Climbing Cascade (And Failing), Banff National Park
Part I: The Best Laid Plans
When I first drove down Banff Avenue and saw that pyramid-looking behemoth towering over me, I only had one thing on my mind:
I need a beer.
It was a long day of travel okay? Get off me.
But the second thing was: I’ve gotta climb that thing.
Driving through Banff National Park was an experience unlike any other. The sheer size and beauty of the mountains around me, the scale of which was just shy of incomprehensible. The Canadian Rockies were in an entirely different league than what I was used to. And out of all of them, Cascade Mountain was calling to me.
I imagine it was because it was the most iconic and prominent feature in the town of Banff. However, whereas most people seemed perfectly content taking pictures of it from down below, I had to get up close and personal.
I got into town on a Monday in August. The peak of tourist season, and the town was packed. I normally like to avoid crowds but I didn’t have much choice if I wanted to attempt this climb as the pass to the summit is typically blocked by snow until late July. Attempting the climb any earlier than this would be taking on a considerable avalanche risk, and I’m not that kind of crazy.
Standing at 9,836 ft, and with an elevation gain of over 5,600 ft over 12 miles, this would be my most ambitious single-day climb yet. But I had a plan.
The idea was to do some warm-up hikes Tuesday and Wednesday, and finally take on the Cascade summit on Thursday. The only problem was the weather report was looking a bit wonky and unpredictable for the week.
Aggressive weather systems pop up and move through the area quickly. The Canadian Park Service warns that a full day of clear weather is necessary to climb Cascade, as the mountain is no stranger to hikers needing rescue or getting killed when a storm suddenly blows through. Any type of bad weather on the last stretch of the climb would make the summit unattainable.
Hiccup #1:
Despite all my pre-planning, the day that looked like it was going to have the best chance for success weather-wise was Tuesday. Fewer than 24 hours away. So much for warm-ups I guess. I wasn’t about to let this opportunity pass by, so I went with it. I loaded my pack and went to bed early to prepare or the endeavor at dawn.
The next day came and it was a beautiful morning in Banff. I downed some coffee and loaded up on carbs provided by my generous Air B&B host and double checked my gear.
Hiccup #2:
Bear spray. Damn it.
You can’t fly with bear spray, so I knew I was going to have to buy it in town, I just assumed I would have a day or two to get it. I quickly began to weigh the pros and cons of the situation. Did I really need it?
I had encountered bears before without a problem, but those were small black bears out east. But this was Alberta. Grizzly country.
I decided I did not want to reenact Leo's performance in “The Revenant”. Not today.
So I walked into town and waited patiently with another coffee in hand until 9am for “The Adventure Hub” to open.
As soon as the doors opened, I bolted in, grabbed the spray, and now being a few hours behind schedule, rushed up to the Cascade foothills.
Part II: Scent of the Pine
The trail began at the parking lot of the empty Norquay Ski Lodge.
Ski lodges are kind of creepy in the summer. The empty buildings and stationary ski lifts, swaying and creaking in the wind. Perfect spot for an 80s horror movie.
Creepy.
But just beyond that, the trail dropped down into a dense forest. The second I entered this lush green tunnel I was slammed in the nostrils with the power a thousand pine-scented Yankee Candles.
Coupled with the cool morning air, it was an amazingly peaceful experience. I could set up a hammock and stay here all day if I wanted to. But that mountain wasn’t about to climb itself.
At two miles in I came to the crystal clear, and bitingly cold water of the Forty Mile Creek. Apparently named before Canada joined the world of the metric system, this creek curves around the western side of Cascade mountain and eventually flows into the milky blue water of the Bow River that cradles the town of Banff.
I tried to enjoy the creek for as long as I could, because after this the trail was about to turn into an aggressive series of steep switchbacks.
Still densely wooded, occasionally I was able to break up the scenery by looking back and seeing some mountain tops peeking through the trees.
