-A brief trip to the badlands of Drumheller Alberta-
...read part one here... and ...read part two here...
Adventurers: Crystal Kirkham, Naomi De Bruyn, Katrina Florence
Region: Drumheller, Alberta, Canada
DAY TWO (CONTINUED)
Saturday, April 18th 2015
THE HOODOO RV & CAMPGROUND RESORT
We drove south to our
campground, where we found the tent still firmly fixed to the ground and
our belongings untouched. Walking roughly 30 feet west brought us to
the banks of the Red Deer River,once again. Looking across there were
some gorgeous bluffs and you couldn't help but let the imagination fly
free. Had there ever been a hunting party, or war party sitting astride
their horses up there? Did they ever line those hills; striking fear
into the hearts of those below? Or was it all just a wonderful
fairytale of cold addled brain cells?
Within a short time we had
the epitome of perfection, at least where basic camping is concerned:
food, fire, shelter and relaxation time.
A bag of marshmallows
was introduced to the fire and all the different flavours of Bailey's
were cracked. Dip the fluffy white sugar concoctions into a small glass
of the alcohol and let sit briefly. Gently shake off the excess into the
glass so as not to waste any, and roast as usual. The Original Bailey's
was a hands down winner for flavour.
It was getting dark, and
with the dark came lower temperatures. The tent was a summer one, with a
great deal of ventilation. In these conditions that wasn't going to
work in our favour. We were in for an interesting night.
Naomi:
Crystal
was an absolute angel and loaned me a queen-sized fleece blanket. Even
if it was emblazoned with the Vancouver Canucks logo, it was still
salvation in fibre! (Sorry hockey fans, I just can't root for the 'home
team' and never have). Don't get me wrong, I have a cozy sleeping
bag, one that is rated to-10* Celsius for comfort. However, I have
discovered a few interesting facts about those ratings since returning
home and doing some serious research. I will be sharing that at another
time.
I wrapped that plush comfort around my sleeping bag, pulled
my pillow in (my one concession to comfort from home), snuggled into
the micro-fleece thermals and thermal socks, then prayed for sleep to
find me.
I awoke numerous times throughout the night for various
reasons: snoring, fireworks, drunken bellowing and fighting, an aching
hip, muscles cramping in the leg, the dreaded having to pee... but most
of all because of the bloody cold! All I could think was 'minus rating
my bloody ass!' And of course when I did have to pee... Oh man! I spent a
good half hour trying to talk myself out of it. However, there's no
arguing with the call of Nature when it wants to be heeded. A very quick
out and back in as quietly as possible; rearrange my nest and crawl
back into the darkest depths at the bottom of my bag. Literally.
Then
Kat awoke. She was up and bustling about for a while. We knew that we could go sleep
in the van, but... We moaned, whined, bitched and complained about the
cold, but neither of us was willing to give up and wuss it out in the
vehicle. No, that would have broken something... Spirit, perhaps?
Finally, darkness won out and sleep wrapped me in her loving arms...
DAY THREE
April 19, 2015
THE HOODOO RV & CAMPGROUND RESORT
Naomi: 0620h
My
hand grazed the side of the tent as I squirmed out of my sleeping bag.
ICE!!! WTF?!?!!! There was ice — yes, frozen water on the inside of the
bloody tent! I grabbed my jacket and realized a I did so that the
slippery shell of my sleeping bag had prevented the plush blanket from
staying where it was needed. The thermal lining of the sleeping bag had
done virtually nothing to help keep me warm. It had been a bitter nasty night! I
burst out of the tent zipper like I would drown if I didn't, although I
was trying to be as quiet as I possibly could so I didn't wake the
others.
At least it was warmer outside than in the tent, but there was only one way I was going to get warm again — get that fire going!
Once
I got the fire going I had a brilliant idea, I hadn't finished my
Timmy's coffee the evening before. I popped the lid and dumped it into
the frying pan. There was no whoosh as I did so, just a solid thunk.
Yeah, it had frozen solid! No matter, it would melt and hot caffeine in
any form was good! I started up the propane stove that Kat has supplied
and put a kettle on to boil, then put bacon in the frying pan and enjoyed
my hot coffee.
That night was an experience I shall never forget. I learned a great deal.
When
Kat and Crystal finally crawled out, there was a fire to get warm by,
hot water for morning beverages, and breakfast was begun. We made some
bannock, also known as Indian Bread, and enjoyed it smothered in butter
and some 'island black gold' aka homemade blackberry jam from a beloved
Uncle.
Crystal and I both got to our feet at the same time.
