Rocky Mountain High

At the end of June, my sister, an oft-featured persona in this venue, demanded that we go hiking before she left for Montreal. When I say 'demanded' I am not exaggerating. I wish I was. The girl, if I have not made this clear, is a force to be reckoned with. And so our feet that had not touched mountain soil in far too long left Calgary and headed west for the super-popular Johnston Canyon hike. And hike we did.


Optimistic and unaware of the scads of tourists ahead.


Samantha commented at one point, "Have the trees always been this close together?


Perhaps my most favorite picture of myself ever.

The first leg of the hike up to the falls was gorgeous and lovely-chilly thanks to the water, but was overrun with elderly Europeans taking pictures of chipmunks. Do they not have chipmunks in Madrid or Le Havre or Dusseldorf? I mean, really. The Euros were amusing, though. Taking a break from the hike to perch on a rock and smoke. Only the Europeans.

Past the falls the trail turned much less structured and became what we'd come for: a hike. A bit tough at times but relatively easy, we hiked up the mountain then down into a valley that is home to 5 mountain spring pools called The Inkpots. I suppose the more romantic names were taken. No one else was in the valley. It was just about noon, it was sunny and breezy and practically perfect in every way. Truly, I could have stayed forever. Hunger and responsibility be damned.


An inkpot. Looks a bit like a fairy pool, whatever that is.


Down in the valley.