I’ve been visiting Moraine Lake for more than 20 years. As a photographer, it has always been one of those places I felt I could return to again and again, each time finding something new in the colour of the lake as the seasons, time of day and weather conditions vary. For my first visit, it was quite an ordeal: a two-day, 10,500-km journey by air, a nine-hour, 800-km drive, and a considerable amount of money.

That day, only a handful of people were there in the morning, and everyone seemed amazed, quietly soaking it all in. Nobody was in a hurry. People simply watched how the light changed minute by minute as the sun rose above the horizon, adding hints of red and orange on the peaks of the mountains, and reviving the glacial blue of the lake. I still remember my aunt crying when she saw the lake, eight years ago. That is the kind of reaction this place used to inspire.

You expect visitor numbers to grow naturally, but Instagram, selfie fever, and a wave of of wannabe influencers made them multiply like mushrooms. A few years ago, the park banned private vehicles on the 11 km road because of safety concerns. I honestly thought it was a great move. Shuttles run by the park and authorized companies would solve the problem, and the logistics and cost (over $100 per person for the ride) would surely thin the crowds. Right? Not quite.

When my wife and I returned last week, I felt sadness and frustration. Hundreds of people had taken over the lookout hills, pushing, shouting, and filming and photographing themselves again and again. There were three wedding photoshoots, no room to walk, no space to photograph the landscape or simply enjoy the view, and this was 30 minutes before sunrise. How is that possible? Besides the shuttles and local operators, dozens and dozens of tour buses are now allowed in, each taking a share of the loot. Some trick, isn’t it?

Let me be clear: I’m not against people visiting. Everyone deserves to see a place like this, and I’m glad so many do. But when the crowd gets so big that no one can actually experience the place, something has gone wrong. At that hour, in that setting, the landscape should be the main character.

At a certain point, my climber spirit decided it was worth taking a risk and scramble down to a spot most people wouldn’t dare to reach, hoping to capture one last good photo, since I realized I would probably never return to one of our favourite places in Canada and in the world. It hurts, because this lake holds so much for me. I shared its beauty with my dad in 2006, before he passed, and later with my wife’s parents, my best friend, and finally my dear uncle and aunt. Every one of those visits is a memory I treasure, and part of me wishes I could keep the lake as it was on those mornings.

I hope that one day a better balance is found between access and preservation, so that the next person who sees Moraine Lake for the first time can have the same moment my aunt did.

Yes, I took them all there.