GREAT DIVIDE TRAIL
GDT: SECTION C
127-mile Section C is the crown jewel of the trail passing through Banff, Yoho, and Kootenay National Parks. You will share the trail but, if you get lucky with the weather as we did, this will count as one of the most spectacular hikes of your life.
Pro tips for Section C:
- Be sure to pack a mosquito head net!
- If you have the time, Palliser Pass is a much better campsite than Palliser River.
- You are now entering the permit zone. Try and stay on schedule and have fun!
- The Atrium inside the hotel at Sunshine Village offers an all-you-can eat buffet from 7-10:30. We wished we’d booked a stay here and planned to resupply.
- Consider rearranging your itinerary to camp at Magog Lake and avoid Porcupine.
- Camp at the Ranger Station above McArthur Creek. You will still need to pay for a permit, but it’s so much nicer than the actual site.
- Take your rest days in Golden. So many restuarants, shops and places to stay.
Day Fifteen, North Interlakes TH to Palliser River via Kananaski Pass, 16 miles
It’s always a great morning when you wake up without rain pinging on the tent. My friend from New Zealand, Tom makes us a big breakfast at our sweet little picnic table. He offers to pile us in is car and drive us to the trailhead.
Then he comes up with a fantastic plan. Section C is the longest section and so the longest food carry. Our packed backpacks totter on our shoulders and it only takes one look at us to realize we need to make a new plan. He offers to shuttle our food to Sunshine Village Ski Resort, exactly half-way through.
How he will get nearly 25 pounds of food up over 3,000 feet and where he’ll leave it does not seem to concern him — or us — so we unload our food on him and head out.
The mist rises revealing gorgeous reflections on Upper Kananaskis Lake. On this easy walk, we train Kelly how to hoot for bears. She’s not quite as operatic as Katlyn and I are, but participates with a few boop-boop-bee-doos as we round blind corners.
At gorgeous Forks Campground, we actually need to find shade as things heat up. We meet a couple of Alberta Parks Rangers who check our permits, although we don’t need any yet as we’re pressing on.
Had the weather been more reliable, it might have been worth it to explore Northover Ridge. It’s supposed to be magnificent. Instead we take a portion of alternate, up towards Three Isle Lake. The wildflowers are outrageous, especially as sun finally hits them.
At one point, the trail heads straight up a rock wall with a ladder and chains. Things are getting interesting. Clouds begin to move in and it’s getting windy as we cross over a low pass into British Columbia. Glaciers appear on the high rocky mountains surrounding a high meadow and we take a long break at deep turquoise Beatty Lake.
Here’s a pro tip: never assume. This caught us out in Section B when we hit Aldrich Creek and thought it was a cruise for the rest of the day instead of a three-hour bushwhack.
After Beatty Lake, it’s only 3.5 miles to our planned camp at the Palliser River, but no mile is created equal. We follow a steep talus slope as thunder rumbles over soaring peaks. It’s steeply up again to avoid a large waterfall until we thwack our way down a mud slide to Leroy River which will need to be forded. Katlyn falls in the mud and gets scraped up, but nothing appears broken or sprained.
Rain begins to fall the rest of the way. Kelly on her first day is not amused. She’s stronger than us and fresh, but in an instant realizes how challenging this trail is. Mostly it’s because the going is good on well-built trail and then terrible on overgrown channels where you need to watch every step.
Thankfully the ford is easy and it’s only a short mile to our campsite, really just a wide meadow of damp. We can’t camp near each other because there aren’t big enough spaces, but we survive and sleep well, preparing for the long day tomorrow when we’ll enter Banff National Park.
Day Sixteen, Palliser River to Big Spring, 18 miles
This is the day we enter Banff National Park. As an American, I’m ashamed to admit that I have never been in my life. It’s so close, yet so far. And now I will rectify that!
We enter from an off-the-beaten-path bit, first climbing up through overgrowth. Like large flapping rubber strips at a car wash, we’re soaked through in just a mile.
But Palliser Pass is lovely directly on a pond with drier pine needle tent sites. Oh, this would have been a much better night! It’s abandoned now, so on we go entering Alberta and Banff. Now it’s just a long, wet valley walk.
