Category: Canada

We both grew up with the Rocky Mountains within reach. The image of their grandeur, whether right in front of us or just as faint peaks on the horizon, is what drives much of our travels. We crave elevation for the overarching view it provides, we feel comforted when enveloped by rocky pyramids. We’ll enjoy a beach every now and then, sure, but specks of sand will never give us the strength that mountains do.

Although I’m not sure we ever fully realized it until we got back to Alberta and realized how much we missed the Rockies, from Banff to Jasper, to Waterton, the Crowsnest Pass, and more. It is where we feel most at home. And so we bring you some of our favourite photos from recent travels, and some guidance for those who are only visitors on how to enjoy them best.

Mountains are not stadiums where I satisfy my ambition to achieve, they are the cathedrals where I practice my religion. ~ Anatoli Boukreev

No matter how sophisticated you may be, a large granite mountain cannot be denied – it speaks in silence to the very core of your being ~ Ansel Adams

May your trails be crooked, winding, lonesome, dangerous, leading to the most amazing view. May your mountains rise into and above the clouds. ~ Edward Abbey

Keep close to Nature’s heart…and break clear away, once in awhile, and climb a mountain or spend a week in the woods. Wash your spirit clean. ~ John Muir

This mountain, the arched back of the earth risen before us, it made me feel humble, like a beggar, just lucky to be here at all, even briefly. ~ Bridget Asher

All of these mountains can be enjoyed in the vicinity of Banff, Canmore, and Jasper, Alberta. Here are our recommendations on where to stay in the area:

High-end It should be a #lifegoal to stay at the Fairmont Banff Springs Hotel! It is historically and culturally significant to the area, is beautifully elegant, and is surrounding by wilderness and views of the Rocky Mountains.

banff

Mid-range Not only is the Rimrock Resort Hotel a stunning lower-priced option (it has been our “go to” on trips to Banff), but we also really enjoyed the spa.

Budget We have not personally stayed at the Red Carpet Inn, but the reviews suggest that this is one of the best places in Banff to stay on a tighter budget.

canmore

High-end The StoneRidge Mountain Resort is a gorgeous, modern hotel that has views of the Rockies and all the amenities anyone could dream of!

Mid-range Take a cooking class or borrow the bikes and explore downtown at the Paintbox Lodge, a reasonably-priced lodge in Canmore.

Budget The Mountain View Inn is a great place to stay on a budget, and even has great, clear views of the mountains.

jasper

High-end The Jasper Park Lodge reviews say staying there is unforgettable and that everyone is incredibly helpful and friendly. The view isn’t bad either!

Mid-range Stay close to the center of town at the Mount Robson Inn with mountain views and enjoy a complimentary breakfast.

Budget The lovely Miette Guest House has a shared kitchen and laundry facility on site. The reviews recommend that you request a room on the ground floor.

I like geography best, he said, because your mountains and rivers know the secret. Pay no attention to boundaries. ~ Brian Andreas

There was probably no better possible time for us to stop at a spa. Given the punishment we had given ourselves earlier in the day with physical activity in the nearby Valle Bras Du Nord (me especially), some good old standard pampering was what we needed.

Except that we could definitely have used more time for it. And the Siberia Spa was far from “standard”.

It is, without a doubt, the most unique set-up for a spa that we’ve ever seen – with numerous different spa stations to sample outdoors, in two hours we barely had enough time to try them all to find our favourite.

Our directions upon entering was to follow the prescribed Nordic method of hot-cold-relax. The benefits of the blast of cold we learned about in Finland – it is meant to energy, reinvigorate, and is the prescribed method to fight off colds, etc. After our first turn of hot in the Eucalyptus spa, we sauntered over to the cool waterfall and I gingerly dipped my toes in.

I took one step down the stairs, such that the cool water was up past my ankles. A shiver shot through me.

I turned around and promptly left. Pete tried to urge me back in.

“You can’t make me,” I asserted. I had proven my cold-weather prowess in Finland, not just once, but four times. I had nothing to prove here! And, after the harrowing and exhausting day I had just had, I was eager to get to the relax portion of our visit.<For two and a half hours we wandered the spa, taking in various different forms of heat, and then finding a cozy nook or chair to relax in. Into the infrared sauna, Finnish sauna, steam bath, and more. I did dip my toes in the cool pools again, and once even went so far as to step under the waterfall for the briefest of seconds, but was content to just enjoy the warmth that was permeating my body and soul.

