O Canada!
Last spring, out of the blue, my husband, Lucky, said,
“Let’s go to Medicine Hat!” I had vaguely heard of Medicine Hat and was pretty
sure it was in Canada. “Okay,” I said.
I’ll go anywhere.
As it turned out, Medicine Hat is in southeastern Alberta in
Canada, only a few hundred miles from us, but in a foreign country. True,
Canada doesn’t seem like a foreign country. They speak the same language; they
live in a similar climate to ours in Montana and their food is, for the most
part, like ours (I’ll get to poutine later). In the spring of 2013, however,
southeastern Alberta was experiencing horrendous flooding, so we went to
another part of Canada instead, the Okanagan Valley. It was a wonderful trip.
A few weeks ago we decided to give Medicine Hat another try.
Lucky likes novels by Guy Vanderhaeghe, a Canadian author who writes about the
part of Alberta south of Lethbridge.
“I want to see the Cypress Hills. They sound pretty,” he
said.
That was as good a reason as any. I liked the Vanderhaeghe
novel that I read, The Last Crossing, which takes place between Fort
Benton, MT and the Whoop-up Country near Lethbridge. So, it was decided. We’d go north to Alberta.
Day 1
A partly cloudy, breezy day followed us along Highway 2,
touching the southern boundary of Glacier National Park, closed due to snow,
but more importantly due to the government shutdown that was plaguing our
nation. We drove north from Hwy. 2 through Babb, MT along the eastern side of
GNP. A lesser-traveled border crossing near Waterton National Park (the
northern sister to GNP) was closed, so we drove across the border to Cardston,
Alberta. The Canadian border patrol
officer seemed a little cranky—perhaps due to all the calls from the U.S.
(“Are you open? Can I please get out of this head-up-the-ass
nation for a while?”)
With a sigh of relief, we were successfully admitted to
Canada and went into Cardston where options for lunch were scarce. Finally
settling on a Greek Sandwich shop, we scanned the menu and noticed that the
special was something called ‘donair.’
“What’s donair?” I asked the young waitress.
“Oh, it’s my favorite thing to eat! It’s like, a gyro, kind
of, with tomatoes and pressed meat.”
She was so enthusiastic, we both agreed to order donair. As
we sat there waiting for our mystery meal, we noticed a park across the street
with a Fay Wray memorial fountain, turned off for the winter. A wrought iron
likeness of King Kong loomed over the dry concrete, giving it a menacing, yet
oddly humorous appearance. Who knew that Fay Wray was from Cardston, Alberta?
www.youtube.com/watch?v=ihcbIb77QEI
When our donair arrived, we discovered that it was pressed
meat—although what meat exactly was unclear, even after a few bites. Was it
beef? Pork? Lamb? We didn’t have the heart to ask. The meat was wrapped in a
pita and garnished with chunks of unripe tomato and tzatziki sauce (which was
very tasty). The homemade barley beef soup was delicious, though, as were the
fries. I was surprised that Lucky didn’t order poutine—a Canadian specialty of
French fries dressed with gravy and melted cheese.
He said, “I just like saying it … poutine … I don’t really
like to eat it.” I think it sounds a little dirty.
Donair, a new
Canadian dining experience. We can add it to poutine.
We drove west toward Waterton Park. I have lived in
northwestern Montana for 23 years. I’m a regular hiker and fan of Glacier
National Park, but the views of the Waterton peaks blew me away. The craggy
mountains were crowded together in a spectacular, snow-kissed condensation of
GNP. Like Glacier, Waterton is a one-road park but their road remains in the
valley whereas our Going-to-the-Sun Road follows a precipitous route that hangs
by its fingertips to the steep mountainside. The idea of more trails to explore
lingers with me, to be reimagined in another summer.
I had heard marvelous
things about the Prince of Wales Hotel from some of my hiker friends, who raved
about the English High teas that were lovingly presented to visitors as they
enjoyed the view from the conservatory. A ranger had told us that it was closed
for the season, but she encouraged us to drive up for the view.
We approached the hotel along a narrow shadowed lane that
wouldn’t have been out of place a century ago. Finally, the hotel came into
sight.
“Gingerbread cottage
on steroids,” I may have shouted this. Lucky’s used to my outbursts.
