Grasslands

Deborah Clague September 3, 2022

It was getting late. I placed the book I was reading on the nightstand and looked over at my partner who was fast asleep after a long day. I wasn’t ready for slumber just yet though … the night was calling.

And I was staying in a place famous for it.

Grasslands National Park in southwest Saskatchewan is the darkest dark sky preserve in Canada. After hours, as the gradient sunset fades to black, the sky becomes a glittering tapestry of stars and visible planets, the scale of which merits nothing short of awe. It is perhaps the best place in the country to humble one’s self and get a sense of the grand scope of our shared universe.

As part of a late summer road trip, we made our way to the village of Val Marie (population 126)—the gateway to Grasslands—and stayed overnight in a converted church named The Sanctuary Inn. As soon as I stepped inside, I was taken aback by how quiet everything was. There was no ambient noise from vehicular traffic. No TV for distraction. Just the sound of our own conversation and birds chirping outside. After a summer shaped by loss and hardship, it was the peace we needed.

Our first full day at Grasslands, we did the self-paced ecotour scenic drive and back country loop. At 140 kilometres long, I didn’t expect it to take as long as it did but in total our prairie safari lasted over seven hours. The adventure was exclusively on gravel roads (some more maintained than others). Beyond epic prairie landscapes, we also observed coyote, vast colonies of prairie dog, and several herds of bison roaming free … and even spotted a lone bison, whom the visitor centre staff informed me was “kicked out of the herd” during this rutting season for not being strong enough. I was assured, however, that his time-out would be over in a few weeks when he could return.

On the back country roads were a few isolated homes and ranches and I wondered what the occupant’s lives must be like with no immediate neighbours and any type of services literally hours away. A life in isolation can occasionally be appealing to me, especially after this pandemic, but the reality of it would be far different than my idealization. We do need others. Even if reluctantly.

I tiptoed to the entrance in an attempt to not wake him. After turning off the inside and outside light, I opened the door and was met with complete, enveloping darkness. It was the blackest night I have ever experienced. It was another world.

Borderlands Lookout, Grasslands National Park (©2022, Deborah Clague).

The Sanctuary Inn, Val Marie, Saskatchewan (©2022, Deborah Clague).

Val Marie, Saskatchewan (©2022, Deborah Clague)

Grasslands National Park, Saskatchewan (©2022, Deborah Clague).

The dark brown spot, just left of center, is a lone bison (©2022, Deborah Clague).

Like the surface of the moon, the prairie dog village at Grasslands National Park resembles a lunar landscape (©2022, Deborah Clague).

Remnants of a homestead, Grasslands National Park (©2022, Deborah Clague).

A herd of wild bison, Grasslands National Park (©2022, Deborah Clague).

Roadblock ahead, Grasslands National Park (©2022, Deborah Clague).

Back Country Loop, Grasslands National Park (©2022, Deborah Clague).

Rosefield Grid Road, Grasslands National Park (©2022, Deborah Clague).

Abandoned church off Highway 4, Saskatchewan (©2022, Deborah Clague).

A Fabled Tea House in the Sky

Deborah Clague July 14, 2022

I was 13.

It was July and my family was on our annual summer vacation that year in Banff National Park, Alberta. We strolled the shore of world-renowned Lake Louise; no matter how many times I’d seen it—and at that age, I’d already seen it a lot, as the Rockies were my father’s favourite travel destination—I always marvelled at how pristine the snow-capped peaks and aqua-green water were. In colour and scale, it was such a contrast from my home on the prairies. After some admiration, my father wanted to take my childhood dog, a loyal border collie named Pepper, for a longer walk while my mother and I window-shopped the boutiques in the hotel. We verbally agreed to meet in an hour or so.

The “or so” turned out to be half a day later. My father and Pepper went on a very long walk to a mountain-top tea house.

