I thought adventuring in the Canadian Rockies was a no-go for a disabled traveler like me. I was so wrong

There are probably a few environments you wouldn’t expect to see a wheelchair user. As one myself, I could list well over a handful. But having spent the best part of the last decade traveling the world as a TV presenter and travel writer, I’ve realized it’s best practice to leave such limiting assumptions at the aircraft door, and instead, embrace the idea that however we all navigate the world, the world belongs to all of us.

That’s what I felt when I received an invitation from Rocky Mountain Adaptive (RMA), a charity that helps individuals with disabilities to enjoy mountain sports in Canada’s Rocky Mountains. Despite this landscape being on my aforementioned ‘assumed-inaccessible’ list, I leapt at the opportunity to see what they offered, encourage others to do the same, and challenge anyone—me included—who might question a person’s ability to adventure somewhere so intrepid.

But what I’d come to discover surprised even me; that the barriers to entry would not come in the form of soaring jagged peaks or winding wilderness trails. In Banff National Park in Canada’s Alberta province, the challenges for disabled travelers stem instead from the built environment—in this instance, the speed bumps in the road to inclusion in Canada’s oldest and first national park, are mostly created by man.

‘Welcome to Canada!’ smiles the leader of the quiet revolution who’s determined to change this, British-born Jamie McCulloch, co-founder of Rocky Mountain Adaptive, and known locally by the adaptive community as a ‘national treasure.’

Affable, warm, quick to laugh, and genuinely comfortable around mobility aids and those of us who ride in them, Jamie greets me at Calgary Airport and directs me to his newly donated, adapted Toyota Sienna, which will take us to Canmore, an hour away where my Rocky Mountain Adaptive adventure will begin.

Even at this stage, I have options: I can choose from a ramp into the car, which means I can remain in my chair, strapped safely in; or I can transfer into a swiveling front seat which has straps to hold me in or help me up in every conceivable position.

“The challenge that we have is that we cannot trust local businesses to accommodate the needs of our program users. Accommodation locally isn’t dependable … There was no accessible transport from rural areas, and we were finding that a huge number of people could not even get to us.”

- Jamie McCulloch, Rocky Mountain Adaptive co-founder

This is the type of service wheelchair users dream about: Freedom not merely to travel but to travel equally and to choose how. I select my preferred method and transfer myself into the front seat. Jamie packs away my manual wheelchair, and we set off.

As we take the road north, the scenery curtained off by the black of night, Jamie shares Rocky Mountain Adaptives’ origin story. Founded in 2009 with the sole mission of providing accessible, year-round adaptive sports, the organization began with adaptive skiing lessons at the local Sunshine Village Ski Resort but quickly expanded its offerings to include hiking, paddle sports, snowboarding, and more.

These experiences cater to all levels, from beginners to competitive athletes and to people with physical, sensory, cognitive—or any other—disabilities. For Jamie, whose sister was born with autism, the mission is broad. Recreation is step one. He also hopes program users will leave feeling empowered, reaping the benefits of physical and mental well-being and fostering connection.

Now, 15 years on, RMA has grown exponentially and offers 20 different recreational activities. Whether you want to hit the slopes of Lake Louise Ski Resort in a mono-ski, explore mountain trails, or kayak on Banff National Park’s ‘Two Jack’ Lake, you can genuinely say ‘there’s something for anyone’.

My itinerary for the week reads like the manifesto of an adaptive traveler who’s determined to prove that there should be no limits when it comes to adaptive adventures: Think, adaptive mountain biking, kayaking, hiking. I worry my enthusiasm might outpace my fitness, but I remind myself that saying yes is sometimes the best adventure.

Jamie’s reputation as a master facilitator and enabler of any adventurous endeavor, no matter what a person’s impairment, extends far beyond the Bow Valley—which includes Canmore, Kananaskis, Banff, Lake Louise, and surrounding areas—hence my willingness to accept his invitation. However, my visit is not purely adventurous; I’m also here to advocate.

Our week together will culminate in a roundtable event which other disabled advocates, local stakeholders and government officials have been invited to, in the hopes of inspiring change in the local community.

“The challenge that we have is that we cannot trust local businesses to accommodate the needs of our program users. Accommodation locally isn’t dependable,” Jamie says. “If a hotel even has an accessible room—which most don’t—we can’t trust that it will have the necessary requirements.”

He adds that public transport has been another problem, and his adapted vehicle changed everything for RMA. “There was no accessible transport from rural areas, and we were finding that a huge number of people could not even get to us,” he says. “Before we got this, honestly, we had to turn people away.”

