GREAT DIVIDE TRAIL
GDT: SECTION A
The first section of the Great Divide Trail travels 91 miles from the US Border at Waterton Lakes to Coleman, Alberta. Magnificent ridgelines and picture postcard lakes crescendo to tough terrain on the infamous “hardest single day on trail” La Coulotte Ridge, an exposed, waterless scramble.
Pro-tips for Section A:
- This was one of my favorite sections. That being said, do prepare for a tough first day with over 3,000 feet of ascent, although you might be able to set up a slackpack to Cameron Lake.
- Pack high quality rain gear! No more needs to be said. The rain is drenching in Canada.
- Plan to camp at Sage Pass. No permit is required and it was one of our favorite sites on the Great Divide.
- If you have good weather, take the Barnaby Ridge Alternate. Either way, you will need to ensure you have at least three liters of water for the long, dry stretch.
- Don’t expect any camping after Lynx Creek! It is possible to hitch to Coleman if the weather is bad.
- Make reservations early for Country Encounters in Coleman. They offer GDT member discounts and were incredibly generous.
Day One, Waterton to Southern Terminus and back, 8 miles
Camping at Waterton Townsite is a dream.
Our tent is set in a very mellow campground of families chilling out. We have a view of the lake, choppy now in high winds. After picking up Katlyn in East Glacier at the train station, we have time to wander, set our tents, then eat the best pizza — maybe the best meal — of our entire hike.
The next day, we hike with my loving and incredibly supportive husband Richard to the United States border. It’s hot though still windy and we make our first mistake by hiking a small portion of the trail between the Carthew-Anderson and Lakeshore Trailheads. It’s short but an absolute misery of overgrowth and disappearing trail.
Is this a sign of things to come?
Perhaps.
The trail moves us up and down along the lake and it’s stunning here. Now on the right path, we’re joined by many tourists including a posse of young Canadian kids. At the border, they tell us to defy Trump. We freak them out by responding that this is Mile Zero and we will walk 700 more up to Kakwa Lake.
Katlyn wisely packs up the leftover pizza and we sit with our feet in the freezing water and gobble it up. Oh, if only every day could be like this one.
I mentioned that my husband is my biggest supporter. He takes off on his own trip through the Rocky Mountains, delivering all of our resupply boxes as far north as Jasper. So glad he did because several of our friends has mailing mishaps and missed deliveries, even though they sent their boxes forward from Waterton.
Lucky indeed.
Day Two, Carthew-Alderson Trailhead to Rowe Meadow 16 miles
Our luck has changed. The day is gray and damp.
The start is along Cameron Creek and its magnificent falls. Hardy tourists are out in rain gear as we begin the steep ascent. Within moments, we leave everyone behind and work our way steeply up into forest and a thimbleberry carwash.
At first, we’re enjoying the novelty, not even bothering to put on our rain gear. We’re in the forest calling out for bears to let them know we’re coming. We’re both singers and our voices carry as we finish each other’s phrases climbing over 3,000 feet as the dirt changes to crunchy shale in a glacial bowl. Alderson and a trio of Carthew Lakes appear out of the mist.
Rain gear is on and icy drops pelt us in the face. Two women appear coming the other way, decked out in better rain gear than mine and with beaming smiles. How are they so happy?
We push over the summit, then down steeply, sidling the mountain which has very little snow at this point. Below is Summit Lake and the rain clears long enough for us to eat lunch relatively dry as views open to crashing falls in a glacial cirque and our destination far below.
A road links Waterton to Cameron Lake. Even in this weather, people are out in rented boats. We reach the shop just in time as thunder cracks and it begins to pour rain. Mike is inside about to close up and offers us a ride three miles up the road to the Rowe Lakes Trailhead.
Rather than go off trail at this point and camp at Akamina Creek, we move on through dense forest, singing all the way. Our destination is a horse camp just before Rowe Meadows.
It’s empty and just large enough for my tent and Katlyn’s hammock. I am soaked through, my raincoat utterly failing. It’s still another five days to a gear shop, but tomorrow is supposed to clear. I take my dinner out into the meadow far away from the camp and eat quickly in a lull, then crawl in as the rain pelts down.
