GREAT DIVIDE TRAIL
GDT: SECTION E
117-mile Section E is a study in contrasts of some of the finest walking in the world over Jonas Pass and the Skyline coupled with “decommissioned” trails in White Goat Wilderness and Banff, where “willow bashing” takes on a whole new meaning.
Pro tips for Section E:
- Take care to avoid the cliff climb at the “poor trail” section of Owen Creek. Rather follow the river on the eroded right bank.
- If the weather’s good, don’t miss the climb up to the high point above the highest point on the GDT.
- If you are unable to get a permit in the Maligne Valley, you should be able to find someone who does abd sign on to theirs via the GDTA facebook page.
- Don’t miss Maligne Lake. There’s great food and friendly staff.
- Hammocks are generally allowed on the GDT except not on the Skyline Trail.
Day Twenty-seven, Owen Creek to Pinto Lake, 15 miles
We can only afford one night at the Crossing. But the place is well appointed. There’s a kind of community room with couches and electrical plugs, there’s even a sauna. No one seems to mind that we hang around until just before dark then hitch a ride to the Owen Creek trailhead and random camp a mile in.
It’s so lovely here with the tumbling creek, a sunset and good rest before a tough day ahead. The first days of Section E are in the White Goat Wilderness notorious for poor trail conditions.
We’ll climb three passes today with 5,500 feet of gain and 4,300 descent including the highest pass on the GDT at an unnamed saddle. Right from the start it’s climbing, watching the creek tumble through a tight slot canyon.
And soon we meet up with our familiar friends, blowdown, slippery super steep ups, mud and general nonsense. But it’s sunny now and we’ve had two all-you-can-eat meals.
Far Out marks “poor trail” and we immediately follow a herd path straight up, using our hands on loose rock and roots. It is the wrong way, but going down is way more difficult, so we triangulate through a blowdown-filled forest. That’s when I lose it, crying because I don’t want to slip and break my neck here.
Soon enough, we’re back on the route which hugs the eroded jumble of boulders within spraying distance of the creek. I fall a few times, I slide using my backpack but finally make it through.
Two hours later.
You know this entire mess could be avoided with a set of switchbacks in the forest. <sigh> But now, things ease up. It’s steep up to Owen Pass, but it’s more of what we think of when we say, “I’m backpacking.”
For a while it’s just a long, flat expanse, an austere high altitude steppe in this case all stone. Cliffs surround us some like colossal fortresses, others tipped as if waves frozen in rock form. We pass the turnoff for Michelle Lakes, a brilliant turquoise suddenly wishing we’d planned to camp down there.
Instead we climb on heading for the GDT’s highest point, one with no name. The views take on an otherworldly feel as if we are in the middle of a vast ocean being tossed about.
It’s windy here but not far to the highest point of the highest point, some of the most thrilling views of the entire walk, the mountains tipped as if in motion. It’s messy walking down again and nearly impossible to find the campsites here. Water is abundant and we snack before heading up for our last pass.
Th skies begin to turn gray and I’m worried I can’t handle it, but it’s surprisingly straight forward. Muddy yes, and torn up by horses hooves, but clear and steady.
It’s rainy and windy on Pinto Pass and covered with bright pink Mountain Paintbrush. From here it’s a long way down. Our goal is Pinto Lake and we better reach it to stay on permit.
We catch a view of the lake, but mostly we walk in wet forest, whooping for grizzlies and busting a move. We arrive only minutes before dark, camping in a sweet spot with a view of the lake and looming Mount Coleman.
Day Twenty-eight, Pinto Lake to Boulder, 18 miles
Yesterday was huge.
And today will be too. It’s tiring us out. I begin to wonder if it would be worth it to either carry more food and go slower or pay someone to bring in food at one of the exit points.
The good news is we have almost ten miles along the creek and it’s beautiful, easy walking. We’ll have to ford the creek, but we find a good spot with water right at our knees and not moving too fast. In the sunshine it actually feels good.
As we get closer to the cutoff for Cataract Pass, we look for the short cutoff that will take us to a giant boulder. This boulder was used by early people as a canvas for ochre paintings. There’s a man, hands and other symbols painted in this lovely spot high above the river. I love imagining who was here and why they chose here. Also, what the symbols mean to the artist.
It’s not long before we leave the forest for a junction with the Cataract Pass trail. The views immediately open to peaks and glaciers, plus many people camping. We climb up right next to mossy tumbling waterfalls, tromping through one flower-filled meadow after another. It’s absolutely bucolic.
