Editors’ note: This article originally appeared in issue 10.2, then online on January 11, 2011, but we’re giving it a bump because we feel it needs to be enjoyed yet again.
A trek through the Wapta Icefield traverse in the Canadian Rockies armed only with goods purchased at that bastion of patriotism known as Canadian Tire. Can it get any more Canadian? Pass the Pilsener.
I’ll tell you what: I ain’t no frickin’ writer, but just sit down and read this because I didn’t skip out on the ice-fishing tournament to stay home and write a story nobody would read. I’m frickin’ serious. It all started last year after hockey when my buddy Daryl—who misses a lot of games ’cause he’s always doing trips, even outside of the province—piped up in the middle of a discussion I was having with our goalie about how cool it is to go sledding on nearby Riding Mountain, elevation 1,016 feet. I mean 310 metres. “You ain’t seen nuthin’ till you’ve seen the Canadian Rockies,” Daryl said, looking all distant, like he was daydreaming out loud. Well I was all fired up after the game, so I cracked another Pil—sort of over by his face, which snapped him outta his trance—and shot right back. “Well, what the hell are we doing here in frickin’ Manitoba then? Let’s go!” And that’s where it all began, right there in that sweaty dressing room.