In the morning, it was time to leave civilization again, for another trek into the backcountry of the Canadian Rockies.  At 5:00 a.m., John routed us from our beds and put us to work on our final preparations and packing, in hopes of being out the door by 7:00 a.m.  Despite the fact that we were tired - I had slept poorly during the night - and we weren't moving as fast as John would have liked - we still made it out the door before 7:00.

It was cool and rainy as we made our way out of Jasper that morning; the skies were still overcast, and a light drizzle was falling over the mountains.  These were not ideal hiking conditions - no one likes hiking in the rain - but on the plus side, at least it wasn't as hot as it had been all week.  We were grateful for that!  Unfortunately, the rain must have kept the animals out of sight that morning; even though I kept a constant eye out for wildlife, there was nothing to be seen.  No moose, no bears...nothing.

It took us just over an hour to drive to the trailhead at Miette Hot Springs. By that time, the rain had let up, but the air was still cool and damp.  Without the rainfall, we were going to have an easier time hiking...or, at least, that was what we hoped.

We were the only people at the trailhead that morning - but, of course, we fully expected that we would be alone there.  The Fiddle River Trail, past the hot springs, does not get a lot of day-hikers, as it is a trail that is mainly used by backpackers only.  In fact, when John called Jasper Park in April to reserve the campsites at Utopia Creek for two nights, the warden told him that he rarely has people asking him to for that particular place.  Up until then, there wasn't even a single reservation on the books for Utopia Creek during the entire month of July, so we were free to pick whatever dates we wanted; moreover, our chances of having neighbors at Utopia Creek were slim to none.

Just as we had done at the Takakkaw Trailhead, we spent some time at the trailhead, making sure that our luggage, laptops, and Nikon D80 were secure in the rental car, in hopes that we would still have them when our backpacking trek was over.  Once we had everything locked up, we put on our heavy backpacks and started out on our adventure.

The Fiddle River Trail began on a paved trail that paralleled Sulphur Creek for 500 meters to the hot springs.  There, the trail went up a series of stairs, to the old hot springs pool and resort, which is now nothing more than a crumbling ruin, behind a chain link fence.  Nearby, along a boardwalk, there is a concrete box, into which the sulphur hot springs gush forth.  The concrete's surface, under the hot water, is completely yellow from the sulphur deposits. 

"Daddy," Mary asked, "why is there smoke coming from the water?"

"That's not smoke, that's steam," John replied. He helped Mary put her hand into the water to feel how warm it was; it wasn't hot enough to burn her, but she could definitely feel that it was much warmer than the water that rushed through the rivers and creeks.

From the hot springs, the trail left the boardwalk and soon began its steady climb, towards the Sulphur Creek crossing, about a kilometer from the trailhead.  The crossing had a bridge over it, but at first, John wasn't sure if we needed to cross there; he saw another path that went into the trees and followed that to a dead-end, at the creek.  "Daddy," Mary said, "we have to cross at the bridge!"

Sheepishly, he turned back and followed Mary's directions. He had just been corrected by an eight year-old; he hated when she was right and he was wrong - although he wasn't entirely incorrect.  What he had found was the horse crossing.  He really could have crossed there...if he had felt like getting his boots wet right away.

On the other side of the creek, the trail began to climb steeply, through some of the densest, greenest forest we had seen yet, gaining a total of about nine hundred feet over a distance of a mile (or so).  True, it was the strenuous climb that John promised it would be, but taking frequent breaks along the way helped.  It also helped that the skies were overcast and that the forest was cool and wet; on such a strenuous hike, it was nice that we didn't have to do it in the midst of the Alberta heat wave!

Around 10:00 a.m., we arrived at Utopia Pass, where we found one of the most impressive displays of wildflowers in all of the Rockies.  We also found something else that we weren't counting on: mud, and lots of it.  This was no ordinary mud either; this was thick, deep, goopy mud, the kind of mud into which you sink with every step.  The kind of mud that sticks to your boots and makes every step feel like you're walking with lead weights on your ankles.  The kind of mud that causes you to slip and slide all over the place - and, if you're not careful, causes you to fall over into it so that you're soon covered with it.  That happened to Mary; her legs and shorts were completely muddy by the time we were through it.  Fortunately, the mud patch was short-lived - even though it seemed to go on forever.  As soon as we reached the high-point on the pass - and the trail began to descend - we emerged from the mud and found solid ground again.

The descent from Utopia Pass started out as a gentle one; we were enjoying the pleasant, mud-free hike through the forest.  Then, without warning, the trail dropped sharply.  After a pair of switchbacks, we came upon a long, steep descent, one that lost seven hundred feet in elevation in less than half mile.  Going down that steep trail was difficult and required careful steps, so that we didn't slip and fall on the scree.

"This is going to be a bear when we hike out on Thursday," John said.  "We're going to have to plan for extra time to hike up that hill."

I wholeheartedly agreed with him; that was going to be a groaner of a hike.

At the bottom of that steep descent, we arrived at the Fiddle River, where there was a sign indicating that we were only one kilometer from the Utopia Creek Campground.  From there, the trail turned and began to follow the fast-moving Fiddle River.  Although the trail was mostly flat and easy to follow, it seemed to go on forever - probably because we had "destination lust" by that time.  Knowing that we were that close to the campground - and that it was getting close to lunchtime - we were anxious to get there, so that we could change out of our muddy clothes, clean up, and eat lunch.  Fortunately, it didn't turn into a "death march"...but it had the potential of becoming one.

