Mount Rundle brought me to life, but as my first summit it nearly killed me. This 1,600m half-cliff, half-mountain ignited a lifelong passion for mountaineering in a girl from a flat land.
Mt. Rundle is certainly a “bucket-list hike.” Its form, shaped like a cresting wave, saturates social media adventure feeds.
The diversity of the route and alpine views are without equal in stunning Banff National Park, Canada.
What’s that about advice and salt?
We set off around 10:00am — late. My feet tread lightly and I let the sun warm my face. After all, we’d conquered Tunnel and Sulphur Mountains with little more than some sweat and granola bars.
Rundle was just 400m higher. Yet, this was a very different mountain. I’d never met anything above an alpine line, and this rocky summit was legendary among those who dub themselves scramblers.
I remember stopping casually for coffee on route to the trail head. To be fair, the advice we’d gotten was a bit biased.
(That and coffee is always a good idea).
“It’s only like four hours one way. Easy switchbacks then a little scramble towards the top.”
Now, I filter advice through who is giving it.
Our adviser worked in an adventure store and spent all his spare time mountaineering, as in hiking mixed with climbing gear.
He had at least three carabiner clips latched onto him and a bracelet which doubled as a rope that could bear 150 kilos.
He made it sound so simple. And, I wanted it to be simple. Something had drawn me to this mountain since arriving in Banff months before.
I had to hike it, so I believed I could.
Was hiking Mount Rundle really that intense?
Recently, I wondered how hard the trail actually was. I’d hiked it long before I had the physique or experience I have now.
I assumed it was much tamer than my younger, over-dramatic imagination made it seem.
Until I read the reviews by much more seasoned outdoorsmen about hiking Mount Rundle.
“I’ve hiked all over Yosemite, but nothing prepares you for scrambling up that last mile of scree (loose rock) at a near 45 degree angle.”
I gave myself a pat on the back.
This is what my 21 year-old self skipped towards with a latte in hand and no context for what scrambling meant.
I’d learn a lot on the mountain that day.
At the trail head
Ten of us set out. It started off with a group photo full of smiles, like the ones you see on Unsolved Mysteries: “And they were never seen again…alive.”
But, hey, we had a map. The trailhead is set in the golf course of the famous Fairmont Banff Springs Hotel/Castle.
The hotel is actually made of Mount Rundle. Builders quarried rock from its sides.
My personal team consisted of Paul, a large broad guy who could run 10k offhand, and Charlie whom we affectionately called a “furry woodland creature.”
With his bushy beard and long appendages — climbing was natural habitat.
A doe and her three fawns glided across the entry. The trail felt blessed.
The weather was perfect and we were fit, young, and thought we knew what we were doing. This is always a great combination for adventure.
The mountain looked like it was mostly rock, but Adventure Store Guy had assured us it was “just a bit of a scramble near the top.”
I trusted that.
And, his descriptions began to ring true. The forested switchbacks up to the alpine line were somewhat strenuous but nothing unmanageable.
Altitude and pressure builds
I stopped frequently for water — and for air. The familiar pressure of Asthma weighed on my lungs. Black speckles came and went from my vision.
No matter how deeply I inhaled, I’d lose vision from lack of air. Yet, I just dealt with it.
I slowed down and took a few breaths until my sight returned. I don’t know how I outgrew Asthma, but now it amazes me what I’d gotten used to then.
The altitude didn’t help either.
It might surprise you that the city of Banff sits at over 1,300m high. Add Mount Rundle onto that and we would reach 2,900m of elevation. That’s 500m higher than Machu Picchu.
We cut back and forth across the mountain like a saw.
Charlie held the map.
“We should probably pick up the pace,” he’d say from time to time.
My heart sank and heat flooded my face every time. I’d wished I could, but knew that I’d just become more of a burden if I pushed my lungs. I’d blackout.
All I could do is put one foot in front of the other. I walked the line of pushing myself and giving myself time to recover.
I didn’t know it then, but I was reconnecting with my once distant body.
“We don’t want to try coming down in the dark.”
If only we’d left earlier…
Beyond the forest
Sunlight was pouring through the trees, and already we’d been rewarded with several peek-a-boo views of mountains ranges layered in shades beyond.
I took too many photos.
We arrived at the alpine line, ready to start the “bit of a scramble.” I had no idea what that meant. It sounded fun, like making eggs or hustling at softball practice.
