Trafford Publishing: Lake Louise at its Best: An affectionate look at life at Lake Louise by one who knew it well

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Lake Louise at its Best: An affectionate look at life at Lake Louise by one who knew it well

by Roger Patillo

420 pages; quality trade paperback (softcover); catalogue #00-0034; ISBN 1-55212-370-7; US$35.95, C$35.95, EUR24.56, £18.56

A personal history of one of the world's most beautiful spots - Lake Louise, Alberta, Canada.

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About the Book About the Author Excerpts Catalogue Information

About the Book

For many years, the CPR offered free return passage each summer for the employees of its magnificent hotels. The "Dominion" and the "Canadian", Canada's famous trains travelled west to the Banff Springs Hotel and to Chateau Lake Louise in the Canadian Rockies. In 1957, captivated by stories of lofty mountain peaks and clear blue lakes, eighteen-year old Roger Patillo from Belle River, Ontario, signed up and set out to experience the West for himself. One summer turned into seven and changed his life.
The stories of his adventures while at the world famous Chateau are both humorous and poignant. He draws from many friendships, among which are the Feuz brothers, the legendary Swiss guides, John Lynn the much loved pianist who presented nightly concerts in the lobby, Beef Woodworth, the Park Warden and Lawrence Grassi, the "keeper of O'Hara". The book recounts the author's time skiing, flyfishing, mountaineering and canoeing down the Bow River. While these stories are entertaining enough, it is in the sharing of the sometimes hilarious pranks and misadventures of the staff that keeps us smiling throughout. The steak roasts, the dances, the parties at Gables (the Bellhop's residence) and his special friends all come alive again as Patillo recalls in tale after tale, a more gentle time when maybe Lake Louise really was the best.

About the Author

Roger Patillo lives in Aldergrove, B.C. in the heart of the Fraser Valley on an acreage where he and his wife Donnie have an active family and raise a few Arabian horses. (They have had fourteen children between them and presently have nine left at home - the youngest of which is seven years old.) Growing up on a farm near Windsor Ontario, he has a Bachelor's Degree in Economics, a Masters of Social Work and a Masters of Business Administration. He has climbed the corporate ladder on a number of occasions in both the public and private sectors, taught university level courses at the University of British Columbia and at Trinity Western University and has been a management consultant. For the past few years Roger has been an award-winning realtor specializing in fine country acreages, ranches and horse properties in the Fraser Valley and throughout B.C.
While Roger has written countless technical reports and research papers over the years this is his first attempt at writing a book. An avid outdoorsman, fly fisherman, mountaineer and horseman, he has recovered from a triple bypass operation in January of 1999. While recuperating he used his time to write his first book on his experiences and adventures while working at Lake Louise in the 1950s and 60s. He has two other books on the go at the present time and has plans for more.

Excerpts

Introduction
There's a special magic at Lake Louise and the surrounding area. It's in the glacier-hung mountains, the turquoise, green lakes, and the pine-scented air. It's in the quality of the light and in the sun on your back as you tramp down the trail after a long hike or climb. It's in the sudden, moment-to-moment changes of nature - from the first shafts of light that caress the high peaks and glaciers to those last few evening rays that bid the end of another day and turn the highest mountains to golden-rose again. The special enchantment here is also in the sudden rain and snow squalls, the lightning and the thunder, and in the sound of those great avalanches that go crashing to valleys below. It's in the sudden brilliance of the rainbows that span near and distant valleys, and in the night sky, alive with the northern lights, stars, constellations and galaxies that one can almost reach out and touch. This magic reaches down deep inside you, and shapes and paints your memories for a lifetime - especially when you're eighteen and as free as a hawk on the wind.
Much has been written about Lake Louise and its mountains and meadows by those more eloquent than I. Many have penned songs about the beauty of this place, its poppies, its glaciers and sometimes about loves found and lost there. I don't plan to repeat this, although at times it will be inescapable. How could one not marvel at the sight of that magnificent lake, calm and glassy in the warm summer air, except for a little ripple here and there as wisps of playful breezes from the glaciers above caress its blue-green waters? How could one not be spell-bound at seeing that lake at night, lit-up by a shaft of golden moonlight reflecting the snow-white glaciers from high above? And how could one not be touched when walking along its shoreline, hand in hand with someone special on a clear, dark night and seeing a thousand stars reflected on its velvety, black surface?