We soon arrive in Canmore, at the Malcolm Hotel, a four-star hotel named after Malcolm III, King of Scotland whose nickname was Canmore. I’m met by RMA co-founder and president of the board of directors Ian Hipkins, a bear of a man with a white mustache and a menu in his hand—he’s eager for me to enjoy Canadian and Scottish-inspired staples on the menu such as Malcolm poutine (a Quebec dish of French fries, cheese curds, and gravy) and hot buttered maple Bourbon pudding. Later, I fall into bed in one of the few accessible rooms in town—one Hipkins has recently inspected, just to be safe.

The next morning, I peel back the curtains, mouth ‘Wow’ at the view. I’m surrounded by the vast monoliths of Mouth Rundle; seven peaks that wind all the way to Banff, 12 kilometers south. So picture-perfect are the fuschia-pink hints of color from the sunrise on the crevasses of the mountains and the fluffy morning cloud scatter that it seems artificial. And realizing I won’t just be looking at the view today—I’ll be venturing right into it, lights a fire under me.

It begins at Canmore Nordic Center Provincial Park, a ski area about five kilometers away, where a line of adaptive mountain bikes and smiling volunteers await. The scenery surrounding us doesn’t feel ostracizing at all, but instead limitless, and I’m keen to transfer out of my chair into an adaptive vehicle known as a Bowhead.

“It isn’t just the thrill of being in the mountains, although the feeling is so important for our mental health; it’s the feeling of freedom and of conquering something I never thought I could do.”

- Lisa Franks, accessibility consultant and RMA participant

Built by Calgary-born inventor and mechanical designer Christian Bagg, who sustained a spinal cord injury while snowboarding, Bowheads are all-electric, off-road adaptive trikes with two wheels in front and one in back. Christian, who shares RMA’s attitude that “everyone belongs outside,” channeled all his energy into creating the adaptive bikes; and the Bowhead is as impressively rugged as it is nimble.

Leading adaptive mountain bike instructor and RMA guest-coach, Sierra Roth guides me and a pack of other female Bowhead riders out toward the trails. “Machines like these open horizons for wheelchair users. We focus on empowering people by enabling them to push their limits rather than placing limits on them,” she tells me. “This place is our playground.”

Leaving our wheelchairs behind, we tentatively follow but are soon yanking the throttles as far as they permit. The early morning peace of the mountains is disturbed by a combined sound of batteries heaving each of us over the uneven, muddy terrains and gliding us, seemingly effortlessly, through the ditches—and our palpable whoops of joy.

We take the ‘Rundle Connector’ trail, racing down the mountain behind one another, a fuss of plaited ponytails and mud-splattered smiles, leaving the pack of volunteers on two-wheel bikes breathless as they attempt to keep up. All of RMA’s efforts are supported by a dedicated network of volunteers and community partners who share the organization’s vision of a more inclusive outdoor world.

After a few hours, our bikes are swapped out for kayaks, fitted with adjustable height backrests, and Jamie and RMA booking coordinator Lou Doyon paddle with me along a glassy mountain lake for the afternoon. As we paddle, my friend, Lisa Franks, a Saskatchewan resident and accessibility consultant who’s joined us for the experience, reflects on her previous experiences with RMA. “It isn’t just the thrill of being in the mountains, although the feeling is so important for our mental health; it’s the feeling of freedom and of conquering something I never thought I could do.”

Thanks to RMA, the Rockies have become a birthplace for empowerment, a launch pad for taking on the challenges we face daily as disabled people.

This ethos has resonated with participants, many of whom describe their experiences as more than a holiday; for many it’s a life-changing, even life-saving, event. “I honestly believe that RMA saved my life,” one adaptive skier tells me. “After my amputation, I didn’t know who I was anymore. Jamie and Ian pushed my limits; there is not a lot that can scare me now.”

In a world where disabled people are often assumed incapable, this feeling of empowerment and inclusion is as refreshing as the glacier water rippling below me—and the effect, expansive.

The following day, I transfer into a Bowhead RX, the handcycle version, and Lisa transfers into ‘The Rig’, made by a company called Not A Wheelchair. Accompanied by Richard Thompson, founder of global inclusive travel company Inclu—who, like Lisa and me, has a spinal injury but can walk—we set off up Prairie View Trail.

A few hours later, as I rest to take in the breathtaking view of Banff’s Barrier Lake and Kananaskis country from the viewpoint, I feel my sense of place in the world has shifted. When paralyzed people can summit mountains, surely anything is possible?