And it should be easy. But it’s full of mosquitos and feels a bit relentless. We stop along the way when the sun peaks out for second and begin the process of drying the gear. Kelly falls right into our routine, where we discover hanging out and snacking is sometimes more fun than walking.
It’s not that I don’t love to hike, but now, in Banff, five of the seven nights must be reserved and paid for. We can’t linger and go with the flow. We have to get to Big Spring tonight so we can get to Porcupine the next day and on and on. It makes the hiking feel more relentless.
It’s lovely in its own way with peaks hemming us in. Imagine this place in sunshine. Imagine if we had seen some wildlife.
At Birdwood Campsite, we have a meal even though it’s raining. There’s an empty ranger cabin beyond but it’s off trail and my legs just keep marching forward. Finally, we reach a bridge, then a trail to a lodge. I exert every bit of willpower to not take that exit!
The meadows end and we enter a mossy forest, walking on a superhighway to our lovely campsite. Doug is there and a new friend named Neal. No tourists or section hikers come in this weather, but we’re happy to have obtained permits that guarantee flat ground. The tent pads are bolstered by logs and are mostly dry, though really only large enough for a single tent.
I am so happy to be here and exclaim that maybe tomorrow will get sunshine.
Right as the words leave my lips, an enormous crack of lighting hits the far mountain letting out an explosion of thunder.
Or, maybe not.
Day Seventeen, Big Spring to Porcupine, 18 miles
It’s misty when we awake, but not raining. We can see the ridge beyond the campsite. As we walk through forest littered with mushrooms, Katlyn finds a four-leafed clover. Luck is coming for us.
And indeed it is. The skies begin to clear as we head up steeply towards Wonder Pass. Marvel Lake is an electric shade of blue. Each step we take higher, the clouds lift a little more. It’s extraordinary. Easy climbing on long switchbacks for a change and brilliant views.
As we rise, Katlyn tells me she found a trail angel named Pebbles in our map app, FarOut. Pebbles has offered to help out with resupply at Sunrise Village. Talk about luck! When we left Tom, we had no idea how or where he’s get us our next four days of food.
Kate stops to send a message via her Garmin to connect Pebbles with Tom. If he can deliver the food to her, she will take it up the gondola when she goes to work. Brilliant!
The trail turns sharply away from the lake and through masses of wildflowers. Again we park ourselves in a spot with a view; eat, dry, talk, repeat.
It’s very easy, well maintained trail now in Assiniboine Provincial Park as we head towards the lodge. The air is loud with birdsong, the flowers almost embarrassing in the abundance and the sky fresh and clearing.
There are several cabins for rent through here, so when I say the trail has no huts or bothies, that isn’t entirely correct. But they are expensive and require reservations months in advance. These are not shared spaces.
In fact, I blow right past the sign, that the girls tell me later instructs hikers not to approach the lodge unless we are staying there or participating in their 4:00 pm tea and cakes. I never see it so instead head straight for the main entrance at 1:00 and ask if we can get tea and cakes early.
Of course not! But rather than hassle me about being “off trail,” one of the staff offers to get my picture. The girls arrive and we nab a few chairs looking out to a picture postcard view of Mount Assiniboine.
Returning here to hike more and get views from all angles? A must!
We stay long enough with our view to watch the playful ground squirrels and eat our own cakes. Then off we go, a long way still to the Porcupine Campsite.
It’s a stunning walk through a long meadow with Assiniboine and its snowplow-like glaciers receding behind us, still in view with no clouds. Our final water before the five-mile push to our site is at Og Lake. And there’s Doug on the last day of his section hike.
Og and Magog (off trail but with even more spectacular views) are tough sites to reserve. We hadn’t even bothered since we’re following the GDT average itinerary. If I had to do all over again, I would resupply at Sunshine Village and stay at Magog an extra night. It’s splendid.
Although, it begins to rain immediately and this is a very exposed area without tree cover. The rain doesn’t last long as we enter a fairy forest filled with reindeer moss catching the filtered light.