The Annual July 1st-Great Canadian Canoe Race

July 1st was another welcome occasion for the staff to hold a major, daylong celebration. Among the events were a series of canoe races and sprints along the shoreline. Everyone entered at least one race. The grand finale was billed as the 'Great Canadian Canoe Race', and was hotly contested. The route was from the dock at the far end of the lake, back to the Chateau. The rules were that anyone on the staff could enter a canoe but it had to carry three people, one of whom needed to be a 'princess' clad in a bathing suit. The first canoe across the line at the boathouse would be the winner and its princess would be crowned 'Queen' of the daylong festivities. The two winning paddlers would each win a bottle of Hudson's Bay over-proof rum and the Queen would be presented with a crown of flowers and a bottle of gin (an odd combination in retrospect). To this coveted end, the teams practised their paddling for at least a week, and did some test runs on the lake to get their times down to a competitive level.
Robbie Hamilton and I decided that we'd enter the big event and Sally Laing was to be our princess. She was spunky and tough and the previous summer, she'd climbed some of the most challenging mountains in the Rockies with Rob and I. We thought the three of us would make a winning team.
Rob, from Huntsville, Muskoka, had spent a lot of his youth paddling a canoe. He was strong, stocky and good-natured. I'd also grown-up with a paddle in my hand and had lots of experience canoeing, so our chances of winning were excellent. Upon checking the rules, we discovered that, while there had to be three people in the canoe, strangely though, there was no limit on the number who could paddle. Most assumed that the two brawny paddlers would do all the work while the princess would simply look pretty and go along for the ride, but the three of us had a better idea. For a week or so before the race, we obtained a canoe from Laurie Nickel, the boatman, in the early evening just before dark. We always asked him for one or two extra paddles on the pretext of needing them in an emergency. Rob paddled in the bow, I took the stern and Sally, of course, sat in the middle, supposedly just coming along for the ride.
Rob and I would paddle at top speed until we were well out of sight of the dock along the left side of the lake. Sally would then quickly kneel and paddle hard with us. We would just fly down the lake and after three or four practices, felt assured that the prize would be ours on the big day. Returning to the dock, Sally would sit, smiling pleasantly on the thwart giving no hint that she was our secret weapon.
There were a couple of teams we were mighty concerned about. This was because, what some entries lacked in style and finesse, they more than made up for with muscle and brawn. The team from the Steward's dock, for instance, had two massive guys doing the paddling but their princess was a bit on the hefty side and would probably provide some extra ballast. The Bellmen were well represented with three teams and each of them had been practising hard. They would be tough to beat. The team from the Dining Room also looked very competitive, as it had two strong paddlers and a great-looking waitress to motivate them. The Gardening department's team was comprised of two sturdy gardeners and a gal who ran the guest elevator. Two athletic-looking German cooks and a tall, big-busted waitress with great legs was the Kitchen's entry. She would make a great looking queen all right, we thought. It promised to be a close race, but nothing could shake our confidence.
By two o'clock, on a cloudless July 1st afternoon, ten teams were paddling enthusiastically down to the end of the lake for the two-thirty start time. The preliminary short races and sprints had been run, and now the stage was set for the grand finale to begin. Each team received a rousing send-off, as they pushed away from the dock at the boathouse and were wished good luck by Laurie the boatman. Rob and I took our places in the canoe and Sally sat calmly in the centre with two extra paddles, covered discretely with our jackets. We arrived at the starting area at the end of the lake at about 2:25 p.m., and quietly got into a strategic position off to the side of the main action. The heavy betting was on the big team from the Steward's dock and the team from the Maintenance Department. All eyes however, were on the big-busted, long-legged girl who was the passenger in the Kitchen's canoe. She wore a fire-engine red, European style string bikini, the likes of which were rare in those days. Most of the contestants paddled over to the Kitchen's canoe on the pretext of getting a closer look at their paddles. I personally guessed that they were probably carved from pine but then again it could have been spruce!
Finally, the canoes were in position and someone yelled, "Ready, Set, Go!" There was great thrashing of the water and the canoes were off! Rob and I put our backs into our paddles and dug in deep. Our canoe sprang forward but there was a lot of commotion behind us at the starting dock. When we looked back, we saw that one of the Houseman's teams had collided with one of the entries from the Dining Room, causing both canoes to capsize. There were six people flailing around in the icy water, trying to make it back to the dock. This brought on much laughter and complaining, but calls for a re-start went unheeded. Some even dared to suggest that the Housemen were trying to get a better look at the bikini.