I always remembered his stories of this hike. His wonder at the vistas and of hearing an avalanche rumble in the distance. Also, the exertion required by him (and my dog) to complete the loop. I was never much into hiking in my youth but as an adult, immersion in the forest is a favoured pastime. So this year, a special year, I was determined to retrace his steps and also climb to that fabled tea house in the sky.

The aqua water of Lake Louise, Alberta, Canada (©2022, Deborah Clague).

We took a right (©2022, Deborah Clague).

Mirror Lake, Alberta (©2022, Deborah Clague).

The Beehive, near Lake Louise, Alberta (©2022, Deborah Clague).

In the pines, Lake Agnes hike near Lake Louise, Alberta (©2022, Deborah Clague).

Lake Agnes Tea House (©2022, Deborah Clague).

The crystal clear water at Lake Agnes, Alberta (©2022, Deborah Clague).

Bridal Veil Falls, Alberta (©2022, Deborah Clague).

The Badlands

Deborah Clague July 10, 2022

I must have been around three.

Or perhaps four.

At any rate, it was an age when memories start to stick and experiences shape the person you will eventually become. I was in my maternal grandparent’s basement. My mom was deep in conversation au Francais with my grandmother and I tried to distract myself by exploring the space as I waited for them to finish. There wasn’t much; an older, multi-unit dwelling, its basement was unfinished for the most part save a washer/dryer and a cracked concrete floor that I remember being cold on my feet. The lack of decor in the basement was actually in stark contrast to the rest of their technicolour home where I distinctly remember a forest green living room, Peptol-Bismol pink bathroom, and baby blue bedroom. Everything was completely colour-coordinated to precision with matching carpet, furniture and accessories.

But there was one thing I found in the basement that caught my attention: a miniature toy dinosaur.

I was riveted. At the time, no one had told me what a dinosaur was. I don’t even think I’d ever seen a picture of one. I took the small toy with me, constructing adventures in my head on the bus ride home about what it was and where it came from. I probably didn’t stop talking about it as my parent’s eventually got me more toys and some books about cretaceous creatures—I even remember my first one purchased at Woolco, which I’ve kept all these years. I’ve been fascinated ever since.

As he always did, my father cultivated my interests by introducing me to one of the best places to learn about dinosaurs in the world: Drumheller, Alberta, home of the badlands and world-renowned Royal Tyrrell Museum of Paleontology, which I visited this week … taking me back to those childhood days full of wonder and curiosity.

Royal Tyrrell Museum of Paleontology, Drumheller, Alberta (©2022, Deborah Clague).

Black Beauty, one of the most perfect skeletons of a tyrannosaurus-rex ever discovered, on display at Royal Tyrrell Museum of Paleontology, Drumheller, Alberta (©2022, Deborah Clague).

Black Beauty, Royal Tyrrell Museum of Paleontology, Drumheller, Alberta (©2022, Deborah Clague).

The evolution of the chasmosaurines, Royal Tyrrell Museum of Paleontology, Drumheller, Alberta (©2022, Deborah Clague).

Diorama of a wooly mammoth being attacked by sabre-toothed tigers, Royal Tyrrell Museum of Paleontology, Drumheller, Alberta (©2022, Deborah Clague).

Badlands near Drumheller, Alberta (©2022, Deborah Clague)

Andrew Farms grain tower, a relic on the prairies (©2022, Deborah Clague)

Out of Hibernation

Deborah Clague May 20, 2022

Black bear at Prince Albert National Park. — Black bear at Prince Albert National Park (©2022, Deborah Clague).

A fork in the road presented itself today. Take the main highway that I was used to or the longer unknown route. It was frigid, rainy—even, at times, snowing—and the roads were pretty deserted. Few were venturing to lake country as the weather was too cold at this latitude north. But I needed a break. I needed to get out of the hibernation in my home and so I was determined, come hell or other unfavourable conditions, to make my way to Prince Albert National Park to relax, breathe in the fresh air and do some forest bathing.