I must say only moments before I was beginning to feel unsure I could go on , and then the trail takes this turn to some of the most awe-inspiring beauty yet. The cliffs take on a pinkish hue, the stunted spruce like so many of Painting-with-Bob’s happy little trees.
It’s one of those afternoons you think could go on forever. I look ahead, but also behind as the valley opens up and the sun pops out from behind another of Bob’s happy white clouds. A ptarmigan chick is suddenly at my feet just staying very still so I might not see him. I think his mama disappears telling him you’re on your own kid.
As we climb, grass gives way to purple dwarf fireweed in bunchy masses. Then it’s all rock and snow patches as we return to the austerity of the alpine zone — and thunderheads.
I am good on up and power ahead, certain just over this rise I’ll start going down. But I am dead wrong. The pass is a long saddle on amazing two-toned rock. Our rain gear is back on as the wind builds, blowing sleet into our faces.
It’s not far now before we enter Jasper National Park. Far below the glacier carves a channel where it feeds into a lake eventually fanning out in braids and emptying deeper into the valley.
Sure it’s wet and still a long way down, but we are mesmerized and the hiking is much easier than yesterday on well-used path. Kelly leads the way, a dot ahead now. We see other hikers too who seem to hesitate before heading over in rain. Before we reach them, we come upon a family of bighorn sheep including one sweet baby.
I am sure they are used to people. And the people below must be happy these people above look just fine coming down as they decide to go for it as the rain subsides.
As we reach the braided rivers, the trail floods producing just the right conditions for the sedge called Arctic Cotton. It pokes up like so many pompoms and is followed by one unusual layer of rock after another, some in that rich orange we could see from above.
This area fascinates. Even in tricky walking with so much damp, it’s lovely. Everywhere you turn are gorgeous views. It’s down, then up again after we meet the Brazeau River. More tipped mountains and wide open views take us down even further to a bridge and our campsite.
A man welcomes us and I’m pleasantly surprised. I soon realize this is one of the competitive sites and there are only four spots. He and his wife and another couple took two and we have the other two, so we’re kind of a little family for the night. It’s not a particularly stunning site, but there are flat spots, a sturdy picnic table, a fire ring and a cute green couch-looking all-in-one plastic toilet tucked out of site.
Of course we join our new neighbors for dinner since they already have the fire going as well as a propane-powered mosquito deterrent. And we all sleep like babies.
Day Twenty-nine, Day 29, Boulder to Waterfalls, 19 miles
For the first time since Section C, we have a gorgeous day all day long. It comes as a welcome surprise and we bask in its wonderfulness as we head out first toward crowded Four Points Campground, then steeply up to a hanging valley.
Here in Jasper National Park, the trails are glorious, well-maintained, built at a reasonable grade and through beautiful country. This is part of a popular five day backpacking trip called the Brazeau Loop. We meet many hikers tackling it and certainly overjoyed that today is so pretty.
My bad attitude about this being too much muchness evaporates and I just breath it all in, the fresh smoke-free air, the whistling marmots, the views all around which open up on a long valley steadily climbing towards Jonas Pass.
What happens here is we meet really friendy people who have only a bite-sized agenda so they don’t carry the panic we do that we have to keep moving no matter what to make it to their scheduled destination. Two young men in particular make us laugh with their pink walking sticks and enormous smiles.
We tell them we’ll shoot for Waterfall today and their eyes get big. “That’s really far!” Well, almost 20 miles. Yes, it’s far.
But our smiles must look maniacal, so happy it’s beautiful. Now in this moment is why people come here, why thru-hikers put up with horrible conditions to savor the wondrous moments like today.
This trail doesn’t even require us to look at our feet so we can just watch the clouds cast shadows on the silvery mountains. The pass itself just feels like a hump before the trail turns up another valley towards Jonas Shoulder.
This is no Tornado Saddle. It’s ridiculously cruisey, how I’d hope the entire trail would be. When we reach the top, unlike yesterday, we linger, take silly pictures, eat, talk, hangout. I could live here it’s so nice, but the guys were right, it’s a long way to camp.
Down is easy on cleared scree, silky phacelia and fleabane finding any opportunity to sprout in the rough ground. It’s not long to the Jonas cutoff where our friends will turn right and we’ll continue on. We cross on a good bridge, then immediately hit awful trail. It’s mud and forest-walk and feels like it goes on forever.
Am I just an impatient person? Perhaps I need to bring my headphones next time so I don’t continue to be destroyed by awful trail with no views or much interest honestly.
We are all in our own little head spaces of misery, calling out for bears and plodding along. But then the site arrives. It’s beautiful, high up above Pobokton Creek.