For a time we pass weird rock formations, likely an exposed area off ancient lava-flow. We’re tired, but dry enough and happy on this most glorious day. What a difference sun and views and well-built trail make.
Porcupine is accessed by a spur. From our map, we don’t cross any topo lines. So it comes as a shock that we climb steeply up and down on less pleasant trail in the woods. Sure, it’s only 100 feet or so, but at the end of the day it feels relentless. A tip might be to camp at Howard Douglas Lake instead although it is over a high pass.
It’s getting late and when we arrive, we find out why permits are required. Few people seem to have a permit at this site and it’s packed, overflowing with tents. Apparently this year was the first that permits were required, so it may take a few years to train people.
We manage to find a sweet site under trees and on pine needles big enough for all three of us. Everyone is nice as we cram into the tiny cook area with only four bear lockers for the hordes of hikers to share. As we sit down to make dinner, it begins to rain but now we have a little party to share our misery with and laugh at how things change so quickly.
Day Eighteen, Porcupine To Egypt Lake, 16 miles
Many of you know I have supra-ventricular tachycardia. Out of the blue, with no warning and no seeming reason, my heart skips a beat and begins racing fast, really fast, like 180 beats per minute.
It caused an evacuation from the Continental Divide Trail when I was alone in the Bob Marshall Wilderness. The people I’d planned to hike with turned out to be absolute jerks. Had they stayed with me as planned, I may not have freaked out that I was having a heart attack or would be incapacitated to the point of becoming grizzly food.
Turns out it wasn’t a heart attack or a very dangerous form of tachycardia. All I needed was a beta blocker or to wait it out. But that’s a whole ‘nother story.
I picked my companions well this time around and when the electrical signals go haywire on an easy descent towards Howard Douglas Lake, my friends stand by me and wait until I feel better.
Perhaps we are pushing a bit too hard. We’d read that there was an all-you-can-eat brunch at Sunrise Village for just $20. We really wanted to eat waffles and scrambled eggs and muffins. The catch is that the brunch runs from 7-10:30 am — and we were camped nine miles away.
At the speed we are going, if we leave by 5:00 am, we can make it with plenty of time to stuff ourselves. Although that means getting up at 4:00 and walking at least some of the way in the dark, straight up over Citadel Pass.
The truth is I am doing great. I’m strong on the uphills and power right up, only using my headlamp for the first hour at most. The weather is fantastic, clear and fresh up switchbacks as the sun glows orange on distant peaks.
The pass is a long meadow under crystal clear skies, not a cloud in sight. We bop down to lakes so still, the mountains in a perfect reflection. We are busting a move, certain we’ll get our buffet when suddenly I feel that familiar gassy feeling, as if a bubble is bursting in my chest.
And then my heart rate shoots up.
I ignore it because we’re headed down. Maybe it will settle out. It often does if I do a vagal maneuver, almost like bearing down to poop or have a baby.
But then we head back up. And I just can’t go on. Luckily it’s clear and dry, so we just sit down. Oh, I feel so bad. My weird propensity for this condition might make us miss breakfast, something we lost sleep for.
I could have had a catheter ablation to burn the area and stop it from happening, but the risks are that I will have to wear a pacemaker for the rest of my life. So I have yet to be convinced it’s worth it when SVT only occurs once or twice a year.
Still here I am in this beautiful place and messing it up for everyone. So I stand up and start walking. Slowly. Down, then right back up.
I’m pretty determined, it seems, and intensely stubborn to get up and over steep Quartz Hill Saddle. The girls actually don’t notice I’d left and tell me later they looked up and there I was stumbling over the top.
Of course they catch up and waddle forward with me the final two miles to the turn off for Sunshine Village. We see tons of people and can even smell bacon, or at least imagine bacon.
Let me tell you that the episode makes me tired and heavy, but the views in this weather are magnificent. The trail gets better, easier, almost a road right down to the little village. We’re dirty and a bit rough around the edges, but are welcomed into the Atrium inside the hotel and led to a table set with a white tablecloth and linen napkins. Well worth it!
We get four plates each and taste everything, closing the buffet down before working our way over to the store where Pebbles has left our resupply. She’s not there in person, but leaves a HUGE block of cheese, and a note. It encourages us to keep the faith especially when it rains for days on end, but also adds that the next few days should be gorgeous. “You got this!”