Something was coming through the brush. I don't know if it's the fact
that we grew up doing a lot of outdoor activities on the West Coast
where there are some dangerous critters, or just plain old survival
instinct, but we hit our feet and prepared for anything. There's times
you need to stand up and stand your ground in order to stay alive, and
other times when you need to back down quietly and retreat in order to
stay alive... Adrenaline rush!
Well, we certainly were not prepared
to see what came out of that brush... A black pot-bellied pig. Crystal
named her ‘Lily’ and started to appease the rumbling belly of the beast.
We knew she had to have come form somewhere nearby, but were not
certain just where, and through the boundary of trees surrounding the
campground we could see a rather largish Rottweiler guarding its home.
Yeah… not walking over to ask them.
Meanwhile, that little pig was eating us out of tent and camp happily, in a state of food fuelled bliss.
She
was kind enough to try taking the end of my finger off, as well! No, I
didn’t stick my finger in her mouth. I’m not that stupid. My fingers
were all together and I was reaching down to scratch the top of her
snout. She kinda jumped up at the same time, thinking I had more food
for her, I’m sure. Seriously?! She’d already eaten three times her
weight, easily! She connected with my hand, my loosely cupped fingers
were knocked apart with one of them finding its way into that dangerous
little vacuum hole with teeth!
That hurt like a bitch! (Pardon
the gutter, but, hey, this is me and I could have said far worse… I
think I did at the time!) I swear if it'd been a little higher or a
little lower, she’d have taken the finger off at a knuckle. As is, she
got me right in between the knuckles. I started to bleed like a stuck
pig! (Oh, quit your groaning, I earned that one!) Anyhow, I found soap
and poured some of the hot water from the dishes into a small bowl and
stuffed my hand in it. OWWWWWW! Citrus soap and open wound….
OWWWWWWWWWW!
I started giggling and just couldn’t stop. No, I
hadn’t gone into shock from blood loss, nor had I lost the remaining few
marbles I had over the experience of being bit by a pot bellied pig
while camping. I was laughing over the irony that had once again found
its way blatantly into my world.
Before setting out I had seen my
doctor about a case of dual trigger thumb and asked him at the time if
there was any reason why I shouldn’t go backpacking, or at least hiking.
He laughed his friendly laugh and said, “ Do what you want. But don’t
come back to me if a bear tries to eat you.”
Well…. What if a pig tries to eat me?! So, yeah, from my point of view it was ironically hilarious!
Thankfully,
I was up to date on my tetanus and it didn’t appear to need stitches. A
couple of decent sized bandaids and all was good.
The
neighbouring home was indeed where the pig belonged. A gentleman came
and claimed ’Chloe,' who had decided she really didn’t want to return.
He had to get some grapes and bribe her away, with the help of not one,
but two wonderful Rottweilers.
What a twisted morning it was, and not the adventure you’d expect while camping!
Kat
and I wandered off to the somewhat heated washrooms to change. It would
have been nice had the bathrooms been equipped with HOT running water,
but sadly, all there was to be had was freezing cold water. No point
spending the money for a shower, even though Kat and I were both curious
as to how hot it would be.
When we returned to camp, we weren’t
allowed back in. Turns out Crystal had made friends with the Rottweilers
from next door and they had decided they were going to guard her, as
well. That included Kat’s van, the tent, the equipment, etc. One of them
had the audacity to stand there growling. I wasn’t in the mood. I gave
it an alpha glare and it backed up a step but continued to growl. Kat
stopped by the van. Crystal told them to stop it and go home. They
listened, and sped away meek as lambs.
Apparently, we have the
animal whisperer on our team. She’s talented, not just one species — no!
Crystal can calm and befriend anything you throw at her!
Once
the animals had finally cleared out of the campsite, we finally started
getting our acts together. Breaking camp wasn’t hard, and we even
managed to organize our gear and luggage to coincide with the order of
our respective stops.
HORSE THIEF CANYON
We
found ourselves at the top of Horse Thief Canyon (after a stop at
Timmy’s - what will we do when we’re in the bush miles from that
particular comfort, I wonder…), staring out at an amazing view. I felt
my stomach dancing in antici….…pation! (just for the RHPS fans!).
The
bottom of the canyon was SO far away! Roughly a 90 metre drop from
where we stood, to the distant grasslands by the river, where we would
break for a rest and a well deserved snack. That would be interesting
going down, and even more so returning.