I’m convinced that it looks exactly the way that it did when
the eponymous prince, the future Edward VIII, came to visit in 1927. The hotel
was named for him in an attempt to lure him to stay here on a visit from
England, but alas, he preferred to reside at a nearby ranch instead. As
violently as the wind was blowing, I can’t say as I blame him. The hotel is a
little shabby, with rickety, rusty fire exits littering the outside of the
building, giving one pause as to the wisdom of sleeping there. But the view!
The panorama is amazing, allowing you to see for miles down Waterton Lake,
encircled by majestic peaks.
When we finally dragged ourselves away from the view, we
drove to the town of Waterton inside the park to visit the Heritage Center.
It was closed for the season.
The upside of travel in October is smaller crowds. The
downside is that a lot of attractions are closed. Bummer. The charming town made up for it. When I come back to explore the park, I’ll definitely
visit it.
On the way out of the park, I suddenly shouted out, “Bear!”
Lucky screeched to a halt and squinted along my pointing finger to the hillside
above the road. A black bear was digging furiously at the root of a plant (or
for a hapless rodent cowering in his little den). This was the first bear I’d
seen all summer. To think that I had to come to Canada to see him. We sat for a
few minutes watching his labors.
Another upside of traveling in October is that there were no
other cars on the road. If this had been the height of the tourist season, ten
cars spilling out kids, men with tripods and untold legions of camera phones
would have stopped on the road with us. Instead, we, and the bear, enjoyed the
sunny solitude.
We drove north beside the majestic mountains of Waterton and the
Canadian Rockies until we turned east along the railroad tracks and beheld the
vast tabletop wheat fields and plains of Southern Alberta.
It was flat; very flat and buff colored as far as the eye
could see. The only relief from the flatness was an occasional grain elevator
located sporadically beside the railroad in small, utilitarian towns. This was
Highway 3, the Trans-Canada Highway which runs from the Atlantic to the Pacific
across the country. In this part of Canada, it runs like a yard-stick, straight
and narrow on top of the unwavering, level plains.
After what seemed like a hundred miles, I decided that I
wouldn’t miss any amazing views, so I pulled out my knitting and started a new
project for a Christmas present. Two hours and a few inches of knitted material
later, we approached Lethbridge.
Lethbridge appeared flat, at first, but in the center of the
town is a deep, eroded gorge through which flows the Oldman River. Sounds like
a song, doesn’t it? One of the most impressive features of Lethbridge is the
Lethbridge Viaduct, or the High Level Bridge, the highest and longest steel
trestle railroad bridge in the world, finished in 1909.
The countryside around the city is rolling rather than
flat—a great relief from the relentless plains—and is filled with parks and
green areas sprawling along both sides of the river for miles.
We stayed downtown at a huge hotel within walking distance
to shopping areas, but discovered that everything in the area closed at 6:00 on
Wednesdays. Upside/downside again. The hotel had a great bar that served
appetizers, drinkies and dinner, so we amused ourselves there.
Day 2
The next morning we drove down into the gorge to beautiful
green space by the river; crisscrossed by walking and biking trails. It made me
wish I had a dog to walk. We parked at Fort Whoop-up, a re-creation of the
original trading post from the 1870s. There is a Kalispell connection—Charles
Conrad and his brother, who worked for the I.G. Baker Company in Fort Benton,
Montana Territory, supplied trade goods for the fort. These would be swapped
for buffalo robes and other furs brought in by the indigenous Blackfoot tribes.
Eagerly, we stepped up to the impressive log doors to enter
the building.
Winter hours: Noon – 4:00.
It was only 9:55.
We stood desultorily reading the information about the fort,
wondering what else was open that we would be interested in. A young man popped
his head out of the door.
“Are you open?” I asked.
“Not officially, but since I have to be here, I might as
well let you in.” He was much more gracious than his words sounded.
We went in, paid, watched a video about the fur trade in the
area and were allowed to wander around wherever we wanted. The rooms where the
traders lived had been restored, as well as the trading room itself, stacked
high with boxes and bundles of buffalo hides.
“Phew, it really stinks in here.” I hated to be unkind, but
I could imagine all sorts of critters cuddled inside all that hide and hair.
“I wouldn’t want to look under the bottom layer.” Lucky
agreed with me and we rushed out to the fresh air.
