Milestone birthdays deserve a matchless experience. This is a personal tenet I take pretty seriously, especially when the recipient is someone I speak to at least a half-dozen times a day and devotes her all to her family.
So, when I was offered the opportunity to take my mother, turning 70, on a voyage that would definitely rival all others, I didn’t think twice. She’s really never been much of a traveller, but not for lack of wanting to hop on a plane and head to some far-flung locale – in our single-income household, money was always tight, and other than a few trips over the past several decades, her journeys have mostly been made up of a yearly weekend sojourn from north of Toronto to see family in Ottawa.
This trip – a week away, with two days aboard the legendary Rocky Mountaineer and a plethora of adventures in Vancouver, Jasper and Banff – would be one of those once-in-a-lifetime sprees that would include a bunch of firsts. It would be her first time seeing the stately Rockies, her first time taking a train journey and her first visit to a national park, among others. But it would also be her first time spending so much uninterrupted time with me – just the two of us, woman to woman, away from our usual routines and the usual stresses at home. When I ask her one morning while we’re having coffee if she wants to take this trip with me she says, “Well, obviously.”
It would be her first time seeing the stately Rockies, her first time taking a train journey and her first visit to a national park, among others. But it would also be her first time spending so much uninterrupted time with me – just the two of us, woman to woman, away from our usual routines and the usual stresses at home. When I ask her if she wants to take this trip with me one morning while we’re having coffee, she says, “Well, obviously.”
This is also her first time doing a group trip. When we get to our hotel in Vancouver for the meet-and-greet dinner to welcome the 39 of us participating, I’m immediately dubbed the young one of the bunch. Most of the vacationers are American septuagenarian and octogenarian couples, best friends and one older mother-and-son duo, which all suits me fine – they’re delighted two Canucks will be joining them this week. About half of our fellow travellers have never been to Canada – they’ve never experienced the epic landscapes we’ll soon see. Richard from Wisconsin – a Green Bay Packers fan who’s celebrating his 81st birthday – tells me he and his late wife spent many winters skiing in Whistler, B.C., then asks me if “eh” is a statement or a question. I explain it can most certainly be both.
My mother hasn’t been to Vancouver in 15 years, and on our tour manager Deanna Curtis’s recommendation, we spend our first day away in Granville Island, a cultural hub on the waterfront made up of a bustling culinary market and artisan district. She’s never had a lobster roll before, so we head to the Lobster Man and my mom treats us to the mayo-dressed lobster with celery on toasted brioche served with ruffle chips. “Have I even had lobster before?” she wonders aloud with a mouthful. “This is the freshest seafood I’ve ever tasted.” After lunch, we shop. It’s one of the things we do best together – wandering through the artisan stalls and stores looking for souvenirs and trinkets is our happy place. The market isn’t too busy, so we take our time and stop often so she can marvel at the pottery, hand-blown glass and fibre art, and smell every lavender lotion and balsam-and-fir-scented candle we come across.
The next morning at 7:30 a.m., our motorcoach pulls up to the Rocky Mountaineer and we’re both buzzing with excitement. Canada’s Maple Leaf flag and B.C.’s provincial flag – the Union Jack at the top and a setting sun at the bottom – adorn the train’s gold-and-navy exterior. We step aboard and settle in for a 12-hour trip dubbed the “Journey Through the Clouds,” which will take us away from the coast up to Kamloops (a city in B.C. where the North and South Thompson rivers meet that’s known for its golden grasslands and indie art scene), before we enter the forests, canyons and mountain passes on our way to Jasper, Alberta.
Breakfast is served soon after we board, and it starts with a warm scone with raspberry preserve – I order the smoked steelhead, spinach and feta frittata with yam and potato hashbrowns and my mom gets the waffle with locally made turkey sausage and fruit compote. My mother expects the kind of meal served in economy on airlines – she says she can’t get over having a gourmet breakfast while looking out our section’s expansive windows.
Kelly and Harrison are our servers and hosts for this journey – they take turns grabbing the microphone to share the history of the train, anecdotes about their travels and what we’re seeing as we ride through B.C.’s scenic landscapes. They excitedly point out Mount Robson, the highest peak in the Rockies, and Hell’s Gate, a super-narrow section of the Fraser River that explorer Simon Fraser named for the area’s perilous waters and a rockslide during the construction of the Canada Pacific Railway (CPR). Harrison, who has a cool tattoo of train tracks across his arm and considers himself an enthusiast in all things railways, gets particularly excited to share the site of the Last Spike at Craigellachie, where the final iron spike was driven in 1885, completing the CPR and connecting Canada from coast to coast.
After lunch – I have the Fraser Valley chicken breast with mushroom ragu and my mother chooses the local braised beef short ribs with a green chile demi-glace – I ask Harrison to make me a couple of extra-muddy Caesars. I hand one to Richard, sitting across from me, who’s travelling alone and has taken the role of our kindly American grandfather on this trip. He sips his first-ever Caesar. “Isn’t this a Bloody Mary?” he asks. We quickly set him straight as he regales us with stories of his trip to Expo ’67 in Montreal when he was 23 and how much he loves Canadians.
