Majestic hideaway
How many times had we driven Alberta’s Icefields Parkway – maybe 15 or so – and never noticed the round, red-roofed building tucked among the trees on the north shore of Bow Lake? The flags and that roof make it look like, well, perhaps a Parks Canada outpost. But it isn’t.
This is Num Ti Jah Lodge, a retro slice of 1950s vacation life – a place where the rooms have no TVs, no phones, not even an alarm clock. Where there are no scripted, guided hikes, no Internet connection, no cell phone signal. But you can drive up to the front door.
The beds have fluffy duvets and feather pillows. There are not one but two huge fireplaces, gourmet meals and a quirky history.
A century ago, Jimmy Simpson was the second-born son of a rich British family, sent out to make his own way while his older brother inherited the title, the estate, the responsibilities. Jimmy, instead, went to Canada, became a hunting guide and eventually wound up on the shores of Bow Lake.
“I’m going to build me a shack here some day,” he said – or something to that effect.
And a few decades later, when a road finally made it this far from the main highway, he did. Then he added and expanded and by the 1950s, he had a cozy lodge with 25 rooms and a reputation that brought outdoors folk from around the world.
Picture the beauty of Lake Louise but without the hordes of people. Same soaring mountains, same glacial views, even with its own frozen waterfall at the end. But these days, it’s one of those “best kept” local secrets, especially in winter.
Num ti Jah (Stoney Indian for pine marten) had been closed in winter for more than a decade when the Simpson family sold the place. The new owners promptly opened it for cross-country skiers, and it has become quite the ski hangout – not only for novices like us who thrash their way across the frozen lake for a glimpse of dripping ice falls, but for serious backcountry types who return to the lodge and its hot showers after three or four days on the Wapta icefield.
So we drove the 25 miles from Lake Louise and settled in for a few days.
The lodge looks round but is actually octagonal; Jimmy liked the shape. And it’s built entirely of Alberta lodgepole pine. The rest of the place looks like you’d expect a mid-20th century inn to look: peeled log walls covered with game heads, wood floors with area rugs, huge fireplaces.
Above the common rooms are 25 rustic guest rooms. Rustic means plain wood furniture, antique window blinds that may or may not work and exposed pipes in the bathrooms.
Manager Lee O’Donnell has a philosophy about that: Guest rooms are for sleeping. Period. The rest of the time, folks are downstairs reading in the library, chatting with fellow guests or outside enjoying the wilderness.
O’Donnell is responsible for the lodge’s progressive dining experience. Appetizers are in the library, around the huge fireplace, then it’s into the dining room for the main course (the likes of duck a l’orange and rack of pork), then back to the library for dessert.
“We do dinner this way because we want our guests to get to know one another,” O’Donnell said.
Sure enough, after a chat with Calgary pediatrician Della Ho and her friend Roger, we wound up having dinner with them. And that’s the way this place is. You meet over a pre-dinner drink, bond over coffee and maybe wind up skiing to the neighborhood glacier together the next day.
The rest of the time, you’re on your own. This isn’t a chateau, where activities can be guided every step. You bring your own cross-country skis (though snowshoes are available for rent). You pore over the lodge maps and plan your own routes, to a nearby waterfall or a remote pioneer cabin or around the edge of Bow Lake.
The lake was our natural destination. We set out around its edge, following tracks that hugged the base of the mountains. At the end, we went up a short canyon, then ducked into woods and made our way up a steepish trail through the trees.
One last ridge and before us lay a glacial valley and Bow Lake Falls, frozen solid into a rippling blue ribbon of ice. Mountains of gold sandstone rose around us, their layers outlined with snow and monster drips of ice.
Our last night, after the pistachio-encrusted halibut but before the chocolate fondue, we walked a few hundred yards onto the frozen lake. Above us, on this crystal clear night, the stars spread in a glittering blanket and directly over our heads, the Milky Way stretched in a glowing band.
Even without the moon, there was enough reflected light to see the mountains folding and leaning around us, their slanted lines of black and silver shimmering in the starlight.