I decided to take the unknown route and was met with two black bears in the span of five minutes. I put my hazard lights on and observed the first one for awhile, wild and free. Hungry after a long winter. And perhaps a bit curious.

As the bear approached my car, I slowly drove away and they followed me for a bit.

Always take the scenic route.

Bear no. 2, Prince Albert National Park (©Deborah Clague, 2022).

Waskesiu Lake, Prince Albert National Park (©Deborah Clague, 2022).

Wood carving, Prince Albert National Park (©Deborah Clague, 2022).

Visitor outside my cabin. About a dozen elk hung out for a bit (©Deborah Clague, 2022).

Herd of elk passing through, Prince Albert National Park (©Deborah Clague, 2022).

Gabbers

Deborah Clague October 2, 2021

I’ve long since decided that I want to travel to the Arctic. The pandemic definitely threw a wrench into those plans but has also given me more time to plan (and dream). Churchill, a town 1,000km north of my hometown, is where I have my sights set. Known as the “gateway to the Arctic”, Churchill is internationally renowned for its wildlife including polar bears that wander through the town as part of their seasonal migration to Hudson Bay and beyond.

Last winter I binged Arctic Vets, a CBC program detailing rescue and conservation efforts at Assiniboine Park Conservancy. The Conservancy provides homes to rescued and rehabilitated animals that will not survive if released, while also granting the public an opportunity to learn about and be inspired to preserve the majestic creatures we share the planet with. While visiting recently, I had the opportunity to interact with harbour seals—and even became an honorary trainer of one!

Gabbers is a harbour seal born with a developmental disability that was rescued in British Columbia in 2015. Along with six other harbour seals that share the compound, he now acts as an ambassador for his species helping visitors understand firsthand the impacts of climate change on their natural environment.

The Journey to Churchill exhibit at Assiniboine Park Conservancy mimics actual sights in the northern Manitoba town, including signage warning of polar bears in the area (©Deborah Clague, 2021).

Learning how to train a seal at Assiniboine Park Conservancy (2021).

Lunch time, feeding Gabbers some fish. Gabbers was rescued in 2015 by the Marine Mammal Rescue Centre in British Columbia (2021).

Out of the House, Into the Woods

Deborah Clague June 4, 2021

Feeling a bit more protected after our first dose of Pfizer, we spent a long weekend at Prince Albert National Park exploring the trails, forest bathing, bird (and bear!) watching, and relaxing in a beautiful cabin at Elk Ridge Resort. More far-flung travel may still be on-hold but I am really looking forward to exploring the land of living skies, Saskatchewan, over the summer.

Hiking in Prince Albert National Park, Saskatchewan (©Deborah Clague, 2021).

The scenery of Mud Creek trail, Prince Albert National Park, Saskatchewan (©Deborah Clague, 2021).

Bear In Area at Mud Creek trail, Prince Albert National Park (©Deborah Clague, 2021).

Yup, that’s a bear. Mud Creek trail, Prince Albert National Park, Saskatchewan (©Deborah Clague, 2021).

Boating on Waskesiu Lake, Prince Albert National Park, Saskatchewan (©Deborah Clague, 2021).

Waskesiu River trail, Prince Albert National Park, Saskatchewan (©Deborah Clague, 2021).

The peeling bark of a birch tree, Prince Albert National Park (©Deborah Clague, 2021).

Out of the house and into the woods of Prince Albert National Park, Saskatchewan (©Deborah Clague, 2021).

The perfect solitude of Boundary Bog trail, Prince Albert National Park, Saskatchewan (©Deborah Clague, 2021).

Feasting on BBQ after a day’s hike at Elkridge Resort, Prince Albert National Park, Saskatchewan (©Deborah Clague, 2021).

Prince Albert National Park, Saskatchewan (©Deborah Clague, 2021).