Oh, Pebbles, what a wonderful trail angel you are. You saved us and Tom from having to figure out how to deliver our food since it’s $50 to ride the gondola and around $100 to leave a resupply box!
We hang around, eat, organize our food and enjoy the sunshine. I am very weak still and feeling vulnerable. It’s only seven miles to Egypt Lake with two passes along the way. But the trail is fantastic, the weather is fantastic, the views, too, yup, fantastic.
We’ve earned this beauty. Hard to believe how different it makes you feel to walk on well built trails under blue skies, everything sparkling. We’re fully aware that the new normal here is smoke nearly all summer, so we count our blessings that we have such crisp skies even it means days of rain to get there.
The flowers are insane, Mountain Paintbrush in every shade of orange, red, pink, magenta, even yellow. I am so tired once we arrive at Egypt Lake, I set my tent and go straight to bed without dinner.
I am so lucky that my SVT appeared on such a day without rain or muddy trail, not racing through a thunderstorm or trying to cross a flooded river. I am also lucky I invited these two amazing women who not once make me feel guilty for slowing them down. Life is good.
Day Nineteen, Egypt Lake to Floe Lake, 18 miles
What a difference real sleep makes. I’m a new person in the morning. I’m sure the food helped, plus lots of water and electrolytes.
As Pebbles assured us, the weather is stunningly beautiful. It’s straight up out of camp on excellent trail. On a rocky-strewn bench, we come across a funny fat marmot sunning himself on a large boulder. He’s just like us, happy to have sunshine on his body.
From here we see the hulks that give this area its name: Scarab and Pharaoh Peaks and Egypt Peak itself. It’s smooth heading down to Haiduk Lake, nestled within, long slides of eroded rock creating a kind of Rorschach Test in perfect symmetry. A massive waterfall feeds the lake from above.
Here we meet Louis who Kate and I first met way back at the start of Section B. He tells us he spent three solid days eating in Canmore but is ready to keep moving now.
I guess that might have been my first clue that something was amiss. He was feeling strong and moving well having taken a break, but now he was three days behind his schedule. Did he change his permits to reflect that? Who knows.
Fish jump in the clear water as we move on, Louis flying by to head up the next pass. There’s a campsite, then straight up on rock shaped by dynamite to create a switchbacked trail.
Ball Pass is up 1,300 feet in a little over a mile. But everything is easy under blue skies. Soon we get a front row seat to Ball Peak, a glacier resting in a bowl of reddish-bronze.
I’m surprised to see Louis at the pass eating lunch. He’s young and fast, so I figure he’d power on. He tells me that he does tend to walk too quickly and is trying to slow down a little and enjoy things.
He then admits that he’s off-permit. When I ask him where he plans to camp he says Floe Lake. That’s our next stop — and one of the most competitive permits to get on the entire GDT.
I tell him we have all our permits to which he replies, we must have gotten on the lottery quickly. Yes, we did. Feeling generous I offer to help him out if he needs to set his tent next to ours and he thanks me.
We linger a bit longer on this gorgeous pass, but it’s a long way still to Floe Lake with a descent through a burn area. This is important because with sunshine, it’s getting hot and a burn area means no shade.
I find this long hot area slightly relentless, but I’m feeling much better having gotten 10 hours of sleep last night. The girls are dragging. We reach a water source and huddle in a small bit of shade to recover. Then press on, seeing the highway far below.
It’s a little unfair to now complain about too much sun, but humans do like a goldilocks temperature. Of course we eventually reach the road and walk up it maybe 1/3 of a mile before turning into the Floe Lake parking lot. That’s when I make a beeline for a couple sitting in their camper.
“Any chance you could sell me a couple of sodas?”
“We won’t sell you them, we’ll give them to you!” they respond, offering us three ice cold cokes for the six miles up to the lake. Thank you, Trail Angels!
Right away the place is stunning as we cross an impossibly turquoise Vermillion River then begin our climb as a storm begins building over us. Of course our luck can’t last forever. Just ahead we see Louis. He waits for us as thunder rumbles.