For two full travel days, my mother and I marvel at how lucky we are to experience this together. The Fraser Valley – where the Fraser River we’re following runs, bordered by the Coast and Cascade Mountains – is an emerald hue like nothing she’s ever seen before, and when we reach the Rockies, my mother gasps – they’re more striking and grandiose than she pictured.
We take in the scenery from our seats while we chat about recent recipes she’s tried (she knows I’m not much of a cook), what’s happening on Days of Our Lives (which she’s been watching for more than 45 years) and how desperate she is to see eagles out here. This makes us laugh, since we’re both terribly afraid of all birds – one flew into her when she was a kid, and she passed down her fear to me. We both jump out of our seats when Harrison tells us to look right – the train slows so everyone can take photos of the 300-foot-tall Pyramid Creek Falls – its top half can be seen from Yellowhead Highway, but the stairstep-like tiers can only be admired from the train. Minutes later, a couple of fellow travellers yell, “Bear!” and a baby black bear draws plenty of oohs and ahhs. I think my mother is more excited about the eagle flying overhead. “That’s the sixth one we’ve seen,” she says.
It’s hard to imagine any of the sites we’ll see will beat the beauty of the mountain passes, but Jasper and Banff, Alberta, are truly picturesque. Both towns, set in national parks against the Rockies – are full of rustic charm, with glacial lakes, rugged landscapes, sprawling pines and quaint main streets.
On our first day in Jasper, we take a cruise on Maligne Lake, which is glacier-fed with turquoise waters. The boat takes us to Spirit Island, a small forested islet that’s connected to the shore by a tiny strip of land. Only accessible by boat, Spirit Island – surrounded on three sides by mountains – holds immense cultural significance to the Stoney Nakoda First Nation, who believe mountains are physical representations of their ancestors, and use the site as a place of healing, reflection and connection with spirits.
Visitors are not permitted on the island, so my mom and I stand on the pier and gaze over and I quietly reflect on the gift of this time together. After our cruise, we take a stroll along Connaught Drive, the town’s main street, and stop at Terra, a restaurant I’d researched that features locally farmed and foraged fare. Our dinner is delicious – it’s our first time trying red fife wheat sourdough with maple-miso butter and we both comment on its nutty sweetness.
The next morning, our bus takes us to the Columbia Icefield – the largest icefield in the Rockies – called the “geographical heart” of Jasper National Park. We board a massive all-terrain vehicle that carries us to the Athabasca Glacier, which is six kilometres long and between 90 and 300 metres thick. We step out onto the glacier in our running shoes, kicking ourselves for not bringing boots. It’s slushy and slippery – dense bluish snow with crevassed ice, so my mother holds my arm as we shuffle away from the group for a selfie. She gets quiet, so I look over and see she’s emotional. “Our country is so beautiful and I can’t believe there’s so much of it I’ve never been to. I never thought I’d see a glacier in person.”
After, on our way to Banff, we stop at a site we’ve both been looking forward to – Lake Louise, the famous lake we’ve only seen on television and in photos. Before we get off the bus, I pull out my phone and show my mother a shot of Queen Elizabeth II visiting the lake in 1959. We spend 20 minutes gazing at its turquoise waters, waiting in line to get the classic photo in front of the lake with the Victoria Glacier in the background. We also take a picture of Richard (“So I can send it to my granddaughter,” he says).
That night in Banff, we shop the main street, Banff Avenue. I pick little mountain-shaped silver earrings and a black onyx beaded bracelet for my 15- and 17-year-old daughters – I wonder if they’ll want to take a trip like this with me one day. Later, inside the historic Mount Royal Hotel, we dine at Brazen, another restaurant I have on my must-try list. We enjoy ourselves so much that we spend a long, lingering dinner devouring rich mushroom toast with whipped ice wine ricotta, the Brazen potatoes with truffle Parmesan and honey butter and the most sensational ginger beef with blistered shishito and pickled onion.
On our last full day, our motorcoach drops us off at the Banff Gondola. “I don’t think I can do this,” my mother says of the seven-minute trip up to the summit of Sulphur Mountain – she’s not only afraid of birds, but she’s also scared of heights. I tell her this is another once-in-a-lifetime experience that she can brag about to her friends at home. Somehow I coax her inside the gondola, and she squeezes my arm so hard when we start moving that I use a string of colourful expletives. The three of us – Richard is in tow – end up laughing the entire way up.
Our stay on Sulphur Mountain is short – we have a reservation at the storied Fairmont Banff Springs for the time-honoured tradition of a fancy afternoon tea, which will be another first for us. When we drive up in a taxi, my mom is stunned by its splendour. “I’ve only ever seen it on TV,” she says. “It really is a castle!” Sitting by the window on the second floor of the Rundle Bar, we both order the Creamy Earl Grey, and enjoy the passion fruit and coconut diplomat pavlova, salmon gravalax finger sandwiches and the yuzu and calamansi macarons while stare out at the Rockies and wonder what it would be like to move our entire family out here and live in the national park.
“I really love it. It’s colder than home, but I can’t get over the mountains and all the wildlife – I still can’t believe we saw elk outside of town,” she says while sipping her tea. “I didn’t know I’d love this part of the country so much – I wish I’d seen it before now.” The West – its grandeur, serenity and beauty – has captured our hearts.