After the long day we had just had, we pulled into the parking lot of the Siberia Spa with tired dread and kinda just wishing we could beeline back to the hotel. And after just a couple of hours there, we certainly wished we didn’t have to leave.

It is highly unlikely that I will now ever forget that Québec CIty was founded in 1608 by Samuel de Champlain.

If you had asked me a few weeks ago what I knew about Québec City I would have stumbled through an unintelligible answer and shown my ignorance of Canada’s history. And you know what? I don’t think I’m alone. Whether we can blame it on the education system or our own ignorance, I think Canadians typically do a poor job of learning about our own history and the importance of it in shaping North America’s.

That would explain why I walked around Québec City in complete awe. I feel stupid to think it (let alone write it), but it wasn’t until I stepped into this important city that I finally felt connected to my own history as a Canadian.

Now I know…

— About Champlain, “The Father of New France”, who was the first to accurately map the coastline and establish settlements in the city he founded.

— Leading into the oldest commercial district in North America is the Rue Petit Champlain, the very first street in North America.

— This spot? It’s where the Canadian anthem was sung for the first time in 1880.

— Québec was an intense battleground for so many years. Between the French and the English, the Americans and the British, and so on, with the native Indians on either side of the fence at different times. Canada quite possibly could have become a part of America, or have remained entirely French. It was all decided there.

And so, so much more. The modern rules of hockey were born in Montreal, poutine in a couple of rural communities. The entire province holds so much of what we define as Canadian.

Spending but a few days there gave me such a sense of pride which I’m not even sure is fair for me to have. I’m not from there specifically, I don’t even speak the local language that well. But I felt an inextricable pull to all of it, finally felt tied to my nation’s history that sprouted from right there.

To be able to plant feet where great battles occurred that influenced the creation of our country, and to stand outside the Notre Dame des Victoires in the old city and envision the commercial center buzzing centuries ago had a profound impact on me. Some places wow me with their food, others with astounding natural landscapes, but none have hit my core quite like Québec City did.

Oh, and it is very pretty too, with a distinct European flair that is so unlike the rest of the country. And I firmly believe every Canadian should make a pilgrimage there to experience it.

Quinton Crow Shoe sat amid an array of artifacts and against a backdrop adorned with colourful diamond shapes and stark black buffalo. It was the concluding stop on our tour of Head-Smashed-in Buffalo Jump, and Quinton invited us into a room named after his father to participate in a smudge ceremony. It was my first smudge, but would not be my last on a journey around southern Alberta that was rooted in visiting Indigenous tourism sites. The intent of the ceremony is to purify the body via a cleansing smoke bath created by setting fire to a small weave of dried grass. The braid was passed around to all in a circle so that we each had a private moment to let the smoke waft over us.

As suggested, I waved the fog of the smoldering sweetgrass onto my eyes so that I may see clearer, over my ears so that I may hear better, and to my mouth so I that may speak truth. I continued to coax it over various areas and limbs of my body and finished by bringing the smoke enveloped in my hands close to my heart.

The particular intimacy of it, in full view of the other participants, startled me. I was shy of the eyes of virtual strangers that may have watched me in such a special moment, but at the same time, I also felt more connected to them and my surroundings.

And it was one of those experiences where in retrospect I shook my head in disbelief, thinking of my upbringing in this province surrounded by Indigenous communities, and wondering why I had never experienced indigenous tourism in Alberta before.

The chasm is wide. I can’t quite recall when, during my schooling, I was introduced to Canada’s history, and specifically as it pertains to the people and culture that existed here prior to the arrival of European immigrants. I am sure that it was reviewed in a variety of classes over the years, but not in any way that stuck with me. It was likely, as was common for the time, that our collective history was meant to be instilled largely via memorization of names and dates. It says a lot that I remember more about my instruction of the Aztec culture of central Mexico than I do of my own country. I distinctly remember, in grade five, building a paper mâché replica of an Aztec pyramid on a large piece of cardboard. Yet from those same years, I barely remember mention of famed Métis leader Louis Riel from Manitoba.

Times have changed, thankfully. With two high school educators in my immediate family, we’ve talked plenty about Alberta’s “new curriculum” and how content and methods of teaching will give students a far better opportunity to retain important knowledge and awareness. Particularly addressed in the new curriculum is the commitment to better honour First Nations, Metis, and Inuit content. These changes, according to this couple in our 40s who feel like we are learning it all from the beginning (and dozens of years after our formal education), are far overdue.