Goats and Shetland ponies were in a pen attached to the log
walls of the fort. Bunny rabbits hopped freely inside the stanchions. It was as
idyllic as the fort had probably ever been. We wandered around some more,
thanked the young man who had taken pity on us and left to see what else
Lethbridge had to offer.
Up on the embankment at city level, we found the Galt Museum.
It’s the primary museum of Lethbridge and the largest museum south of Calgary.
Inside, we found a lot of information and displays of the history of Alberta
and the social history of Lethbridge. It was interesting. I finally found out
who built the giant trestle over the Oldman River, and I learned that Mr. Galt
of museum fame owned and operated coal mines around the area, growing very rich
and endowing the Lethbridge hospital (which used to be in the museum building).
On the way out of town, we stopped at a Tim Horton’s. If
you’ve ever been to Canada, you’ll know that there’s a Tim Horton’s on every
corner. They serve coffee, bagels, doughnuts and they are VERY popular. Tim
Horton was a big-deal hockey player back in the day who parleyed his success
into an even more successful chain of doughnut and coffee shops. He sounds like
he was a colorful character who died at age 44, full of vodka and fleeing from
the cops at 160 kilometers per hour. You know there has to be a movie in that.
Once we got into Medicine Hat, we had a heck of a time
finding our motel. The town is built on a river, the South Saskatchewan, which
curves through its gorge carrying the winding streets in its wake. We finally
found our motel, right next to a construction site for an overpass.
Unfortunately, the overpass needed I-beams, and the I-beams needed a
pile-driver. The thump-thump of the machinery echoed up and down the highway
and into our motel. I felt like I was living in a boiler room.
To escape the noise, we drove to a nearby mall where
everything looked the same as every other mall I’ve ever been to. We looked at
each other and left. We found a Chinese buffet that had been recommended by the
desk clerk at the motel. It was okay, but the best part was that when we
finished our meal, night had fallen and the thumping was gone.
Bliss. A peaceful night’s sleep.
Day 3
The big attraction in Medicine Hat (and seemingly the only
one) is the Medalta Potteries and Ceramics Arts Centre in the Historic Clay
District. Apparently, Medicine Hat is located on a huge layer of clay that
rests over an enormous natural gas field. That’s two of three necessities for a
successful pottery operation. Clay to mold, gas to fire the kilns and the
third, a railroad to ship it out to the rest of the world—or the rest of
Canada.
It took a while, but the Clay District finally revealed
itself to us, tucked away between the river and the railroad at the wrong end
of one-way streets. We stumbled into the museum foyer as if we had finally
found Mecca.
Yes, it took that long.
The pottery was much more than I had imagined. In its time
(1920s-1950s), it had been a huge production, manufacturing and firing 3,000
pieces of pottery a day. Most of the pottery was restaurant tableware,
knick-knacks, and crocks of every size and use. The tour of the restored
building and kilns was the most fascinating of the entire trip. We watched as
modern-day potters made items based on molds used decades ago—but on a much
smaller scale. We visited the gift shop, of course, and came away with a few
Christmas presents.
We were anxious to get to the Cypress Hills, the alleged
reason for this trip to Alberta, so we headed south through more flatness, more
wheat ranches, more monotony, and more knitting.
The Cypress Hills are just that—hills that rise from the
plains like an oasis. Most high ground out west is formed by glaciation, so we
were surprised to learn that the Cypress Hills are a plateau capped by an
impervious layer of hard rock that withstood erosion after the shallow sea that
covered Southern Alberta leaked away (or dried up). The hills have a completely
different ecology than the surrounding plains and is a recreation getaway with
lakes, wildlife and bird habitat. It was plain to see why the Hills have been
inhabited for thousands of years by the native tribes that came here to hunt.
The fact that the
hills are very long east to west and narrow north to south meant that we drove
across them quickly. We did stop at the heritage center (OPEN!) and at the
marina for lunch. Too soon, we descended back onto the plains to the south.
More knitting and flatness ensued until, in the distance, we
could see the Sweetgrass Hills of Montana and the border north of Havre. Our
crossing back into the U.S. was facilitated by a cheerful border patrol officer
who welcomed us back with a smile (a rarity and one that we met with
gratitude).
We always enjoy our little adventures in Canada. Next on my
agenda? Vancouver.