Two young men are already here, Noah and Brett, section hiking the GDT. We join them after setting our tents, eating at a long picnic table with a view right out to the waterfall which gives the site its name.
To be fair, if you ignore the endless mud walk at the end, this was one of the best days yet. It was far, so no wonder I am tired especially in accumulation of so many days of walking.
Then Noah tells me that his Garmin is reading 10-20% more distance than is on the map. That may only be a few miles, but if it’s true, no wonder I’m exhausted. We tell him this trail feels longer and we don’t know if that’s simply because of the poor conditions and near constant rain.
At any rate, my permit is for Trapper Creek, over 24 miles away. I’m fairly certain we can’t make it. This is where things get interesting. The three sites in the Maligne Valley are only permitted to one person. There are several tent pads within the site, but the park will only allow for one permit.
So Noah invites us to join them at Mary Shaffer, still far but only 18 miles away. Oh what luck! That is exactly what we need to do and we are so grateful. From there he tells us, we can walk just 10 miles to Maligne Lake where there’s a waffle hut.
Deal!
Day Thirty, Waterfalls to Mary Schaeffer, 18 miles
I suppose if you had to choose only one day to be perfect up here in the Canadian Rockies, yesterday would be that day. Today is less interesting walking mostly in damp fungus-filled forest and soggy meadows.
It’s cold at breakfast, then hot and sweaty as we climb towards Maligne Pass. Forest is one repeat almost all the way up before we pop out to a dour Scottish-like highlands feel.
Then it’s right back into the forest.
This is an official decommissioned trail, meaning you can come here (and pay for a permit to camp in designated sites) but the trail will not be cared for and the damaged bridges will never be replaced.
What I heard was that naturalists want this area to become protected habitat for endangered Southern Mountain Woodland Caribou. These animals are endangered and face severe threats from habitat loss. This is their home and we are just passing through, but I have a tough time believing not replacing bridges will help the population.
We don’t see any caribou. We don’t see any animals, most of them wisely bedding down to wait out this constant rain. It’s not wildly beautiful in here, but maybe that’s just the dark gray dankness.
All we can think about, all we can talk about is getting those waffles tomorrow. It’s what keeps us from stopping at the first site after the pass, Mary Vaux. It’s cute with a sweet table for eating. But if we camp here, it’s even longer until we get to waffles.
So off we go into overgrown willows threatening to take over the trail along numerous river crossings. Damp, tired, and ready to sleep, we meet Noah and Brett again and quickly set before it begins raining, really, really hard.
During a short break, we eat at low picnic tables. There are plenty of bear lockers, even giant ones big enough to hold a child. Only ten miles tomorrow, but the rain is supposed to be heavy all day.
Just think of the waffles. Just think of the waffles.
The Maligne River had its bridge washed out long ago. In wet years, it’s a dangerous ford.
Day Thirty-one, Mary Schaeffer To Maligne Lake, 11 miles
The heavy rain may have been expected but that’s doesn’t mean we accept it. It’s cold and awful and relentless. My tent is a pile of goo that I pack heavy and wet. We eat under Kate’s tarp, but Kelly is very anxious. She’s seriously cold now and coming up is a suffer-fest.
Forest, roots, bogs, shoe-sucking mud, thwacking willows and young pines go on and on in an endless litany of torture. Thee’s no way to stop really but keep grinding forward.
And the worst part is we know there’s a river ford ahead. Brett and Noah left extra early, so we’re on our own. But it’s a comfort to arrive and not see them, assuming they got across. Or were they washed away?
The river is wide, not especially fast, but it is high, pressing up against the banks. It’s easy to see where the tough spot will be, a deeper channel racing forward.
Katlyn is the champ at river crossing and heads in first using her walking stick to check depth and feel how slippery the rocks are beneath her feet. “It’s ok, we can do this!” she yells out as she reaches the shallows.
I step in as the water presses against my thighs, pushy and determined. No, I am staying upright, I think, and carefully place each foot towards the small bit of sandbar before it gets deeper, all the way up to my crotch.
We learn later that some of our friends one day behind us nearly get swept away. This is a dangerous river in wet summers so why they can’t be bothered to build a bridge mystifies me.
The trail goes on and on over blowdowns with spiky bits requiring awkward knee lifts, one ice-cold side stream after another to be crossed, and spirit sucking goo. Everything is wet to the bone. All my gear, even the stuff protected inside plastic. There’s just no way to get dry.
We finally reach the site we had planned to camp, Trapper, which just has ruined tables and no discernible flat spots. We shove in a few energy bars and keep going, the waffles calling our names.
