Slowed by Solitude: A Solo Hike to Berg Lake and the Gift of Stillness
- Shannon Hurst
- Jul 9
- 7 min read
By Shannon Hurst
Hiking into Berg Lake, cradled beneath the towering majesty of Mount Robson, was more than checking off a bucket list item, it became a slowing down of both body and spirit in ways I had forgotten were possible.
Originally, this trip wasn’t meant to be solo. One of my best friends, Pam, had lucked out and scored three rare nights in early July at this coveted backcountry site and graciously invited me to join her. I was thrilled. Not only had Berg Lake been on my must-do list for decades, but it was also a chance to connect, hike, and recharge with one of my favourite people.
We planned, we packed, and we built up the excitement. But just two weeks before departure, Pam was diagnosed with severe pneumonia. Her doctor made it clear: hiking was off the table.
This meant I had a decision to make, go alone, or cancel entirely. The latter wasn’t an option. Not only did I know Pam would have gone for me, I felt like I had to go for her. Still, that changed everything. With no one to share the gear load, I now had to carry it all solo. Weight became a serious consideration.
Thankfully, I’d invested in lightweight gear over the years, pricey, but worth every penny when you’re over 50 and hauling yourself and your pack up steep alpine climbs. With a few last-minute adjustments to my food and one ridiculously expensive (but necessary) pot from MEC, I was ready.
We transferred the reservation (Pam had to cancel hers so I could scoop it before it disappeared) and I hit the road.
My plan was to camp in Jasper the night before I was to hike in so I headed out the day before. The drive down the Icefields Parkway, one of my favourite roads in the world, never disappoints. With every twist and turn, towering peaks and receding glaciers reminded me of the fragile beauty we’re so lucky to have. Still, the scars of wildfire were sobering. From Athabasca Falls to Jasper, the devastation was heartbreaking, even after seeing photos. But in true mountain town fashion, the people of Jasper are resilient, rebuilding, replanting, and finding gratitude in what's still standing. Despite many living in Atco trailers, they were grateful to still have work and a community.
After a restful night at the overflow campground just outside of town (complete with a wild thunderstorm and wildlife sightings), I packed up my truck tent and made the hour drive to the Mount Robson Park Office, checked in, and stood in awe of the mountain. Her summit was shrouded in clouds, but even hidden, Mount Robson was humbling.
Day 1: Mist, Moss, and Momentum
At the trailhead, the parking lot was steaming as the morning sun burned off last night’s rain. I geared up, snapped my traditional “here I go” photo on the bridge at the trailhead, and stepped into the forest. The first part of the Berg Lake Trail climbs gently through beautiful old-growth cedar forest, with the thundering Robson River always nearby. The air was rich with the scent of moss and wet earth. Every time I caught a glimpse of the river, I was blown away by its sheer force.
At around the 5km mark, I reached Kinney Lake, calm, stunning, a glassy mirror reflecting surrounding peaks. I didn’t stay long though, I had set myself a 4-hour window to reach Whitehorn Campground, my destination for the first night.
The trail continued through Kinney Flats, a valley crisscrossed with creeks and waterfalls in every direction. The sound of falling water echoed through the canyon as I climbed steadily higher. My only stop was to chat with a lovely retired couple from Holland who shared their love of Canadian trails and their annual month-long hiking trips in our beautiful backyard. It reminded me just how lucky we are to live in a country with such accessible natural beauty.
Surprisingly, I reached Whitehorn in just three hours. I picked my campsite, set up quickly, and headed down to the river for a cold plunge. Now I’ve swam in glacier lakes before, but this water was next-level cold. I barely lasted 30 seconds. My feet went numb trying to dip them back in. But it was invigorating.
After a power nap (yes, apparently a necessity at 53!), I explored the nearby trails and waterfalls. One section of Mount Robson was visible in the evening sun and teased about what tomorrow might offer. Dinner was simple, and after hot chocolate, I wandered to a bridge and lay flat on the boards, staring at the sky and breathing in the ozone and mountain air.
