Places
Banff-based travel writer Meghan J. Ward reflects on her love of Jasper and the impact of the devastating wildfires
I grew up in the suburbs of Ottawa, never anticipating that one day I would live in the Canadian Rockies. Yet, there in my childhood home was a clue staring me in the face every day. On our main floor there hung a print of a 1924 painting by Group of Seven artist Lawren Harris: a stunningly simple depiction of Maligne Lake in Jasper National Park.
I first moved to the mountains in 2005 to work at a lodge along the Icefields Parkway, an hour from the border between Banff and Jasper National Parks. Jasper quickly became a beloved place to explore what the mountain life had to offer. I was awed and enraptured by the sheer vastness of the landscape, with its prominent peaks, flowing glaciers and ultramarine lakes. Like many Canadians and visitors from around the world, I’ve built memories that read like a bucket list, from alpine climbs on towering peaks to rafting on the mighty Athabasca, a scenic drive to an iceberg-filled lake and stargazing under the world’s second-largest Dark Sky Preserve.
While I was living on the Icefield Parkway, I also became enamoured by the town of Jasper, which felt like a safe landing place when I wanted to feel part of the greater mountain community. My move to the town of Banff in 2008 only increased my love for Jasper. These mountain towns are connected by highways and park boundaries, yet they are also linked by the people who reside in them.
Mountain people understand, at a deep level, what it is to be connected to a sense of place and to build a life around an outdoors-loving lifestyle. But I can tell that Jasper has its own personality. It’s a quiet charisma and charm you can’t quite put your finger on, you just know you feel good when you’re there.
On July 22, 2024, I watched the news unfold about the wildfires in Jasper National Park and knew, deep in my gut, the severity of what was transpiring. As the wildfires expanded in the park and moved in on the town, I grieved for my friends and acquaintances there, for those who would lose their homes and businesses, for the natural spaces that would be forever altered and the wildlife caught in the flames. As we take stock of the wreckage, we face the reality that Jasper will not the be same, and that our memories of the place and the park are made even more precious.
Those memories have become a salve during a troubling time for anyone with a connection to Jasper. As the fires spread, so too did the stories about Jasper from people around the world, largely posted to social media: childhood reflections and cherished family gatherings, tales of outdoor adventures and dream vacations. My own memories seem clearer and more vibrant as I look back knowing how quickly things have changed. Of course, not everything has changed. Jasper is the largest of the national parks in the Canadian Rockies and much of it is exactly as we remember. Yet the events have placed a filter before us, one which we must now look through.
We will see things differently, knowing what could become of the places we hold dear.
Last year I had the chance to hike through Jasper’s Maligne River Valley before putting in to Maligne Lake at the mouth of its namesake river. With our paddles quietly cutting the water, my friend and I glided along peacefully in our canoe and entered the real-life scene of the Harris painting that still hangs in my parents’ home in Ottawa. Mountains and glaciers rose up around us. As we pierced through the green-blue water, I marvelled at the sheer size of the lake. A loon floated past.
In the canoe, our conversations centred on the power of giving and receiving with Nature — that it is a two-way connection that both enriches our experience and makes us stewards of the land. Indeed, our time in this part of Jasper had been rich. Looking back at that trip now, I am filled with gratitude that I even had the opportunity to visit those beautiful places. I replay the trip in my mind and consider the significance of my being there when I was.
For all my awe of the mountain landscape, far too often I’ve taken it for granted.
There is no way to retrieve what’s been burned, nor ease the pain for those who have lost so much. Together we must grieve this scarring of a national treasure.
Yet, scientists tell us that wildfire stimulates new growth; Indigenous wisdom asserts the very same. As much as we can’t picture it yet, something new will rise from ashes in Jasper.
New stories are already being created as we write a new chapter in Jasper’s history. And there amongst the fireweed, new memories will grow.
Meghan J. Ward is an outdoor, travel and adventure writer based in Banff; Paul Zizka is an award-winning mountain landscape and adventure photographer who has been capturing the wonder of the Canadian Rockies for over 15 years. Both are Fellows of the Royal Canadian Geographical Society.
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