Then suddenly there’s a bridge, a good bridge and decent trail. Moose Lake is ahead but no moose in the rain. Still tourists in various styles of rain gear pass us eager to know if we saw a moose. I say yes…then mutter two weeks ago.
How mean, but funny. And we need to laugh at the situation. It’s absolutely pouring now as we arrive at Maligne Lake, all the boats still at the dock and visitors crammed inside hoping for a break.
We go right into the waffle hut and order whatever has the most calories. The lovely server piles mine up high, a savory delight. It’s dry in here, but still cold and we’re wearing all our wet gear.
We meet a group hikers who are ahead of us on trail. They say that their site, Evelyn Creek the one we plan to stay in tonight, flooded last night. They packed up their sodden gear in the early hours, raced back here and are planning to end their trip and head home.
They even offer us all their leftover food. Fantastic! But can we go on, especially if our planned campsite tonight is under water?
Eventually we saunter over to the Lake House Restaurant which has more tables. Empty now, we find one in the back out of the way to just dry up and strategize.
And there’s Noah and Brett! Just seeing them makes us feel better. They also have decided to give up and offer us yet another permit for tomorrow night at Tekarra, one site closer than I had reserved on our final night in this section.
Really nice guys. But we still have to figure out what to do tonight. None of us want to go back out in this rain and Kelly is experiencing serious hypothermia. We offer up any and all of our dry clothes to her and help her get as dry and comfortable as possible.
I suppose we could call an uber, but to where? The hotels are all booked up unless we want to spend $1000 or more. No trail angels live around here and with the park’s strict rules, there’s no way we can random camp at the lake or even stay inside with seasonal workers. That’s when I decide to call the park itself.
I explain to the ranger that the camp we’re headed to is flooded out according to the hikers there last night. And he says, well in that case we should just do the best we can to find a random place to camp.
When I relay that to the Maligne Lake staff, they figure if the park says it’s ok, then it’s ok with them and suggest we camp just beyond the parking lot and near the trail about a half mile away.
We stay inside until closing and start to feel better, Kelly less shivery as the rain abates, then head to a flat spot just beyond the lot.
Day Thirty-two, Maligne Lake to Tekarra, 19 miles
And here we go again, rain all night and packing a soaking tent. I want to get everything away before anyone comes along, so it’s especially awful to have to move quickly and earlier than I had wanted to.
We walk in mist up to Evelyn Creek, its tent pads filled with puddles and a nice splashy bit right where your feet go under the picnic table. We probably would have survived, but staying close to the restaurant last night just made things easier.
It will be a lot of exposed climbing today, nearly 3,000 feet up to Little and Big Shovels Passes, then over there Notch at 8,201 feet and along the very exposed Skyline, one of the most popular trails in the Rockies.
We can always hope, but are beginning to make peace with the fact that this is a very wet year. But somehow, as we steadily climb, the sun comes out and the thick clouds begin to break up.
It’s underscored by the fact that we are climbing above treeline and closer to the clouds. By the time we reach Snowbowl, a campsite nestled n a beautiful valley, the sun is downright hot. Everything comes out of our packs and is laid out to dry. The true test is when we’re forced to put on our sunglasses and pack away rain gear.
As we climb steeply toward Big Shovel Pass, we begin to feel the Jonas Shoulder type vibes and find a sweet spot next to the trail to kick back and simply enjoy this wondrous place.
That’s when our two guy friends from Jonas come upon us, Matt and Johnnie, all smiles and pink walking sticks. We take each others pictures and laugh about the rain as if it’s a distant memory or happened to someone else.
They tell us they’ll stay at Shovel Pass Lodge tonight, not willing to take any more chances with the rain. And again are amazed we’re planning to hike as far as Tekarra. They press on and are soon dots going over the pass.
It’s not easy to leave this bucolic place. Let’s face it, hiking is great, but hanging our with your hiker friends in stunning surroundings is even better. But we need to keep going to get to the next site and stay on schedule, so up we go. It’s not tough at all pressing higher toward another austere location of windswept rock and glacial lakes.
The clouds move in and I feel anxious to get up over The Notch before any weather returns. We’ll be walking many totally exposed miles. It’s a giant bowl here looking out toward pointy blue peaks and a deep river valley.
Last year, Jasper suffered a devastating forest fire. The trail beyond the lodge is closed still and even from here I can see charred forests. The notch is straight ahead, short and steep. I can see any hikers like little ants on it moving slowly. That’s gonna be a challenge.
But it’s not really. This is a national park and the main trails are good, just rocky, eroded, and steep but the trail is obvious and well trod. The girls take a bit of a break but, worried about the weather, I keep going and within a half hour, I’m on the top.