So, Pete and I are playing catch-up.

And I can read all the articles and books available, but the way in which I know that I will learn best is to experience it. I need to talk to people and see historic spots firsthand. I absorb by doing. I need context and story.

Which is why the growth of Indigenous tourism is something that I am going to paying much closer attention too. And there is no better place to start than in the province in which I spent most of my life.

“The Creator is here, day in and day out,” Quinton said. “Take away the interpretive centre and it is still a sacred site.” We were standing on Treaty 7 land within the Piikani community and a part of the Blackfoot Confederacy. A few steps from the interpretive center and we were on the edge of a cliff, staring over the edge at a historic kill site.

Head-Smashed-in Buffalo Jump, so aptly named, was used for over 6,000 years, and a vital part of survival for the nomadic people who frequented here. It took the efforts of a whole community and ingenious methods to employ it, beginning with spiritual ceremonies to ensure a safe and successful hunt. The buffalo were then herded by skilled young men who mingled among them in animal hides. The herd was then lured to v-shaped drive lanes marked with rocks and sticks, the large animals were spooked into panic and took the only option left in front of them, plunging over the steep sandstone cliffs. Below, hunters waited to finish off any that may have survived. The Plains people would use nearly every part of the kill to sustain them until the next.

Quinton’s pride in his work and his community was evident and bursting as he lead us through the centre. His imperative is to ensure that the land and stories of the people are respected and cared for. “The time is right,” he said, “for us to come together for education and understanding.”

Every day the staff lights the smudge, not only for its beautiful moment of cleansing but to help maintain the cultural integrity of the site. To remind us (or at the very least, it reminds me) that our goal as humans should be to work in harmony with the land before us.

My second smudge was on the second day. Tracey and Tim brought forth smoldering sage – our group learned then that there are a variety of grasses that can be used, and while each Indigenous community may have different usages and approaches, sage was suggested on that day as most suitable for the activity ahead of us. After several quiet moments of passing the small woven braid, we each picked up a bow and arrow. We started with foam targets roughly thirty feet from us. I chose the only pink bow (because of course) and positioned it. I considered the many instructions Tim gave on the angle of my right elbow and the grip of my left hand. Staring down the arrow, I let it fly as I exhaled. For my first shot, it wasn’t bad, but it wasn’t quite on target. And that is how every shot would land for the rest of my time.

Without improvement, I could not exactly consider myself an ethical hunter (the goal is to ensure a clean kill and no suffering). But that did not stop me from wanting to try repeatedly, this return to basic skills of living off of the land being something that has long intrigued me.

Tim is of Saulteaux/Scottish decent and Tracey is Cree/Mohawk and Irish. Their goal with Painted Warriors, which sits on a beautiful swath of rolling foothills near Sundre, is to provide traditional based learning. Besides archery, their offerings match the wide range of skills they possess. From equestrian to cooking to basic outdoor skills, their clients include actors looking to perfect their roles, people looking to reconnect with nature, and others who want to develop elemental skills. Experiences are custom-built and not mass packaged for tourism, allowing the duo to remain true to their mission: to provide each visitor with an educational and enjoyable activity tailored to their personal desires. That way, everybody leaves with something.

This piece of Indigenous culture – a return to basic skills of living off the land and with local products – fed a desire to connect with nature and a community that while always near in location, was far from my understanding.

I have a lot to learn.

Tracey and Tim of Painted Warriors

On my trip to these sites through southern Alberta, I had the immense pleasure of traveling with Dené Sinclair, the Director of Marketing for Indigenous Tourism Association of Canada (ITAC). This is one of many things she said that stuck with me: “Adventurous travel is not just about how we push ourselves physically, but also of how we stretch our own minds and understanding.” Pete and I have traveled the world with that intent always in mind, but have not been attentive enough to do it at home.

This feels like the beginning of a chance to stretch my mind beyond my privileged understanding and views of where I came from. Let tourism be my vehicle to do so.

how to do it

Head-Smashed-in-Buffalo-Jump and Painted Warriors are two of several Indigenous tourism experiences to be had in Alberta, and of hundreds across Canada. A good place to start is the ITAC website, to plan adventures to stretch your mind.

They moved quickly and quietly for creatures of such substantial girth. Their coarse hair often hung over their eyes and was laced with straw and other debris. Yet they seemed approachable, soft and fuzzy enough that I wanted to rush and embrace them. But I obeyed and kept my distance. These are, despite the fence that binds them in Elk Island National Park, entirely wild creatures.

