GREAT DIVIDE TRAIL
GDT: SECTION B
At 120 miles, section B is considered the birthplace of the GDT and home to the new High Rock Trail, a mountainside sidle with balcony views for many miles. It’s also home to the hardest pass of the GDT — Tornado Saddle.
Pro tips for Section B:
- This is the one section that does not require permits except for the Alberta Public Lands Pass. Enjoy the freedom!
- Hitch a ride to Atlas Staging Area. Otherwise it’s a long walk on very boring ATV track.
- Camp on the peninsula at Window Mountain Lake just past the trail junction.
- Consider a tent made of dyneema. My sil-nylon tent acted like a sponge in heavy rain and if the sun doesn’t come out, it will not dry.
- I repeat: pack bomb-proof rain gear and extra socks. Canada can be very wet.
- High Rock and Etherington are not very pleasant sites full of cowpies and mosquitos. We random camped and moved on to James Lake.
- It is not an easy hitch, but I highly recommend not walking the final 20 miles from Aldridge Creek to Elk Lakes. Sadly, the weather was too rainy to risk Coral Pass.
- Use the GDT Elk Pass resupply service as there is very little hiking food available at Boulton Creek.
Day Eight, Atlas Staging Area to Window Mountain Lake, 11 miles
After a fantastic rest at Country Encounters where we dried everything out, washed our clothes and bodies, replenished nutritional deficits and acquired a whole new set of bomb proof rain gear, we were ready to roll.
I highly recommend hitching to the Atlas Staging Area to start your hike. I know, I know, purists will want to walk a continuous line to Kakwa Lake, but this is a muddy, bumpy road with no views, well worth skipping.
Besides, it offers more time to enjoy the stunning balcony walk you will encounter almost immediately with stunning views of Crowsnest Mountain.
Sadly, it rains the entire way.
We get crashing thunder, blowing rain, even a bit of sleet over the exposed mountain sidling, but then, just like that, it clears.
I just want to say right here that there is nothing as ecstasy-producing as emerging from a soaking thunderstorm into sunshine. The rock glistens in the sun and our spirits rise. Our hitch make this a short day of only 11 miles, so we can sit on a rock and enjoy — and eat, of course!
It’s an easy rise over Deadman’s Pass on well trod trail, then a sharp turn up to our campsite. Huge peaks hem us in — Mount Ward and Window Mountain that appears to have a permanent glacier, which is actually its window, and Allison Peak. Spelled differently, but I’ll take it.
The turn to the lake takes us straight up on eroding schist. We pop out into forest and an established campsite replete with bear lockers. Here we meet several friends we’ve made along the way, Dan and Alice, Emily and a Canadian closer to my age named Doug.
But a local mentions a campsite just beyond where the trail begins its ascent. It sits out on a peninsula and boy, oh, boy, it does not disappoint. We have views on both sides as well as a modicum of privacy.
We set and make dinner and lovely Katlyn offers to hump our food bags back to the lockers, a really good idea since grizzly have been sighted in the area. No fussing with a bear hang, get it all in a metal container!
And tonight, we get a sky full of stars.
Day Nine, Window Mountain Lake to road near Dutch Creek Bridge, 19 miles
Here’s some advice: camp on the peninsula at Window Mountain Lake.
Wow, what a sunrise, the colors surrounding us and reflecting on the water. We get an early-ish start because it is a long walk today. I want to pause here to say I’m not entirely sure why this itinerary is considered “average.” We begin to experience very long and tough days.
Right away with a steep hike up switchbacks to splendid views, then deep down again into larch forests. These felt enchanted, the domain of fairies and gnomes especially with the sunlight filtering in on bright green verdancy and wildflowers.
It never occurs to me that the reason all this beauty is here because it’s very, very wet.
But today is dry and lovely, easy walking. We hump over four nobs, each steep with one leading to an overlook spur. From here, we see all the way down the mountain range. The High Rock Trail walks next to this row of peaks as if on display.
We meet an older man named Ken who’s cruising fast and furious, then Matt and Pica, also determined and quick. Doug and the others pass us as we take loads of breaks for photos and snacks.
This is a long thru-hike but it feels different. For one, the numbers of hikers is very low. But also section B resides on public land rather than parks and is far less developed than the others. It has a wild and remote feeling, like only thru-hikers will be coming through here.
And just as I think it’s only our small merry band, a young and friendly Englishman named Louis comes up fast from behind. He’s got an overloaded old-fashioned backpack, but still faster than us. Heck, everyone is faster than me!