Wow! It’s gray and devoid of snow except for one strip of glacier. That makes walking easier but not a good sign for the planet, I would think. The mountains surrounding me look impenetrable. It’s true that we cross the divide a lot on this trail, but after a certain point, it’s not possible and we just look at it from a distance.
The clouds feel close and heavy, but there’s no rain, not even wind. It’s a few miles along the ridge, all of us smiling and singing. What luck we have, and to now possess a permit for the first campsite after the Skyline, making this a much more doable day.
We take hundreds of pictures and video and soak in this amazing place before heading down on very (ridiculously) long switchbacks into valley where we’ll camp. I love switchbacks, but these are truly ridiculous seemingly asking to be cut, which I try not to do but it’s nearly impossible since a herd trail has established cut switchbacks.
Eventually we arrive at the site, a little rough around the edges with the picnic table surrounded by puddles and the sites a bit uneven. But we’re just happy it didn’t rain.
There’s obe other person here who seems to be tucked in for the night, so we choose sites, set up then head to the eating area. That’s when another GDT hiker named Bronwyn shows up. I know her from social media and invite her to sit with us. She holds back for some reason, but I’m too tired to find out why.
Later Katlyn tells me that Bronwyn asks her, “How’s hammocking working out for you?” Then admonishes Katlyn for using a hammock instead of a tent. “You know they’re not allowed.”
I guess I didn’t know that. To be fair, it’s true. Hammocks are allowed most on the GDT, but not on the Skyline Trail.
It’s no excuse, but Kate uses wide, flat webbing that does not harm trees, and she has the means to set here tarp on the ground like a tent. Still, I can’t imagine why Bronwyn would make it her business to scold Kate. Why not savor the fabulous day we all just experienced?
I don’t find out until the next day.
Day Thirty-three, Day 33, Tekarra to Jasper, 9 miles
We luck out with fabulous weather yesterday on the Skyline, so we don’t really care that it’s raining when we get up. Everything just stuffs into the pack and will get dry later at the hostel.
Besides, it’s a short hike on a “People Mover” again, good trail then mostly road all the way to the main road where we’ll hitch to town. So I happily eat breakfast in my rain gear, dreaming now of a hot shower and a comfy bed.
As we set at the puddly picnic table, Bronwyn shows up sitting at her own picnic table. I again invite her to join us, but she demurs. So we keep chatting and laughing and enjoying this last day of the section.
And that’s when Bronwyn drops her bomb. “You know,” she says dripping with condescension. “I did not like that you called out Louis.”
“What? You mean calling him out on my Facebook page that I wasn’t happy that he stole our campsite? If you don’t like it, scroll on.”
That’s when she takes her cue to begin a rant about how he said it was all a “misunderstanding.”
Good lord, now he’s got her fooled.
She goes on and on about how hard it is to get permits and that we can’t be expected to stay exactly on schedule and that everyone does it, blah, blah, blah, blah.
Not once does she consider the fact that even though it’s really complicated and frustrating to get permits, we yet went through the process, properly, only to have a kid, who knew we were on our way right behind him, take our spot so he could have a good night’s sleep and we could sleep on lumpy, uneven ground.
There was no “misunderstanding.” Louis got off permit and didn’t take the time to adjust his permits with the park. He hiked to Floe Lake thinking he might just sneak in and camp without anyone knowing. Frankly, I could care less what he does, but when it affects my group, I very much care about it.
The truth is being off permit and stealing campsites is a big problem on the GDT, not just for us hikers but for for the Great Divide Trail Association itself. They work so hard to create and maintain good relationships with the myriad parties that administer this land. They want to ensure they don’t jeopardize the future of the trail by allowing hikers to thumb their nose at the rules.
That’s why they emphasize over and over that we must get our permits and also that we need to stick to them. And if we can’t stick to them, then to make other arrangements, just as we did when Noah and Brett gave us their permits.
I have no idea what motivates Bronwyn to stand up for Louis, a kid who behaved badly, but I can guarantee she wouldn’t talk like this had it happened to her.
Finally I have enough of her scolding. “I got it.” I said looking right at her. “Stop talking now and let me enjoy my breakfast.” This trail is tough enough without being worried someone will take your site — or that some hiker will lecture you at breakfast.
As I mentioned, it’s easy walking sidling Signal Mountain then walking through a burn zone only recently restored. We get a quick hitch at the trailhead from a local who delivers us to the terrific hostel, the only one not burned down and still open.
Later, we meet up with a big group of new friends including Matt and Pica and Noah and Brett and forget all about Bronywn and Louis, instead focusing on all the amazing things we did and saw in Section E and what’s to come in the final two sections.