On the Grid

Deborah Clague May 7, 2021

Some scenes from a lazy afternoon spent exploring the grid roads of Saskatchewan:

Hundreds, perhaps thousands, of migratory snow geese take flight from a pond located adjacent to a grid road in rural Saskatchewan (©Deborah Clague, 2021).

Snow geese take off in flight after our car disturbed their peace (©Deborah Clague, 2021).

Snow geese in flight (©Deborah Clague, 2021).

Welcome to the Crooked Bush from Friends of the Crooked Bush (©Deborah Clague, 2021).

Like a scene from a fairy tale, the Crooked Trees of Saskatchewan (©Deborah Clague, 2021).

Deborah was here – The Crooked Trees, Saskatchewan (©2021, Deborah Clague).

In the bush – an abandoned house consumed by trees, rural Saskatchewan (©Deborah Clague, 2021).

Hitchin’ a ride (©Deborah Clague, 2021).

Main Street, Hafford, Saskatchewan (©Deborah Clague, 2021).

7 Star Restaurant, Hafford, Saskatchewan (©Deborah Clague, 2021).

Where the buffalo roam (©Deborah Clague, 2021).

Places to Daydream About: Churchill, Canada

Deborah Clague June 28, 2020

Even though Covid-19 has changed the world for the foreseeable future, it has not diminished my love of adventure or desire to learn about—and hopefully visit—every corner of this wonderful planet we inhabit. There’s something about the ritual of travel, even certain stresses of it, that soothes me. For my previous excursions, I would spend upwards of almost a year researching a destination and planning the perfect itinerary. In the meantime though, I’ve been focusing on places to daydream about. Places that have captured my imagination in one way or another that are, thanks to Google Streetview, easy to explore from the comfort of one’s couch.

At the top of my virtual bucket list is a place in my home province that I have sadly not had the opportunity to visit yet - Churchill, Manitoba. Located on Hudson Bay and founded on the traditional territories of the Dene and Cree people, Churchill’s settler history is rooted in the establishment of the fur trade. Tourism now helps fuel economic development as the township has branded itself the “polar bear capital of the world”. The vulnerable species treks through civic limits as part of their annual migration. Regular alerts are issued upon sightings; a holding facility contains wayward bears until they can be safely released back into the wild.

Churchill’s tundra landscape offers welcome (or perhaps warning) to the great arctic beyond:

Landscape near Churchill, Manitoba (©Google).

Hudson Bay, Churchill, Manitoba (@Google)

Polar bear holding facility, Churchill, Manitoba (©Google)

Miss Piggy Plane Wreck, Churchill, Manitoba (©Google).

Considering the circumstances, this guy looks remarkably happy, Churchill Airport, Manitoba (©Google).

Polar bears are everywhere in Churchill, Manitoba (©Google)

Voodoo

Deborah Clague November 11, 2019

For the second time, a snake came between my partner and I.

Literally.

Years ago we were on a romantic walk comparing the contrast in our upbringing when I boasted about being a “tough girl from Winnipeg”. With no word of a lie, right after the words fell from my mouth a snake came jutting out of the grass as if on cue and made me squeal like a frightened mouse. It was only a garter snake but my cover of toughness was foiled. My partner laughs about it to this day (it was beautifully set up by an malevolent God). On this occasion, while arguing over whether or not I was wearing appropriate shoes for a hike (I had on sandals as part of the Pacific Coast Trail would cover a beach and I didn’t want sand in my sneakers), my partner expressed that we couldn’t be certain which species of animals were native to the region including, perhaps, poisonous snakes which my feet were fully exposed to.

Again—no word of a lie—cue a snake slithering through the four (or so) feet of space between my partner and I.

What was originally supposed to be a relaxing hike with the ocean and all its majesty at my side ended with me screaming and sprinting back to the car as fast as I could.

For the record, this also ended up being a garter snake.