Horse Thief Canyon (spelt
amazingly as both a single word, or separate words) gained its name and
fame honestly. It was used by American horse thieves in the ‘old west’
to hide stolen horses on their way to Alberta markets. Local legend has
it that horse thieves would use the canyon’s narrow coulees to hide and
rebrand the herds of stolen horses, and of course cattle, as well.
Accord to those legends, the thieves were usually American and the
canyon a well known and well used way station on the route to Montana.
As
with the Dry Island Buffalo Jump site the day before, the history of
the place was almost palpably thick. Who had walked these
trails before; whose footsteps were we following in? Layers of time,
etched in the multi-hued rock. There was no escaping that feeling of being minuscule, a
tiny drop in a huge ocean of life and time.
Horse Thief Canyon
isn’t the easiest to traverse — in or out. It is a short hike granted,
under an hour, but it is very tricky in some spots. When it is dry, as
it was for us, you are walking on loose rock and cracked, sun baked dirt
(bentonite) that sometimes completely covers the inclines. It is here
that your feet can suddenly slip out from you and leave you wishing it
was winter, as the snow would soften the landing/s. Of course, when it
is wet, you’re going to be dealing with a very thick clingy clay and
rushing water in the coulees. No matter the condition of the terrain, it
definitely needs your full attention. Naturally, it’s hard to focus on
the next step when the breathtaking vista screams for your attention,
however, if you don’t want more than a bruised ego it is best to watch
your feet and close surroundings.
The fun part of Horse Thief
Canyon is that there are no signs for hikers. There are numerous paths,
but there is also old barbed wire fences that are a definitive ‘KEEP OUT’
in my book. However, one trail ventured through an open livestock
‘gate’ (a small section of fence built with small posts that just skim
the ground and barbed wire; a loop of barbed wire at the top hooks it to
the regular fence). That entry opened out onto a gorgeous view of the
canyon. Steep coulees and a creek bed that was slowed to a mere trickle,
provided some wonderful exercise. About halfway down there was a small
somewhat flat area hiding wonderous delights from the eyes of those in the
parking lot, already far above. Mini-doos, extremely small hoodoos, and
even a single solitary cactus were warming in the early afternoon
sunshine.
A bluebird and gophers all took their turns checking us
out as we made our way to the bottom. There were a number of the
gophers, all sunning themselves with apparent joy and unconcerned with the humans wandering by. The number of people was rather
surprising, although there weren’t that many, maybe a dozen, tops.
We
slowly made our way to the grasslands below and a giant arrow made of
stones pointing back to the trail we’d come down. It would be easy
enough to lose track of which trail went back to where we’d begun, they
all looked so similar. There was a cairn on a small hillock that
received a small addition from each of us. We had done it. We had safely
reached the bottom. No turned ankles, no road rash.
There was a
game trail that we followed around a huge grassy mound and some coyote
scat. We stopped in between two other grassy mounds, sheltered from the
biting wind. We sank to the grass and bathed in the sun and our
achievement, while fishing for something to snack on and drink.
It
was a glorious break. The river rolled by, maybe 500 metres away,
marked by small bushes lining the sides. We partook of a feast: dried
and fresh fruits, cheese, preserved meats and of course, gorp cookies
(gorp is a hiking term for trail mix). All of this was followed by a
divine dessert of chocolate covered coffee beans!
After resting,
eating, talking and enjoying the panoramic view (while I’m fairly
certain we were all dreading the return climb), we rose to our feet and
surveyed the trail ahead. Following the game trail and our footsteps
back to the arrow and the path that would lead us to the parking lot.
A
steady pace ate up the distance and we reached the midpoint in what
seemed like no time at all. Each of us was feeling it in our own way and
tomorrow would most likely be a world of stiff and sore muscles, but
for now the feeling of making this first climb was almost euphoric.
After a brief rest, it was back on our feet and up the side of the
canyon.
It was overwhelming. We were all lost within our own
thoughts as we made the final push up the steep incline. One foot after
another, focus on what lay in front, stop and
look back now and again at the gorgeous piece of badlands we had
traversed.
All of a sudden, we were at the top.
Naomi:
No matter where my feet take me in the future, I will hold this particular vista in my heart until the day I die.
Upon
reaching the top I was rather overwhelmed. I was happy, I was proud of
what we had all managed to achieve on this initial weekend out in the
wilds of Alberta’s badlands. It really was amazing, just like the three
of us.
We had overcome comfort zone, injuries, surges, medical
conditions and even a very mild seizure! We didn’t let anything get in
our way. We complained about the cold, but we didn’t try to avoid it. We
pushed ourselves in a great way.
What do you hope to get out of the journey? 