That was tough start! Only 16 miles but a huge climb right out of the gate, and in inclement weather. It doesn’t take long for me to knock out without any regrets that we don’t take the Mount Rowe Alternate.
Day Three, Rowe Footbridge to Sage Pass, 13 miles
What a contrast to yesterday. I’m cozy in my tent at the top of a pass, tucked in enough from the wind. The campsite about .3 miles on is smack dab in meadow beneath burned trees. Great water but a questionable place to set especially as the wind is building.
I wake up wet and cold. Katelyn kindly takes our pile of damp clothes into the meadow and lays them over the beautiful baby spruce as the sun fills this glorious cirque.
I eat in my tent wrapped in my sleeping bag. I know, I know, never eat in your tent, but it’s morning and I’m shivering.
We take a long time to pack. I eventually head into the sun and put on my less damp clothes, icy but my body warmth begins to dry them.
Our gear is at least two pounds heavier wet. But on it goes and off we go, very steeply up and around this beautiful bowl towards Lineham Ridge.
We’ve heard a grizzly sow and two cubs live here so we’re very noisy. All the way up through the forest as it presses up against rock holding remnants of snow in precarious smile-shaped positions.
I breathe very heavily but the laps with a fully loaded pack on my local hill have trained me for this. It’s hard to see where we exit but soon a thin line appears hugging the crunchy shale in a steep ramp.
I play games with myself, “Just to that curve, just to that rock, just to that clump of krumpholtz,” as majestic snow-capped peaks begin to appear, hidden from view below.
Kate takes the lead as we switch back on an impossibly narrow indentation in the hanging cliff, plodding forward to a final push on bigger rock, possibly blasted with dynamite to create this access.
We arrive on an apron with astounding views to the ridge creating our bowl, all the larger peaks beyond plus a long ridge of some uplifted ancient seabed.
The wind is high and I’m cold, but dry through and through as we drop down steeply on more of these crunchy metamorphic rock down and down hoping to find water along the way.
There’s a small pond, but the access is funky. My energy is flagging and I do not feel good. Funny how I floated up that mountain even with an extra heavy pack, but now I’m out of steam.
We find a spot to just sit and enjoy the beauty of a regenerating forest amidst fire scarred trees and I eat a bit which revives me right back up. Only a mile up then down to a stream where we break for lunch, spreading out all our gear to dry, sleeping bag, mattress, tent, rain gear, a process hikers call “having a garage sale.”
I drink two liters of water — yup, definitely dehydrated — and eat a variety of bars, olives, cheese, tortillas. I’m instantly revived and my gear is dry!
Just as we begin to pack up, a couple arrives. Dan and Alice are Canadian and will stop at the next lake, although they likely will have as big a day as we will since they started much further back. They must be quieter hikers as they came face-to-face with the grizzly family. They tell us the sow is used to people, so just moved on.
We have another juicy climb ahead and I am so glad we placed ourselves further up the trail as this is a lot of climbing.
It’s a good stretch up and over, steep too. Yes, sure, Canadians have switchbacks but also crazy steep straight up bits. We are lighter and revived so talk the whole way up. I have to say right here I am so glad to be hiking with Kate. We are very well suited.
Except when it comes to wanting to take a dip in the ice cold lake. I am happy to just sit on the sidelines and let her take a plunge. When we move on, it’s through a carpet of flowers, including mountain paintbrush, not only red, but purple, white, yellow.
A burned area is festooned with huckleberries which we eat by the handfuls. It’s up again, then down steeply to beautiful Twin Lakes. The upper lake has a spectacular little eating area near the water. We’re visited by a very fat and curious marmot. Lingering here, we stuff ourselves, filter water, even brush our teeth.
As we leave campsite, a woman asks worriedly where we’re headed. It’s late and getting dark in this valley. It’s really not safe to hike in the gloaming when grizzlies are active. We tell them it’s only a mile and up towards the sunset.
Away we go, singing to the bears and rising fast, finding this lovely spot close to a small spring.
What a fantastic day. I’m exhausted and very happy and satisfied. The view from my tent is just a strip of red and now I need to rest up for tomorrow’s adventure.