But soon, the nice trail and views give way to dense forest walk on muddy track, slippery and unpleasant. We climb over a few deadfall and I begin to lose patience. This trail is not built with any place for the water to run, so it just pools creating a slick luge. Fortunately it’s not raining now, but I am not amused.
I take this poor attitude to Racehorse Creek where we meet a trail crew building a fantastic new bridge. Kate Hamilton, the Executive Director of the Great Divide Trail Association is among them. A group of tents is set up inside an electric fence, wisely placed to keep critters from visiting.
We get a selfie and later see it published online and in the annual report. Thanks guys for all you do!
Just a note here: I can’t stress enough how critical it is to become a member of the GDTA. It’s very affordable and offers discounts that you will actually use, plus it supports trail work and shows the government that people are actually hiking this trail.
As we approach the camp, I study the map and notice an alternate on dirt road, avoiding yet another one of these slip-n-slide forest walks. When I ask Kate about the alternate, she exclaims, “Take the trail! It’s more fun!”
Nope, sorry. I’ve had enough fun for one day right as it begins to rain.
Another five miles further is a lovely camp spot right on Dutch Creek, but we find the dirt road and add three more miles. Katlyn gives this type of long-stride walking a name, “People Mover.”
I am perfectly happy we took the People Mover landing right near the trail junction because literally one minute after my tent is set, it begins to rain in earnest.
Day Ten, Dutch Creek to Cache Creek, 17 miles
It’s a big day, a long and hard day but wondrous.
I have yet to mention that the summer of 2025 turns out to be one of the wettest in living memory. We will have a very tough go once we descend Tornado Saddle with relentless wet on poorly constructed trail. The silver lining is that in our entire 44-day hike, we never experience smoke from wildfires, which have become a new constant phenomenon in the Canadian Rockies.
So I guess, count your blessings!
We are damp, but the sun is coming out as we climb up to Dutch Creek Campground and Tornado Pass, walking through a stunning meadow filled with dusty pink wild onion, fresh and sparkling. Of course we call for grizzlies to alert them of our presence, but see no animals or people, for that matter.
It’s a sharp right turn at a pile of gravel that must have at one time been the Alberta/British Columbia border monument at the pass. Then up we go. Clouds are quickly moving in, though straight above us it’s still sunny. The clouds create a moving shadows scape on ancient uplifted seabeds, the thick forests below like waves crashing on their shore.
The saddle actually looks like a saddle, a low point in the mountains. Hey, there’s someone up there! I think it’s Ken cruising over. We’ll be there soon.
There’s a wisp of trail, more an indentation in the grass moving straight up. I don’t use my hands, but I lean forward and breathe heavy. When we hit the crumbly rock, the way appears to thankfully switchback leading us to a surprisingly wide saddle.
A Swainson’s Thrush singing its gossamer song in the krummholz.
The wind is high but there’s a rock break where we take cover and eat, soaking in this extraordinary view. Brilliant white and yellow Hooker’s Mountain-avens seemingly grow directly out of the crumbling rock.
The GDTA tells us this is the hardest pass on trail. Definitely steep heading north, but the descent is on long switchbacks. It’s gentle walking with plenty of time to admire the extraordinary views of crumbling rock and stunted and gnarled pines called “krummholz” gripping the smallest bit of life-sustaining dirt.
A Swainson’s Thrush sings its plaintive gossamer song as we pass through, eventually leaving the alpine and heading deep into forest. We take lunch at Hidden Creek as the rain comes, heavy soaking drops. But we’re not deterred and decide to head right back up onto a long ridge.
Lucky us that the rain passes and the views open to a row of behemoths next to us. Section B has such a special character in these wide open meadows and long views. They don’t last and rain returns just as we descend to Cache Creek.
Is this the worst bit of trail on the GDT? Maybe. Steep is fine. Forest is fine. But just digging out vegetation and creating a trench is not ideal for trail building. Slippery is one thing, but on an incline it can mean breaking something.
So much beauty today. So much wonder. And now, so many swear words.
I look at our distance to camp. Less than a mile. But it’s awful and slow and dirty and wet. I am sore now and just want to be dry.
Alice and Dan are at camp looking rested. I hate them a little, but I need to focus on setting my tent. I unwisely carried a tent made of sil-nylon. It’s great in modest rain and dew, but in this rain forest of damp, it’s a heavy, sopping mess.
I blubber my first — but definitely not last — tears now on this trail. Cold and wet and miserable in a cold and dank forest, I fall deeply asleep as the raindrops pound.
Day Eleven, Cache Creek to random past High Rock, 14 miles
Wet. Damp. Moist.