In Crescent City, CA, I got to see some less scary wildlife including several injured walruses being treated at a marine animal rehabilitation centre, and one curious sea lion swimming around the marina in search of fish. We later hit the 101 and began driving back north up the Oregon Coast to our next destination, Lincoln City.

Highway 101, also known as the Pacific Coast Highway, is one of the most scenic drives on the planet. It is a near constant vista of sand and surf for thousands of miles. I really wish I had a dash cam for this road trip to relive parts of it. What really amazed me was that there was hardly anyone on it. We were traveling during peak tourist season and for great stretches seemed to be the only two people in the universe. Oregon has always been like that though; even while traveling as a kid, I recall the beaches being mostly desolate. The temperature, while inviting for a Canadian, seemed to scare off most locals who appreciated it from a distance. These reasons contribute to the fact that I truly feel Oregon is the most underrated place in the United States. It’s all yours.

In Lincoln City, we stayed at a rented beach house. I tried not to get too comfortable as the lifestyle is beyond my means for anything longer than a few days. But should I ever land that long dreamed of lottery win, a home within earshot of the sound of waves lapping on a shore is at the top of my list. I had a lot of time to contemplate this as the weather was raining for most of our stay. I also thought about my father. This was one of HIS favourite spots as well. It feels like just yesterday we were here climbing the rocks with my childhood dog, Pepper, counting starfish, and marvelling at the giant kelp washed ashore each morning. Oh, how full of wonder the sea was and still is. But these memories are from long ago. Of a time that could never be replicated. So I store them in a heart-shaped box and aim to make new ones.

While finally turning round to head home, a stop at the legendary Voodoo Doughnut was a must. There are several locations within Portland, OR. The one I visited appeared to be an old casual sit-down restaurant that had it’s prime in the eighties (it specifically conjured memories of Bonanza Steakhouse for me, a long-gone staple of middle class Canadian dining). They outfitted the establishment to modern instagram-worthy tastes, including an exterior selfie wall and area for branded merchandise. I was not there for a t-shirt though, I wanted a doughnut (maybe two). The selection at Voodoo is legendary—I think they are the only place to have a doughnut shaped like a penis as part of their daily offerings—and at first I was overwhelmed with what to choose. I eventually settled on my favourites: one maple dip and one “voodoo doll” (which was a raspberry jam stuffed chocolate dip). After brief small talk with my server, I departed and went to my car to enjoy.

I bit that chocolate bastard’s head off in one bite.

It was a fitting conclusion to a “tough Winnipeg girl’s” summer of doughnuts.

Pier at Crescent City, California (©Deborah Clague, 2019).

View from living room of beach house rental, Lincoln City, Oregon (©Deborah Clague, 2019).

View from beach house rental, Lincoln City, Oregon (©Deborah Clague, 2019).

Empty beach, Lincoln City, Oregon (©Deborah Clague, 2019).

Flora and fauna, Lincoln City, Oregon (©Deborah Clague, 2019).

Starfish, Lincoln City, Oregon (©Deborah Clague, 2019).

Sand art, Lincoln City, Oregon (©Deborah Clague, 2019).

Our rental beach house, Lincoln City, Oregon (©Deborah Clague, 2019).

A rainy day excursion to the Tillamook Cheese Factory, Tillamook, Oregon (©Deborah Clague, 2019).

Voodoo Doughnut, Portland, Oregon (©Deborah Clague, 2019).

One of the greatest hiking spots in North America, the Redwood Forest of Northern California.

Krispy Kreme

Deborah Clague October 18, 2019

Driving the route from Montana to Northern California, I was met with heavy nostalgia for my childhood and the numerous summer road trips my family would take down these same highways in conquest of the beauty and adventure awaiting on the Pacific Coast. It was interesting to note which things changed and which stayed the same. For example, there was a roadside rest stop in Washington State where I vividly recall feeding seagulls as a kid—at the time they hovered near my face as I threw them McDonalds french fries—and sure enough their descendants were still there begging for scraps. I felt bad that I may have played a role in their inherited junk food addiction.

