Lac Beauvert

On September 6, unbeknownst to us, Canada Parks issued an update on the Chetamon Wildfire near Jasper National Park:  "Now is not the time to visit Jasper National Park." Since that time, rain, cooler weather, and strategic firefighting have managed to get the fire under control, but I feel like a bit of a stupid American having ventured to the park on Sept. 10, seemingly ignoring Canada's warning to visitors.  

A few days prior, all the power in the town of Jasper had gone out... leaving the town to run on whatever individual generator power was available.  All of the campgrounds and many hotels closed and most of the tourists headed elsewhere.   Lulled into complacency by the crystal clear skies and clean air north in Mt. Robson where we had set up base camp, we headed south to Jasper anyway.   

After a bit of hiking at the summit of a nearby mountain, we dropped down in elevation to a modest lake called Lac Beauvert.  My two French names and I (Denise and Michelle) dropped Cucumber the kayak into the "Lake Beautiful Green", and headed out for a paddle.  I would have switched Cucumber over to her French counterpart name (concombre) to make the whole experience French, but her name had a better ring in English.  C'est la vie.   

Because of the tourist exodus from Jasper, I was the only soul on the lake.  The water was so clear that I could see straight to the bottom.  In some places, this meant an expanse of glacial sediment, interrupted only by the occasional log. In shallower places, this meant one rounded rock after another, and in other places, it meant a scattering of golf balls wrought by errant swings of a golf club from the world-renowned course that sat right on the border of the lake. 

While Barry and Lazer hiked around part of the lake and explored the golf course, I paddled, being careful to slap the water as little as possible with each swing of the paddle.  Peace like what surrounded me on Lac Beauvert was so perfect and so complete that I wanted to savor each moment.  Actually, I wanted to bottle it up and take it with me every time I headed into Seattle, every time I woke up too early in the morning with a plate too full, every time life rattled me with another unknown, every time another tragedy broke onto the headlines.... 

But, the only bottle I had in hand while on the lake was my own memory. So it will just have to do for recalling peace and time to contemplate on days when either or both seem impossible.