I just want to state for the record that there is nothing more horrible than packing a wet tent, rolling a wet mattress, exiting a wet yet surprisingly still warm sleeping bag and heading out into a rain forest.
I cram in food in this dank place, thankfully free of mosquitos and delightfully accompanied by the songful creek.
Today begins with a 1,500 foot climb and absolutely no views due to mist.
I can’t do this day after day! I complain, my pack weighted down by the soaking wet tent. I will myself to carefully watch my breathing. Don’t go beyond what’s comfortable on the “Canadian Stairmaster”
And this is how the Canadians do it at least here in Section B after the lovely High Rock Trail: straight up, with very few switchbacks. It’s so muddy, I am finding trees to hold onto for leverage. Should I keep my rain gear on? I’m sweating but it’s misting.
Finally, we’re up and over this steep ridge, then down of course on the most direct and slippery path to beautiful Beehive Creek. It’s wondrous here set in the meadow with the spectacular rock buttresses behind. The rain holds off long enough to filter water and eat a snack before it returns with a vengeance.
We lose the trail in a bog, immediately getting lost at least for a wet moment. Finally the trail is good and we move quickly to Lyell Creek Bridge for another snack as the sun briefly shows itself.
Chilled, we race up the next rise and move quickly to gorgeous Memory Lake. Two deer sit in the meadow and daintily leave as we snack yet again and the sun comes out long enough for me to get the tent at least somewhat dry. It helps to hold it in the wind.
Section B is mostly not on the Divide, rather looking at it. Still, it’s a lot of climbing, another 1,000 feet and steeply down to relics of the Galena Miracle Mine. Talk about a great place to work! We negotiate a few tricky bits on landslips surrounded by the result of so much rain, gorgeous flowers, thick and everywhere.
Then, all of a sudden, with thunder beyond a peak, the trail is easy up and down to a camp on our itinerary called High Rock. But it’s swampy and buggy here. I wear my bug net to make dinner, carefully spooning beneath it.
Let’s not camp here but move on. Surely there’s somewhere flat away from the feeding frenzy. We’ll have to carry water, but it’s worth it.
We check off one more big climb to sidle a ridge with stunning views right at the base of the eroding talus. Thunder rumbles but it doesn’t rain and we look for a suitable site, a dry camp is fine since we carry 1 1/2 liters each.
Kate finds it up in the larch and spruce, flat with a bit of view of Mount O’Rourke and just enough time to set before the rain returns.
But I am cuddled in with a full belly as it pings on the nylon. Glory halleluia!
Expect snow, hail or sleet at any time in the Canaadian Rockies, and for the love of all things blissful, ensure you pack bomb-proof rain gear.
Day Twelve, random to James Lake, 18 miles
Today just might be the worst day on trail yet.
Well, there was that day in Section A when we camped in pouring rain in a wee clearing in the forest. But the trail was easy and we were just wet. Now we have steep up and downs to deal with. Washed out by continuous rain, they’re dangerous.
A study of the map reveals three major humps and one small one. It’s 4,000 feet of ascent and descent, and all in mud from hell.
Imagine a world where you’re wet, muddy, filthy, smelly. It’s not really possible to wash because it’s cold. I feel good still, the body is working and I’m with someone who makes me laugh. And laughs at me as every day I suggest we look for an escape route and get out of here.
There are trails out. But they’re long and end up at forest roads with very little traffic. So we keep moving. Up and down through bog and mud and luges of danger. My foot gets caught on a tree and the other slips down threatening to tear me in half. Kate grabs me in time before I snap a leg.
We pretty much never stop moving, and that wears out my body. Taking a break at tiny campsites just means getting cold, so we try to snack as we go. Though we take enough time to boil water and mix in electrolytes. It keeps us warm and the spirits up.
New Zealand was really tough and wet, but somehow I feel like this is worse. Is it just because I’m older? The one saving grace is how we get a peak at views through the drizzle which changes to light sleet. It is lovely here in spite of being soaked.
One question I get a lot is how do you keep your feet dry? You can’t. Perhaps waterproof socks would protect your feet from the worst of the damp or plastic bags, but this is walking all day in boggy soil, plus a few stream crossings. Trench foot is a real concern.
I just try to dry my feet in my sleeping bag each night. It helps that I tend to be a warm sleeper, so I don’t need to wear socks and the pruniness dissipates quickly. Suffice-to-say, my feet do pretty well even if I lose a toenail.
Our goal for the day is Etherington Creek, but somehow we have the energy to keep moving. Where that comes from must be sheer stubbornness! Doug catches us up and sets his tent quickly as we eat yet another snack and boil yet another electrolyte tea.