While lying there, something changed. I slowed everything down, my breath, my thoughts. I allowed my mind to wander through the events of the past year, losing my mom, closing my bakery, adventures with my boys, starting something new. And I thought of Pam, who should have been there with me. Each thought came and went slowly, without rush. I felt things deeply, then released them. That process was an unexpected blessing and lesson.
Day 2: The Climb, The Falls, The Gift
I awoke early and packed up my camp. After breakfast and tea, I began the grind toward Berg Lake. I’d estimated 5–6 hours, factoring in the incline and a stop at Emperor Falls. The first few kilometres eased me in before the real ascent began. One foot in front of the other, real elevation gain.
White Falls and Falls of the Pool were beautiful, but I paused only briefly to take photos.
When I reached the trail to Emperor Falls, I ditched my pack and headed down.
I thought I was ready and knew what to expect but the sheer power of the water was jaw-dropping. A kind soul had told me to get as close as possible, and I did. Shirt off, standing near the base, laughing like a kid, letting the thunderous water wash over me. It was like nature’s baptism... It was wild, raw, unforgettable.
From there, I powered through the final climb and as I crested the last big section and entered the Robson amphitheatre, I turned a corner, looked up, and gasped. Robson was fully visible. No clouds. No haze. Just her glorious, massive, glacial-covered self! Only 40 days a year does her summit show, and I was standing there for one of them. I was overcome with emotion, I cried. I gave thanks.
As I descended the scree slope to the Berg Lake basin, I was greeted with views of Robson’s towering glaciers and the surreal teal waters of Berg Lake. Once again, tears fell. My heart ached for Pam not being there. But I felt her with me.
Then came another gift, a trail angel told me about a hidden campsite just past the main area, two tent pads, beside Toboggan Creek, with views of the lake, Robson, and even a slate cooking table. Jackpot. I found it empty and claimed it.
Later, after dinner and more gratitude, I walked down to the lake and allowed myself to feel as small as I clearly was in comparison to her majesty. Then noticing a waterfalls another hiker had mentioned I decided to suck it up and head up and hike to Toboggan Falls. With no pack and perfect light, I made it all the way to the top. I sat alone at the edge of the waterfall, looking out over Robson glowing in front of me, the lake, the falls, the forest and took it all in.
As I had done the night before, I slowed my breath. I let all my thoughts move through me again. The brokenness of the past few years, the gifts, the losses, the future I’m still building. I let memories and fears and hopes drift past like clouds. I gave thanks. And I knew I was exactly where I needed to be.
That moment was everything.
As darkness settled in, I returned to camp and fell asleep to the sounds of the glacier cracking and thunder rolling in. A storm passed overhead, wild and electric and I fell asleep.
Day 3: Rain, Reflection, and the Walk Out
I awoke to rain still falling. I knew I had a long hike out and a long drive home, so I busted a move once I was awake and functioning. I packed up, covered my pack while I took down a dry tent and soaked fly, and headed out beneath the low-hanging clouds. Robson was covered in mist and I could only see the base and some of the glacier, but there was still a serene beauty to her.
I didn’t see anyone for nearly an hour. By Whitehorn, I passed a few more hikers, including a young family with kids, out in the rain, doing the thing. I smiled. The trail was wet, the trees misty, and Kinney Lake was buzzing with damp hikers, but I kept going.
By the time I crossed the bridge at the trailhead for my "I did it" photo, I was soaked, exhausted, and completely full, in heart, mind, and soul.
All in: 47.8 km in three days. Over 6,050 feet of elevation gain. And a transformation I didn’t expect.
I learned a lot about myself out there. That I’m stronger than I think. That slowing down takes courage. That sometimes, solo doesn’t mean alone. That living a full life isn’t about always having company, it’s about showing up fully for the moment you’re in.
Sure, a 53lb pack at 35 would’ve been easier than a 35lb pack at 53. But truthfully? I wouldn’t have gotten this much from it then.
I cannot reiterate enough the importance of living a full life, of getting outside, of doing things that are hard, of taking time to yourself, letting nature strip everything down so you can hear your own breath again and to reflect on life, or just sitting in stillness and breathing it all in.
This hike changed me. And I’ll be forever grateful.
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