“Is that a storm coming?!” he asks incredulously, almost as if we haven’t been walking the same trail for the last three weeks.
I assure him it’s just passing over and tell him we’ll see him at the lake. Up and up we go through a narrow valley. Rain falls in a narrow sheet on a distant peak as if being poured out of the cloud.
There is a bit of overgrowth as well as trail eradicated by flooding, but it’s not too hard, just long and we’re gassed. The sun begins to set under the storm clouds, lighting up distant peaks with spotlights of gold. Within our grasp are literally thousands of huckleberries which we gobble as we go.
The rain never hits us, just as I promised but we don’t reach the lake before the gloaming and have little time to find our sites and set up. Scratch that, our single site. Every site except one is taken, and we had reserved and paid for two.
Near the vacant site is a tent that looks very much like Louis’. He wouldn’t just take our site, would he? We just saw him on our way up. I go to the tent and call his name, but no one is inside.
I’m furious but I’m only 99% sure that’s his tent. I want to just pull it down and set mine there, which would be my legitimate right. But that 1% of uncertainly nags at me and I dare not touch the tent.
Where is he? We need to eat and you can’t eat at the campsites. We put on our headlamps and walk down towards the beach. There’s a reason people like to come here. A huge wall of rock plastered with glaciers buttresses the lake. Even in the dim light, I can make out its jagged reflection.
We find a log and set up our cook stoves for dinner. It’s a beautiful night as a pica whistles and stars come out. When we walk back up to our single site, Louis’ tent is still empty. Did he set up and wait for us to give up so he could have a nice flat site for the night?
Past 10:00 and dark, there’s nothing to do but try to set our tents on one pad, Kelly’s slanted on lumpy ground. I am so angry but it’s a risk we take because getting a permit is so complicated and thru-hikers oftentimes take on an entitled attitude.
I grit my teeth and knock off knowing tomorrow will be a much shorter day and the next site has no permit required.
Day Twenty, Floe Lake to Wolverine Pass, 12 miles
All that energy I had yesterday from getting good rest and good food is gone this morning. I’m exhausted from our late night and the stress caused by Louis. I get up and dress at first light and head over to his tent.
“Louis, are you in there?”
“Yes?”
So it was his tent. What the hell? I tell him we are very angry with him for taking our site. We know he’s off-permit and he just passed us coming up here to camp. He offers a lame excuse that it was all a “misunderstanding.” We weren’t there by 9:00 pm, so he figured we must have found somewhere else to camp.
What a nice, well-spoken young man, his English accent totally disarming. Young, good looking, charming, he must regularly get away with murder.
I am livid, but what can I do? I decide it’s best to just let this go and move on, although I probably should have demanded he reimburse us for the spot he camped in. Was it really some sort of misunderstanding or did the guy disappear long enough that we would give up looking for him. Who knows?
We eat on the beach again now getting the full Floe Lake treatment, astounding beauty in the Canadian Rockies as our gear gets crispy dry in the sunshine. It’s a haul up to Numa Pass, but from here Floe Lake is even more astounding as a jagged stage of beauty.
Sadly rather than feel like I’m letting go of my anger, being out of breath gets me more worked up. The permitting process is the least moveable part of this trail. It’s frustrating and byzantine, but we did what was expected of us and obtained all the permits even though there’s so much chatter online about skipping the process and just stealth camping.
The truth is I feel used and duped by Louis. I was nice to him, even offering to help him out. I didn’t expect that he would just squat on our site forcing us to sleep on lumpy ground. It feels like a betrayal.
Numa Pass is a saddle of scree inviting us to sit and soak in the sun. It’s a long way down through forest to the creek and campground. We take over the funny little eating area with extra tall picnic tables. Almost instantly, Kelly and I fall asleep in the shade. .
It’s only three miles to Tumbling Pass, but they’re a steep 1,300 feet away. It’s humid now in the thick bushes and we gather water from a cool stream in our hats and dump it over our heads. The valley we climb sweeps back disappearing into a thick forest. We finally reach verdant meadows along a stream and a balcony walk straight towards even larger glaciers crowded into every nook of towering Tumbling Peak. I can hardly believe the colors of flowers everywhere, even the variations of brown are interesting in the massive moraine below.
