Peak season, year-round

“Stop staring sideways while driving!” Margie exclaimed as we cruised through Alberta’s attention-seeking Rockies.

I quipped, “But you’re watching the road, eh?”

The Rocky Mountains are barefaced, blatant, brazen show-offs. Each massif’s wardrobe appears ever-changing as the day unfolds. When someone exclaims, “Oh, wow! Do you believe it?” and no one is nearby — that’s a Manitoban in the Rockies.

Entering Canmore, I told Margie, “I wanna hug those giants!” I first suggested we tour, and crawl, in Canmore’s Rat’s Nest Cave. The tour operator told us, “And there’s actually a rat living near the entrance!” Oddly, Margie said, “Um, no.”

I then considered a mountain helicopter ride. But 25 minutes for two people costs about $700. Oddly, I concluded, “Let’s drive — upward!”

Some folks whisper that a park-packed area called Kananaskis, or K-Country, is Canada’s best kept secret.

So, we found Highway 742, a.k.a. the Smith Dorrien Trail, into K-Country. This 70-kilometre gravelled, backcountry mountain road meanders south from Canmore. You can do a loop via highways 1 and 40 and head northward back to Canmore after passing Kananaskis Mountain Lodge and Nakiska Ski Area. This half-day road trip should be famous.

Our first stop: hiking Grassi Lakes Trail. Into the forest, Margie asked, “You have bear spray, right?” I replied, “It’s late November. Bears are in bed.”

She continued, “Didn’t the Nordic Centre sell you some with our day pass?”

I noted, “I don’t see any bears.”

She countered, “Don’t be funny. We’re walking back.”

Encircled by Earth’s extremities, we then steered above Canmore with our ears, and eyes, popping. Avalanche-area signs warn “No Stopping.”

Seeing a contradictory scenic turnout ahead, I stopped. Margie shrieked, “What are you doing? Even a door closing or a motor’s rumble can trigger an avalanche!” Leery of this surprising expertise, I very hesitantly postponed photo-taking. She stressed, “I’m serious!” When I next emerged for a pic of an alpine lake, Margie said, “I’ll wait here.” I answered, “Thank goodness!”

Stunning scene

The endless array of craggy, snow-capped mountains and sparkling lakes stuns. The addition of snow-adorned pines makes for one of life’s best days. I suggested, “Let’s take some of this home.”

Onto Highway 40, bighorn sheep play chicken. A ram bounded up a vertical roadside rock face like a monkey. Another made a sudden ewe-turn.

I pitched, “Let’s visit Troll Falls. Catch a troublesome troll or two. Give them a good talking to. Bring one home.”

Margie replied, “We’re not doing that. And I have enough on my hands with you.”

But vehicles present at Troll Falls’ trail head assured her, averting another bear-spray debate.

Then, moments into the 20-minute hike, Margie blurted, “Gord!” and guess what stared from a curve ahead? A furry young black bear. I think I had a stroke.

We stood like statues. My scattered thoughts: “Where’s momma bear?” “Bear spray, please!” “Run?”

Likely within seconds, a woman appeared. Holding a leash. Ahh.

As she approached, I exclaimed, “We thought your doodle was a bear!” She said, “Sorry. I have a long leash. Have a nice hike!”

At the half-frozen falls, the trolls must have heard I was coming. But I noted to Margie that the interpretive sign says the Stoney Nakoda people actually know this spot as “Place of Many Bears.” All she uttered was “Gord!” Why?

To stay overnight in K-Country, you’d better have deep pockets. Rates vindicate our reservation instead in Canmore at the Georgetown Inn, a Fawlty Towers-esque hotel. The place prompted Margie to exclaim, “Gord, there’s a kipper sticking out of your shirt.” I retorted, “Sybil! Sybil!”

Our room featured a gas fireplace, mountain view and a soaker tub. The pub charms with a stoked fireplace, wonderful meals (Margie: “Best fish and chips ever, ever, ever.”) and Canmore Brewing’s award-winning Georgetown Brown Ale. This certainly made it difficult to dine elsewhere, but we tried.

While some local eateries boldly present themselves as “The Grande” and “The Famous Chinese Restaurant,” Canmore conceals some stunners. Chez François hides super bennies and crêpes in a modest Highway 1A hotel. The Summit Café lurks in a suburban building with little signage. No wonder they call it “Canmore’s best kept secret.” Indulge in “the Only Omelette” — a folded masterpiece. Staff explained, “It used to be our only omelette — 10 years ago. I guess we should change that.”

Folks stream into Rocky Mountain Bagel Co. Bucking an unexpected bagel trend here, we savoured pistachio and cream cheese-covered carrot-cake muffins. Margie was thrilled to see skiing on TVs, instead of wrestling or more graphic violence, like the news.

The Grizzly Paw Brewing pub displays a repurposed government sign declaring, “Warning — Bears.” Staff didn’t read further. It details, “Bears have been attracted to this area to feed on garbage.”

But after enjoying Grizzly’s award-winning Rundlestone Easy IPA (the future of beer), and considering its Brown Ale, plus Sheepdog Brewing’s Coconut Porter, I told Margie, “Canmore should be ‘Canmorebeer.’”

Canmore brims with candy stores. Try Black Rock Fudge’s salted-caramel delight, The Fudgery’s candy apples (notably the Skor Apple), Olde Tyme Candy Shoppe’s Unicorn Clusters, Le Chocolatier’s Beaver Dams or Jacek’s truffles — such as pistachio-lemon or margarita.

I changed my mind. Canmore should be “Candymore.” How’s that for a referendum?

gordmackintosh9@gmail.com