The Steward's team took the lead immediately, followed closely by the Maintenance canoe which had a great looking 'steam queen' as their princess. There was much hollering and cheering and many catcalls from the shore as people along the way yelled encouragement to their favourites. Our canoe was running third when one of the Bellhop teams first pulled even with us, then sped ahead. Rob and I continued to paddle steadily, never breaking our rhythm. It was our plan to be in fourth position or better by the time we reached the half way mark. We didn't want to be too far behind the leaders, since we weren't going to use our secret weapon for awhile.
The Steward's team and the Maintenance canoe battled it out down the lake, changing the lead frequently. Now, they would be neck-and-neck and then the Steward's canoe would pull ahead. With frantic stroking, the Maintenance team would regain the lead. The Bellhop team was about three canoe lengths ahead of us, but we maintained our steady, rhythmic stroke. We were nearing the Quarter-Way House now and the Maintenance canoe was two lengths ahead of the Steward's. The yelling intensified between the two canoes, as each tried to splash the other. One of the Bellhop teams was four lengths behind the Steward's canoe and we still were two behind them. The Gardeners followed behind us and the Kitchen team with their bikini-clad passenger was closing fast on them. One canoe from the Dining Room was making a last valiant effort to gain ground, but the rest seemed resigned to distant finishes.
When the leading Maintenance canoe passed the Quarter-Way House, Sally caught my eye and I nodded to her. Quickly, she kneeled in the centre, grabbed her paddle and dug in. As she leaned into her stroke, our canoe tipped slightly, so Rob and I shifted our positions to adjust the balance and then we switched sides with our paddles, for the last quarter of the race. Our next strokes were in perfect unison and our canoe sprang forward as if kicked into passing gear. Quickly, we closed the gap between the Bellhop's canoe and ourselves. "Hey! No fair!" someone yelled, eyeing our third paddler as we passed them. Sally and Rob were now paddling with strong, powerful strokes, just as we'd practised and I increased my pace, making a quick "J" at the end of each stroke to keep our canoe running true. This enabled us to gain quickly on the Maintenance and the Steward's canoes, but we had to pull wide to give ourselves extra room and to avoid any trickery from our opponents. We dug in hard for the finish line and now could see Laurie on the dock, waving and hollering to us. "Give it all you've got, Maties!" he yelled in his Australian accent. We were now three hundred yards from the finish and the paddlers in the Steward's canoe cussed as we sped by. We were now a single length from the leading Maintenance canoe and soon were abreast of them. Straining with every stroke, they caught a glimpse of us about to pass them, and thrust out their paddles so as to tip our canoe. At this, we each gave four more powerful strokes, which put us first, across the line!
Rex McCormick, the huge New Zealand carpenter, was standing up to his waist in the icy water just off shore. He grabbed our canoe to prevent it from crashing into the rocks, but in doing so, he accidentally dumped us into the water. The three of us bobbed to the surface, and, laughing and hugging each other (and big Rex as well), we made our way to the celebrations at the dock.
There were of course, a number of cries of "foul!" until Laurie told everyone that there was no rule against a princess paddling - we had won fair and square. With much fan-fare, Assistant Manager Pete McArthur, crowned Sally with a rainbow coloured circlet of Icelandic poppies. Sally's long blonde hair was still dripping as was her navy-blue bathing suit, but I am sure that of all the queens ever crowned at Lake Louise over the years, there never was one as lovely as Sally Laing on that cloudless day on the first of July in 1962 (or was it 1963?). The afternoon sun sparkled on her golden hair and her lovely smile and infectious laugh won the hearts of everyone there, bringing the competition to a friendly and successful ending.
We collected the prizes of rum and gin and used them to celebrate- toasting our own efforts and those of the other teams. Earlier that day, my roommate and good friend, "Gentleman Jim" Miller, led our Lake Louise Rockies baseball team to a 8-7 victory over the Banff Springs Bears. Jimmy pitched magnificently again, and in the 11th inning, hit in the winning run. He too, was in fine form at the Gables party that night, as were the rest of his victorious team. We toasted them several times as we celebrated long into the evening, but early the next morning, Rob, Sally and I were on the trail again, headed for the Plain of Six Glaciers in hopes of being the first to climb the North Peak of Mount Victoria that season.

