No Tents, No Problem: The Pink Fanny Pack Boys Conquer Banff and Beyond

Meet the Pink Fanny Pack Boys

Hello from the Pink Fanny Pack Boys – a band of four lifelong friends on the cusp of our mid-30s, still chasing wild adventures every year. Why the name? Because on every trip, from canyon treks to mountain summits, we rock matching neon-pink fanny packs. It started as a a joke, but it quickly became our signature. It’s a reminder not to take ourselves too seriously – picture four grown men in pink waist packs, and you get an idea of our style. This year, we set our sights on the dramatic wilderness of the Canadian Rockies. I spent months poring over maps and camping permits, trying to snag reservations at hard-to-get spots like the remote Coronet Creek campground. (If you know, you know – those backcountry sites at Maligne Lake fill up within minutes of booking opening). By late summer, our meticulous planning paid off, and we were headed to Banff, Jasper, and Yoho National Parks for a nine-day road trip in an RV – pink packs and big dreams in tow.

Banff Bound and Breaking in the Boots

Our journey began in a blur of logistics and excitement. By midday on Day 1, we’d flown into Calgary, wrangled a 25-foot RV (our home on wheels for the next nine days), and made the scenic drive out to Banff. The first glimpse of the Rockies on the horizon was like a jolt of caffeine. Craggy peaks with streaks of snow rose up to greet us as we approached Banff National Park. We set up camp at Tunnel Mountain campground, then rode a shuttle into Banff town for the evening. Walking down Banff Avenue, surrounded by timber storefronts and mountains glowing in the late sun, we felt like kids on the first day of summer break. Over bison burgers and local beer at a pub, we raised a toast to finally being here. Our annual tradition was alive and well – pink fanny packs proudly clipped on as we clinked glasses.

The next morning, we dove headfirst into adventure with the Cory Pass hike. Coffee, trail mix, and off we went to the trailhead. We’d heard Cory Pass was one of Banff’s tougher day hikes– and it lived up to its reputation. The trail didn’t so much switchback as it did shoot straight up the mountainside. Within the first mile, our quads and lungs were burning and we were already cracking jokes about who had suggested this “warm-up” hike (guilty as charged – it was me). But as strenuous as the climb was (over 1,000 meters of elevation gain, mostly straight up), the rewards were immediate. Early on we emerged from a forest of aspen onto open slopes blooming with wildflowers, and all of Banff’s peaks spread out behind us. Every few minutes we’d round a corner and someone would gasp, point, and make the rest of us turn to see yet another jaw-dropping view. After a couple of grueling hours, we reached Cory Pass itself – a high saddle between Mt. Cory and Mt. Edith. There, an otherworldly scene stopped us in our tracks. Below us lay the Gargoyle Valley, strewn with strange rock formations that gave the valley its name, and right across from us towered the sheer face of Mount Louis, a gray limestone spire dominating the skyline. It honestly looked like a landscape from another planet. We dropped our packs, plopped down on the rocks, and just took it all in – wind in our faces, a golden eagle riding thermals above, and not another soul in sight. In that moment, the sweat and sore legs were 100% worth it.

Going down the backside of the loop was an adventure in itself – sliding down scree slopes and negotiating a few scrambly sections. By the time we got back to the trailhead, our legs were jelly and our pink fanny packs were coated in trail dust. We were exhausted, elated, and very hungry. So, naturally, we rewarded ourselves with poutine and soda from a Banff food truck before hitting the road.

North on the Icefields Parkway: Banff to Jasper

That afternoon we began the drive north to Jasper via the legendary Icefields Parkway, often hailed as one of the world’s most scenic road trips. This highway links Banff and Jasper and winds through a parade of peaks, glaciers, and turquoise lakes. Even though we’d just hiked 10 miles, the beauty along the Parkway had us leaping out of the RV at every opportunity. We pulled over at Bow Lake, an unreal mirror of blue-green water, to snap photos of Crowfoot Glacier dangling on a nearby mountainside. Later, we stopped at a roadside cascade called Tangle Creek Falls – where cold mist gave us a refreshing spritz and woke us up for the remaining drive. Every bend of this road unveiled something new: one moment we were gaping up at the massive Athabasca Glacier near the Columbia Icefield, and the next we were slowing down as a herd of bighorn sheep casually crossed the road in front of us. There was a lot of “Whoa, pull over!” and “Did you see that?!” from the RV’s front seats. Good thing traffic was light!

