After a chilly 15 minute wait outside the Maligne Canyon Wilderness Hostel, where we had spent the night, we were picked up by the Maligne Lake Shuttle Bus for a 30 minute drive to the Skyline trailhead, close to the northern shore of this beautiful lake. We had 14 fellow passengers, most of whom were also heading off on the Skyline Trail. We checked our packs, making sure that the bear-spray was accessible (there be grizzlies in these mountains) and set off.

The sun broke through the grey ceiling of cloud soon after, but was gone again within a few minutes – such would be the pattern of the day's walk. We set a brisk pace, stopping to pass the time of day with a mule deer that crossed the path ahead to graze on the track verge.

The odd yellow or mauve daisy and mushrooms, coloured from yellow, tan, dark brown and even pink, with sizes varying from a pikelet to a pancake in dimensions brightened up the green of the forest floor. Soon we passed a small cascade, followed by a tiny green reflecting pond, then Lake Lorraine off between the trees, and finally the biggest lake along the track, Lake Mona, which we made a short detour to visit. Climbing around the edge of this lake, we pushed on to Evelyn Creek, rushing down from the heights above on a shallow stony bed.

Once we had crossed it on a wooden bridge, the climb became a little more earnest, as a series of switchbacks took us steadily up the spur to Little Shovel campsite, a good spot for an early lunch beneath the spruce and under the watchful gaze of a red squirrel. Stop in this weather and you quickly chill down, so we layered up and headed on, gradually climbing up through a spruce forest that was becoming shorter with altitude.

Views were opening up over mountains near and far as we traversed a broad slope before turning away from the valley. We had now passed the tree-line and found ourselves crossing a broad meadow, scattered with buttercups and the burrows of marmots and ground squirrels. The residents of the afore-mentioned were out and about, enjoying a brief spell of sunshine as we made our way across the undulating meadow.

We had arrived at 2.30pm – thence began a series of weather-dependent activities as cold and showers alternated with sunshine and warmth. Showers – sit under a spruce tree and boil the billy, sun – head down a little creek to get some water, showers – back into the tent to snuggle into a sleeping bag, sun – out to the table to write these ramblings, showers in the middle of dinner preparations – back beneath the spruce to eat, fine weather – off to bed just in time to settle in and listen to the patter of more raindrops on the tent fly. 

Soon after, as the evening light  was fading,  we heard the footsteps of some other hikers who had walked in in the rain – it would not have been much fun pitching a tent  in the dark and rain, but, as we learnt next morning, they had even less fun, having met a grizzly bear on the track some 500m before the campsite. Luckily it wasn't interested in a couple of cold drenched hikers for its supper. Now – where did I put that bear-spray?

All night long the rain bands passed by, interspersed with clear periods, so that, when we awoke and shook the ice crystals from our tent fly, the world looked a little different. It had been a cold night (sub-zero would be a good estimate given the ice) and the mountains about us now had a light dusting of snow on them. Cloud bands still rolled by, creating mists in The Snowbowl, but the rain appeared to have gone. Considering that the forecast for the day had been heavy cloud and rain, this had to be a bonus.

We enjoyed breakfast in the sunshine, then packed up as cloud moved in to blanket The Snowbowl and obscure the peaks before setting off for the highlight day of this walk. Not long after crossing the small rise that led out of camp, we left the spruce grove and entered a large meadow sloping away to the east. We walked quickly along the track, lined with small black-headed sedges, across a vast expanse of green grass and herbs scattered with pink, white and yellow wildflowers.

Our spirits were buoyed by the fact that, on this side of the ridge, the cloud was lifting to reveal the peaks and expansive alpine meadows ahead, while framing the more distant mountains and ranges in billowing white.

From the creek, a long and steady climb along the eastern flank of the valley brought us to the 2320m saddle of Big Shovel Pass, where a magnificent spectacle awaited us. The valley below was filled with billowing white cloud, seemingly generated by the towering pyramid of Curator Mountain just to our left.

We had defleeced for the climb, but now found ourselves chilling down quickly in the icy breeze, so back came the fleece, beanies and gloves for a long traverse across the compact scree slopes. This was a barren landscape, brightened by a scattering of green cushion plants spattered with the pink of tiny flowers. It was easy walking, but soon the cloud that we had admired in the valley rose up the slopes to envelop us in a thick fog.