In the still moments, we only heard hooves crunching snow, but near the aptly named octagon, that near silence was disturbed by the clanking of metal as doors opened and closed. Several of the youngest bison were being moved through a giant maze to reach the station that would see them tested for disease ahead of a big trip south. These particular Great Plains Bison were set to return to where the entire species almost died off, in Montana, for a large conservation project.”Gone are the cowboy days of corralling by force,” Stephen Flemming, the Superintendent of the Park informed us. “Now we move them with their bellies; we woo them through the octagon with food.”

From one section to another they moved, until they were finally trapped in a slim enclosure, waiting for their turn. Some panicked, one even got flipped over, and staff raced to right the young calf. Others had blue flags lowered into their line of vision, the sight of that colour proven to calm the bison. They were soon shepherded through and back to roam again. And without understanding, of course, of the importance of their journey.

“There is a long stretch of international history, all related to the bison,” Stephen said.

It was in the early 1900s when their kind was almost entirely wiped out. A Montana native, Walking Coyote, started a herd after shooting a bison female while hunting, and the calves followed him back. He later joined forces with another, and together they grew their herd of a few dozen to over 500.

It was during a time when the US government was trying to push out the native reservations and gave little regard to the fact that this herd even existed. The Dominion Parks of Canada stepped in and promised safety for the bison. They’ve since been moved a couple of times, but now live free in Elk Island National Park, just east of Edmonton. The fence around them only exists to conserve; there is no other interaction with them except what is necessary. They are even handled only in winter, as the summer heat is too stressful for them.

These Great Plans Bison now number above 800, and are the only purebred conservation stock that exist in the world. (Seen bison in your travels? They would have had some cow genes in them.) Those headed south to Montana are to help build another herd as a project of the American Prairie Reserve. And stock has even headed from Elk Island to as far as Russia. Sent via jet, thirty at a time made the big trip (ninety in total).”Russia?” I asked, confused why this stock would be introduced to an area to which they are not native.

“Part of the reason we agreed to it is for calamity planning,” Stephen explained. “If something ever happens to wipe out the herds in the western hemisphere, the species will still exist somewhere else on the planet.” I was stunned by that response, not ever before thinking of the planning that must happen on that type of scale. But I’m glad that someone else does.

It always astounds me, the disregard that exists in many parts of the world for animals, and even moreso when it happened on my own continent in the past century. This visit was encouraging.

elk island national park

The Park, just 35km east of Edmonton, is home to many other animals such as elk (of course!), wood bison, moose, deer, beaver, and many types of birds. Tours are offered, and Stephen aspires to open it up even more with an interpretation center. For now, there are plenty of spots to cross-country ski and it’s a perfect place to observe northern lights when they are happening. In summer there is camping and lots of trails for hiking.

It was mere minutes after the Delawana from Nova Scotia lost to the Esperanto from Massachusetts in the inaugural International Fisherman’s Cup in 1920 that the idea for the Bluenose was conceived.

The desire for the Bluenose came from the desire to win. Yes, she was also a fishing vessel who would serve her community well (and break records for massive hauls of cod), but her entire conception came from a deeply prideful place.

The Bluenose – and Nova Scotia – needed to beat the Americans.

And beat them she did. Designed by a Haligonian and built right in Lunenburg, the Bluenose was built for speed. And with speed, having been completed in just 96 days by using hand tools only. When I asked Captain Phil Watson of the replica Bluenose II why the original vessel was so successful, he narrowed it down to two reasons. For one: the Bluenose was built longer than any other schooner at the time and length contributes greatly to speed. Secondly: she was governed by a badass captain.

Angus Walters led her on the waters the following year and with a triumphant win over the American challenger Elsie, the Bluenose brought the trophy to Nova Scotia. In the years to come, the Americans built new vessels with the sole intent of beating the Bluenose but continuously came up short. The Bluenose remained undefeated in the International Fisherman’s Cup in her 17 years of racing.

Immense fame and notoriety followed. Bluenose was dubbed the “Queen of the Atlantic” and became an iconic symbol for Nova Scotia and for Canada. At his core, Captain Walters was a fisherman and racing champion, facing challenges from the ocean of folk-tale proportions, but then suddenly had to balance his time by meeting and greeting international dignitaries. Bluenose and her Captain became important ambassadors of Canada, thrust firmly into the spotlight.