By dusk, we rolled into Jasper and found our campsite at Whistlers Campground. We got the fire going and cooked up a simple camp dinner, eating under a canopy of pine trees. The mood was contentedly tired – that special kind of fatigue after a full day of adventure. I remember stepping away from the campfire to look at the stars that night. Jasper is a designated Dark Sky Preserve, and the Milky Way looked like a cloud of diamonds overhead. The four of us stood there with cricks in our necks, just soaking in the cosmos. Moments like that, we don’t even need to talk – but I did hear one of the guys quietly humming the Twilight Zone theme, which gave us all a good laugh. Tomorrow would be one of our biggest days yet, and we needed sleep. We turned in, each to our tiny bunk in the RV, hearts full and ready for what lay ahead.

Maligne Lake: Paddling to Spirit Island (and the Case of the Missing Tents)

Day 3 was Maligne Lake day – an experience we’d been both excited for and a little nervous about. Maligne Lake is the largest natural lake in the Canadian Rockies, a 22-kilometer-long stunner famed for its azure water and encircling mountains. Our plan was ambitious: paddle roughly 15 miles round-trip over two days, camp at the far end of the lake, and paddle back. None of us are expert paddlers, but hey, what could go wrong? (Cue foreshadowing music.)

We drove out of Jasper before sunrise, winding up the road to Maligne Lake as fog clung to the valleys. By 9 AM we had rented two red canoes at the boat house, loaded them with our gear, and pushed off into the glassy water. It was a bluebird day – the lake surface smooth as a mirror, reflecting the snow-capped peaks around us. Spirits were high. We started paddling in sync, making decent time along the forested shoreline. Occasionally a tour boat would cruise by, its wake giving us a little roller coaster moment, then disappearing around a bend. The scale of the scenery out there is humbling – as we got deeper into the lake, we passed glacier-topped mountains (Charlton, Unwin, countless others) and occasionally the sharp “crack!” of ice calving off distant glaciers echoed across the water. We were tiny human specs in a vast wilderness, and it felt incredible.

After about three hours of steady paddling (and a few “are we there yet?” jokes), the lake’s most famous icon came into view: Spirit Island. Even though I’d seen it in a million photos, the real thing made me drop my paddle in awe. Spirit Island is a petite clump of trees on a rocky islet, set against a backdrop of towering peaks and the teal-blue lake – basically the postcard of the Canadian Rockies. We navigated into the dock nearby and disembarked to stretch our legs and eat lunch. Tour boats came and went, but at times we had the little viewpoint to ourselves. We snapped plenty of pictures and even got a friendly stranger to take a group photo of the four of us proudly flaunting our pink packs with Spirit Island in the background. (That unexpected extra time at Spirit Island – more on that in a second – turned into a perfect impromptu photo shoot.)

And now, the plot twist: As we were finishing up lunch and getting ready to paddle the final leg to our campground, one of my buddies – let’s call him Captain Obvious – asked, “Hey, where are the tents?” A silence fell. We all looked at each other, then back at the canoes, then at each other again. No tents. Four supposed seasoned campers, and we had forgotten our tents back in the RV! In our early-morning haste, we had moved the tent bags into the shower in the RV to save storage and forgot... and never put them back in. The realization hit us like a glacier-fed wave. We were literally about to paddle to a backcountry campground with no shelter for the night.

Panic, then chaos, then a burst of hysterical laughter (what else can you do?). “So, uh, plan B?” someone quipped. We had a quick powwow on the dock. It was early afternoon; paddling all the way back to the boat launch to retrieve the tents (and then coming back) would take hours we couldn’t afford. We’d miss nightfall and probably capsize from exhaustion. There was exactly one feasible solution: the tour boats. A sightseeing boat was boarding its passengers at Spirit Island for the return trip to the main dock. That’s when one of the OG pink fanny's, Leo (aka: toes), sprang into action. Without hesitating, Leo flagged down a bewildered tour boat crew member and begged for a ride back. He explained our predicament with an endearing mix of urgency and self-deprecation. I wasn’t sure if the crew would allow it – these boats aren’t exactly a ferry service – but whether out of pity or just sheer Canadian kindness, they agreed to take him. Next thing we knew, Leo was hopping on the boat, waving at us with a determined grin as if heading off to war, leaving the three of us behind at Spirit Island to anxiously await his return.

