to order and drink a beer here" photo. If any grandparents are reading this, that is a root beer.
And on the 7th day . . . we drove home. From the Emerald Lake Lodge, we followed the Kicking Horse River down the canyon to Golden, BC. We had been down this way once before, in 2006 with Tyler and Jared. The calendar may have said July, but that water was every bit of 33 degrees.
Jared and Tyler have no memory of those terrified looks you see in picture #2. The Kicking Horse is a mere stream during the winter time, as opposed to the roaring glacial fed torrent we rafted in 2006.
When riding the bus to the put in for our rafting trip, the guide bragged about the road improvements that were forthcoming in advance of the 2010 Winter Olympics. Perhaps, but we can assure you, this is one road you will not enjoy in snowy conditions. After passing through Golden, we maintained our westerly course on the TransCanada, driving up and through Glacier National Park (the Canadian one). We had driven this road before in the fog, and we pleasantly surprised with the towering peaks and avalanche chutes that just missed the highway.
Revelstoke offered a stop for coffee, but lowering snow levels led us to keep going instead of staying for another day to enjoy North America's greatest lift served vertical at the Revelstoke Mountain Resort. Wilson claimed it was weather, but Amy suspects his legs were spent.
About an hour east of Kamloops, the darkening skies finally released their holdings, light snow, became, medium snow, became heavy snow, became a real hassle. We debated staying at Sun Peaks, but the nice reservation lady said the snow was the first they'd had in two weeks. Hmmm, we're only 5ish hours from home, and there is NFL tomorrow. Let's keep going. This was the scene 10 miles up the road.
We were the second vehicle car to come across this catastrophe. The Old Man got out to help. Some poor family lost their trailer. Honestly, we couldn't tell if it was recycling or just junk they wanted to keep. There was crap every where. The best part was all the Canadian Tire dollars blowing all over the freeway. At first, it looked like real money. Wilson reports that he picked up dozens of glass bottles, hundreds of cd's and a myriad of other junk. In the "good things come to those that help" department, he also discovered that the trip of pavement was not pavement at all. We had been doing 50mph down another ice rink. We really hate the Coquihalla Highway. We have never traversed this stretch of concrete without miserable conditions at one end or the other.
We got a wild hair and decided to test the meddle of the border guards at Sumas instead of our normal Aldergrove crossing, and we were rewarded by successfully smuggling into the U.S. all the the stuff we illegally smuggled into Canada in the first place.
After 5 nights in Banff, we decided it was time to hit the back country. Kind of like going from Lake Powell to the Canyonlands. Trading in noise and cars for solitude and foot traffic. The Emerald Lake Lodge is less than hour from Lake Louise, up and over the Continental Divide and back into British Columbia. Technically, we were now in Yoho National Park. We tried to find a sticker for Yoho, but failed to stop at the only town/store in the park.
Emerald Lake is about 10ish miles off the TransCanada highway on a nicely plowed road. The final approach was something out of Alice In Wonderland.
The bridge may have led across the river to the south shore, but the FJ stayed behind in the overnight lot a mile back down the road. Several nice Aussie kids loaded up our massive amounts of luggage and quickly installed us in a cabin beyond the trees to the left of the building in the above photo.
The Emerald Lake Lodge is really several lodges and cabins placed throughout the shoreline of the lake, devoid of cars, and surprisingly people. The main lodge certainly had guests for the evening meal, but this place made Lake Louise seem chaotic.
The star attraction in the winter time is nordic skiing and hiking/snowshoeing. Trails extend from the bridge out towards the lofty peaks in the background of this photo.
We ventured out shortly after arriving, and immediately felt "tough" when we heard a another couple jabber about us, "Don't those people know it's going to get dark." Yea lady, it will eventually get dark, but the clock on my phone says it won't happen for a while yet. Besides, we had head lamps in the Camelback. After skiing across the lake, we skied up the alluvial flow towards the base of mountain to a nice rest stop with a view. Okay, maybe the bench costs us a few points in the "toughness department".