The continued success of the Bluenose cemented Lunenburg and Nova Scotia’s renowned expertise as shipbuilders. But why, now that we are decades past the “golden age” of sailing, does the story of the Bluenose have such staying power? I asked current Captain Phil Watson.

His answer highlighted two great stories that we can all relate to. For one, there are the epic legends of man vs. nature; in this case, forging the ability to slice through water at remarkable speeds. And second is the story of country vs. country. For a newly-minted nation such as Canada, this was the first real show of skill on an international stage. This was the first time we beat our rivalrous neighbours to the south. And the ship itself, while designed, built, and raced from Nova Scotia, contained elements of the whole country (like the Douglas Fir from British Columbia used to build the enormous masts). The Bluenose wins, and the international acclaim that accompanied them, rippled across Canada and united its citizens in pride.

Of course, the vessel’s infamy is helped by the fact that the Bluenose was immortalized on the dime in the 1930s and has thus graced our pockets and loose change purses since. To this day, the Bluenose remains the only item represented on a Canadian coin that is not from the natural world.

The Bluenose came to her sad demise in 1946. As you might expect, such sailing vessels are expensive and difficult to maintain, and even Angus Walters himself tried to keep her (quite literally) afloat. But when funds ran out, the Bluenose was sold to the West Indies Trading Company in 1942 and worked in the Caribbean Sea hauling fruit. She struck a coral reef and was abandoned there. When Angus Walters heard the news, he was at the curling club in Lunenburg, participating in a bonspiel. The whole community paid witness to his anguish over the loss of a schooner he had dedicated so much of his life to.

But his efforts are still lauded today, especially since the replica – Bluenose II – was built in 1963 by many of the original Bluenose shipbuilders. Angus was invited on her maiden voyage at the age of 82 and upon his first steps on her deck, said two simple words: She’ll do. Those who knew Angus knew that this was the highest honour he could give.

What I can’t help but still wonder: Did they have any idea, at the time, that the Bluenose would be celebrated a century later? That her likeness would adorn everything from currency to beer cans to bags of coffee to teddy bears and beyond? The Bluenose II is not exactly the same ship, although much has been kept the same. The current sails are made by the granddaughter of the person who made the original sails. The towering masts are still made of British Columbia’s Douglas Fir wood. The ingrained scrolls are the same, and many many other details that I won’t recount here.

What matters most, however, is what the vessel represents, and the ripples she still casts. As landlocked Albertans who grew up well after the time of the Bluenose, and thousands of kilometers from where her presence was felt most, our knowledge came mostly from a quick lesson in early school days and this Heritage Minute. It wasn’t until we saw the Bluenose II in person and spoke with those connected to her that we realized how deep the legacy goes.

The crew told us stories of people crying when they walked her decks. While they are too young to have seen the original Bluenose in person, the stories of her told by their grandparents filled their childhoods. Finally being able to experience this piece of living history carried a lot of meaning.

We met Sébastian McSween, the Creative Lead with Amos Pewter, an artisan shop located in nearby Mahone Bay. He worked as a deckhand in the early 2000s aboard the Bluenose II and brought that experience to life in another way, by designing a commemorative piece for the centennial. Rather than simply replicating the schooner’s likeness in pewter, he wanted to incorporate something special into a pendant. On the front: An illustration of the ship’s scroll from the vantage point of the deck. On the back: An imprint of the original winning sails that now sit in a museum. With the sails forbidden to be touched (in order to preserve the fabric), the museum did high res scans of the cloth and turned it into a 3D landscape to make the mold. They specifically included a part with a seam to add more texture.

Walking around Lunenburg, the homages to Bluenose are seemingly endless. Ceramic replicas can be found in stores and in home windows. Restaurant menus have items paying homage. We even saw two tourist children with their noses painted blue, excitedly walking up to the vessel for a quick tour on board. We even found out that everyone can track a White Shark named Bluenose (who was first tagged near Lunenburg) as he makes his way around Nova Scotia.

We spent some time at Ironworks Distillery sampling their impressive offer of spirits, produced in a building that was home to marine blacksmiths (who of course served both Bluenose ships) for 111 years. On offer is their exceptional and award-winning Bluenose Rum, rich in caramel and molasses flavour. They also have a Heart Iron Whiskey, named after a specific piece of heart-shaped metal, painted red, that was on both the Bluenose and now the Bluenose II.