After what seemed to be the 10th or so switch back, the terrain flattened out and I came into a large open valley.
The wide mouth of the Cascade Amphitheater. This huge basin, surrounded by three steep walls is the destination for the hiking portion of the trail. Many people come up for this view and go no further. But it only marked the beginning of the scrambling route.
My destination was a few thousand feet further above. I took a moment to pick out the main features of what lie ahead. From here I could easily make out the First Peak, the False Summit, and the Main Summit.
The Amphitheater seemed like a natural breaking point for lunch, but as I was about to drop my pack I saw movement in the distance at the base of the northern wall. It was hard to make out at first, but as it got closer I could see it was a small black bear rummaging around.
Not wanting to share and/or become lunch, I decided this would not be the most ideal spot to break.
I put some distance between the bear and I as I climbed high up on the south wall. And finally at a point where I could see clear across the valley and keep an eye on his movement, I took a cliff bar lunch break.
From here, I got a better look at the summit. There were some dense clouds passing around it, and some patches of snow, but nothing too concerning. It looked like I was going to have an easy approach the rest of the way.
Of course Mother Nature was about to share her differing opinion with me.
Part III: Bad Weather and the Scramble to the First Peak
As I continued my steep trek up the south ridge and the trees began to thin I came across a series of other animals enjoying their own hikes. A marmot, a family of mountain goats, and a human.
The marmot and the goats were cute, but the human was by far the most informative. The goats weren’t very talkative at all.
The fellow hiker was turning back and heading back down. He warned that the trail would disappear up ahead and I would have to do my own route finding along the rocky slope.
He continued to tell me he had made it to the false summit, but had severely underestimated the seriousness of the climb. After having slipped a couple of times while wearing running shoes as opposed to hiking boots, he decided the risk wasn’t worth it. His warnings were appreciated, but nonetheless, I continued on.
Hiccup #3:
Not long after that, I came out of the tree line only to be greeted by foreboding storm clouds coming in from the West. I could tell it was already raining under them and they were closing in on my position.
A decision had to be made. I was about to begin the barren and exposed part of the trail. The last place you’d want to be in a storm, especially if there was lightning. And after the other hiker’s warning, I can’t imagine the ridge line would be a very safe place in high winds.
I considered turning back to avoid the weather, but the first peak was right there! I could see it! (Although at the time I misidentified it as the false summit). I had come so far, I couldn’t turn around now!
So I decided to sit tight right there and wait for the weather to approach to get a better feel for what I was dealing with.
As it got closer, and it began to hail, I could see it looked like a relatively short storm, and there was no lightning. So I decided to hunker down in some tree cover and wait it out.
In retrospect, this was not the safest idea. I had let summit fever get the best of me. I was so focused on reaching the summit that it blocked out rational and safe thinking. It’s easy to see that now, but it's difficult not to be blinded by it in the moment.
I had even been the one in the past to warn others about it, repeating nuggets of knowledge like:
“The real goal of any hike is not getting to the summit. It’s getting back to the parking lot without a rescue crew or coroner.”
But apparently I am terrible at following my own advice.
So there I sat, with my fleece and rain jacket and waited. I found a pine tree to shield me from the sideways rain and hail and waited. And as my hands began to go numb from the dropping temperature, I waited some more.
Until finally I could see blue skies on the horizon. Soon after I was once again bathed in sunlight. The peak was still obscured by the clouds, but I could at least restart my trek in that direction.
The scramble at this point was nothing very technically difficult, but steep and filled with very loose rocks and boulders. My trekking poles saved me a few times after I stepped on what I thought would be secure footing only to have it roll away under me.
After a few internal, “Wait, is this the first peak?”s, I finally made it to the first precocious notch of Cascade Mountain. In front of me was a 15 foot drop that I would have to down-climb into to make it to the next ridge line where finally there was some semblance of a worn footpath again.