My childhood on the flat east coast had not prepared me for this.
From the treeline, the summit looked like a brief traverse. Again, the Adventure Shop Guy was gaining my confidence.
This was how I learned about false summits: When you’re below and looking up, you think the end of your sight is the top — but often it’s just another ridge. The true summit is hiding behind it.
Tumbles of large grey rocks, most around the size of basketballs spilled down the hillside. We walked the worn trail around them, sliding on the dry gravel that powdered the hard rock below.
I began to slip more and more, as the rocks became smaller and the trail became steeper.
Half of the battle was moving upward, the other half was trying not to spray gravel on those behind me.
Charlie brought over the map.
X marks the spots
“Look! We’re near an X, I wonder if there’s treasure,” I joked.
Several Xs had been marked on the next part of the trail: The legendary ridge known as The Dragon’s Back.
The Xs certainly didn’t mark the route, but now nothing really did.
There were a few wind-toppled cairns but after the trees had ended so did any discernible trail.
Charlie hadn’t smiled in awhile.
“I’ll be back in a few,” he said and glided over the rocks ahead.
Paul and I ambled upwards over each stone. Now, I kept stopping to take in the open views over the Rocky Mountains.
Part of me was soaring. Instead of fighting the air, I was part of it.
Mount Assiniboine stood like a stoic pyramid within waves of mountains. Its snowcap is the highest and most dangerous in the region.
From here, it seemed like we were at the same level.
The rocks and ridge began shrinking. Panic added to the stress on my lungs. But, hope came out of the skies. We were so close.
We had been so close for hours.
“Hey, it’s like I’m running on the spot,” Paul laughed while each foot slid back behind him.
Even Wikipedia describes this section as “treadmill-like scree (loose gravel).” It’s spot on.
Soon, we were on our hands and knees. This was scrambling in the most literal way.
Charlie reappeared, brow furrowed.
“You guys, this next part is a steep and very thin ridge. Maybe we should go back.”
“We came all this way. We’ll manage” I said.
I wasn’t ready to give up on myself. I put my head down as we scurried and slid upwards, focusing on what was right in front and below.
That’s how I got halfway up it before I noticed. I was straddling the Dragon.
Riding the Dragon’s Back
The ridge seemed about 10m across with drop-offs of hundreds of metres to either side.
I clung to loose rock helplessly. Step, slide, step, slide. I tried to not slip off the dragon as the steep angle pulled me down.
My calves burned, a light breeze tossed my hair to one side. My body felt completely exposed and vulnerable up there. One good gust and I’d be over the side.
My heartbeat pounded through every muscle, it drummed a rhythm in my ears. Every hand and foot I placed felt very real. I was at the whims of nature.
I’d never been so aware of my aliveness.
Corey passed back the map. Paul’s eyes widened.
“The Xs mark where people have died,” Paul said. The tiny footnote on the map was barely noticeable.
We stood in the middle of several Xs. But at this point we were legitimately close. Besides, the sight of going back down put my heart in my throat.
A small ledge and cluster of rocks marked the summit safe zone. We collapsed into it.
We’d done it. Little did I know that this was the easy part.
Boulders seemed to shed off of the summit, then break themselves up on the roll down. The gradient from large to tiny stones on the way up made sense.
Hundreds of metres above the trees we looked over the rows of the Rockies.
“They extend all the way to Alaska,” Charlie said. I felt like I could see it.
Mount Rundle’s peaks up close were jagged giant teeth that fell away into a gaping nothingness. I felt like we were riding a plate of rock, jettisoned up from the Earth’s crust. Geology felt tangible.
“Give me your camera,” Charlie took it and disappeared out of the safe zone to the absolute peak.
This was the hardest thing I’d ever done and the closest I’d ever been to flying.
There was nothing between me and the sky. My spirit felt bigger here and my self felt microscopic. I’d never differentiated between the two before.
“Here, I got some photos at the top,” Charlie had taken a photo looking down the cliff side. There were still patches of snow caught on ledges.
Later we’d hear that one of the Xs was of a couple who stood at the top for a photo, and was blown over the edge. I was so ignorant then, it was blissful.
It all went downhill
I’d only ever hiked down switchbacks. Up seemed like the difficult part of hiking: It took a lot of leg power.
I mean downhill just sounds easier, right?
