Alberta - Bad to the Bone
Surveying Alberta's badlands from Dinosaur Provincial Park.Picasa/Alberta Parks
Until recently, most of our family vacations included palm trees and pixie dust, but now that my children are older, we were ready for an adventure. First stop, the badlands in Alberta. A place where the topography resembles that of a miniature Grand Canyon and within it, resides the world-famous Dinosaur Provincial Park.
The drive from Calgary to Dinosaur Park was nothing but big sky, rolling fields with “nodding donkeys” and the occasional “Save our Snakes” sign. Gas stations were few and far between. As we got closer, the terrain started to change, from rolling fields to valleys and chasms. At the top of the escarpment that bares the “Dinosaur Provincial Park” welcome sign, the jaw-dropping view of the badlands goes on forever.
Is this place for real?
We parked at the aptly named Cretaceous Café where our kids jumped out of the car and immediately started climbing the colourful layers of sedimentary rock – each formation dating back millions of years – while we waited for our prearranged Explorer’s Bus Tour through the restricted area of the park.
Our tour guide was knowledgeable and enthusiastic. We learned about the sacredness of the land to the Blackfoot people and that the French explorers called it the badlands because it was bad to travel through (one can only imagine their despair).
Bits of fossils were everywhere and our guide taught us how to identify the difference between stones and fossils. The kids excitedly took turns confirming their findings. There was only one rule: no souvenirs. Everything must go back to the ground it came from.
We unanimously declared our first Canadian adventure a roaring success, and even through it didn’t include palm trees or pixie dust, magical it certainly was.
Tanya Boyd
Hidden Canada: The 2019 travel guide to the country’s undiscovered gems and experiences
A solo paddleboard journey on serene Georgian Bay
Ghost Towns of the North
Our sailing holiday of B.C.’s Central Coast started on Denny Island. Avoiding the Inside Passage shipping route frequented by barges, ferries and cruise ships commuting to Alaska, we chose to explore picturesque fjords, steep-sided inlets, dense forested bays and the ghost towns of the north.
The first stop was Namu, a small fishing port in a sheltered harbour on Fitz Hugh Sound. In the late 1800s, 600 employees processed and canned wild B.C. salmon and herring here in the summer. When the cannery folded, the company left behind a well-stocked machine shop, several forklifts, a tractor and a general store. It’s all still there. Our rummaging turned up plumbing and electrical fittings, charts, fan belts, bottles of shampoo and magazines. Unused, empty shrimp cans laid strewn over a warehouse floor.
Continuing on, we followed the winding Dean Channel toward Cousins Inlet. When surrounded by an undulating horizon of mountain peaks, it’s possible to see three sunrises in a single morning. Besides keeping a keen eye for boat traffic, we needed to watch for “beaver bait,” (drifting logs). Bald eagles soared overhead, sea lions lollygagged along shorelines and jetting geysers announced the presence of humpback whales. Waters teemed with robust stocks of salmon: coho, sockeye, chum and chinook. You can catch lingcod and halibut the size of bobsleds.
A lake-sized spillway thundering with white water announced we had arrived at the town of Ocean Falls. Commercial pulp production began in the early 1900s when trees, reaching 31/2 metres in diameter, were felled with axes and crosscut saws. “Be quick or be dead” was the lumberjack’s motto. Pulled out of the forest by horses, the trees were floated down the shoreline to a mill. The town acknowledges only 35 full-time residents, but Ocean Falls once supported nearly 5,000.
When the lumber business failed to turn a profit, a giant bulldozer levelled most of the town’s structures. The remaining buildings are overgrown with wild thimble and salmonberries that frequently attract grizzlies. Rusting logging trucks, semi-trailers and fuel trucks sprouting greenery from deteriorating seats rest scattered about.
Most ghost towns have at least one wily character. Here, it’s “Nearly Normal Norman,” as the locals refer to him. He was pleased to show off his collection of Ocean Falls paraphernalia: lamps, jars, dishes, signs, bowling pins, anything that could be salvaged before staff housing and buildings went under the wrecking shovel – all stark reminders of a different time.
Donna Hill
Hopewell Rocks
At low tide, travellers can walk on the dry land around the Hopewell Rocks.FRANCK FIFE/AFP
Huge and strange rock formations hovered above us. Consisting of reddish-brown sandstone and conglomerate rock, some looked like huge flowerpots, others looked like bridges with arches underneath and some looked like nothing identifiable but were, nevertheless, spectacular. Some had little bushes growing on top. We marvelled that these plants could establish root systems on such pinnacles.
I was with a group of tourists visiting the Maritimes and today we were at Hopewell, N.B., on the Bay of Fundy. We were to observe these rocks at high tide from the water, by kayak.
The weather was perfect, the sun shining brightly and the sea calm. After crossing a stretch of open water, we reached the rocks. Up close, we could see how the tidal action had eroded them, causing their unusual shapes. We observed their many bumps and ridges, many nooks and crannies, and we got a better appreciation of their height, reportedly 12 metres to 21 metres. Our guides led us around the rocks, through some narrow passages and under the arches.
All too soon it was time to paddle back to the boathouse and return our kayaks. We walked up the hill, through a woodsy area, to a point from which we could look down on the rocks, observing them from a new perspective.
About an hour later, we walked back down to the beach. In that short time the tide had gone way out. Where there had been deep water, there was now dry land. We could walk around the rocks and under the arches where earlier we had been paddling.
Our tour of the Maritimes delivered several highlights, but, for me, Hopewell was the best. To see the effect of the tides on the rocks was fascinating and to kayak around these amazing formations was a special treat.
Grace Hyam
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