We pushed on in this surreal environment, crossing an area of rocky outcrops, where curious orange boulders seemed to glow in the swirling mist. On reaching a track intersection, we turned right to head upwards through the rocks towards The Notch, the gateway to the high crossing. Nearing Curator Lake, visibility had dropped to 20-30m and it looked like we might not see it. However, the fog suddenly left stage right to reveal the lake waters below. It also revealed The Notch way above, a narrow pass with a crescent shaped cornice of snow guarding it, and the steep climb up to it through a jumble of boulders and scree.

We took off a layer of clothing yet again and got stuck into it – slow and steady as the climb seemed to add a few more kilos to the weight of our packs. The mists came and went as cloud swirled by from over the pass, but just as we were nearing the top it dramatically lifted to show the magnificent mountain cirque surrounding Lake Curator, now far below, in all its splendour – a superb alpine scene.

We pushed on a little further from the pass after layering up to keep out the chilly air and find a spot for lunch in the lee of the wind. The views soon disappeared as cloud rose from the Athabasca Valley and mist swept across the slopes. We ate quickly and headed on, traversing a barren shaly slope where not even cushion plants deigned to grow. It was like a Martian landscape, made even more alien by the continuous comings and goings of the mists sweeping across the slope.

Eventually we started to descend, passing through a series of hollows and then winding through a curious garden of pika-peeping rocks. This brought us to the point where we would finally leave the ridge. Ahead we could see Tekarra Lake in the valley below and, as the cloud lifted, the impressive ramparts of Tekarra Mountain to its left.

A series of long switchbacks led us down off the ridge, above the emerald waters of Centre Lake to the valley floor. It was at this point that the fair Nello noticed that the mountains had gone from moody to downright cranky, as the cloud behind turned dark and menacing. The race against the rain began and we hurried along the path towards the Tekarra campsite - the rain started at 4.10pm – we reached camp 15 minutes later (we have no complaints with a silver medal).

I love moody mountains and we felt privileged to have had such an amazing crossing. Sometimes perfect weather is not the best way to experience the landscapes of the high country.

Morning found us lying in our tent watching the raindrops fall and coalesce to form moving pools on the roof of the fly. Luckily, we had managed to get up, get dressed and visit the throne before the rain started or it could have been very uncomfortable. It wasn’t the start to the day we had hoped for and, when a break finally arrived and we were getting our breakfast organised, there was a new twist on the weather – snow! Not much and not settling but snow nonetheless. Well, they say it can fall at any time of year in the Rockies and here was the proof. When the white cloud finally shifted, the mountains around were dusted with a light snowy coat.

Packing up a wet tent in zero degree temperatures is not a lot of fun, but we finally headed off with fingers and toes chilled to the bone. Fording the shallow stream beneath the misty shape of Tekarra Mountain, we started the long but gentle climb around steep flanks below its impressive rock face, and soon our extremities had warmed up again.

This section was our last chance to stroll the open tops of this trail, as the track perambulated through the meadow, passing small tarns and patches of alpine herbs still in flower. The distant mountains appeared and disappeared as the billowing cloud rolled along the valleys.  The cold and wet start to the day was already forgotten in the majesty of these mountain vistas.

Eventually, the track began to wander downwards, leaving the meadow to pass through stunted spruce groves and finally enter the full spruce forest - our long descent had begun. We soon joined up with the abandoned fire tower access trail, a broad and even surface that was to be our way home. After a quick detour to Signal Mountain campsite for an early lunch we set off for the 2 hour descent.

This part of the track is described in most guide books as tedious and we tried to make it not be, appreciating the change in vegetation from spruce to pine, the glimpses of mountains through the gaps, the odd raspberries to graze on and the vague sense that there were bears out there (it is a “high bear activity” area), but in the end it became just that, tedious. The lower part of the track seemed to have no end and the return of passing showers did not help, but eventually we rounded a bend and there was the trailhead – our journey through the clouds on the Skyline Trail was over.

There was really only one downside – the fair Nello and I had left some cans of beer in the hostel fridge to fete our successful hike only to discover that they had “gone missing” while we were out walking! Still, traditions must not be ignored, so we wandered over to the nearby Maligne Canyon Visitor Centre and celebrated with a glass of chilled Kokkanee lager.

The Maligne River has ornately carved an exceedingly narrow canyon into the sandstone, deep whirlpools and powerful waterfalls within its smooth grey water-sculpted walls and rimmed with mosses and stunted spruce, like a Japanese garden. It is well worth visiting despite the crowds of tourists that come to see – an illustration that, in the world of canyons, bigger is not necessarily better. Hopefully, these few images show why.