We had about two hours to kill at Spirit Island while Leo went on his unexpected side quest. Once the tour boat departed, it grew quiet – we were literally stranded in paradise. We joked that this was the most beautiful “time out” any of us had ever had. With the place completely to ourselves, we wandered the small loop trail, took dozens more photos, and even filmed a goofy video log documenting our blunder (“Day 3: morale is surprisingly high despite sheer stupidity…”). I sat by the shore for a while, looking out at the still water and the ring of peaks, feeling equal parts amused and humbled. Of all the things to forget… tents!? It was a reminder that even experienced travelers screw up. At least we’d have an epic story to tell.

Sure enough, a couple of hours later we spotted a tour boat zooming back up the lake – and there was Leo on the bow, triumphant, clutching two tent bags overhead like a trophy. We erupted into cheers and probably startled the other tourists on board. When he stepped off onto the dock, we gave him a hero’s welcome (and a round of relieved bro-hugs). That boat crew got profuse thank-yous and a promise of a 5-star TripAdvisor review from us.

Tent bags secured (never letting those out of sight again!), we hurried to load up the canoes and resume paddling. It was now later in the afternoon and we had a good distance still to cover to reach Coronet Creek Campground at the end of the lake. The wind had picked up slightly, making the water choppier – or maybe our arms were just getting rubbery by this point. Those last miles were a slog. Each bend we rounded we hoped to see the campground, but the shoreline just kept going and going. Finally, around 5:30 PM (about two hours behind schedule), we glided into a quiet bay with a small wooden dock – we had arrived at Coronet Creek, our home for the night.

Coronet Creek Campground felt like the edge of the world. It’s one of only three primitive campsites on the entire lake, accessible only by canoe. There were a couple of other tents set up and a bear locker and picnic table, but no sign of the other campers (they were likely off hiking). We hauled our gear up and pitched our tents – doing so with extra relish given how close we came to not having them at all! As evening set in, we cooked a simple dehydrated meal and made some hot chocolate by the fire pit. Surrounded by dark, looming mountains and the distant roar of a waterfall across the lake, we felt very small – and very alive. No cell service, no noise, just us cracking jokes about the day’s misadventure under a sky filling with stars. I’ll admit, I slept like a rock that night. Paddling 21 kilometers (and enduring a minor crisis) will do that to you.

The next morning, Day 4, we packed up at first light. We had to paddle all the way back to the start, and we didn’t want to get caught by afternoon winds. Shoulders sore but spirits high, we slid the canoes into the glass-calm morning water. Mist was rising off the lake and the scene was almost spiritual. We kept a steady rhythm, retracing our route. By late morning we reached Spirit Island again and couldn’t resist one more pit stop to soak in the view (this time with all gear accounted for!). From there, the final stretch back felt long. The last few kilometers were a grind – we were running on fumes, snacks depleted, fantasizing about real food. When we finally saw the boat dock appear in the distance, I could’ve cried tears of joy. We practically kissed the ground after hauling ourselves and the canoes ashore. We returned the gear and staggered back to the RV, utterly spent but immensely proud. Somehow, we’d turned what could have been a disaster into the highlight of the trip.

That evening in Jasper, we treated ourselves to big greasy burgers and beers at Jasper Brewing Company, regaling anyone who would listen with the tale of “The Great Tent Fiasco.” We earned a bit of trail legend status among a few eavesdropping tourists at the bar, I think. Sleep came easy at the campground that night, with visions of turquoise waters and tiny islands floating in our dreams.

