Our Backcountry Luxury Lodging
The Dirtbag Diaries podcast recently did a series on the weirdest places people have ever slept, which oddly resonated with me because… I’ve slept in some pretty weird places. But those adventures often end up being some of the most memorable. So, here is one of mine…
A week of freedom
August 2015 — I sat my computer in my office, browsing photos of national parks. Canyons of sedimentary rocks. A veil of bright foliage over endless rolling hills. Sentinels of redwoods towering overhead. I was living in Philadelphia at the time and had just accepted a new job offer in New York City. I had just given my two-week notice for my current job and my mind was already racing at the idea of using the transition period to escape for a little bit.
I grew up in the dense suburbs outside New York City and did my undergraduate and graduate studies in different major cities in the East Coast. The concrete jungle was what I was accustomed to. It was also what I spent my free time trying to escape. Vacations were always spent visiting family or exploring the outdoors. The further from the East Coast megalopolis, the better.
My thought-process and plan were pretty simple. Give my two-week notice, pick a destination (preferably somewhere I could get lost in nature), pack a bag, and go spend a week there. Then I’d start the new job the day after getting home. I tried to get a later start date for the new job. I dreamed of taking a month to trek the John Muir Trail or wander the Swiss Alps. But my new manager said that they wanted me to start as soon as possible. Seems to be what they always say. In any case, I had a week of freedom. All that was left was deciding where I would spend that week. As my mouse scrolled, my eyes were captivated by a photo of vast rocky spires surrounding turquoise alpine lakes. The decision was made. My heart was set on Banff National Park. The Canadian Rockies.
I messaged a bunch of my close friends in our group chat to see if anyone wanted to join me on this short adventure. Luckily, one of them took me up, despite the last-minute nature of the question. The two of us met up in Calgary to start this short but sweet adventure. We rented a car and kicked off our week by first hitting up Tim Hortons.
When we arrived at Banff with our trekking packs in tow, we got a permit from their national park service to camp out in Banff’s backcountry. We were pumped. The forecast looked good, albeit cloudy, and we were ready to be engrossed in the raw beauty of emerald lakes and glacier-capped peaks. Being young and ambitious, we decided to load up our schedule. We spent the first half of the day one on a front country trail that looped around Lake Louise and headed up to the Plain of Six Glaciers, along the border of Alberta and British Columbia. Though the loop around Lake Louise was crowded, once we reached the far side of the lake and turned onto the trail heading up into the mountains, the crowd completely dissipated. We made the obligatory stop at the Plain of Six Glaciers Teahouse, an asylum nestled a couple hours up in the mountains where hikers can enjoy a nice hot meal and say “Hi” to their resident Irish Wolfhound. We devoured some soup and bread, and inhaled our hot cocoa while basking in the views of the mountains.
After paying for our meal, we bid farewell to said wolfhound and continued up toward the Plain of Six Glaciers. Not long after leaving the teahouse, though, the weather took a very sudden turn, as it often does in the mountains. We started getting battered by a wintry mix. A foreshadowing of the next few days. When visibility worsened, we decided to turn around and make our way back down to Lake Louise to get on with our real plan of trekking for a few days in the backcountry.
Fortunately, as we descended back to Lake Louise, the weather cleared up. Our plan was not in jeopardy. It was time to say good-bye to civilization for the next few days and get fully immersed in nature’s wilderness. We made our way to the trailhead and set out into the heart of the Canadian Rockies. The cold, wet air immediately made its presence known and within half an hour I was already putting on additional layers as we had been gaining elevation with every step. We excitedly slogged onward, our youthful spirits undeterred. I knew our first day of the trek included significant elevation gain, but the steepness still managed to catch me by surprise.
After a few hours of an unending uphill hike, we came to an abrupt stop. The crispness of the cool air gave our lungs the much-needed retreat from our customary city-air. The majestic peaks kissed the purple sky and as far as we could see, emerald forests intertwined with harsh rocky mountains. The sight left us in awe, but also in confusion…
“Wait, this can’t be right…”
In the distance sat a lone ski lift booth, indicating that we were somehow at the top of a ski resort, and definitely not near where our first night’s campground was supposed to be. Maybe that’s why it felt like a never-ending uphill climb. We shot confused looks at each other. Somehow, within the first day, we had already lost our way.
