I didn’t go to Canada to find myself. I went to escape people, dodge group tours, and maybe glimpse a bear. What I found instead—between the skeletal trees of Jasper and the turquoise hush of Lake Louise—was a quiet confrontation with nature’s scale and my own smallness. Canada didn’t just offer wilderness. It offered a mirror…
I have never considered myself a tree hugger, nor an avid wildlife wannabe. The desire to observe furry, scaled, winged, and other types of creature has never figured that highly in my consciousness since my overwhelming life mission has centred upon trying to figure out what humanity is all about. This aspect alone has confused me ever since I transitioned from trying to eat my crayons to creating something with them, thereby developing the most wondrous experiences of all: imagination.
I love to travel, to explore and seek to achieve the meaning of life: to create memories. I stole that gem from my late mum who – in my slightly biased opinion – provided the ultimate answer to the question that has occupied many philosophers since time immemorial.
I do not particularly like being around people and shun those travel experiences that mandate group excursions. My epitome of emotional exorcism would be to traipse behind a guide holding a flag. Somewhat bizarrely – given the inclusion of teams of people – the BBC programme Race across the World was the trigger for my most recent anthropological enquiry: Canada.
A huge country (3.85 million square miles; the second largest country in the world) inhabited by around 40 million people (for comparison Canada is 41 times larger than the UK which has nearly 70 million citizens); a mere handful of humans. This fact alone was sufficient to pique my curiosity. Most of my previous sorties have been to places where humankind is predominant, or has at least achieved a foothold in the harshest of environments; Iceland comes immediately to mind. Underpinning this personal preference was the fact that as a human race we have – as the most dominant species on the planet – conspired to create a myriad of cultures that can often be celebrated and cursed in equal measure. Cambodia and the horrors of Auschwitz are stark examples of the latter.
Unexpectedly, and quite remarkably, Canada introduced me to the most fascinating of all human beings. One that was the most baffling across the past, present, and future. An individual who was familiar, but one who I’d never really taken the time to greet: me.
It all turned topsy-turvy for me after departing one of the principal hubs of people: Vancouver. Boarding the Rocky Mountaineer train to Jasper (via Kamloops) I watched over two days as the environment changed before my eyes – from lush forest, to sparse almost desert heartland, to the incredible mountain ranges. Stating that Canada is vast is not adequate. I felt insignificant. A speck of cosmic dust. Realisation dawned: humanity is not – after all – the most powerful and influential worldly force. Nature itself holds that title, and for the first time in my life I realised that nature could do it alone – with or without humanity. Indeed, when I set foot on the Athabasca glacier and witnessed the meltwater streaming down the mountainside, I realised that global warming, fuelled by humanity’s refusal to acknowledge the symbiotic relationship with the Earth, will probably be our ultimate downfall. For the record, this glacier will have disappeared completely in 40 or so years’ time. My great grandchildren are unlikely to ever witness this spectacle of snow and ice that has shaped the landscape. Feeling so small amid the realisation that my species is such a callous caretaker of such beauty was humbling in the extreme.
Equally humbling was my bike ride through the fire ravaged town of Jasper, where acre upon acre of incinerated trees stand like skeletal fingers – the quite awful outcome of nature’s rage: lightning. But the most remarkable thing is the buds of new life beginning to thrive again, turning the previously scorched earth into a lush green habitat for the once displaced wildlife. The force of nature was truly beyond my comprehension, and I felt that I was in the presence of true immortality: the enduring resilience of nature – a trait humanity would do well to mimic rather than seeking destruction by people led conflict.
The lakes possessed a depth of tranquillity that I have never before experienced; deeper than my previous attempts at meditation, and more intimate than any massage. The spring water lakes were as translucent as the finest cut glass crystal, whilst the turquoise blues of their glacial cousins held my attention in the most exquisite way imaginable. Being lost in the majesty of these natural wonders was pure unadulterated escapism. Tuning out of the hubbub of humanity to the near perfect neutrality of nature never felt so good. Lake Louise was so perfect that it looked almost like the most audacious examples of photoshop. But this was the real thing, and my only reference point was the sound of my own breathing.
During my mountain hikes, the further up I went, the more magnificent the experience became as the air quality lubricated my lungs like never before. The eeriness of stillness was hypnotic. At the conclusion, the views were simply breathtaking, and I often had to squint to search for the presence of humanity on the horizon.
If Whistler and Banff held my consciousness hostage, then Niagara Falls crushed any superiority complex with its raw, brutal, colossal, elegant, and uncompromising force, the very essence of nature. Awesome does not even begin to describe its dominance.
Although I saw many examples of wildlife, from marmot to coyotes, mountain sheep, deer, black squirrel, and chip monks, one creature remained elusive. Hidden in the secretive, seductive, and wild wilderness: the bears.
But maybe that’s my calling for another dose of Canada, a place where humanity is a lower order agenda item, behind nature and those damn evasive black and grizzly fur balls!
© Ian Kirke 2025
@ iankirke.bsky.social