Peaks, Glaciers, and the Long Road Back

Day 5 was a transition day – time to leave Jasper and head back south toward Banff along the Icefields Parkway (yes, the same gorgeous road, but it’s just as stunning in reverse). We took our time, turning it into a sightseeing day to rest our paddling muscles. First up was Athabasca Falls, where the Athabasca River thunders through a narrow gorge. We could hear the falls roaring from the parking lot. A short walk brought us to multiple viewpoints, each more impressive (and drenched in mist) than the last. The river has carved potholes and crevices in the rock; it’s nature’s power on full display.

Next we hit Sunwapta Falls, another beauty just off the road, surrounded by thick evergreen forest. We were slowly caffeinating ourselves with the mountain air and the short walks.

One of the crew was itching to do another hike, and he convinced us to stop for the Parker Ridge trail. It’s a few miles round-trip, zig-zagging up above treeline. Gaining elevation again hurt a bit, but at the top we were rewarded with a view of the Saskatchewan Glacier spilling down from the Columbia Icefield. Standing there in the whipping wind, we felt like we were on the set of Planet Earth – glaciers to the south, an endless sea of peaks around. We howled into the wind like a bunch of victorious barbarians (no one else was around to judge our weird celebration).

Back on the Parkway, we pulled over at the Big Bend viewpoint to marvel at the highway itself – you can see it below, twisting like a ribbon through the valley. A quick roadside stop at the Weeping Wall had us craning our necks at a massive cliff face streaked with thin waterfalls. And as if we hadn’t seen enough amazing lakes, we squeezed in one more: Peyto Lake. A short walk to the overlook and bam – there’s Peyto, brilliant turquoise and shaped like a fox’s head, nestled among peaks. The viewing platform was fairly busy with tourists, which was jarring after the solitude we’d been experiencing. We didn’t linger too long; just enough to snap the classic photo and admire the unreal color of the water, which looked even more vibrant in the late afternoon sun.

By the time we rolled into Banff again, it was evening. We checked back into the Tunnel Mountain campground for a one-night stay. That night around the camp picnic table, we cobbled together a feast of random leftovers – a true smorgasbord of ramen, granola bars, and whatever we had left in the cooler. It tasted amazing, of course. We were all in bed early, because tomorrow’s agenda was literally climbing a mountain (with some help) and then hiking a canyon. The adventure was far from over.

Climbing to New Heights (and Into the Canyon)

Day 6 was something totally new for most of us: via ferrata – a guided climb on the cliffs of Mt. Norquay above Banff. We signed up for the Ridgewalker route, which basically means a half-day of scaling a mountain using iron rungs and cables fixed to the rock. We met our guide in the morning, got helmets and harnesses strapped on, and before we knew it were inching along rock ledges high above the valley floor. Now, I like to think I’m brave, but hanging onto metal rungs with nothing but air beneath your feet will make anyone’s palms sweat. One of my buddies (the one who brags about being totally chill with heights) went uncharacteristically quiet as we traversed a suspended bridge clamped to the cliff. The guide was awesome – cracking jokes and pointing out Banff town far below whenever we remembered to look out at the view. And what a view: every time I dared a glance, the whole Bow Valley lay below, with Cascade Mountain and Rundle Mountain across the way. We felt like specks on a wall in a giant’s castle. Reaching the top of the route was exhilarating – we all whooped in triumph, high-fiving with our carabiner-clad gloves. It was a thrill of a different kind, a mix of adrenaline and trust in the gear (and in ourselves). As we rode the chairlift down (legs thankfully spared the knee torture of descent), we already were replaying our favorite moments: “Dude, you should’ve seen your face on that bridge!” – “I wasn’t scared, I was focused!” Sure, buddy.

That afternoon, still buzzing from the climb, we drove out to Johnston Canyon for a more relaxed adventure. Johnston Canyon is a popular trail with catwalks leading you through a deep canyon to a series of waterfalls. It’s a totally different vibe from the morning – shaded, lush, and relatively easy. We strolled along the narrow catwalks bolted to the canyon walls, peering down at the milky blue creek rushing below. The Lower Falls were an easy reward, and we even ducked through a little cave to get an up-close (and soaked) view from the spray. We continued on to the Upper Falls, where water plummets into a big pool, spraying mist high into the air. After so many days of tough hikes, walking this gentle trail felt like a vacation for our legs. We chatted casually with other hikers, and I’ll admit we enjoyed a bit of the attention our pink packs garnered. (“I love your fanny packs!” one woman laughed. “What’s that about?” – We gave her the short version: it’s our friendship uniform.) By the time we got back to the trailhead, the afternoon sun was slanting golden through the pine trees and we were ready to find our next campsite.

