Parks Canada: National Parks and National Historic Sites

Christine Pitkanen, author Bruce Kirkby and their son Bodi huddle for a postcard-perfect family portrait in Waterton Lakes National Park.

Photo: Patrice Halley

THE PATH DEPARTS FROM THE SOUTH END of the hamlet of Waterton Park and takes some searching to find. Only a small sign, hidden among tall grass and alder branches, declares its destination. My wife Christine and I fall into single file on the narrow trail, following the muddy hoof prints of horses. On my back, our two-year-old son Bodi throws his weight from side to side and grabs at overhanging leaves.

Following the attacks of September 11, 2001, security along the Canada–United States border tightened dramatically. The remote border crossing separating Alberta’s Waterton Lakes National Park from Montana’s Glacier National Park was closed, and media reports continue to announce new passport requirements, biometric capture devices and drone surveillance. But at the Goat Haunt Ranger Station in Glacier park, a small yet startling development passed almost unnoticed: a brand new Port of Entry has opened.

Our plan is to hike 11 kilometres along the shores of Upper Waterton Lake, between the Waterton townsite and Goat Haunt, and then to return by boat aboard the historic MV International. I’m thrilled at the prospect, for in 20 years of backcountry travel, Waterton remained one of the few Canadian national parks I had never visited. Ironically, it’s only a three-hour drive from my front door.

Click map to enlarge

I start hollering “hello bear!” at the top of my lungs and decide to drop in and visit Rob Watt, Waterton’s ecosystem scientist. According to a friend of mine, he is rumoured to have rescued people “from every square inch of the park.” This was a man I had to meet.

“The first thing you need to understand is that we don’t really have backcountry here,” says Watt as we sit in his cramped office. “Not in the same way that Jasper or Banff do. You can access any location in the park within a single day’s travel from the road.”

Spry and graying, Watt has spent 31 years in Waterton, and he clearly would rather be roaming a mountain ridge than fielding questions in an office. “The whole bear thing gets overplayed,” he continues. “Negative interactions are extremely rare. What sets Waterton apart is prime wildlife viewing. Any wildlife photographer worth their salt will have spent time here.”

I ask Watt whether any memorable border incidents come to mind. He can’t recall any, apart from a couple of hikers wandering up from the United States with handguns on their hip. Next, I ask about the tourists he is said to have saved in every corner of the park. Watt smiles. “People keep finding inventive ways,” he says, “to injure themselves.”