Tag Archives: adventure

Aug9

Lake O’Hara, Wildfires, An Inspiring Film Maker

Posted on August 9, 2026 by terryannewilson

The revamped school bus shuttles us eleven kilometres up a single-track mountain road. Higher and higher into the mountains, every bump of the road takes us further and further from everyday life. We’re in Yoho National Park and we soon arrive at the esteemed Lake O’Hara. Nestled below turreted peaks, hanging valleys and ribbons of rushing waterfalls, it’s a jewel within Canadian National Parks.

Once off the bus and deposited at the cozy campsite, I am in absolute wonder. This is breathtaking, it’s spectacular! And lucky me, I’m here with my daughter-in-law Trixie Pacis, a Canadian/ Filipino film maker. A screening of one of her films, Embers is only hours away.

It’s been a while since I’ve stuffed a sleeping bag and sleeping mat into a backpack and slept in the great outdoors. Yet Trixie has even more embedded into her pack and out comes our accommodation for the night as well! Once the tent is pitched and our food and toiletries are safely stored into our assigned locker – a grizzly and her cubs were spotted just down the road this morning – we make our way through the campsite across the road to the famed Lake O’Hara.

Lake O’Hara – at 2,020 metres or 6,630 feet above sea level – is in the alpine region of Yoho National Park. Nestled with Jasper, Kootenay and Banff, Yoho is the smallest of these four contiguous national parks. A trip to this area a number of years ago confirmed its grandeur, yet campsites remain elusive unless you’re lucky enough to secure one during the first few minutes they’re released each spring. Trixie’s complimentry tent site is a perk of the screening and as we meander lakeside for my first views, I appreciate how iconic and special it is to be here.

In the 1920’s the lake became the first outpost for The Skyline Hikers who wanted their own trails and camp as the first horse riders, The Trail Riders had formed. Eventually forming a site more permanent than tents, the Lodge and Cabins of Lake O’Hara became one of the darlings of alpine trail routes. The original 1920’s Lodge is undoubtably a little more comfortable than it once was and the lakeside cabins are like frontier gems along the sparkling lakeside. Intrepid climbers visited like Conrad Kain and Mary Schaeffer, portrayed in Trixie’s film Wildflowers.

After a stroll along the shoreline, we perch ourselves on the dock and soak in the site. Yoho means ‘awe or wonder’ and it is aptly named. We meet travellers from near and far. We’re told about the famed carrot-cake delivered twice a day from the lodge to the small cafe, apparently it’s not to be missed. We hear the call of the loon from across the lake and we ponder the sheer majesty of this site, the traditional home of the Secwepemc and The Ktunaxa First Nations. Trixie mentions that it’s also a winter destination and I imagine myself around The Lodge’s fireplace, wine in hand, after a brisk snowshoe. I make a mental note to reserve as soon as I return home!

Dinnertime beckons and back at camp we claim a picnic table in the convivial site. Hikers poles lean on tables. Thermoses of every colour adorn tabletops. Camp stoves boil water for freeze-dried meals. The chat is of the myriad alpine hikes either completed or planned for tomorrow. As we savour a glass of Pinot Noir after our surprisingly delicious dinner, Trixie makes notes for her film screening at 8:30. I’ve seen Embers a number of times, but this setting is certainly the most fitting.

Trixie’s independent films have all been mountain-culture driven. As an award-winning documentary filmmaker, her four films are currently on the festival circuit; Wildflowers, Ahon, Wild Aerial and Embers. As I write, our province of British Columbia is experiencing expansive wildfires (in fact last week we ourselves were on Evacuation Alert) so the film Embers is particularly poignant. About this time two years ago, a wildfire tore through Jasper, Alberta reducing the film’s protaganist’s home- aerialist Sasha Galitzki’s – to ashes. The film connects Sasha’s loss in the wildfire and glacial recession she witnessed in her creative work to highlight the common cause, climate change.

Making our way ten minutes up the road and just before the Lodge, the verandah of Le Relais is already dotted with some of the waiting audience. It’s cozy inside with a few wooden chairs, benches and stacked firewood. Taxidermy of local fauna is on display, as are postcards dangling from wooden pegs. The setting is truly Canadiana. As our host Robynne and Trixie set up for the screening, the now-full room breaks into conversation, but a hush quickly falls over the crowd as Trixie introduces the film and the dramatic opening scene fills the screen. By the end of the documentary, tears fill people’s eyes…. for Sasha’s loss, for our ever-diminishing glaciers, for the danger of wildfires throughout Canada and beyond, for the reality of climate change that is already upon us.