We drove up to Lake Louise Campground for the night. Fun fact: this campground is enclosed by an electrified fence to keep grizzly bears out – which we found both reassuring and a tad unnerving. We set up camp (with zero tents forgotten, thank you very much) and made a simple dinner. It was hard to believe we’d been on the road for nearly a week already. Laying in my sleeping bag that night, I listened to the faint rumble of trains in the distance (the campground is near the railway) and the soft snores of my buddies nearby, and I felt a wave of gratitude. These mountains, these moments with my best friends – this is what it’s all about.

Lakes of Legend: Moraine and Louise

Day 7 was a day of postcard scenery and a bit of logistical wizardry. Two of the most famous lakes in the world were on our agenda: Moraine Lake and Lake Louise. If you’ve seen a picture of the Rockies, odds are high it was one of these lakes. But popularity comes with challenges – in recent years, Moraine Lake’s access road has been closed to personal vehicles due to crowding, meaning you need to take a shuttle bus. We’d reserved shuttle spots in advance (travel pro tip: always check if places like Moraine require bookings for the shuttle or you’ll be out of luck). So, bright and early, we hopped on the 7 AM shuttle at the Park and Ride. The early hour was rough, but we were rewarded with a nearly empty Moraine Lake when we arrived.

Walking down to the shore of Moraine Lake for the first time is something I’ll never forget. The water was an unreal shade of turquoise, like someone cranked the color saturation to max. Ten jagged mountain peaks (the famed Valley of the Ten Peaks) rose up around the lake, some still dusted with snow. In the morning hush, with the sun just peeking over the ridges, the whole place glowed. We were all a bit speechless – then one friend quietly said, “Well, this doesn’t suck.” Understatement of the year, and we all cracked up.

We decided to rent canoes at Moraine Lake because apparently we hadn’t had our fill of paddling yet. By 8 AM we were gliding out onto the mirror-like water in a bright red canoe, this time just one canoe (three of us, since one friend opted to stay ashore and take photos – his arms were still recovering from Maligne, or so he claimed). Canoeing Moraine Lake was pure magic. The water was so clear you could see logs resting on the bottom near the shoreline. As we paddled deeper, the lake reflected the mountains like a perfect mirror. We were whooping and hollering like kids at recess – the joy just bubbles out of you in a place like that. Every now and then, we’d pause paddling and just float, leaning back to gaze up at the peaks. The lake was all ours for those few moments, and we savored it. It’s only about a 1.5-mile length lake (tiny compared to Maligne!), so we leisurely explored the far end where a creek trickles in, then turned back. On the return, a light breeze rippled the surface and the famous view from the rockpile came into frame – that quintessential vista of the lake with the Ten Peaks behind. It was surreal to think we were actually in that scene.

After docking and returning the canoe (and prying the paddle from one friend who joked he was never leaving), we spent some time on land. We hiked a bit along the lakeshore trail, which was flat and easy, just to see the lake from different angles. Wildflowers dotted the trail and we saw pika (tiny rabbit-like critters) squeaking from the rockpiles. Eventually, our stomachs reminded us it was lunch time. We grabbed a quick bite at the Moraine Lake Lodge cafe – expensive sandwich, but with a view like that, I’d pay it again. We then scrambled up the actual Rockpile trail (a short climb of steps and rocks) to the famous viewpoint. There were more people by midday, but it didn’t even matter – that view is one of the most staggering sights on Earth. We sat on a rock ledge, shoulder to shoulder with my three buddies, quietly absorbing it. I think moments like that etch into your memory. In my mind, we’re still sitting there whenever I recall it.

By early afternoon, it was time to hop on a shuttle over to Lake Louise, just a 20-minute ride away. Lake Louise was buzzing with people by the time we arrived – quite the contrast to the solitude of Moraine that morning. We threaded our way through the crowds at the lakeshore, pausing to take the obligatory photo of the emerald-green lake with the Fairmont Chateau Lake Louise hotel on the far end. Tourists in canoes dotted the water. It was beautiful, yes, but we were itching to get away from the throngs. So we set off on the Lake Agnes Trail, which climbs up through the forest to a hidden alpine teahouse.