We're glad to report that we made it back before dark, but not before Amy took a short cut by the bridge and sunk up to her thigh in slush. We just haven't figured out this whole "water floats on top of the ice, even though its 20 degrees, so stay on the tracks and trails" concept.
After the Old Man flamed out in backgammon beside the roaring fire in our cabin, the hot tub called out to us. We enjoyed a nice soak, and Wilson saved the day by laying a towel over the super slick path back into the bathhouse.The highlight was the super hot and very dry real wood sauna inside. There's something about a real sauna that makes you forget about the snow covered trail that must be conquered to get back to the cabin.
The main lodge hosts the dining rooms and bar. Upon check in, the nice girl told us to make reservations if wanted to dine in the main room, or we could just saddle up in the bar and pick from the same menu at a time of our choosing. I know its hard to fathom, the two of us being comfortable in a bar, but we went that way. This place is like a beach vacation, minus the warm temps and water, thus who wants to be told exactly when they can dine?
After a fabulous dinner of chicken and bison pastrami, we retired to the expansive lounge upstairs in the main lodge. Snooker, anyone? If so, can you teach us to play, or at least rack up the balls properly on the red super sized pool table. Perhaps, it was the wine at the cabin, or maybe the wine at the hot tub, or maybe it was the beer with dinner . . . not exactly sure, but we do know that neither of us could comprehend the rules of Snooker, even though they had a handy guide. Our insistence on playing Snooker scared off the other couple, thus we had the entire upstairs to ourselves. It was fun to look at the old time photographs on the wall showing glimpses of the glamour days, when people accomplished something just to get to this remote place, and then revelled in it.
We read about the Emerald Lake Lodge on Sunset Magazines "Top 10 Coziest Lodges" list, and after visiting we agree with the rating. The scenery is stunning, the facilities were both nostalgic and comfortable, the food and service were exceptional. You can picture families coming back here year after year. Like a Norman Rockwell painting, or the old school resort in Dirty Dancing.
For Amy, it rates very high on the 'Oh fer Cute' scale.
Sorry for the delay in posting, Consuela has been busy cooking for three, and the old man has been doing this thing called a job lately.
Back to Lake Louise, when we last left you, we were making our way from downtown Banff to our humble little lodge at the far end of town. The walk varied each day/night based on the weather. Last night, it was a crunch fest of slush, and that can only mean one thing come morning . . . an ice rink every where. We had parked the FJ out in front on Banff Ave, a mere 50 steps from the front door, and it was treacherous. The tough guys who skied the Great Divide Trail along side dog sleds the day before suddenly felt like "The sorority girls from Bellevue/Chicago trying to negotiate the slippery slopes of Pullman/Madison" on this morning.
We pulled into the local Safeway, navigated the parking lot and managed to purchase the smallest bowl of oatmeal in Western Civilization. Seriously.We ordered two of the brown sugar variety in the grocery store Starbucks and were each rewarded with 3 whole spoonfuls. Wilson was worried about eating his breakfast on the big highway, ha, he was done before he made his first turn out of the parking lot. Good thing we also garnered some tasty maple bars as an impulse purchase.
With cold temps settling in the Bow River Valley, the Old Man was fired up to head back to Lake Louise where it had snowed heavily the previous day. Instead of grousing about his oatmeal or bragging about the powder he was about to ski, he should have focused on the TransCanada Highway. He managed to lose control on a straight, flat stretch. His excuse . . . "It wasn't me, I wasn't riding the brake, foot wasn't on the gas, and I didn't give it any steering input." Yeah right, the FJ just magically got sideways and tried to veer off the highway and freeway speeds. The rest of the trip was driven at a pedestrian 35 mph, without further incident.
The Banff area boasts three close by ski areas; Mt. Norquay (near town), Sunshine Village (worst named resort ever, about 20ish minutes away), and the big one, Ski Louise (across the valley from the actual lake). An oddity among North American resorts, Ski Louise has zero slope side accommodations or any thing else for that matter. Just a few buildings for the lodge, rentals, and offices. Thus, everyone has to park, no ski in/ski out here.
