The Burstall Pass Trail is a hike that I had been looking forward to doing practically all Summer. After doing some digging, asking around to locals and such, I had established in my mind that Burstall Pass was going to be THE trail to shoot alpine wildflowers during the blooming season. I also had established through some research that the ultimate time to do this would be late July/early August. I decided to play it on the safe side (or so I thought) and hike it in early August.
Burstall Pass is on the western edge of Kananaskis Country on the border of Banff National Park. It is about a two-hour drive from home for me and takes you up the picturesque Smith-Dorrien Trail before arriving at its trailhead. The drive alone is enough to wow most people, especially those who are not accustomed to living near the mountains. Thankfully the weather was seemingly clear and definitely warm. I’m one of those people who’d rather be overly hot than need to bring along extra layers (well, you should do that anyway on any long hike, but I mean bringing extra extra layers) and shiver every time I stop moving.
The trail starts on a roughly two-kilometer stretch of a relatively flat bike path. After that, a traverse of a large floodplain between two mountains commences. This is one of the most interesting and unique parts of Burstall Pass Trail. A glacier-fed web of streams, big and small, stretches out over about a kilometer. It is up to you to navigate the labyrinth of hip-high bushes that dot the land and get to the other side, hopefully, the correct part of the other side where the rest of the trail continues. There are sparsely placed signs letting you know if you are going in the right direction. It is a bit of a game to find them though. It is also up to you to decide if you want to find a way around the many streams or simply walk through them. We quickly decided to walk straight through them for simplicity’s sake, sacrificing the dryness of our shoes. Reluctant at first, the frigid water actually ended up feeling quite nice. Sometimes just accepting your situation is more comforting than, well, trying to stay comfortable. Another thing we had to worry about in those bushes was the prospect of turning a corner and running into a bear, which would’ve been conveniently hidden in the hip-high/bear-height foliage. There was a hastily made sign on some old cardboard at the beginning of the trail warning about a grizzly with a cub in the area after all. We made it out this far and weren’t prepared to be deterred. The best option was to continue our loud conversation and hope the bears would be repulsed by our lovely voices.
A steep section of hill met us at the other side, followed by a long stretch of flat alpine meadow. According to some fellow hikers on their way back from the top, the Bear Grass had already died for the season. I’m hesitant to believe that Bear Grass even grew in this location at all, given that it normally grows much farther south and only in certain years. They also told us that most of the other flowers were gone anyway, that we were too late, and in a forgiving tone, that there still were some nice flowers. Well shit, I was hoping to see a dreamlike carpet of color covering that mountain-top. But unfortunately, they were correct and it seems that most of the seasonal flowers had died or were dying. You live and you learn, and next year I will just have to come out a little earlier. I’m new to the area so I’m not going to beat myself up too bad, although I did wait all Summer for this.
Those fellow hikers did end up being very correct, however, and there were still some very nice flowers to shoot, just as long as I wasn’t too picky with my photo compositions. Indian Paint Brushes, Anemones, and Forget-Me-Nots were on the menu. Three of my favorite flowers to be honest.
We reached the pass and had some lunch while peering back into the valley from which we had just come. It was quiet, that faint hum of the mountain air being the only thing we could really hear. But soon enough, thunder from the distance could be heard coming closer and closer. I’ve heard so much thunder in such a short space of time and striking so close! I had to hurry and take my last few shots. A true shower was upon us. We sheltered under an old Douglas Fir, which did an amazing job of keeping us dry. As Harvey Dent once said, “the night is always darkest before the dawn”, and a wave of hail came pelting down before the sun came back out again and the forest calmed down. Everything had a wet sheen to it and the alpine was more beautiful and lush looking than before.
While headed back we were truly hoping to see that grizzly and her cub now. There’s this weird phenomenon, and maybe you experience it too, where the further into a hike I get the less I worry about the danger. The less risk-averse I become, the more I want to see or do something wild and potentially dangerous. Perhaps it’s just me acclimatizing to the environment, and the wilderness is slowly absorbing me into it and its ways. Making me feel more at one with it. Regardless, I was a lot less wiery about seeing those bears by the end, but unfortunately, it never came to be.
A second pass back through the flood plain and before we knew it, we were back at the car with stinking, wet, sore feet that were just aching to be put in dry flip-flops. A couple of cold beers from the cooler and then off towards home, leaving nothing but footsteps and taking nothing but pictures.