While the autumn air was a reprieve from the hustle of city life, it was also noticeably colder than we expected. What’s more, that gentle moisture we had felt at the trailhead had turned into snow. It was certainly colder and wetter than forecasted, though that shouldn’t have been all that surprising considering we were in the mountains, and at least a thousand feet higher than we were supposed to be. The trees around us were getting shorter and a bit sparser. We were nearing the mountain’s tree line.
The sun, now a deep amber orb hiding behind clouds on the horizon, began its descent. There was no sunset to behold. A sense of unease began to creep into our hearts as we both realized, seemingly simultaneously, that it was too dark. Hiking back down would not be an option. We would have to find a place to pitch our tents and camp out for the night and find our way back the next morning.
Being at the top of what we would later learn is Lake Louise ski resort, we at least took comfort in know that we weren’t actually lost in the backcountry. I mean… we were at a ski resort, albeit it was still closed for the off season. The light snow continued to dust our alpine scene, but fortunately wasn’t accumulating too much. We made our way over to the top of the chairlift thinking that maybe the platform might make a nice place for our tents, and to see if there was anything that might give us a hint at where we were. What we found instead was nothing short of a miracle.
As I stood on the offloading area of the lift, my friend walked over to the lift operator’s booth. The sliding door had a latch with a padlock, but taking a closer look, he exclaimed, “It’s unlocked!”
Whoever was there last had hooked the lock onto the hasp so that the lock prevented the door from opening but hadn’t actually locked it. Was it intentional? I suppose it was enough to keep most wildlife out. Maybe they knew a couple foolhardy hikers, like us, might need it as a safe haven. Regardless, thank you, whoever you are. We opened the sliding door, and a wall of warmth welcomed us. Not only was the door unlocked, BUT THE HEATER WAS ALSO ON! Perhaps it was meant to prevent the electronics in the booth from freezing over as the weather was getting colder. Whatever the reason, we had found a safe haven.
There was just enough floor space for two sleeping bags to squeeze side-by-side. What’s more, there were rubber mats on the floor. Convenient for maintaining your footing as a liftie, but also helpful in providing protecting us from the cold sheets of steel diamond plates that made up the floor of the booth. There was even an Adirondack chair to kick back on. Still in disbelief, we hurriedly set up our sleeping bags and hanged our backpacks outside. Inside the booth, we found a trail map of the ski resort. Comparing it to our hiking trail map, we were able to figure out where exactly we were, the path that we took to get there, where we went the wrong way, and how to get back to where we were supposed to go. We sat for a while, amazed at how fortunate we were. Cocooned in our sleeping bags, we slept in luxury that night, protected from the cold, the snow, and the wind. Surprisingly, we both seemed pretty calm through the whole predicament. Or maybe we were just both exceptional at internalizing our sheer panic.
Getting back on track
As the sky outside transitioned from velvet black to the pale hues of dawn, and we awoke to a world bathed in soft morning light. Referencing the trail map in the booth, found the most direct path back down the mountain to where we thought we might have deviated from our intended route. where the hiking trails cut through the resort’s valley. As we descended the ski slope, we realized our error. We had been walking up a ski slope and midway up the slope, there was a small foot trail we were supposed to take that turned off that ski slope.
Ironically, we distinctly remember seeing the trail leading off into dense trees the previous day on our way up to our 5-star hotel room. But we also saw a small sign about 30 feet down the narrow trail with a big red slash over an image, seemingly warning us not to proceed in that direction. So, we continued upward. After getting down the ski slope, closer inspection revealed that the sign did indeed have a big red slash warning readers to keep out, but that the message was for mountain bikers, not hikers. In fact, there was some small text underneath saying the trail was for hikers only. While I wish we could entirely chalk that up to poor sign placement, in truth, we should have been more careful to read the posted signs clearly.
We were finally back on our planned route, albeit half a day behind schedule. Much to the chagrin of my shoulders, we picked up our pace to make up lost time, speeding with our trekking packs and camping gear, but also carrying with us the memory of that fateful night and what would probably be one of the weirdest places we’ve ever slept. The lift operator booth at the top of the Larch Express ski lift at Lake Louise Ski Resort.
To this day, I still ponder over that unlocked door. Maybe someone with experience as a liftie could help me out here. Would the booth typically be left unlocked? Or was it just a miracle on top of a miracle? But I also remember what led us to that predicament in the first place and always remind myself on the trail now. Never assume. Read every sign carefully. If you’re ever in doubt, double-check.
By the end of the second day, we were back on planned schedule and reached the second campsite on our route. Still a little cold, still a little wet, and a little more tired, but loving the experience of the trek.
Just wait ’til you hear about where we slept the third night…