No trip to Alberta would be complete without a visit to Lake Louise. The brilliantly-hued larch trees surround our group as our kayaks and canoes float silently on the icy blue water; the high concentration of turquoise is so rich, I feel I’m drifting into an artist’s painting. Again, I’m awestruck by the scene; to witness such beauty—and not from a distance, but from within.

We delve into the need to retrofit accommodations, improve transportation, and ensure that all restaurants and shops are fully equipped to welcome everyone—that could be as straightforward as a sign inviting guests to ring a bell for attention and assistance.

Among RMA’s many supporters is J.P Middleton, a local businessman and avid adaptive sports enthusiast. JP’s journey with RMA began after a spinal cord injury. “Being able to explore one of the most beautiful places on earth gives me a sense of freedom and an incredible amount of happiness,” he tells me as we zoom down the Goat Creek Trail on a Bowhead Reach the following day.

“In the early days of my injury, I questioned if I’d ever be able to return to Banff,” he says. “But Rocky Mountain Adaptive opened up a world of possibilities: Kayaking, adaptive skiing, and mountain biking. Six years later, I’m confidently skiing with my family and exploring 30-kilometer rides on my adaptive bike.”

His passion for the Rockies is palpable and contagious. We race together down the forest trail, my own confidence—and enjoyment—on the Bowhead peaking as we cross Goat Creek and the Spray River by wooden bridges, eventually ending in Banff village. Yet, as JP points out, the path to true inclusivity here remains unfinished. “Over half the shops and restaurants on Banff Avenue are inaccessible, with just one or two steps keeping people out. It’s frustrating that while RMA has made the mountains accessible, local government and business leaders still lack a strategy to address basic accessibility needs.”

As the roundtable discussion approaches, we are joined by advocates like Shira Stanfield, advisor on Accessibility and Inclusion for Visitors to Parks Canada. “Accessible transportation is one of the biggest barriers to visiting parks here in Canada,” she says, reiterating Jamie’s point. “And without adequate trip-planning information made accessible to visitors, people may choose not to make the journey at all.”

Parks Canada is in the midst of what Shira is calling an ‘Accessibility Blitz’ which includes training staff to gather accurate accessibility information for visitors, and conducting audits on various sites. “Sometimes, the changes needed for accessibility are surprisingly simple,” Shira says, neatly demonstrating as we ride a pair of Bowheads along the spectacular Bow Valley Parkway where she points out how access could be improved simply by lowering the handles on the gates.

Also in town to help raise awareness of the RMA mission is the Canadian government’s Chief Accessibility Officer, Stephanie Cadieux—the first person to hold this role and a wheelchair user herself. Together with JP, Shira, Richard and me, we join Jamie in welcoming a room full of local decision-makers, including the mayor of Banff, ready for an afternoon of education.

We delve into the need to retrofit accommodations, improve transportation, and ensure that all restaurants and shops are fully equipped to welcome everyone—that could be as straightforward as a sign inviting guests to ring a bell for attention and assistance.

Our goal is clear; to make this destination, one of the most popular in the world, more accessible for travelers with disabilities, not just in terms of adventure activities, but across the entire infrastructure, creating a fully accessible, inclusive and seamless adventure ecosystem by collaborating with local hotels, restaurants, and transportation services. The roundtable ends with a heartfelt thanks from Jamie, insisting that RMA will do all it can to influence change, but, he emphasizes: “We can’t do this alone.”

Having experienced all I did, the significance of RMA’s mission cannot be overstated, especially at a time when accessible tourism is becoming a major focal point for the travel industry, and in particular, the adventure travel industry. According to the World Health Organization, approximately 15 percent of the global population—around one billion people—lives with some form of disability, making the demand for accessible travel services more urgent than ever.

Applying their expertise in enabling disabled people to thrive in the great outdoors, Rocky Mountain Adaptive and other local disabled consultants are now working together to break down the barriers in the built environment, transforming the Alberta area into what could one day be the ultimate accessible adventure destination in the world. This as-yet-unclaimed title is theirs for the taking.

My time in Alberta confirmed to me that adventure travel really does have the power to transform lives—not merely for an individual but also, if we follow this example, at a collective and societal level. Every accessible trail, every adaptive kayak, every inclusive conversation we have, moves us closer to a world where everyone can experience the beauty of the outdoors, and gives another opportunity to redefine what it means to ‘belong’ in the world. Disabled travelers and advocates alike need allyship of this kind—together, we could move mountains.

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