One thing that did evolve from the past was the method with which we navigated. My partner brought his Garmin and it made getting to our destination pretty brainless. Even driving through the freeways of Portland was a breeze as it guided me into the exact lanes I needed to be in at all times. It made me respect my father and his own inherent skill in this area. Yes, maps existed (and I’m sure my mother was a great help in deciphering them) but I can’t imagine trekking through a place I didn’t know, with a kid and a dog and a small trailer (not to mention the freakin’ SIZE of vehicles from the past - we drove a wood-panelled station wagon the size of a boat) and not being stressed out at where the next gas station, washroom or hotel with vacancy might be. I feel I’ve forgotten what it’s like to live in an unconnected world.

In Kennewick, Washington, I had the next donut in my summer of donuts. Near our hotel was a Krispy Kreme and I had to make a pilgrimage. I’ve had them before but never, ever a hot, fresh glazed straight out of the oven. When the employee asked me what I wanted, I made mention of this and he was flabbergasted. How was it possible that someone has never tried their original classic? It was, after all, quite famous. I explained how I was from Canada and we didn’t even have Krispy Kreme up there. He took pity and gave me free donuts which were delicious. It was unexpected and the employee’s friendliness was a highlight of my trip.

Within a few days, we made it to the hilly southern region of Oregon where we stayed at another KOA in a town called Grant’s Pass. Our cabin overlooked “Jumpoff Joe Creek”, a watering hole that was at the bottom of a small waterfall. It was July 4 but the campground was surprisingly still and quiet - there was a fireworks ban and most families present celebrated America’s independence with a simple flickering campfire and the soothing soundtrack of nature. We made barbecued cajun chicken with corn-on-the-cob and did same. The next day, we briefly visited a Wal-Mart in Grant’s Pass where we discovered that Oregon is an open carry state; my partner was shocked at a father walking around the grocery aisles with his kids while a gun rested in a holster around his waist. I warned him not to stare … and that we should shop at Target in the future.

The majestic Redwood Forest of Northern California was one of our major destinations during this road trip. It did not disappoint. I didn’t fully appreciate it when I was a kid but this time around, as an adult who has travelled and seen some of the best of the world, I will state that it is one of the most magical places on earth. We spent days hiking through its trails, in the shadow of giants thousands of years old. The silence was something I noted in particular; we were so deep within nature that any noise pollution of modern life was completely non-existent. No whir of the highway. Not even a faint text notification reaching a fellow hiker’s phone. The aural were birds and the pounding of our feet on the dirt trail. I was sad to leave.

KOA, Grant’s Pass, Oregon (©Deborah Clague, 2019).

Waterfall view from cabin at KOA, Grant’s Pass, Oregon (©Deborah Clague, 2019).

Kiss the cook, Grant’s Pass, Oregon (©Deborah Clague, 2019).

Applegate Valley Winery, Grant’s Pass, Oregon (©Deborah Clague, 2019).

In-and-Out Burger, the most overrated place I’ve ever eaten at. Grant’s Pass, Oregon (©Deborah Clague, 2019).

Hiking through the Redwood Forest, California (©Deborah Clague, 2019).

Names carved in a fallen tree, Redwood Forest, California (©Deborah Clague, 2019).

Write your own caption here, Redwood Forest, California (©Deborah Clague, 2019).

The only wildlife I saw - a slug, Redwood Forest, California (©Deborah Clague, 2019).

A very narrow, winding road through the, Redwood Forest, California. Only one car could pass at a time. There were regular pull-outs (©Deborah Clague, 2019).

“That’s a very big tree”, Redwood Forest, California (©Deborah Clague, 2019).

The famous tour-thru tree in Klamath, California (©Deborah Clague, 2019).

My car just fit through (©Deborah Clague, 2019).