The hike to Lake Agnes is about 3.5 miles round-trip with a good bit of elevation gain. Our legs protested a little (they had every right to, after all we’d done), but we pushed on with promises of treats at the top. Partway up, we passed Mirror Lake, a tiny lake at the foot of a rock formation called the Beehive. The lake was indeed mirror-like, reflecting cliffs and trees – a quick preview of what was to come. After one last steep push, we reached Lake Agnes and its charming Tea House, a rustic log cabin that has been serving tea since 1905. We scored a table on the porch with a view of Lake Agnes’ clear waters and peaks all around. We ordered hot tea, biscuits, and some legendary chocolate cake (calories be damned – we earned this!). There’s no electricity up there; everything is brought in by hiking or helicopter, which makes the whole experience even cooler. Sipping tea with my friends at a mountain teahouse, talking about all we’d seen so far, felt delightfully civilized after days of roughing it.

We lingered at Lake Agnes, watching a few brave (or crazy) folks jump into the icy water for a quick dip. On our way back down, we detoured to check out a viewpoint of Lake Louise from above, which was spectacular – the lake was a bright jade oval far below, and the Chateau looked like a toy. By the time we returned to the lake shore, the late afternoon sun had started casting long shadows. The crowds were thinning a bit too. We hopped on the shuttle back to our campground, tired but content. That night was our final camping night, and we spent it at the Lake Louise campground again, sitting around a fire, roasting the last of our marshmallows. Our conversation was a merry jumble – reminiscing about the trip’s funniest moments (guess what topped the list), debating which lake was the bluest, and already tossing around ideas for next year’s trip. It struck me how lucky we are – not just to see these places, but to experience them together, still going strong with our tradition.

Rapids, Emerald Waters, and a Grand Finale

Day 8, our last full day, began with an early drive west into British Columbia for a dose of adrenaline: whitewater rafting on the Kicking Horse River. None of us had rafted serious whitewater before, and the Kicking Horse is famous for being the real deal – its lower canyon boasts some of the biggest whitewater in western Canada. We arrived at the rafting base in Golden, BC, where the Kootenay River Runners guides suited us up in wetsuits, splash jackets, helmets – the whole works. We looked like neon sausages, and of course we found a way to wear our pink fanny packs over the wetsuits for a pre-ride photo (don’t worry, we took them off before actually getting on the raft!). After a safety briefing that alternated between reassuring and terrifying (“If you fall out, don’t try to stand up – also, try not to fall out”), we were on a bus to the river launch.

What followed was two hours of pure thrill. We tackled the middle canyon section, which had plenty of Class III rapids and a couple Class IV doozies that had us whooping and laughing and swallowing lots of glacier water. The raft would slam into a wall of churning whitewater, leap up, and then crash down, leaving us momentarily blinded by spray and grinning like maniacs. In quieter sections, we actually had time to appreciate the scenery – the river cuts through a gorgeous canyon, and at one point the guide pointed out an eagle soaring above. But mostly it was paddle-paddle-paddle, then “Hold on!” as we hit another rapid that tossed us around. We did have one nearly overboard moment: a rapid aptly named “Roller Coaster” gave such a jolt that my buddy in the front nearly took an unscheduled swim. He managed to stay in the raft, but his dignity got a bit damp. By the end of the run, we were soaked, exhilarated, and high on endorphins. The guide taught us a paddle high-five (all paddles in the middle and shout “YEAH!”). It felt cheesy and awesome at the same time.

