Alaska Road Trip Part 6: Fall Becomes Winter in the Canadian Rockies

From Steelhead Rivers to the Canadian Rockies

By the time October arrived, it felt like we had lived several different trips in one.

We had spent weeks chasing fish through northern British Columbia, sleeping beside rivers, watching bears wander the shoreline, and learning to adapt to weather that changed by the hour. But as incredible as the fishing had been, we could feel the journey beginning to shift. The rivers were becoming colder, the mountains were collecting snow, and conversations around camp were slowly turning toward the drive home.

Before leaving Smithers, I took the dogs for a walk while Kyle floated and fished the river one more time. Miya stayed close to me while Ollie rode along with Kyle, always happiest when he was near the water. We grabbed coffee from Buckwood, gathered ingredients for chicken noodle soup, showered, did laundry, and tried to enjoy the kind of ordinary day that becomes surprisingly meaningful during long trips.

That evening, we picked Kyle up at sunset in Telkwa. Ollie had rolled in fish and desperately needed a bath, and when Kyle told me he loved the soup, it felt like a tiny victory after weeks of camp meals and improvised dinners.

The next morning brought one of those travel moments that instantly spikes your heart rate.

While packing up the motel and canoe, I stopped at a thrift store and found a mug I absolutely loved. Somewhere between trying on my raincoat, moving gear, and wandering the aisles, my wallet disappeared. I retraced every step, checked the car, searched my pockets, and finally walked back into the store with a sinking feeling in my stomach.

Before I could finish asking if anyone had turned it in, the employee smiled and handed it over.

“We recognized you from earlier,” she said.

I could have hugged her.

Wallet recovered, mug purchased, crisis averted.

That afternoon, I headed to a riverside campsite ahead of Kyle, determined to set up the tent myself. I tried for hours and eventually had to admit defeat. So Miya and I sat by the river and waited.

Around five o’clock, I looked up and saw Kyle coming down the river with Ollie perched proudly in the front of the canoe. I grabbed the camera and filmed the moment as he glided toward shore. It lasted only a few seconds, but it’s one of my favorite memories from the entire trip.

That night we made smoked turkey, smoked pork, and pasta salad while a group of college-aged campers slowly filled the nearby sites. We exchanged the kind of look that says, When did we become the people worried about the party? But the kids were respectful, the music stayed reasonable, and we ended up laughing about how old we suddenly felt.

The next morning, Kyle returned from an early fishing session with a huge grin. He had finally caught the coho he’d been chasing for days after a charter captain from Prince Rupert gave him a lure and a few tips. Watching him finally get it done after so much effort was incredibly satisfying.

Then we grabbed one last Buckwood coffee, pointed the truck east, and officially began the next chapter.

Arriving in Jasper National Park

The drive into Jasper felt different from everything that had come before it.

We spent one night at a roadside hotel before continuing through sprawling mountain ranges that seemed to grow larger with every mile. By the time we reached Jasper National Park just before dark, the temperature had dropped sharply and fresh snow dusted the peaks above us.

The first thing that struck me was how much of the landscape still carried the scars of wildfire. Vast stretches of forest had burned years earlier, leaving behind silver-gray trunks that stretched across entire hillsides. Instead of making the park feel empty, it somehow made the surviving forest feel even more precious.

As we set up camp, the sound of elk bugling echoed through the valley.

Not in the distance.

Right through the campground.

We hurried to finish before dark while the mountains glowed pink behind us. By the time we filled our water bottles, elk were already wandering between campsites as if they owned the place.

And honestly, they kind of did.

Wildlife Around Every Corner

One of the first things we learned in Jasper was that wildlife sightings weren’t special events.

They were just part of the day.

We watched a bull elk rut through the campground while eating breakfast sandwiches and chatting with our neighbors. Later, driving toward Maligne Lake, we spotted a massive bull moose standing beside the road, raking his antlers through brush with enough force to make us stop the truck.

For a moment I genuinely wondered if he was going to charge.

He was enormous.

And that turned out to be only the beginning.

At Maligne Lake, moose seemed to appear everywhere. Two stood near the first beach. Another emerged farther down the shoreline. Then two more wandered through the parking lot, sparring lightly and clacking their hooves together while tourists stared in disbelief.

I kept saying, “There are moose everywhere,” because I genuinely couldn’t believe it.

On the drive back to camp, elk ran across the road in front of us while the evening sky turned shades of pink and blue that barely looked real.

Jasper felt wild in a way that’s increasingly hard to find.

Maligne Lake and the Color of the Water

The drive to Maligne Lake alone would have been worth the trip.

Fresh snow had fallen on the surrounding mountains overnight, and every turn seemed to reveal another postcard view. We stopped constantly for photos, not because we were trying to create content, but because we genuinely couldn’t stop looking around.

Then we reached the lake.

The water was the kind of turquoise that makes you question whether photographs have been edited. Against the dark evergreens and newly snow-covered peaks, it looked almost luminous.

We walked slowly along the shoreline, stopping every few minutes as another moose appeared somewhere nearby. The dogs stayed close, and we gave the wildlife plenty of space, but the feeling of sharing the landscape with so many large animals made the entire place feel alive.

It wasn’t just beautiful.

It felt untamed.

Pyramid Lake and Slowing Down

After days of constant driving and big sightseeing, we decided to slow down.

We packed smoked salmon, a cranberry 7-Up, and headed toward Pyramid Lake for a hike with the dogs. The morning started cold enough for beanies, hand warmers, vests, and pullovers, but by the time we were climbing higher, I had peeled down to shorts and a long sleeve.

That became a theme in the Rockies: start freezing, end sweating.

The trail was perfect for us and the dogs. We stopped at the famous red chairs overlooking the lake, ate our snack, and simply sat for a while without rushing to the next thing.

By the time we finished the hike, both of us were tired in the best possible way.

The drive back to camp was quiet. We grabbed a few drinks, sat by the fire as darkness settled over the mountains, and let the day end slowly.

For the first time in weeks, it felt like we weren’t chasing anything.

We were just there.

Looking Ahead to the Icefields Parkway

That night, we spread out maps and talked about the next leg of the trip.

Banff.

Yoho.

The Icefields Parkway.

Places I had dreamed about since my early teens, saving photos of turquoise lakes and snow-covered peaks and wondering if I would ever see them in person.

Outside, the temperature kept dropping.

Inside the tent, we could hear elk bugling right outside.

And the next morning, we would begin what many people call one of the most beautiful drives in the world.