We bypassed the 27 dollar valet lot and parked sans any fees about 200 flat yards from the lodge. Do Calgarians really pay 27 bucks to save a few metres of trekking? Or maybe that lot was for the Vancouver folks.
The Old Man continued to flaunt illegality by using Terry's Ski Louise card for a substantial discount at the ticket window. He affixed his GoPro and made a bee line for the Gondola at the crack of noon. It snowed 8ish inches the night before. Whistler would be tracked out by 900am on such a day. Not the case at Lake Louise, one can poke around and find untracked pitches all day long.
Wilson may ski well, but he certainly doesn't shoot good video from his fancy little helmet cam. Here's the "Essential", "Best Of", "Very Best of", "The Very Best Of", "Greatest Hits", "Ultimate Collection", and "Special Bonus Tracks" of Wilson's day on his skis.
After 15 runs, he could barely find 30 seconds of video stable enough to not make one sea sick. His photog skills need to be fine tuned a lot. In his defense, he did rig up his camera at the end of ski poles, bound together by some extravagant tie straps he purchased at Idaho's Most Interesting Store. Too bad he didn't bring a wind/sun powered battery charger too, the GoPro died seconds after his contraption was operational.
Meanwhile, Amy explored all the base area buildings, five minutes later, she located the comfy chairs in the bar and settled in with her Book Club assignment and enjoyed some tasty snacks. By 4pm, Wilson exhausted his legs and accepted defeat. His verdict . . .
The journey back to Banff was uneventful for us, but not so much for the many cars that had spun off the road. Wilson kept it at 35 and griped that he wouldn't have enough beer to get back to Banff. He's allowed two after ski beers. We bailed again on the Hot Springs, not sure why, but we did. Surprisingly, the walk to town was manageable. Not surprisingly, the Shell Station was the the only hazardous stretch.
Perhaps it was nostalgia for Whistler, or maybe we were just a bit tired, for whatever reason we settled on the St. James Gate Irish Pub on Wolf Street. The atmosphere was good, the food was fine, if a bit quirky. Nothing to learn from the Shep's Pie here. Amy's is far superior. Nonetheless, a good time was had despite the Mister's lack of energy. Any nostalgia was quickly dismissed when we exited the bar and discovered this was no Dublin Gate attached to the lobby of the Pan Pacific in Whistler. We had a one mile jaunt to our room, and we needed coats, hats, and gloves.
Amy tried to get the Old Man some skates in Spokane, but the only hockey skates they had in his size were $800. Since he hasn't skated in the dozen years she has known him, buying was out of the question. So we asked locals where to purchase ice skates, and the universal answer (even from the rental place) is Canadian Tire in Canmore. Huh? What is this Canadian secret? Hiding behind a tire facade, is a store akin to Farm and Fleet, a wide variety of auto and outdoor accessories, but not quite Tri State. There were 2 giant aisles of skates, sticks, pads, and pucks; but it had been picked clean after the holiday. The mister is shut out again. However, now that we are in on the secret, we can revisit the wonder of Canadian Tire another day.
Canmore is about 15 miles down the valley from Banff towards Calgary. This little side trip gave us a good lesson in Canadian weather . . . it was 40 degrees in Banff, 50 degrees in Canmore, and 60 degrees in Calgary. We were in the throes of a Chinook Wind. We headed back up the valley in search of freezing temps for skating and skiing and were rewarded with snowfall just as we arrived in Lake Louise.
Today's adventure is nordic skiing on the Great Divide Trail, which follows an old rail road grade from Lake Louise up to and over the Continental Divide. We ventured out from the trail head and set our sights on catching the group that left a few minutes before us. After a few miles, we gained sight of them, yes! we cracked them. Oh wait, why are they skiing backwards? Alas, it was the same group returning to the trail head. We had been channeling Lance (minus the HGH) and thought we had finally caught them. Oh well . . . we found some nice trees to block the falling snow and settled in for lunch.