Beyond that I could see the route hugging the lower edge and going around the false summit where a good chunk of the path was obscured. Although I couldn’t see it, I was confident it was clear of snow.
From there, all that was left was the final hands and feet approach to the true summit. If I had to guess I could probably get to there from here in no more than two hours, and make it back to this first peak within four. Easy.
As I stood there taking in the views and trying to catch my breath, I took a look at the time.
What the hell?!
Somehow between reaching the amphitheater, the storm, and the first scramble, I had eaten up four hours and only traversed a mile! That mile had included 1,500 ft of elevation gain, which is nothing to sneeze at, but my pace was not going to cut it if I wanted to reach the summit.
I had to make the second hard choice of the day. And this time I leaned towards the side of safety. I was approaching my strict turnaround time, and if I had kept going I would have had to descend the mountain in darkness.
I had let summit fever get the best of me once today and I got lucky. Letting it get to me twice would be pushing it.
So I sat there on a small boulder at the first peak somewhat disappointed at first. But as I absorbed the beautiful landscape enjoying my summit first peak cigar, I realized that although I did not make it to the summit, I did climb to 8,276 feet. A new personal record.
And as I looked down at the town of Banff, I began to appreciate the fact that this was one of the most amazingly beautiful hikes I had ever been on. There was something poetic about this. Something about life being about the journey, not the destination, or something like that. But honestly I was too tired and out of breath to figure it out.
If you are planning your own hike of this mountain, maybe you can get further than I did. To help you along, I’ll leave you with these climbing and safety tips from the Canadian National Park Service for Cascade Mountain:
“1. Tell a friend – Always leave a detailed trip plan with a reliable person. Include trip destination, expected time of return, vehicle description, license plate number and parking location. A Voluntary Safety Registration service is available at the park Information Center in Banff, Lake Louise and Field (register in person).
2. Turn-around time – Plan the trip with enough time to return home before dark. Turn back at a set time regardless of whether or not the summit was reached.
3. Stay together – Parties that split up are one of the most common causes of problems that result in need for assistance. If your party must separate, make specific arrangements to re-connect.
4. Weather – Mountain weather changes quickly. It often snows here in the summer! Climbing a 3,000-m peak is the same as travelling to a different latitude and it could feel like winter! No matter what the forecast says, always carry a backpack with lightweight protective clothing.
5. Take lots of water – The higher you climb, the less likely you are to find water. Cascade is a particularly dry peak in summer.
6. A matter of perspective – The further you stand back from a mountain, the more you can see. For a better view of the entire climb, study the route from a distance wherever possible. Once on the climb, close-up features can block your view of the route ahead. Cliffs hidden from sight can block the way. Well-used footpaths can lead you in the wrong direction. Cascade Mountain is a good example of this–pay attention!
7. Look back – After a long day, the way down always appears\ different. While ascending the route, make a conscious effort to look back and memorize landmarks for the way down.
8. Descent – Descend by the same route you climbed. Changing the line of the descent route by even a few degrees at the top of a mountain can lead you to totally unfamiliar terrain by halfway down.
9. Avoid shortcuts – Stay on route! Shortcuts in the mountains can lead to serious accidents, and have done so on Cascade Mountain.
10. Lightning – Summer electrical storms are common in the mountains. Lightning strikes and associated ground currents can be deadly. Lightning storms often occur on warm afternoons, and strikes are most likely to hit peaks, ridges, and prominent objects, such as climbers, on open slopes.
If you hear an approaching thunderstorm:
• Descend immediately to the safety of lower elevations.
If caught in an exposed area by a thunderstorm:
• Go to a spot away from any dangerous drop-off.
• Crouch down so your head is below the surrounding terrain.
• Sit on your pack at a distance from any metal belongings.
• Keep your feet together and try not to touch the ground with any other parts of your body.
• Do not shelter under overhanging rocks or caves in an electrical storm (or else the current will pass through you as it grounds through the rock above and below).”
Good luck, and let me know how it goes!
