Blog: Jim

Bankhead 2

The Road to Bankhead is still closed but is cleared of snow and was being swept when I rode my bike to the site of the Holy Trinity church. It sits at the top of a hill overlooking lower Bankhead, with a view of the Fairholme Range as well as the Cascades, which was the mountain range being mined for coal. Only the foundation/basement and front steps remain. I sat on the steps, wondering what it would have been like to worship at this church back in 1910. Who were the people that attended? What was the priest like? I got out my large format camera and took two pictures, then headed up to upper Bankhead to look around.

Homesites were easy to find, and a couple of "L" shaped foundations remained. Other sites had sewer pipes sticking out of the ground. Farther north is a clearing that has what looks like was the main road, with building sites along it. Further north the town ended at a bank which had a lot of metal garbage strewn about. I could only surmise that this was where the townsfolk tossed unneeded buckets and cans when they were done with them. The whole northern bank is littered with rusted metal. A rotting barrel sits in the ground with the strap nearby.

I suppose it could all be cleaned up more thoroughly than it has been. How much work would it take? How about the sewer pipes and other utilities that are in the ground? I imagine that Parks keeps these curiosities because it now contributes to the history of the park. Funny how that works. If I tossed garbage into the park, I could face a hefty fine. But someone who tossed an old bucket over the north bank 100 years ago turns it into an historic site.

Prescribed burns

I grew up with forest fires being bad. "Only YOU can prevent forest fires" was the mantra of the day, with the iconic Smokey the bear and his shovel speaking for the trees. 70+ years of forest fire prevention ended up being really bad. It seems man doesn't really know what's best for the forest after all. But for now, prescribed burns are good, so we'll go with that, until it's bad.

I hiked around the approach to Carrot creek today, walking through the logged/burned area. It was actually kind of nice being in a big meadow with clear views all around. The elk like it there as well. But for some reason it doesn't feel right. All those stumps neatly cut, a few trees left here and there to blow down, and straight lines bordering the area speak of man's intervention. I counted the tree rings on a old fir which had succumbed to a saw--around 100 of them. It may have been able to survive a fire, but it didn't have a chance against the chainsaw.

Mountain Peaks

I decided to take pictures of the peaks of mountains yesterday. It is one the few places left untouched by man (except for Sulphur mountain). As I took some pictures and moved to another location, I realized this is a limitless task, since even moving a few hundred feet changes one's perspective and the peaks show a different presentation. And the fact that I'm pretty much limited by roads makes capturing even one peak to the fullest pretty much impossible. And as I was looking through the telephoto lens at each peak and their often foreboding approaches, I realized the very thing that makes Banff so majestic is pretty much off limits to the average man. Perhaps that is why they inspire awe. And perhaps it is good that mountain peaks are so inaccessible.

The Elk Farm

I noticed it at an overlook from the sandstone cliffs on the south side of the highway. It looked like a series of corrals, with 3 square ponds, surrounded by a fence. Curious as to what it was, I rode down to Anthracite to check it out. A couple of buildings, lots of fencing, and empty ponds. It wasn't until last week that I found out what it is. I went tromping down there with snowshoes in foot deep snow, and again was mystified by the fencing. It almost looked like some sort of training facility. One small building stood out, so I went around back and explored the inside. On the wall was a sign which read "1999/2000 Banff Elk Farm." An elk farm? And only 20 years ago?

Of course, it's long since been used as an elk farm. A makeshift target range is setup, along with guidelines posted inside the building with instructions for those park employees who needed some practice shooting .22 caliber rifles. But now this has made me wonder why the Elk farm was setup. Were they trying to finish the Elk herd for slaughter? I understand that parks had to control the Elk population in the past, and they had culled up to 200 Elk a year and given the carcasses to the Stoney Nation. Or were they trying to actually raise more Elk? It didn't look like a breeding facility--more like a place where they administered a herd of Elk and tried keeping them healthy. The sign showed dosages administered to elk of different sizes.

I'm sure this elk farm was someone's good idea--trying to solve a perceived problem with the Elk population, or make good use of the culled herd. So, either the problem went away, or this elk farm didn't accomplish the goals set out by whoever was trying to solve the original problem. So many unanswered questions.

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Cascade Creek

It used to be called the Cascade River--until it was dammed in 1942. Then, it used to dry up over the winter and had a little bit of water in the summer. But following the 2013 flood, Parks decided to let a little water through the dam to keep the creek running all year. I was curious where it flowed upstream from Minnewanka road, so parked there there and hiked up the river bed, past an equipment dump arrayed with iron girders, garbage bins, piles of gravel, and old signs. The river bed has all sorts of markings on it, probably having to do with river flows at different times of the year. But at this time, it was mostly frozen over, with the creek running beneath the ice. A kilometer in and I noticed some rusty iron straps which looked like seaweed. Farther up, there was a rusted pipe, a stove, and more iron straps wrapped around tree trunks. This must have been at the south end of Bankhead, so I kept on making my way up the creek until it opened up to the slack heaps.

I climbed them again to get a feel of how big they are, and walked along a ridge to the end where I could see the former river bed. They say 16 times more water flowed before 1941 than it does now. I'm not sure its path when it reached the highway, but it may have headed across the fenlands to the Bow river at that point, instead of heading around the north side of Tunnel mountain. It would be nice to see what it would look like if the Cascade river was restored to its full flow. Of course that can't happen because the current river bed couldn't handle it when it heads under the legacy trail. But it makes me wonder what it would take to restore things back to pre-1941.