Abbot Pass Hut
In 1922, Edward Feuz and his brothers Ernest and Walter, together with their cousin, Rudolf Aemmer and brother-in-law Christian Haesler were instrumental in the construction of the Abbot Pass Hut at the col between Victoria and Lefroy. At 9,598 feet above sea level, it is the highest cabin in North America. Work was begun in August 1922 and was completed in October of that year. The Brewsters supplied the horses and mules that were used to pack the cement, timbers and supplies up Abbot Pass, as far as the big bergschrund. From there, it was winched up to the top by cable and a windless. A couple of Italian stone masons assisted in the construction, and when you see this solid stone mountain hut, you're struck by the enormity of the task and the wonderful workmanship with which it was built. In early 1923, all the blankets, furniture and kitchen gear was packed up by the Swiss guides from the end of the trail by the side of the Victoria glacier. It was officially opened for use by climbers in June of 1923.

Strange Happenings at Abbot Pass Hut

I have stayed many times at Abbot Hut and enjoyed the warmth of the thick red, Hudson Bay blankets that were kept there. Strangely though, I've never slept well there. Frequently, I'd be awakened by what seemed like someone attempting to get in the door or tapping at the windows. Also strange sounds like someone calling or coming up the pass from below often disturbed my sleep. Perhaps it was the spirits of Abbot and Geddes, each of whom fell from Lefroy and died from their plunge of more than 1,500 feet to the glacier below. Or perhaps, it was those of the three Mexican women and their hapless guide who missed the route on Victoria, slipped on the steep slopes and fell 2,000 feet to their deaths in 1952. Then again, it may have been the spirit of the unfortunate climber, who perished after a fall in a crevasse not far from the cabin door, near the top of Abbot Pass. I only know that it's not a place to get a good night's sleep.
This later incident produced an interesting story that has been told and re-told over the years and each time it is, more people are included. Actually, it happened on July 24, 1959. A relatively inexperienced climbing party of four from Montreal was starting down Abbot Pass on their way to Lake Louise at about 9:30 a.m. on a bright and cloudless morning. They had registered to climb North Peak and then traverse Victoria. They had done so without incident on July 23rd. The pass was in good shape that year, and they started down in high spirits, expecting an easy trip down the pass and back to the Plain of Six Tea House where they'd started from the previous morning. Three of the party roped-up and started out following the footsteps of a previous climbing group, who had gone up early that morning on their way up to climb Centre Peak.
Their friend, and the fourth member of the party (I think his name was Roland) was detained at the Hut for some reason and had arranged to catch-up with his colleagues as they proceeded down the pass. About five minutes later, his friends, looking back toward the top of the pass, saw their friend cutting across the slope diagonally from the hut to their tracks further down. Suddenly he disappeared from their view. Waiting anxiously as the minutes dragged by, they became alarmed and rushed back to where he had disappeared. About 200 yards from the hut, the three climbers discovered their friend's tracks leading to a deep crevasse that had been hidden by a weak snow bridge. Looking into the crevasse, they saw their motionless friend. He was head-first in the snow and ice, some forty to fifty feet down. One of them rappelled down to him and found that their comrade was dead of a massive head wound.
His traumatised friends managed to pull him from the crevasse and tried in vain to revive him using CPR but it was to no avail. They dragged his limp body up the slope and into the hut, where they laid him out on a table and covered him with a blanket. Collecting themselves, they stayed at the cabin a long time, hoping that someone would arrive to help. But at about six o'clock, they shut the door, roped up and headed back down the Lake O'Hara side of Abbot Pass to get help themselves.
About an hour later, a party of two guys and two girls, who were on the staff at the Deer Lodge, arrived at the hut. They had just come up Abbot Pass from the Plain of Six Glacier's side. They were expecting a pleasant night at the hut and had their steaks and wine carefully packed. Unaware that something was wrong, they opened the door of the hut and enthusiastically began unpacking their food and supplies. Then, one of the group, spotted the blanket with something under it on the table. Having a look, he discovered the ghastly cadaver and you can imagine the rest. A friend said that his voice failed him completely and all that he could do was point and gesture. Without stopping for supper, the four proceeded to set the still unsurpassed speed record from the top of Abbot Pass back down to the Plain of Six Glaciers.