After drying off and changing back into normal clothes (pink packs back on waists where they belong), we backtracked east into Yoho National Park for a gentler kind of water activity. We reached Emerald Lake by early afternoon. True to its name, Emerald Lake dazzled us with a distinctive deep green hue, the result of fine glacial silt suspended in the water. We grabbed lunch at the lakeshore (peanut butter sandwiches with a million dollar view) and then set out to hike the Emerald Lake loop trail, a mellow 3-mile path circling the water. This was the perfect post-rafting recovery walk. The trail meanders through fragrant cedar forest on one side of the lake and open avalanche meadows on the other. Every so often we’d get a peek through the trees at the lake, which was so calm it created perfect reflections of the surrounding mountains. After the heart-pounding morning, Emerald Lake’s serenity was like a soothing balm. We walked mostly in companionable silence, just listening to the soft crunch of our boots and the occasional call of a loon from across the water. On the far end of the lake, we found a little beach where we skipped stones and debated who had the best form (pretty sure it was me, but don’t tell Leo I said that).

Before leaving Yoho, we made a quick stop at the Natural Bridge – an impressive rock formation over the Kicking Horse River where the water has carved a bridge through solid rock. We took a few silly group photos there (posing as if we were holding up the bridge – our humor hadn’t evolved much since college, I’ll admit) and then piled back into the RV for our final leg back to Banff.

We had one more treat planned to cap off the trip: a ride up the Banff Gondola to the top of Sulphur Mountain and a celebratory dinner at the summit’s Sky Bistro. It felt fitting to end our Rocky Mountain odyssey with a panoramic view from up high. We reached the Banff Gondola base in the early evening. The gondola whisked us up 2,300 feet in just a few minutes, our ears popping along the way. At the top, we stepped out to a 360° view that honestly took our breath away (as if we had any breath left to give). The town of Banff lay tiny below, and the surrounding peaks stretched as far as we could see, bathed in the golden glow of sunset. We wandered the boardwalk to the Cosmic Ray Station (an old weather observatory) just to prolong the moment. Up there, watching the sun dip and paint the sky orange and pink, I felt an overwhelming mix of joy and bittersweet sadness – happy for the incredible trip we had, sad that it was almost over.

Dinner at Sky Bistro was outstanding, though we probably looked a bit out of place in our well-worn hiking attire among the more casually elegant diners. (We did consider wearing the pink fanny packs to dinner as a final style statement, but thought better of it… plus, they clashed with the white tablecloths.) We ordered hearty Canadian fare – bison short ribs, Alberta beef – and recounted highlights of the trip over glasses of wine. At one point, our table grew quiet as we all gazed out the big windows at the twilight settling over the mountains. It was one of those unspoken group reflections; we’d achieved something special together yet again. Nine days of nearly nonstop adventure, a few mishaps, countless laughs, and memories to last a lifetime.

We took the last gondola down in the dark, the gondola car lit softly as it descended into the twinkling lights of Banff town. Back at camp, we had a final nightcap of whiskey (passing the flask around like we were 19 again, not 35) and toasted to friendship and to conquering the Rockies – with our dignity (mostly) intact.

Farewell to the Rockies

Day 9, departure day, came far too soon. We woke up early to the sound of light rain pattering on the RV roof. Fitting, I thought – even the sky was sad to see us go. Groggy and slightly melancholic, we packed up our gear one last time, making sure not to leave a trace at the campsite. There was the usual flurry of activity: rolling up sleeping bags, securing the random explosion of gear that had accumulated in the RV, and double-checking every cabinet for rogue socks or charging cables. We had our last camp breakfast – a simple spread of oatmeal and the last instant coffee packets – huddled under the awning while the drizzle tapered off.

As we drove out of Banff, the clouds started to lift, revealing peaks we felt we knew intimately by now. It’s funny how in a little over a week, these once-foreign mountains had become almost familiar friends. We made one last stop at a viewpoint overlooking the valley. Stepping out, we all took a moment to breathe in that crisp alpine air and savor the view. “What a ride, huh?” I said to no one in particular. Leo just grinned and shook his head, “Unreal, man.” None of us wanted to say the word “goodbye,” so we said “see you later” – to the mountains, and in a way, to this chapter of our lives. Every trip changes us a tiny bit, and this one felt especially meaningful. As we piled back into the RV for the drive to Calgary Airport and the inevitable return to real life, I felt content. We didn’t leave anything on the table. We faced challenges (self-inflicted and otherwise), we laughed until our sides hurt, and we deepened a friendship that has been a constant in our lives. The Pink Fanny Pack Boys did the Rockies proud.

