Автор признает, что погоня за альпийскими лиственницами в Альберте теряет смысл из-за толп туристов

I Went Chasing Larches in Alberta. Here’s Why It Wasn’t Worth It Who doesn’t love larches? Even the sight of a larch that hasn’t yet turned completely golden is enough to incite excitement in me—and thousands of other Albertan hikers. I get it. We might not have the same fall colours as Eastern Canada, but we have the Alpine Larch, a unique deciduous conifer found at high elevations throughout the Canadian Rockies that becomes a mountain celebrity each autumn when its needles turn brilliant shades of yellow. As temperatures drop and autumn days grow shorter, chlorophyll in the needles breaks down and fades, revealing the yellow and orange pigments hidden beneath the vibrant green of summer. But when you are elbow to elbow with a jostling crowd trying to get the best shot of the gilded needles, the magic of the season can be totally lost. When I first moved to Alberta, I was blissfully unaware of larch madness; however, this meant that I was wholly unprepared for my first larch hike in the Highwood Region of Kananaskis Country. I was heavily pregnant and unabashedly seeking one final Instagram-perfect belly photo to add to my collection of outdoor adventures from the previous nine months. That may have contributed to my salty attitude when, at 10 a.m. on a Monday, the parking lot at Ptarmigan Cirque was already overflowing with hikers gearing up for their own larch march. Did I get the photo? Yes. Was it worth it? No. Why the Photo Wasn’t Worth the Hype The trail was as packed as the parking lot, with hikers jostling for space at every scenic viewpoint. I generally go to the mountains to escape people, so you may be wondering why, as someone with an intense hatred of crowds, I chose this larch hike for my introduction to the phenomenon. After all, the term “larch madness” didn’t materialize out of thin air. When to go: While it’s difficult to predict exactly when the larches will turn yellow, late September to early October is generally your safest bet. They only stay golden for a few short weeks before dropping their needles, so don’t dilly-dally when it comes to getting out on the trail. Just be prepared for crowds: go early or late, as parking lots fill up quickly, and avoid weekends if possible. What can I say? Pregnancy brain is real. Ptarmigan Cirque, which is at the entrance point to another hike chock full of larch-y goodness—Pocaterra Ridge, which is closed for restoration during the 2026 hiking season—is one of the most popular places to seek and find the feathery-soft colour changing foliage. It’s short, easy and bursting with the No Name brand yellow you could only hope to see during the short week or two before the needles drop leaving the larches to fade into the unimportance of a wilting summer wildflower. I was scarred from this experience. I didn’t attempt another autumnal ‘bliss’ larch hike for several years, instead timing my fall outings for before or after the changing of the guard—hiking places like Arnica and Twin Lakes, on the border of Kootenay and Banff National Parks, where a hint of gold in late September was enough to slake my thirst for an autumnal glow—or seeking out trails where nary a larch was in sight. Trying Again to Love Larches—and What I Did to Finally Make it Worthwhile When I finally did venture out to see the golden larches again, it was to the acclaimed Arethusa Cirque. It’s a toddler-friendly, approximately five-kilometre loop, with sweeping valley views, the striking striated rock walls the Highwood is known for and oodles upon oodles of larches. Three years after my ill-fated, too-pregnant-to-tolerate-the-insanity hike, the eager crowds had not, as I had foolishly hoped, abated. I had perhaps failed to account for the larch-seeking monster social media had created, one seemingly determined to devour any hope of solitude on this trail. What to Wear: Icebreaker’s new merino wool hiking collection is perfect for fall outings, offering breathable warmth and easy layering as temperatures fluctuate. If the weather is still warm, I also highly recommend these shorts by Ciele, which can transition seamlessly from trail run to swim if you’re brave enough to take a dip. Hot tip: mountain lakes are often at their warmest in September! If colder weather arrives early, these insulated boots by Merrell are the perfect complement to your fall hiking wardrobe. Either way, layers are your best friend when chasing those golden larches. Even the abundance of gold couldn’t distract from the crowds. At times, parts of the trail felt like a slow-moving queue, a sluggish pace that tested even my (admittedly energetic) toddler. It happened again while hiking the Instagram-famous Sentinel Pass and Larch Valley near Moraine Lake. This time, however, I knew better and was prepared for the onslaught: Bluetooth speakers shrieking through the trees, the occasional jab of a sharp elbow and the frenetic energy humming through the crowds. And while I could still huff the fresh scent of the forest and take in the spectacular sea of gold, the experience felt less like a hike and more like an amber alert. But I still love the warm, buttery glow of a larch bathed in the soft autumn sun. And, as I’ve been learning, there is a way to recapture the magic. Sometimes, it means taking several days to hike in and out of Shadow Lake, then sitting quietly beneath snow-dusted larches as the noise of the outside world fades away and pops of school-bus yellow drive into the valley below. Or trail running the almost 30-kilometre round-trip journey to the emerald-hued Skoki Lakes, braving the uninspiring grind up the fire road to wander through amber-hued foliage and diving into Lake Myosotis, the reflection of the larches wavering in the water. Let’s not forget the allure of the difficult-to-access Lake O’Hara in Yoho National Park, BC, which borders Alberta. If you can manage to snag bus, camping or hut reservations (or confront the 11-kilometre hike in via the fire road), several valleys of flaxen foliage await your larch-hungry eyes. And the crowds? Almost non-existent. Maybe that’s the trick: larch season was never really the problem. It was my insistence on chasing the same handful of golden hotspots at the same time of day as everyone else. Because when you’re willing to go a little farther, hike a little longer, start earlier or simply sit still and wait long enough for the crowds to disappear, the magic is still there. The larches haven’t changed. I just needed to change the way I looked for them.