Someone makes the comment that you can walk across that moraine and avoid the long U-shaped trail down, over the creek and right back up. I suppose it’s possible, but we’re not entirely sure where to traverse or if the rock is eroding, requiring a tricky water crossing.
So down we go and glad we did taking a well built bridge across the wild and maybe uncrossable Tumbling Creek. The campsite here is lovely, the pads in better shape and all with a view rather than the crowded mess of Floe Lake tucked in the forest.
It’s more up but I’m finally feeling more like myself now and fly. At a viewpoint I realize this is where the traverse would meet the trail. Golly, we might have spent twice as long trying to figure out how to get across rather than simply walk the trail. So glad we didn’t take that advice!
Th walking is mostly flat now along a series of massive mountains hugging closely above wildflower-strewn boggy meadows. Clouds build and we hear thunder in the distance, but it never rains. After 5,000 feet of climbing, we arrive at the turnoff that takes us out of Kootenay Park and onto public land where random camping is allowed.
We see a few tents already at what is called “Wolverine,” and pitch our tents. Nearby is a collection of broken rock, striped and smooth just right to hold cookstoves. Our dinner is long and languid here at one of our favorite sites on trail.
And Louis is nowhere to be found.
Day Twenty-one, Wolverine Pass to McArthur Creek, 14 miles
We finally reach one of the most popular sections of the Great Divide Trail, Rockwall Pass. Our luck continues with fantastic weather on this long ridge following what was exactly advertised: a long rock wall.
The flowers are thick below us on very easy trail. Puffy cumulus cast shadows on the wall but we keep on our sunglasses. It’s glorious views everywhere we look all the way to Helmet Falls in Kootenay National Park. It’s a monster at 1,100 feet but only the 11th highest in the Canadian Rockies.
Still it’s a wonder to behold. I walk the spur trail a little ways to get a closer look, but it’s very hot and there’s no access to water in here. Instead I find shade and make a meal while the girls head in and compare pictures which are close to the same even from a distance.
Only one more pass today, Goodsir, but we are moving to a less traveled part of the park and things get rough almost right away. Giant mountains and glaciers peak through the trees as I stumble along on trail almost completely taken over by willow trees. What saves me is not just the view, but the huckleberries. Nearly black and plump, each handful is a flavor explosion.
There is little water for the eight miles after Helmet Falls, so I am glad I filled up as we come upon Ottertail River where it’s suggested we get water for the night before the final short ascent to McArthur Creek in Yoho National Park.
This is a campsite that requires a paid permit and yet it’s low-lying beneath remnants of a burn. There’s no bear locker (although I learn later it’s past the new privy, you just need to look hard for it) and the place feels like an accident waiting to happen. Trees creak in the breeze as they loom over your little home of nylon.
So we set our tents in the small field in front of the warden’s cabin. Most of these cabins are closed now without the funds to staff them, and this one has a glorious view, picnic table, privy and a good spot to hang the bear bag.
The best way to finish this glorious section.
Day Twenty-two, McArthur Creek to Otter Pass Trailhead, 10 miles
It’s a short walk out today on a forest road which Katlyn aptly names the “People Mover.” Our breakfast is at the picnic table with a view to Goodsir Mountain and a chalky blue creek bending in a C directly below us.
As we leave we pass the campsite. I use the brand new privy, although the old one bent backwards and mouldering into the soil has been left in place. At one last look down to the creek we notice nearly white cliffs like waves one story below us. Right on their knife edge are two mountain goats, mama and baby looking up at us with their long sweet snouts, not moving or stressed, just communing as if to ask, “How’d you like our home?”
Very nice indeed. Thanks for sharing!
It’s a fast ten miles, with one break at a bridge for water and snacks, then onward to the Trans-Canada Highway. We get a hitch within minutes for the 45-minute ride down the pass to Golden.
The only problem is there’s no room in the cab for us, only in the truck bed. I gotta say, there’s nothing like racing down a mountain watching it recede behind you.
Good thing the rain held off.