We tried the Bluenose Brew from Laughing Whale Coffee, the Bluenose 100 Commemorative Ale from Saltbox Brewing Company, and the Bluenose Lager from Shipwright Brewing. We also sampled the Bluenose Drive chocolate (sea salt flavour, of course) from Lunenburg Rum Cakes. What was most apparent (besides reflecting on how much we love our jobs), was that with everything dedicated to the Bluenose, the quality of all we tasted and savoured suited their purpose. They each paid honour in the most delicious way.

“All Canadians need to make a pilgrimage here, be out with the sails up, and hear the boat creak as it leans,” one local emphasized to us. Current COVID rules meant that such a sailing experience was not possible for us, but our eyes will be peeled for the opportunity to do so in the future. For this most recent visit, we made our way down to see her dockside whenever we could.

On the last day, a crowd gathered to watch her leave the harbour on a crew-training exercise. While the attendees generally skewed older, all ages were represented. The kids with their noses painted blue had returned with their parents to see her off as well. We even drove up the coastline for a while as she glided towards open waters, chasing her with our cameras.

Upon our return to Lunenburg, and in our last few hours in the town before beginning the journey home, we sat for lunch overlooking the harbour. It looked empty without her. The Bluenose shaped a town, a province, and a country – her proud place in our collective history is most certainly earned.

I looked past Pete to the view out of the driver side window as we turned north from home. The mountains, at least 100kms west of us, still had snow on their peaks, that brilliant white popped against the bluebird sky. It wasn’t long until we couldn’t see them at all though, the sky morphing to a deep grey, streaking to the earth in pockets of showers between us and the horizon. This is one of my favourite things about Alberta: the expansive sky that seems to stretch infinitely, and the clusters of varying weather that change at any given moment, on any given drive.

I’m drawn to the mountains, always. Certain ranges speak to me for tragic reasons, yet lift me up with strength in dark times. So often, travel plans within our own province includes them.

Except this time. We’ve both spent over a decade of our adult years in Alberta, yet we’ve strived to see so little of it. And that’s what this trip was all about.

The mountains, we knew, would be so crowded this time of year, with national parks being free to enter in celebration of Canada’s 150th anniversary since confederation. So instead, we picked up an RV in Edmonton, double checked and ticked off our RV checklist and mapped a route heading east that included crossing many swaths of land that we had never visited before.

And we took full advantage of the freedom that camping gave us; when possible, we avoided those campgrounds right within town limits. We pulled over to grill and dine on a whim. We put on extra kilometres in order to buy ourselves a bigger slice of nature (and quiet) and we were highly rewarded.

Our quest on this trip was two-fold: to check out as many offbeat roadside attractions in rural Alberta as possible, as well as to challenge ourselves to determine if, as Albertans, we could enjoy camping as much if the mountains weren’t in view.

Burbank Campground

We often make the busy drive in between Calgary and Edmonton with barely a stop in Red Deer (almost the exact halfway point), except to refuel. And maybe that’s why this campground surprised us so much – it’s not far off the highway but feels like it is worlds away. Tucked into a luscious space where the Red Deer and Blindman Rivers meet, it’s quiet with lofty trees. At the confluence of the rivers is also a popular fishing spot for locals.

Dinosaur Provincial Park

Not to be confused with the area surrounding Drumheller, Dinosaur Provincial Park is actually over two hours south. This was the only place we stayed more than one night, and we were sure glad we did. While a busy campsite, the setting just can’t be beat, right in the deep layered groove of the Canadian Badlands with ample walking trails and all kinds of historic information along the way.

Hoodoo RV Resort and Campground

The town of Drumheller has so much to offer, but this spot just a few minute drive out of the city is very worth it. While the campsites themselves feel quite stacked compared to others we visited, the setting right in the prehistoric valley made up for it. A mid-week stay might be best here to ensure that a bit of peace can be found to connect with the fascinating environment.

Sir Winston Churchill Provincial Park

As soon as we turned north of Edmonton, I felt like it was a homecoming. And this is for one reason only: the trees. Yet I am ashamed to have never noticed this are before. This Provincial Park is actually an island in the middle of Lac La Biche and it is s well known (except to us!) for its old growth forest. The sites are big and well-kept, with sandy beaches that felt pretty good to stroll on after the drive to get there.

Rainbow Valley Campground

By the time we picked up the RV nearby on day one, stocked it, drove through Edmonton for the required “world’s largest” sighting, we were ready to call it a day. The Rainbow Valley Campground in the south is a spacious site considering it is well within city limits. It also is ideal for families (or kids posing as adults), with a large aerial park recently opened within.