Day Four, Sage Pass to Scarpe Pass, 9 miles
I don’t have the superlatives to describe the beauty here.
Stupendous balcony walks with breathtaking views of snow capped peaks, verdant meadows carpeted in wildflowers—lavender and lemon fleabane, paintbrush in five shades of red, showy mariposa lilies, dainty yellow columbine not to be confused with avalanche lilies of the same shade—and the freshest balsam-scented air, a Swainson’s Thrush singing it’s flutey syrinx and his buddy the Varied Thrush a kind of double whistle-song.
Absolute bliss.
We’re now inside the Great Divide Trail “bubble” running into a lovely Swede named Emily decked out in lycra short shorts and tank top. Plus Alice and Dan who can’t seem to help himself moving fast and furious and humble bragging how far he’s come today. Then Doug, an older Canadian dressed in over-sized shorts and knee braces worried about so many people camping together and if there’ll be enough room.
We take our sweet time up these steep trails on this magnificent day. From the pass where we camp, it’s back past the water then steeply up to reach Ridge Crest above Lost Lake. First we follow a burn area, then on rocks which ping as we step on them.
The ridge goes on a good long ways, undulating as it follows this crushed and tilted seabed that swoops upwards to a scary drop thousands of feet below us in the valley.
The views! The airiness! The height! We plod along wondering just how far this ridgeline runs. Just when it seems the slope will give us a dead end of cliff, we sidle around and find ourselves on the next ridge.
At one point, we walk between blocky hoodoos where snow clings in the shadows. At a distance we see more of these rocks, a kind of Devils Tower and Thors Hammer.
On an impossibly lovely descent, we rest on a flat rock in the shade and drink the water we’ve been carrying. It’s not long through forest to a stream, the first in a series of campsites to fill up more water and plod on.
Emily has completed the northern sections and tells us what we are doing now is by far the most strenuous. That’s a relief since it is indeed hard and my expectation is that it will only get harder.
Steeply up then steeply down on repeat but in such glorious surroundings. At Jutland Creek we have a long leisurely lunch in the shade, which cools us down, then climb up one more pass to our final destination at Scarpe Pass.
There’s a wee private site away from the cluster of tents. I’m in my tent now resting for tomorrow’s big climbs. Dozens of meadow flies, cleverly disguised as yellow jackets, buzz in my vestibule. I need to usher out a few who get in with me.
Dinner is soon, a delicious dehydrated concoction I put together a few weeks ago. Of course we eat away from our tents to not attract bears.
I’m not sure I’ve mentioned how ridiculous Kate and I sound on trail singing and calling and making goofy sounds to let the grizzlies know we’re coming through. It seems to have worked as far as stopping any surprise encounters.
I am doing well and feel great, though exhausted and ready to fall asleep. Another glorious day. So filled with gratitude.
Day Five, Scarpe to West Castle River Bridge Cowboy Camp via La Coulette Ridge, 16 miles
Hard, hard, hard.
Amazing, amazing, amazing.
Oh my goddess, a gorgeous day on one of the hardest ridge walks of my life. Extreme elevation gain and loss and on typical Canadian style trails — mostly straight up and down with few zigzags.
Imagine heavy breathing at the max of your cardio, burning calves as you push straight up in scree oftentimes at the very edge of the cliffs, followed by knee pounding descents on chossy rock — that’s little slippery ball bearing rocks upon another more solid rock you’d hoped to put your foot on, essentially controlling your fall step by step for several thousand feet.
Here in a spruce forest, a Swainson singing a duet with the babbling river, I am lying on my thick mattress cuddled into my bag, my head propped on a pillow, all gear I carried with three heavy liters of water (perhaps not quite enough in the direct sun) up and over four huge knobs including La Coulette herself.
I’m absolutely wasted tired, so off I’ll go to sleep dreaming of narrow knife edges, a serious lack of trail or any indication of trail like cairns or flags, wondrous heights with spectacular views of the Canadian Rockies on all sides, explosions of flowers all the way to the summits and sharing it with the absolute best person in the world who helped me when I was scared, cheered me on when my energy flagged, made me laugh when we sang to any bears who might cross our path and plodded straight up these monsters without a break at almost precisely my tempo.
