I bought plaid. I saw a bear. I line danced with a cowboy. 

After my 10-day road trip in the Rockies, I feel somewhat more deserving of my Canadian passport.

It was touch and go for a second, with an email landing in my inbox at 5am to tell me my direct flight to Calgary later that day had been cancelled.

But there’s always a silver lining! WestJet offered to reimburse for an overnight stay in Dublin, plus expenses — a fancy-pants hotel. And naturally, that calls for one thing: room service steak!

Not only that, but since my flight was cancelled last minute, I was also entitled to compensation under EU law (€600). Not too shabby seeing as I only paid €400 for my ticket! But it came with a sacrifice; my knees. Instead of a breezy 8 hours in the air, my trip doubled in length to 16 hours, including a layover in Toronto. 

Before boarding, I was hit with another curveball. Because my Irish passport lists my birthplace as Canada, I’m required by law to use my Canadian passport, which, in all honesty, could be hiding anywhere — most likely buried between old receipts in one of my junk drawers. 

“You can’t travel to Canada on an Irish passport unless you apply for an E-visa” they casually informed me. And the process? It would usually take 72 hours. Lovely. 

Typing like my life depended on it, I uploaded my docs and made a pact with every god under the sun. 7 minutes it took to process. Was it a glitch? Divine intervention? Or just the universe briefly pitying me? I’ll never know — but I will be citing this next time anyone tells me ‘the system is slow.’

The flight itself was long and grueling, but thankfully I had two friendly seatmates to liven my spirits. By the time we touched down in Calgary, we were firm friends and I had even more recommendations of places to visit. “You have to go to Grassi, look!” My new pal whipped out her phone to show me her screensaver, a shimmering lake that looked like something from a watercolour.

Grassi Lakes seems to be a favourite among locals, tourists, and The Detour readers alike (thanks, Tanis)! 

Just an hour and a half from Calgary, this short trail from Canmore (a picturesque alpine town with a reputation for luxury living) is an easy hour-long hike. It leads through forest and waterfalls with the most spectacular views of the Rockies, before opening up into two sparkling emerald lakes. 

Don’t expect to have the views all to yourself, though, it was pretty busy when we went — and that wasn’t even during the peak summer tourist season. Still, strolling around the shores of the small lakes was quite peaceful, with most people soaking in the serenity of the emerald waters and nature’s symphony of birds. 

Next up on our “must-do” list was a suggestion from Katelyn, a JFC member from Calgary who spends a lot of her spare time in Golden, B.C. 

“In Golden, you have to stop at Ethos Café. The sourdough bread, pastries, and coffee is amazing. You can take it to go and stroll down by the river and check out Canada's longest covered timber frame bridge”

Bread, coffee? You don’t have to tell me twice, Katelyn! We opted to share the Torrija, a Spanish take on French Toast: a slab of sourdough coated in vanilla, cardamom, and zesty orange, and stacked with pecan granola, honey, custard, and fruit!

Afterward, with full bellies, we strolled around Golden’s small downtown, eventually leading us towards the Kicking Horse pedestrian bridge. The snow-capped peaks of the Rockies mirrored in the river was a postcard that no camera could ever truly capture. 

Before saying goodbye to Golden, we figured it’d be downright criminal not to check out the Golden Skybridge, one of Canada’s highest suspension bridges.

Let’s just say, if your idea of a good time doesn’t include swaying 426 feet above a canyon, you might wanna give this one a miss. For the rest of us, the vertigo was worth it for these views.

And if you’re wondering whether we took the Railrider mountain roller coaster down… You betcha! 

Katelyn also suggested we check out some hidden hot springs that just so happened to be high on Flight Finder Kristi’s list of “must-dos”. 

“South of Invermere, there are some natural hot springs that are a lot more authentic than going to the glorified hot tub pools of Banff and Radium - Lussier Creek! This has gained popularity in the last decade, so it might actually be heaving with people” 

To our surprise, there were only a handful of people when we arrived, and by the time we dipped our toes in the bubbly sulfur pools, it was just us, the river, and the boundless evergreens.

It was probably something to do with the twisty, gravel road that led there. In some parts, the road clung to the mountainside like an afterthought. Leaning out the window, heart in my throat, I glanced down at the valley below, a dizzying drop where the earth just… fell away. I won’t lie, I wondered if it was worth it. 

It was. 

JFC member Loralee wrote in and told us we had to check out the hot springs at St. Leon too: 

“I highly recommend going to St. Leon. It's south of Revelstoke and requires a ferry ride (free). Then, about 10 minutes on the highway, 10 minutes driving very slow up a logging road & another 10 minutes hike up to the spring. Pack lots of water & food because you'll probably want to stay all day. My hubby and I would set up camp in the forest & stay for a week a few times.

I haven't been there in the past several years, so you may want to verify with locals that it's still accessible. This beautiful spot is maintained by the local community, and usually kept secret. It's the only remaining part of an old mining hotel that burned down a hundred years ago” 

Sadly, we weren’t able to squeeze this one in, but I know I’ll be back for Loralee's rec. 

The road to Revelstoke was simply breathtaking, even on a cold, rainy day. The valley, swallowed by a low-hanging mist, looked like something out of Twilight. 

Carving through the Selkirks, the highway twisted alongside cliffs that dropped off into absolutely nothing. Every so often a truck would barrel past blasting enough spray to make me in the passenger seat wince, muttering a silent prayer that Kristi had the wheel.

But then — magic. A break in the clouds, a glimpse of emerald forest clinging to the slopes, Kicking Horse River raged below and the mountains looming in the distance. 

“I could totally live here,” I must’ve muttered more times than I could count. 

But when your travel budget is held together with duct-tape and last month’s poor decisions, you don’t get boujee mountain lodges to rest your heads in. You get questionable roadside motels. So naturally, we leaned in. 

If life was going to stick us in a room that smelled like cigarettes and cat pee, we’d turn it into our own murder mystery weekend. 

By the time we hit Revelstoke, we had convinced ourselves we were the stars of our own low-budget thriller. Think roadside pit stops where the lobby isn’t even a lobby and a partial demolition site. 

Ironically, I probably had the best sleep of my life here — let’s not analyze that one. 

That night in Revy, we experienced the most spectacular vistas along the Columbia River. Stretched out before us, a shifting mirror of liquidity, broken by the occasional sigh of a breeze. 

The mist came in slow, eerie tendrils, slinking between the pines. We didn’t speak. There was no need. For a little while, we were just witnesses to somewhere beyond the veil.

And as the fog lifted from the river — ethereal, translucent, then gone — I felt the same slow clarity rise in my chest: Though Ireland had raised me, Canada had always been there, waiting in my bones.