On the flight home, while my buddies dozed off one by one, I flipped through the photos on my camera: us triumphant at Cory Pass, paddling on Maligne’s mirror surface, our shocked faces at the Spirit Island dock (that one still makes me snort-laugh), the goofy posed shots, the majestic panoramas. These aren’t just pictures; they’re proof that four old friends, with a bit of planning and a lot of heart, can still live a great adventure. I can’t wait to see where we go next – and you’d better believe the pink fanny packs will be coming along for the ride.

Tips for Future Travelers

If our story has you itching to plan your own Canadian Rockies adventure (do it!), here are

some practical tips we learned along the way:

• Plan Early for Popular Spots: The Canadian Rockies are busy in summer, and coveted campsites or activities book up fast. If you want backcountry campgrounds like Coronet Creek on Maligne Lake, be ready on opening day of reservations– we logged in the minute bookings opened and just barely snagged our spot. Same goes for popular campgrounds in Banff and Jasper, or the Banff Gondola dinner – reserve ahead.

  
  

• Backcountry Logistics: Paddling to remote campsites was a trip highlight, but it required prep. If canoeing Maligne Lake, know that it’s a 22 km (14 mi) paddle one-way to the far end. That’s a long haul, so consider breaking it up over two days or camping at a closer site like Fisherman’s Bay if you’re less experienced. And always double-check your gear before launching (learn from our tent mistake!). Bring a map, a water filter, bear spray, and extra food in case things take longer than expected.

  
  

• Physical Demands (Be Ready): We covered tough hikes (Cory Pass is 16 km with 1,000+ m gain – no joke) and long paddles, plus high-altitude climbs. Make sure your group’s fitness matches your itinerary. Altitude and mountain weather can add difficulty, so stay hydrated, take breaks, and don’t be afraid to adjust plans. Sore muscles were our constant companions – consider a rest day or easier activities between big efforts.

  
  

• Transportation & Shuttles: Getting to certain iconic spots requires planning. Moraine Lake now has a shuttle-only access (no personal cars), with reservations needed. Buses around Lake Louise, the Jasper SkyTram (if you do it), and shuttles like to Lake O’Hara (if on your list) all require bookings or early starts. Build extra time into your schedule for these and check the latest info on park websites.

  
  

• Weather and Gear: Mountain weather changes fast. We saw 30°C (86°F) sun and near freezing nights. Pack layers for hot days, cold nights, and rain. A good pair of broken-in hiking boots and a daypack are essential. And if doing any climbing or glacier tours, bring gloves, a warm hat, etc. Also, carry bear spray whenever hiking (and know how to use it) – we did, and although we only saw wildlife from a distance (a few bears from the safety of the car, phew!), it’s a must in these parks.

  
  

• Canoe and Rafting Reservations: If you plan to canoe on popular lakes, check if you can reserve in advance. At Maligne Lake we reserved our canoe rental ahead of time to ensure availability, whereas at Moraine Lake it was first-come-first-served in the morning (get there early for the best chance). For rafting, it’s wise to book your tour in advance too, especially in peak season, and choose a trip that fits your comfort level – the Kicking Horse has sections for everyone from newbies to hardcore thrill-seekers.

  
  

• Enjoy the Journey (Not Just the Destinations): The Rockies are huge – don’t rush. Build in time to pull over at random viewpoints, to watch a sunset, or to chat with fellow travelers at the camp kitchen. Some of our favorite memories are from these in-between moments. The Icefields Parkway, for example, isn’t just a road to get somewhere – it is the destination, so give yourself time to savor it.

  
  

• Embrace Mishaps with Humor: Last but not least, expect the unexpected. Trips rarely go 100% according to plan. When (not if) something goes wrong – a missed turn, crappy weather, forgotten tents – try to roll with it. These often become the best stories later. Our infamous tent blunder could’ve ruined the trip, but it became a highlight because we kept our cool (mostly) and helped each other through it. Travel with friends who can laugh in the face of adversity, and you’ll have an amazing time no matter what.

  
  

Thanks for following along on our journey. If a group of old friends with pink fanny packs can tackle the Canadian Rockies, so can you! Until the next adventure…