The ridge is really just a series of high points attached by saddles, but those saddles are way below, and even though only the highest takes on a name, these high points in any other place would have their own mountain name.
Day Six, Castle Mountain Cowboy Camp to random spot in the woods near Haven’s Bridge, 22 miles
La Coulotte was hard enough for us, so we did not opt to walk Barnaby Ridge.
Had we gone that way, we would have avoided a long slog on steep ATV track through forest. But we would have missed the incredible views from the third “no name” ridge and likely would have found ourselves out longer with harder scrambling before reaching water again.
It’s a toss-up. Our day was beautiful and we likely could have managed, but instead we had a long leisurely dinner at the river ford, then camped in a small clearing close to the bridge.
It rained all night long.
The biggest problem with this hike is that everything needs to be planned out in advance. It would have been lovely to stay at the West Castle Resort, but we needed to move on and get to Coleman since we had a reservation at Country Encounters.
Later we learned that our Swedish friend Emily hitched from here avoiding the awfulness ahead.
I’m wet. My tent is wet. My spirits are wet.
Everything is closed, so we hump up the road sticking out our thumbs for the three miles until trail. There is a trail next to the road, but at the moment, is entirely under water.
A woman speeds by splashing us as she goes and waving her hands in front of her face, mouthing, “No!”
Really lady?
And now my rain gear has utterly failed me.
But on we go and just as we near the cut off, a truck pulls over and Bill offers us a ride. Saint Bill! He turns out to be a volunteer clearing brush and building switchbacks.
The rain subsides to a drizzle and we say our goodbyes heading up to a high point on his handiwork. Our plan was to stay at Lynx Creek, but we arrive mid-day. Instead we have lunch, meeting V, a Czech hiker, and a few fisherman.
We march on, skipping the trail which climbs up a mist-filled ridge and walking on flooded road. Several empty parking lots and deluxe privies dot the road. It begins to thunder and rain harder as we plod along.
No cars, no traffic, and eventually no more privies to dream of camping out inside. Instead, it’s a freezing, puddly walk up and up. I look mournfully out over the river below and I see a grizzly!
What a big guy he is lumbering along far enough away for us to just stop and stare. He shakes his big humpy body as sheets of water fly off. I make a sound in response, and he looks right over at me.
Oh, I wish I had your coat, friend.
The raindrops pound now and I am soaked to the skin. There’s a campsite ahead, but when we finally reach it late in the day, it’s only a dirt road down to the flooded creek, any flat areas in deep grass.
We anxiously study our map app Far Out for any comments and one person, years back mentions a small clearing in the forest. That’s where we’re headed, the only possible place to set.
The forest is thick, but I can see a wee spot and dive in. Unfortunately the ground is too saturated to hold up my tent. But the road is full of rocks and I carry piles down to hold my tent in place.
Too cold and wet as darkness gathers, I slip into my sleeping bag without eating and knock straight out.
Day Seven, Haven’s Bridge to Coleman 7 miles
It’s an easy walk all on road to Coleman. We begin to ask ourselves why we didn’t just keep walking last night.
Truth is, there was nowhere to stay, at least nowhere guaranteed. Although we might have eventually hitched a ride at least to a campground with hot showers.
<sigh>
It’s wet, but we can see the small mining community below and are there in no time, meeting Emily at a local restaurant. She looks surprisingly clean and dry and we discover she skipped all of this last section.
I have a feeling there will be less timidity when it comes to skipping roadwalks and awful, wet days. But for now a wonderful room awaits, large enough to lay out all our damp gear. There’s even a deep bathtub and epsom salts.
Rest day, I am ready!
I love your description of the Swainson’s Thrush, was it “flutey syrinx?”
What a wonderful account this is, and such a joy to read and dream vicariously. ❤️
Thank you so much, Michele! That mighty bird is definitely a musician 🙂 I don’t have the camera to capture the birds as you do (yet!) but I was transfixed by the Swainson’s. What a lucky person I am!