After another quality meal of Italian meats and aged cheddar (really, we like this stuff), we hit the trail for the return trip to the FJ. The journey back was flat with slight grades, after a while we developed a rhythm and enjoyed the hush of falling snow in symphony with our own breathing. Thankfully, we knew these guys might be on the trail, otherwise, it would have scared the hell out of us. They were perfectly silent.
Several dog sled teams passed us by. We actually saw one of the teams crash into the snowbank. Apparently, there is some skill necessary for success (not to guide the dogs, but to steer the sled properly).
After returning to FJ, we headed back to Lake Louise for more ice skating. With heavy snow falling, only one of us was foolish enough to put on his skates. Meanwhile, the other one of us managed the fire pit for tourists who acted they had never seen something so rustic as an outdoor fire.
Once again, Bobby Orr was rescued from having to prove his worth by claiming he was forced to follow the rules.
We explored the village of Lake Louise before heading back to Banff, and decided the term village was being used loosely. The village consists of a couple of gas stations, a mini mall, and some spread out condo buildings within walking distance. If choosing to stay here, we recommend opening the wallet to stay at the Chateau up at the lake or at the Post Hotel in the valley. Don't come to Lake Louise and think you'll spend the many hours of darkness going bar hopping. But do bring your ice skates, the ice rink in the village has lights and encourages hockey. Also worth noting is the snowed in camp ground with plowed spots for those brave enough to bring their trailer this far north.
The return to Banff brought a steady rainfall, and thus, the Hot Springs would wait another night. After a bottle of illegally imported Washington wine at the Rundlestone Lodge, either the rain stopped or we didn't notice it, so we headed out again for the one mile trek to downtown Banff. Dinner found us in the Bear Street Tavern on street level below the Bison Restaraunt. After a tasty dinner, Wilson needed the Canucks, and Amy sought a hoppy ale, so, we headed for the Banff Ave Brewing Company at the south end of the main drag on the second floor. Success, Canucks on every screen and a delicious hoppy brew for the senorita.
We met several locals in the brewery and discussed the complete lack of accurate weather forecasts. The universal response was, ignore the Weather Office, look out your window. We left as one of the locals was griping that it wouldn't be cold enough to freeze the ice for the big hockey game the following weekend in Banff.
On the way back to the lodge, we both noted the crunchiness under our feet. Since when does slush crunch?
Amy awoke with the familiar Cougar feeling in her gut on Tuesday in Banff. Nope, not a distasturous hangover. . . it was that familiar "how did we screw up that game" feeling. Okay. Thats's the last Rose Bowl reference, we (sort of ) promise. Thankfully, the only Ducks we've seen up here are those on the menu.
First item on the agenda, get some skates for Wilson. Backtrax is a local ski shop on Bear Street in Banff, and it's the quintisential "away from home" ski shop. They answer our mindless and continuous questions, quickly outfit CW with skates and charge us a whopping 14 bucks for two days. I'm guessing skates run you about 14 bucks an hour at the Chateau Lake Louise.
Banff is certainly in the mountains, but it feels like a big place . . . you've got dozens of choices for hotels, lodging, fine dining, cold beers and just about anything you might need. In reality, it feels much bigger than Whistler (the town, not the ski area).
Lake Louise is much smaller and hardly passes for a "village". It's about 30 miles north along the TransCanada Highway, a nice 4 lane road with few inclines or declines. The Bow River valley starts to narrow this far north, with the Lake Louise Ski Area on the east side and the famous lake and namesake Chateau on the west side, about five miles apart.
Many of us outsdoorsy Americans like to scoff at such development within the confines of a pristine national park. Maybe we're right, maybe we are wrong. One thing we do know, the Canadians make it work with Lake Louise. The Chateau certainly dominates the scene, but also enhances the experience.