Finally, just after noon, we could finally see the Utopia Creek Campground; but in order to get there, we had to ford Utopia Creek...twice.  Yes, twice; the creek forked, and we had to ford both legs to get to the campground.  The good news was, both crossings were narrow and not too rapid; Mary made it through each crossing with no problem.  It also helped to wash the mud off of our boots and legs.  The bad news was, the water in the creek was ice cold!  It reminded us of the Sierra Mist soft drink commercials; the water was so cold that we were singing soprano like the people in the commercial.  Yeah, it's like that...

The first thing we saw as we entered the Utopia Creek Campground was the bear-bagging pole, which was different from the ones we had used in Yoho.  It was more like the poles we had seen in Glacier National Park in Montana and consisted of a single, horizontal pole, suspended between two trees, and a series of four cables with clips and pulleys.  Just beyond that was the kitchen, which had been set up in a depression next to the creek.  The kitchen had two sturdy picnic benches and metal fire rings where we could have a campfire.

The tent pads - four of them - were located up on the hill, overlooking the kitchen.  We immediately made our way up there and dropped our heavy packs, so that we could set up camp.  As soon as our tents were set up, I went looking for the pit toilet so that I could take care of business.  When I found it, I was surprised to find that it was nothing more than a circular, green plastic "throne" with a toilet seat in it.  (It looked like this, but without the view.)  The smell around the pit toilet was nasty, but what was worse was the toilet seat, which was filthy.  I did my best to wipe it up with a damp piece of bark that I found nearby, but just to be on the safe side, I put my arms on the walls of the pit toilet and suspended myself about three inches above the seat to pee.  The next time I had to go, I would bring along something to clean the toilet seat a little better.

Once our camp was set up, we took our sandwiches and our food bags down to the kitchen so that we could eat lunch and bear-bag.  We also brought with us our muddy clothes, so that I could wash them in the creek and leave them to dry on the picnic table.  I wasn't able to get all of the mud out of them, but at least they were clean enough to wear them again.

That afternoon, John and Mary and I retreated to our tents to take a nap.  While we napped, we heard something that we fully did not expect to hear: voices!  And loud voices to boot!  A whole boy scout troop, consisting of about a dozen boys and a troop leader, had stopped by our campsite to have lunch.  The troop leader insisted on talking as loud as he could and didn't stop until John emerged from the tent and stared at him; only then did he shut up.  Eventually, they moved on and peace was restored; we could hear them marching up the trail and assumed that they were going to the next campsite, at Slide Creek, which was still seven kilometers away.  That was far enough away that we wouldn't hear them shouting again.

Now that John was awake, he decided to go take a hike, while Mary and I were still resting.  Before he left, he told me that the same rules applied as before; if he didn't return, Mary and I should stay the night then hike out in the morning and look for help.

"Yeah, but there's one problem," I said.  "We don't know where we're staying after we're done with our backpacking trip."

This was true; our lodging arrangements for Thursday and Friday nights - following our backpacking trip - had been kept a secret from us.  Having been married to John for ten years now, I could only imagine that he had booked something nice and luxurious for us, but he wasn't giving anything away.  He had dropped a couple of hints here and there - for example, he mentioned that we were might "see someone", which could have meant that we were meeting up with one of his friends...only all of his friends in the area were either at the Lost Prairie Boogie in Montana, or back in Arizona.  So, I guessed that we were going to the Château Lake Louise, as "Louise" was a person's name.  He also hinted about a long drive following our backpacking trip...but "everything was relative".  That made me think that we were either going to drive to Banff Springs - which would be a long drive - or Miette Hot Springs, which would not be a long drive...but everything was relative, right?

Nonetheless, even at that point, where we were discussing what we should do if he was to disappear, he wasn't budging on the location of our undisclosed lodging...though he did give me permission to look it up in his e-mail, only if he didn't return.

While he was gone, Mary and I got up and started looking for firewood, so that we could have a campfire that evening.  Unfortunately, the place had been picked clean; the only good wood to be found was a small pile of dried logs under the picnic table.  We did find a few other pieces here and there, but it was slim pickings; we weren't going to have a very big campfire.

John wasn't gone for very long - an hour at the most.  His plan had been to climb to the top of Utopia Mountain, but when he saw that it was a tree-covered peak, he didn't see the point in doing so - not if he wasn't going to have the spectacular view.  Instead, he hiked about a mile up the trail, until he reached a steep section that he just didn't feel like doing in a pair of camp shoes.  At that point, he decided to turn back and return to camp.

As the evening hours arrived, we adjourned to the kitchen and spent several, lazy hours enjoying the silence and the solitude of our campsite.  We cooked dinner, filtered water, and played card games - John even taught Mary how to play Rummy.  Despite the difficulty that we had gone through to get to Utopia Creek, we were so happy to be there, because this was the ultimate in peace and serenity.

Later that evening, before heading off to bed, John took a short hike up to the Fiddle River, to sit and watch for wildlife.  The area was supposed to be rich with caribou, so he sat quietly by the river, waiting to see if anything emerged.  Although he didn't find any animals, he did capture a stunning sunset.

We all retired around 9:00 p.m.  Instead of going right to sleep, though, I decided to listen to some new music that I had purchased and downloaded only two days earlier - the new album by a-ha, called Foot of the Mountain.  Now, I don't normally discuss such things here, but in this case, it is appropriate.  There I was, in the Fiddle River Valley, surrounded by towering mountains, listening to the song "Foot of the Mountain" and thinking about the perfect beauty that was surrounding me.  Whenever I hear that song now, it always takes me back to Utopia Creek...to that muddy utopia...

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