I had determined that I wasn’t going to embark on any long hikes the day I drove from Jasper to Lake Louise. I had already put quite a few miles on my little legs, and I was thinking that a rest might not be such a bad idea. I would do a few miles around a local lake in the early morning, visit the Icefields directly after, stop at a few viewpoints, and then arrive at Lake Louise to meet a friend for a walk and dinner.
This was a plan I constructed while sitting in my studio apartment in New York. Because I do…plan. Of course, I leave room for the universe to upend my plans (like a flight that’s delayed and praying to a higher power the kind Alamo people stay working into the wee hours) and spontaneous desires (like a visit to a local brewery). But Acts of God and surprises and delights aside, I have a plan when I travel.
For the most part, this plan serves to create a structure for my days, and to allow me to make the most of my time in a foreign place. I reserve the right to change the plan at any time, because, well, it’s MY plan. And I do. Once I look at maps and times and crowds, I change things around, remapping and reorganizing.
All that understood, I planned my trip to Western Canada like a champ. It was, for me, as close to perfect as these things get. I explored the land, saw a touristy thing or two, ate the local fare, and had plenty of downtime to read and relax. Oh, and disconnect. I blissfully disconnected from most things, save my most precious people and [unfortunately] the odd work “emergency” (emergency being the operative word, because they were NOT emergencies, but someone thought so, and it was easy enough to put their minds at ease).
Anyway, that’s just a little background. Let me take a moment and set a more precise scene: It’s August 31st and I am traveling from Jasper to Lake Louise, which is a couple of hours via the noisy Mazda crossover I’ve rented. I’ve already stopped at Maligne Lake to do the loop. It’s a bit damp and misty, but that takes nothing away from the beauty of the place. If anything, it’s enhanced. There’s this swirling fog everywhere, but the noise of rushing waterfalls cuts straight through the vapor and creates the most peaceful scene you could imagine. It’s not creepy or scary, save the ever-present threat of stumbling into a bear grazing on berries. It’s delicious and soul-nourishing.
I work up a little sweat finding my way back to the car and upon my arrival, I open up a trusty protein bar and set my GPS for the Jasper Information Centre, where I’m meant to depart for the Columbia Icefield Skywalk. I read online that this particular tourist attraction (envision a glass bridge over the cliffs of Sunwapta Valley- glacier fields and waterfalls galore) is pretty busy in the summer, so I book one of the first tours out in the morning, 10 AM. This departure leaves room for me to do my lake prance and also, arrive timely. And I do, arrive timely.
Interestingly, or funnily enough, the fog seems to have scared off the mob. And I get it. It’s like that glass bridge over the Grand Canyon. If you had zero visibility, would it still hold the same allure? Probably not. Except that I’m here (or I was there) and so, I move ahead, in typical Leah-scheduled fashion. I have the entire coach bus to myself which amuses both the driver and me, and allows for the best conversation. As an aside, that’s something I like best about traveling solo- the people. I’m not suggesting you can’t make connections as connected folks, but there’s something particularly compelling about chatting up someone flying solo (I’ve found). Also, I’m apt to push myself out of my introverted comfort zone because, well, there’s no one else to talk to, except myself. Not that I’m a poor conversationalist, but still, new connections are lovely.
Okay, so the bus driver and myself are chatting away and he asks me what I’m doing in Western Canada. I think I make a bad joke, like I turned the wrong way on the highway, but then I tell him that I’m on a solo hiking adventure. He asks the last hike I did and I tell him, Bald Hills. Oh, he says, you are a real hiker. I pause for a moment, because I don’t know what he means, and also, I do know what he means. My gentler self wants to correct this categorization (you know- imposter syndrome and protection of others), but I just sit with my vacation vibe and smile.
Cool, he says, what did you think of Wilcox?
Wilcox? I ask.
Yeah, he says, glancing back at me, The Wilcox Pass.
Oh no. I don’t want to ask but I have to ask. I have to ask because it’s the polite thing to do. And also, I want to know what The Wilcox Pass is, right now. A million thoughts flood my head, like what if it’s something I want to do and can’t? That’s fine. I’m not really a FOMO person. Anyway, you get the gist.
I ask my new friend and he tells me that I have to, HAVE to hike The Wilcox Pass.
I do, have to. And also, I have to hike it today, because it’s the last time I’m passing through this way.
I do the Skywalk and it is MAGNIFICENT. I have it to myself, and just as I step out onto the middle, the fog clears. I swear to you. Brigadoon style, it’s clear as anything and I can see all the things. And I feel emotional in the best way possible.
I take, I dunno, 300 photographs and then, I get a hot cup of coffee and make my way to Wilcox, which is a mere three kilometers down the road. I don’t check the distance of this hike as I pull it up on AllTrails, because I don’t want to psych myself out. Anyway, you-only-live-once runs through the head and I’m giving myself pep talks like it’s going out of style. Really. A lot of you got this, girl, and one step at a time.
My legs are sore and I’m a bit tired. I had my hiking staple, a peanut butter sandwich, for dinner the night before, and I’m praying to the hiking gods that the protein bar I’ve eaten since and the apple I also have at the ready will tide me over for a few hours. And still, I go forth.
The train is quiet. There are two women who start out with me, but seem to fall behind or maybe they turn around. The temperature is mild but the sun is a bit hidden and it feels a little bit gloomy, but in the best way. In a way that’s quiet and mellow and makes the grass and trees greener and the mountains more glorious and the silence comforting.
The Wilcox Viewpoint via Wilcox Pass is close to six miles, I learn, from end to end, with around 1,700 feet in elevation gain. The terrain is a combination of dirt paths and rocky outgrowths. It’s definitely not the hardest hike I did during this trip from a pure physicality standpoint, but mentally, it is, because I had prepared for a rest.
When I reach the top, as promised, I am literally in the clouds. Not fog. Clouds. And I sit for a moment and I take it all in. The staggering beauty. And I feel so grateful that I am choking on my tears. I feel grateful for my able body and the means that provided for my journey. I feel lucky to have friends and family to share this adventure with, many of whom will be excited to hear about all of it. I feel privileged to live on such a goddamn beautiful planet.
You know what I don’t care about? My marital status. My wrinkles. Budding cellulite. Waning or strained friendships. Work stress. None of it. I am in the moment in the most in the best, more glorious way.
What’s my point?
Be brave.
And no, bravery isn’t about taking that hike or talking to that person (though it may be). It’s about doing that thing that YOU can you, but don’t want to do, because you are so fucking scared that you feel it in the deepest buried parts of you. You ache with fear.
Your fear will not go away. It will not vanish. You will have to do the thing in spite of your fear. You will have to be the biggest, most badass version of you.
I can’t promise you what will happen. The fog may not clear for you. You may not make it to the summit. He may not say yes. The promotion may not come.
But, you will find parts of yourself that you need to find. You will access parts of yourself that will grow you in ways that will feed your soul and change your life in the most unimaginable and fantastic ways.
No matter the result, you will be the best version of yourself in those moments. That much I can promise you.
Do the shit that scares you.
Always.
Xo
L.
thepathtoworthy.com 
Loved this story.
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