Down was high impact on my knees and balance. It worked all those tiny stabiliser muscles, struggling to control the descent.
Sliding down rocks at a 45 degree angle, death literally on either side, was emotionally exhausting.
Scree skiing is now what I’d call this, drawing on mountaineering lingo. Wielding two hiking poles, you basically need to control your slide downhill over loose rock.
I’d never skied on snow before either.
I focused on keeping as central as possible on the deadly Dragon’s Back. One bad slide and we’d become Xs.
It was late afternoon when my knees began swelling. The sharp pain shocked me with each impact.
As the sun dipped, beginning the endless twilight of the mountains, we broke the treeline.
Tears and hippy salve
I was crying, exhausted from pain, embarrassment, and joy. I was joyful that we’d dismounted the dragon and ashamed that I was slowing us down.
I never cried so I was humiliated and then crying more because I was crying.
I’d never expressed much emotion at all. I’d felt like a tight knot inside. I knew what others liked me to show. I never wanted to be too much or disappoint them.
Mount Rundle was one of the first things to break me. I felt relief and terror at the sudden release of emotional control.
Life repeated this lesson later in Torres del Paine, Chile.
“Here, use this salve,” two guys with tie-dye Bob Marley shirts and knitted backpacks were hiking up to camp above the treeline. (Totally illegal and dangerous, don’t do this!)
We asked if they had painkillers. They had some cream in a tin decorated with Hindu gods.
I rubbed it on my knees. I think the rubbing did more than the paste.
I was delirious. I couldn’t run. I was completely spent beyond anything I’d ever done, and was convinced I was going to be eaten by a cougar as the darkness set in.
We walked while banging together our hiking poles. That was what the mandatory Banff wilderness training taught us.
You can’t out-stealth a cougar. Be big, be bold, be loud. In my case: be crazy.
This also gave my delirium a useful channel (and likely annoyed everyone, cougar or human, within a kilometre).
I collapsed on a decorative wall when we arrived at the golf course and called a cab.
I couldn’t even shower before I fell asleep, physically tired but mostly emotionally overwhelmed. A big wall had fallen that had taken all my strength to keep up.
The love of my life
Why the hell would I ever want to do this again? I’d reached beyond what I knew as my limits, and saw them for what they were: ideas.
I didn’t know my own power.
I was pushed outside of what I thought was possible, again and again and again. Each time, I thought I couldn’t possibly do more.
And then I did. Mountains are great teachers.
I couldn’t stop talking about the hike: the earthy smell of forest, the deer blessing the trailhead, the views and perfectly timed rays of light, or the epic slide down the Dragon’s Back.
I had ridden a dragon and lived to tell about it!
Sliding over the rocks, rewarded with a new wonder every few seconds, hiking Mount Rundle introduced me to presence.
Trauma had once disconnected from my body. I didn’t even know how to relate to it. But, here I didn’t have to know how.
On a mountain, I was my body. I became it.
Although I felt like I’d nearly died that day (and maybe got lucky a few times), hiking Mount Rundle brought me to life.
I later learned the mountain’s original name is Waskahigan Watchi, meaning “house mountain” in Cree. It felt fitting.
On that mountain, I’d found my way home.
How to hike Mount Rundle, Banff
Difficulty: Hard
Hiker level: Experienced
Distance: 8km each way (16km round trip)
Time: allow 8-10 hours from leaving Banff to returning
Trail head: Beside the Fairmont Banff Springs Golf Course Parking Lot (map)
Elevation gain: About 1,600m
CAUTION: Weather and wind conditions are VERY important on this trek. Fog, rain, and even moderate winds are a good reason to cancel or turn back.
Route overview:
- A lovely set of forested switch backs to the tree line.
DO NOT go up or down the gully here, pass it by. Many have died here, it looks easier but it’s deadly. - Prepare for a couple hours once you reach the rocks. The first section is large rocks marked by a few cairns, then choose your own adventure.
- The Dragon’s Back Ridge is made of tiny, sliding rocks (scree) you’ll be scrambling up for a long time. Take your time, this section is deadly dangerous.
- The top section is completely exposed, slippery rock.
Useful maps and guides
Get the official Mount Rundle Trail map here.
See the updated Parks Canada Trail Conditions Report (which are open/closed)
View the AllTrails guide to Mount Rundle here.
So, would you ride the Dragon’s Back?