There’s cow poop everywhere in this campsite and it’s a bit depressing. Only another four miles. Four miles up and up, but we’re serenaded by a Swainson’s Thrush and find remnants of fossilized coral on trail. It’s a wonder on these ridges and likely even more so if clear.
We do meet an exit where a trail register invites us to sign and give our opinion…oh, cmon, the trail is maintained by volunteers, be nice! James Lake is just around the corner, up a hill and off trail a little. It’s eerily lovely when we arrive, the campsite on a knoll above the lake.
The rain now splats on my soaking wet tent. No chance to dry today. The impulse to call it quits is so strong, but with two of us, we egg each other on and Kate says the next day is supposed to be the most beautiful on trail.
Maybe it will clear.
There’s something to hope for and that helps me sleep.
Day Thirteen, James Lake to Weary Creek, 13 miles
Boy was I wrong. Yesterday was a piece of cake compared to today.
I’m cold, miserable, wet. The tent is wet, the sleeping bag is wet just from condensation. Water droplets kersplat on my face. No, no, no, I will not get up!
From inside my tent I call out to Katelyn,. “Can we leave now?”
But the views that have been promised! What if it clears, we should go see them!
The trouble with this hike is that we have reservations for the entire trip. If we were to stay here and wait out the weather, the rest of the trip would be thrown off. At 60, I don’t have the strength anymore to make up the time by going faster. Besides, the “average” itinerary feels very aggressive.
Still, we’re slightly ahead here at James Lake. But I’m not getting any warmer and only moving is going to help. So with a lot of complaining, whining, muttering of swear words, we pack up and soldier on.
This is the last hump of the hike, a 1,500 foot climb. Had the weather been wonderful, I would have gone on from James Lake up to this rocky moraine. It’s not difficult, just very wet.
Halfway up is a campsite next to Baril Creek and you can kind of make out the shapes of the surrounding peaks. It is supposed to be amazing, so I try to imagine what that would be like.
The bridge is gone over Baril Creek. Katelyn is nearly half my age and leaps across slippery rocks. Later she tells me that was not a good idea, but she makes it. I, on the other hand, find a relatively level spot and wade into the icy, hip-high torrent, smashing through and determined to keep going.
What makes this place so lovely is that you will climb above the treeline to vast meadows at Fording River Pass. We are in a complete and utter whiteout. At this point, there aren’t even shapes of mountains, just a scene out of Wuthering Heights.
Fortunately, the way is marked well with bright orange blazes. Up and over we go, the temperatures dropping into the upper 30s. Up here just freaks me out. Keep moving, keep moving. Orange paint is bright but sometimes we follow an incorrect lichen path and need to regroup.
This is not a place to get injured. We get lost briefly and head straight to a flooded lake, but soon find the trail and get down as fast as possible to a spot behind trees, out of the wind and near a stream to filter more water and make another hot tea.
I put on a thermal layer, afraid to even sit down in this chill. I want to state how important I think it is to hike with someone on this particular trail. It’s doable alone, but you can get into trouble very easily and help won’t be quick in a white out.
There’s one more small climb, then we meet powerlines and a wet thwacking walk through overgrown alders. We’re both sad to miss the best parts of this section, but maybe we’ll return…
In a few miles we come upon a cabin on Aldridge Creek, It’s locked, but the porch is wide and dry and has chairs to sit in! We take a break believing we’ve gotten through the worst of it and now it should be an easy ATV trail.
The sun even makes an appearance. Not enough to clear the mist, but to stop the constant rain. Our next challenge is to cross Aldridge Creek, but it’s very flooded. Once we reach the creek bed, we lose any semblance of trail or even where to to cross.
And to make matters worse, when we spot an orange marker on the opposite bank, the entire side has been eroded by floods. Katlyn dips her feet in to see if a cross is safe. Then retreats shaking her head.
I forget to mention that her trail name is “Swept Away.” She got it on the Pacific Crest Trail after losing her footing and nearly drowning. Rivers are extremely dangerous, more than we give them credit for. Rocks are uneven and slippery, there’s no way to know how deep the water is as you cross and the current can be very powerful indeed, especially if the water is above your knees.
We walk up and down the banks, looking for a reasonably safe crossing. But never find it. Staying on this side seems impossible as the water hems us in along a cliff. And it’s so frustrating because we’d assumed we were close to finishing this day.
Never assume.
And just then, at our lowest point, a she wolf emerges from the thick forest. Silent, curious, magical. We stop and marvel at this moment. The river is loud, but seems to also hold its breath. She looks at us briefly then just as silently, disappears back into the trees.