Meanwhile, Lawrence Grassi, who had been visiting some old friends at the Elizabeth Parker Hut, didn't get the first report until about 9:00 p.m. He tried to get his radio phone to work but had trouble with it so had to get someone at the Lodge to call the Chateau to relay the message to Beef Woodworth. Beef then called Walter Perren in Banff who organized a rescue party and agreed to meet Grassi later the next morning at Abbots Hut. Grassi was to go ahead in the morning and take charge.
Unaware that an accident had taken place, Dan Cummings and I had planned to climb Mount Lefroy that morning. We left the Chateau at five-thirty on a clear morning on July 25th.. Arriving at the tea house at six o'clock, we were surprised to find that Irene Stanfield was up and about. She told us that someone had been killed near Abbots Hut. She also said that some staff from Deer Lodge had rushed down from the hut the previous evening to tell her that that there was a dead man on the table. She said they were pretty shaken up, but after some hot tea they hurried down the trail to the Chateau to tell the Feuz brothers at the Swiss Chalet. Moments later, Edward and Ernest Feuz arrived at the tea house. They too related the story the staff from Deer Lodge had told them and said that they were on their way up to the hut to check it out. Bud Brewster was reported to be coming up later with some horses and Beef Woodworth. At that point we changed our plans and decided to accompany them up the Pass.
Dan and Edward roped up and started up the Pass while Ernest and I followed on his rope. When we were well into the Pass, and beginning the long slope below the bergschrund, Edward stopped momentarily and showed us the spot where he'd been struck and buried by an avalanche. Miraculously, his hand and arm had protruded from the snow and it was spotted by one of the kitchen staff from the Chateau, who was with the group. This person was able to dig down to uncover Edward's face, allowing him to breathe. Following this others helped to dig him out. "Dat vas a close one," remarked Edward. "Dat's for sure!" added his brother.
We had little trouble crossing the bergschrund and as we approached the last pitch about 200 yards from up the hut, we spotted a red blanket, climbing rope and two ice axes beside an open crevasse to the right. We angled over to it and on arriving at the scene, saw blood on the snow beside the blanket and down in the crevasse. Gathering up the items left behind, we proceeded up to the hut. The peaks around us were washed in warm sunshine as we walked into the cabin at eight-thirty that morning. It felt good to be out of the cold shadows of the Pass.
We entered the cabin and sure enough, there was a cadaver covered with a blanket on the back table. Edward and Ernest inspected it, while Dan and I looked around the hut. On the other table, near the stove, were two bottles of wine together with four large steaks, mushrooms, onions and potatoes. Just then we heard Grassi holler from outside.
"Anyone home in there?" he called as he came in to join us. A look of surprise came over him when he saw Edward and Ernest. Grassi told us how the climbers from Montreal had raced down to O'Hara the night before, to tell him of the accident and the death of their friend. He had received the news at about nine o'clock, but it was too late then to come up. To make certain that no one was surprised by the body on the table he had left his cabin at six-thirty that morning, in order to be first to the hut. He told how he'd had trouble with the radiophone and had called Beef Woodworth to tell him to call Walter Perren, the Climbing Warden in Banff. He said that Walter was rounding up a rescue party in Banff and would meet him later at the hut. He wasn't sure if they would come up from O'Hara or from the Chateau and Abbot Pass.
Ernest told Grassi of how he and Edward had learned of the accident from the Deer Lodge staff who had had the unpleasant experience of discovering the cadaver.
While we waited, Dan and I made some coffee and then decided to cook up the steaks on the Coleman stove-tossing in the mushrooms, onions and sliced potatoes. We felt it was no sense letting good food go to waste. Edward, Ernest and Grassi took a bench outside and sat in the warm morning sun with their coffee, watching for Walter Perren and his group of rescuers. We were all mighty hungry from our morning workout and made short work of the meal. We did open up one bottle of wine but saved the second for Walter Perren and his men. Dan also put on a big pot of tea for their arrival.

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