After a Q & A and farewells, we briefly catch the magical alpenglow on rose-tinged cliffs. Now, as night approaches, the haunting cry of a coyote fills the cool air and the loon calls again across the turquiose-blue lake… thankfully, no sign of the grizzly family so far.

The next morning we hike up into the glorious alpine meadows. Climbing steadily along the trail, a porcupine flashes its golden quills, a marmot ducks back into the woods, golden-mantled squirrels scamper beside us and tiny pikas transport flowers and moss into the crevices of rocks. Trixie points out a blaze on a tree, the visual mark chopped onto the bark to traditionally guide hikers along a trail, trailblazing indeed! The small lake we reach is surrounded by fading glaciers and castle-like peaks; we’re both awed by the serenity of it all. Trixie and our son Luke are avid hikers and last year did the full alpine hike. It’s a little too ambitious for me, but nonetheless my reward for the 3-hour hike is none other than a piece of the celebrated carrot cake. We’re first in line for the 2:30 delivery at Le Relais!

Trixie Pacis can be contacted at trixiepacis.com and on instagram #trixie_

Oct10

An adventure steeped in time… of camel caravans, limestone sculptures and peace

Posted on October 10, 2014 by terryannewilson

Standard

Embracing silence in The Ustyurt

They say that in the Ustyurt area of Kazakhstan, you will be cured of your vanity, your petty desires…

I understand why – so dramatic is the scenery, so soulful is the silence, so humbling is the history. It lingers in the ancient sea bed, it lives in the chinks of rocks.

The silence was all embracing, only the noise of travellers disturbing the chalk and limestone mountains; hewn of tawny whites, creams and gelato pinks. Muted tones in the rocky sculptures of castles, arches and chalky yurts… a tapestry of life in pastel hues. Yet a lime green succulent bloomed defiantly on the parched, desert floor. A dash of violet showed off in the distance.

A ‘yurt’ and a ‘fortress’

I’m sure it was forever this beautiful, but it wasn’t always this silent. Once the water flowed and the tides crashed. Sharks swam and fish gurgled.

The Bakty Mountain, tawny whites and gelato pinks

Caravans with countless camels trekked along the ‘silk route’. Laden with bounties of sables, silk and honey, falcons, birch and slaves. These caravan tracks of the Manqystau were well trodden, ‘ships of the desert’ shuffling to and fro, east to west… west to east. Merchants traded, a mingling of cultures and religions, of Indian and Babylon goods. Clay bricks that reveal secrets of roadside settlements, fortresses and homes.

Yet, uncovered layers hint at Stone Age migrations; those long ago nomads following tracks of gazelles, antelope and sheep.

“Ships of the desert’

They live on still, graceful mouflon sheep prancing through the steppe, antlers of forebearers crumbling into the cracked and crusty earth. One and two humped camels shuffling through the sand, steppe eagles gliding overhead. Horses foraging for survival, herders tending torpidly.

A breathless trek to a high outpost. Through remnants of a stone walled fortress, where animals once were hidden, sheltered from enemy tribes. That safe haven, now a portal to a view of peaks. Peaks reaching to the desert sky, piercing the autumn breeze, drawing the glance of a soaring eagle.

A pinnacle piercing the desert sky

We camped in the shadow of a yurt, erected by nature itself. Its domed roof echoing our small, intimate, manmade shelters. Now the valley was alive with crackling embers and sizzling meat. With campfire chat, Russian and English washing across the chill desert air. Yet deafening stillness… in the surrounding cliffs, in the moonlit crevices, in the dark holes of sleeping lizards.

Mausoleum at Shopan-ata

And it ended where it was meant to; in a sacred place. The Manqystau ground is so. Legends hold it was blessed by as many saints as there are days in the year. Shopan-ata, an underground mosque where we were welcomed, shoes slipped off on rich carpet, beckoned inside. A maze of recessed spaces and cool in the caverns half light. Lizards dart in and out of niches. Sufi prayers etched on worn stone, a carved open palm for happiness. Our departure, a gifted white linen cloth, blue stitched for blessings. On the trail of pilgrims, since the fourteenth century. A place where all can enter, of any religion or creed. Peaceful… as it should be.

The Necropolis of Shopan-ata

Outside that tiny carved door, near that hallowed ground, grows a mulberry tree. Wrapping it’s wizened limbs around sinking tombstones, a scene unchanged. Did it once nourish those worms that would become silk…it is the mulberry leaves they eat.

Perhaps the pilgrims that rested here, had traveled this route. Perhaps they gazed at the same wondrous sights, in awe of the luminous moon, endless stars.