Katlyn suggests we stay right here on this bank and find a way out without crossing. Just then, a bit louder than our she-wolf, Doug arrives! How does that man keep moving? We all feel braver in a group of three and he’s happy to see us, knowing he might have done something really foolish had we not shown up.
We crawl along the bank, using deadfall as purchase, then heave ourselves up the cliff, which is really dirt and rock. A determined hiker will find a way.
Thwacking through trees, cursing as we shove ourselves higher, we suddenly come to the top and a road! It must be an old logging road not on the map. Might I suggest the GDT build its trail here. There’s no need to cross a river when you can stay safely on one side. In minutes we meet Kananaskis Powerline Road, which we’ll follow for nearly 20 miles out of here.
Well, at least it’s safe.
Doug turns into Aldridge Creek Campground and we move on, trying to get some of these miles out of the way. A car or two pass us coming the other way, but if one comes up from behind, I am flagging it down.
At a small stream, we make our dinner and laugh about how crazy the day was, how we found that road in the knick of time and seeing the wolf even though we never got any views.
Just then, a moose emerges. Yes, it’s a moose with a giant rack atop a monstrous head, his body propped up on somehow dainty legs. He’s at a distance but does seem to be heading into Doug’s camp. Wow, pretty good! We’ve seen a wolf, a grizzly, and a moose. Life is sweet.
But this walk on a wet road is unpleasant. Ahead is another campground, slightly off trail at Weary Creek. I hope against hope it’s not just a sodden field. As we approach we see it’s taken over by several campers.
It turns out the group is supporting a bicyclist named Michael riding the Great Divide Trail from Banff to Mexico. He’s been on it just a day now, but looks fit and determined. They immediately offer us wine and ensure we have a dry place to set.
They even offer us a ride to the end of this road in the morning. Life is good.
Day Fourteen, Weary Creek to Boulton Creek, 7 miles
Oh what bliss to meet Michael and his wife Nancy and their family and friends. We sleep in knowing it will only be a short walk today after we hitch the road. Everyone is in a festive mood as the sun comes out and dries things up.
Suddenly Doug appears! He took a wrong turn and ended up at this site. I kinda wonder if he was looking for us. His wrong turn is fortuitous because he too accepts the ride along this dirt road. Michael is biking the Divide and Nancy is support, so she takes us the 15 miles to Elk Lakes.
And the mountains are on view, finally. I have never seen anything so lovely. Had we experienced good weather we might have taken the Coral Pass Alternate which takes the hiker right into the heart of this beauty. Perhaps we’ll return is a constant refrain. Now we just want to get dry and clean and eat.
Nancy walks with us for the short mile along the Elk Lakes to an extraordinary campsite and stupendous views, the mountains in reflection. Doug decides to stay on schedule, so sets up his tent at the campsite at 10:00 am. We thank Nancy and head up over the Upper Lake Trail. My pack is so light now empty of food. At Fox Lake, we pull out all our gear and dry it in the sun.
It’s a muddy road again from West Elk Pass to the trailhead. Here, the GDT has set up a resupply service. You send — or in our case, deliver — your box to Cochrane and then it’s shuttled to Elk. Lakes.
A warning though, you will need to leave plenty of time for the box to arrive and double check that it has been delivered. Since my husband hand-delivered ours two weeks ahead of time, they both made it. Other hikers were not so lucky.
It’s a big hitch to Canmore should you need to resupply, but very doable as the road is well traveled. In fact, we hitched from the lockers to Boulton Creek Campground. It’s a beautiful place with superb sites. There’s a store mostly with frozen food and a few snacks, plus an amazing ice cream parlor. When it’s open, you can hang out in a room with couches and charging stations plus decent wifi.
But another word of warning, if you select a site near with electricity, you will not have any place to store your food. The bear lockers are near the tent sites, a good 15 minute walk uphill. That’s where the showers are too. We wash our clothes in the sink and take very short, hot showers at $3 per five minutes,
As nice as it is to stay here, it does not feel like a real break. We still camp inside our wet gear and are deprived of a satisfying meal.
Until my friend Tom shows up. We hiked together on the Te Araroa and he’s living and working for a year in Canmore. He joins us for one of our nights, bringing a carload of fresh food. Life is good!
At this point in the hike, we’re joined by our friend Kelly who hiked with us on the Wind River High Route. She’s only able to spare a month, so is on for the remainder of the trip. Our tales of wet and relentless mud and rugged trail have her a bit nervous, but she brings fantastic energy as we prepare to hike through some of the most beautiful portions of the GDT in Banff National Park.