Heated bathrooms in the parking lot for "non-guests", a short 200 yard walk to the lake, cross country trails right from the shoreline, and of course a section of the lake reserved for ice skating, along with a Zamboni to smooth the surface for "family skaters" and a scaled down hockey rink. This guy thinks he can play hockey, but Amy doubts it. Have you ever seen a more stiff person on skates?
Meanwhile, Amy was all smiles and ready to hit the ice.
Wilson eventually found his legs and managed to actually skate around a bit, after about an hour he decided to pick up our latest gadget, the GoPro, and shot some video of Amy gliding about the ice.
The Mister had some fun there, but he'll get his later when he attempts to go sledding without a sled.
It didn't take either of us long to finally understand why hockey players have such short stints of ice time. Its tiring, we would skate a lap or two before taking a rest. After skating, we retired to the FJ in the parking lot for snacks. We hadn't quite worked up the courage to crash the Chateau just yet, plus we didn't want to peel off all the winter clothes. We had more outdoor activities. Next up . . . cross country skiing. Our goal,the end of the lake.
Skiing on the Lake has its advantages, no hills and it's disadvantages, even though you know its frozen, there are puddles of standing water all over the place, thus one thinks they could crash through at any given moment. The lake is less than 2 miles in length, and eventually we ran into a stream that was crossing on top of the ice. No thanks. That was the end of the road for skiing, but not for hiking. In the summer of 2006, we hiked the Lake Agnes trail to a picturesque tea house with Jared and Tyler. We didn't make it that far on this day, but were rewarded with a view of an uniquie ice fall.
Later, Wilson saw an 8 year kid slide down a makeshift sled track from the ice fall towards the lake, the kid tumbled left, then right, and nearly ended up in the standing water by the stream. Why would Wilson think this would be fun?
Hmmm, he claimed he was really flying down that hill like the Hermantor. Ha, I was there, it was more like an elephant walking in deep mud, with a constant flow of snow going up his pant legs as he dugs his heels into the snow.
We finished the day with snacks inside the Chateau Lake Louise, a maze of it's own with grand staircases and hallways leading every which way. We found a deli and were quite astonished at the fabulous selection and reasonable prices. One of us failed to note the changing temps, 20's outside, 70's inside, and the 90's when seated next to a forced air heater. While the heater caused quite an undressing, it was very convenient for drying off soggy gloves and hats.
We set off for Banff just before it got dark and hurriedly made our way up to the Banff Hot Springs for a soak to celebrate our day on skates and skis. The hot springs are above the Banff Springs Hotel on Sulphur Mountain, about a 5 minute drive from downtown and a 10 minute drive from our hotel, which just so happened to be further than we wanted to drive (again) after discovering in the parking lot that one of us (the same "us" as before) failed to bring his/her handy bag of swim gear that was packed that morning.
Alas, cold beers at our room in the Rundlestone livened the mood and gave us the desire to venture out for dinner. While we both claim to shy away from chain restaurants, we both seem to have an affection for Earl's. We refuse to go anywhere near the one in Bellevue, but we're quite happy to partake in Canadian ski towns.
The highlight of the night was the hockey game, did i say hockey? as in NHL? One might have thought that, but this was Junior Hockey, that's right, teenagers playing for national pride. When we walked into Earl's, there was nary a murmur to be heard, except for the obnoxious Russian trio in the corner. It was midway through the 3rd period, and score was 5-1, Russia over Canada in the Semi-finals. Soon, Russia scored again, and the Russians were even more giddy. Then finally, the home team scored and the masses at Earl's sounded like it was a tie game, they had hope. They only needed 4 more goals in 7 minutes to force overtime. Well, as you can guess, the first 3 came in rapid fashion, and with every passing minutes, the smugness on that Russian trio evaporated into patriotic pride for the rest of the bar. The final minutes were a frenzy of shots hitting the cross bar with everyone in the bar hanging on every movement.
Final tally . . . 3 celebratory vodka shots for the table in the corner. We saw Canucks, Canadians, Jets, Oilers, and Flames games on various TV's this week, and all of that combined did not match the passion we witnessed that night in Earl's.
