Tiny detail that shows Trump's wild security

News.com.au

21-06-2025

In front of me was a winding path, a plethora of pine trees and an invisible line.
The only clue this line even existed was the presence, just beyond it, of a single security guard. She was not to be trifled with.
News.com.au asked the guard if a journalist could get shot if they crossed this imperceptible barrier.
'Not shot,' she said.
'But I'd have to tackle you to the ground.
'I'd prefer not to though because I've had a lot of waffles for breakfast'.
Donald Trump would be safe even without this most Canadian of security guards. Because at last week's G7 meeting of world leaders, if you'd got this close to the summit venue you'd been checked so many times already that you felt like you been stripped of even a harmful retort let alone a harmful firearm.
Tiny detail on valley floor
Incongruous sights abounded in and around the luxury Kananaskis Mountain Lodge resort, in the Canadian Rockies where the G7 was being held. They were both concerning and reassuring.
On a valley floor, hundreds of metres from the resort down an almost sheer cliff that would challenge even the most ardent anti-Trump protester, news.com.au spied something sticking out among the forest trees.
Something that showed just how serious was the effort to keep Donald Trump alive. And Emmanuel Macron. And Keir Starmer. And Volodymyr Zelensky, Narendra Modi and our own Anthony Albanese.
A tiny detail from this far up, temporary fencing jutted out from the scraggly bush and darted towards the Kananaskis River. At its apex was a mobile security tower brimming with lights and cameras. Nothing was getting up this cliff face.
But it wasn't just protesters, the Royal Mounted Canadian Police – the Mounties – who spearheaded security at the event were concerned about. It was also wildlife: specifically bears.
In March, the Mounties estimated that G7 security would cost it alone at least $53 million. But that's likely a huge underestimation of the actual cost. Canada's last G7, held in 2018, cost $433 million all up, more than half of that on policing and security.
Costs have shot up since a 1999 World Trade Organisation meeting in Seattle CBD which descended into chaos as protesters fought police. It's now known as the 'Battle of Seattle'.
Since then, the G7 summits have mostly been held in more rural locales such as Kananaskis, around 90 minutes west of Calgary. Safe, secure, but costly.
'One way in, one way out'
'One way in, one way out,' security specialist Alan Bell told The Guardian during the 2018 G7 which was held in a rustic area of Quebec.
'If you go back to some G7 meetings, the downtown core always gets trashed.
'What they want to do is zero in on the protesters. If they want to come, they basically have to walk in.'
A 'controlled access zone' was set up around the Kananaskis lodge for miles around, brimming with police and cameras.
But the security began way before these more physical elements.
To even get near Kananaskis, or one of the secondary venues in Calgary and Banff, you had to be security vetted and accredited.
Anthony Albanese's base hotel in Calgary's city centre was also home to various countries and bodies that orbited – but were not part of – the core Group of Seven nations.
Delegations lingered in the lobby, parting like Moses at the Red Sea as leaders came and went, such as Canada's PM Mark Carney.
At one point NATO secretary-general and former Dutch PM Mark Rutte strolled breezily through not looking a bit like a man who has the weight of the defence of Europe on his shoulders.
Barricades surrounded the hotel. Like fancy nightclubs and their notorious lists, if you didn't have the right lanyard you weren't getting in.
Sirens wailing, lights flashing and engines roaring signalled a motorcade was about to depart.
And this was 100km east of Kananaskis. Getting to the actual lodge would test Mission Impossible's Ethan Hunt.
Six checkpoints, maybe more
On Tuesday, Mr Albanese headed for Kananaskis itself to meet the G7 leaders in person – well G6 since Donald Trump left a day early.
As such, the travelling Australian media – including news.com.au – were invited too.
First stop, Calgary airport and a draughty hanger where a screening station had been set up. Sniffer dogs complimented X-ray machines and pat downs as every item – from pads to cameras – was scrutinised.
The whole process could have been quite stressful were it not for the bottomless well of cheeriness even the most formidable looking Canadian seems to possess.
Next stop was special G7 buses with police officers on board for the long drive from the flat prairies to the Rocky Mountains, snow-capped even in summer.
The coach was now a secure environment. If just one of us hopped off to snap a picture of the icy blue - almost milky looking - waters of mountain fed lakes, we'd all have to head back to the airport and have our bags sniffed once more.
Then the checkpoints began. Plural.
They started off simple: a couple of guys ensuring the coach was expected. But each time, it got more serious.
At one check point accreditation was counted and examined; at another high fences began to slice through the forest.
No bears
These fences were a minimum of eight feet high. That's not just to make it hard for humans to scale but to 'limit wildlife access' stated organisers. Mountain goats, moose, and wolves roam these parts. But it's mostly overly inquisitive bears that were a worry. There are around 70 grizzlies in the area.
Bears care little for controlled access zones, closed hiking routes or polite Canadians urging them to respect the cordon, so fences were the last defence.
Giant helicopters could be spied through the trees in temporary heliports, military Chinooks whirred overhead with VIPs, the guns got bigger with each passing checkpoint.
A no fly-zone was also in place. But a flight tracking app revealed a US air force Stratotanker was ceaselessly circling, peering down on events below.
After around six separate checkpoints, the immaculate resort grounds appeared. The media could freely roam a compound of large tents that had been erected on two tennis courts to file stories.
Generally, that was it. So close, yet so many police ready to wrestle you to the ground if you dared venture further.
But when Mr Albanese was meeting world leaders there was an opportunity to go into the lodge itself – to the belly of the diplomatic beast.
The building itself looked rustic, warming and rich. However, the police escorting you were not in the habit of letting you hang around and appreciate the amenities.
There was a charming restaurant that we would not be allowed to dine in, but I liked to think France's Macron had dipped in for a cheeky croque monsieur earlier. And a souvenir shop we would not be allowed to shop at, but perhaps Germany's new Chancellor Friedrich Merz had ducked in for a G7 souvenir mug and hoodie.
When Mr Albanese's hand shaking was done and his press conference was completed it was time for the Australian media to go too. But it took an hour to leave Kananaskis due to all the motorcades. These are not everyday traffic issues.
Yet high up in the mountains, in the surprisingly warm air, with views that made you wonder if they should have filmed Lord of the Rings here rather than New Zealand, it wasn't the most awful place be forced to dawdle in.
Not a single arrest
For Canada, it was half a billion dollars well spent: not a single arrest was made at the G7.
The biggest issue, Alberta Forestry and Parks Superintendent Brian Sundberg told Canada's Global News, was indeed the wildlife.
'About half of the reports were for grizzly bear and black bears,' he told local media.
Bear spray, 'bear bangers,' and dogs were used to ensure they didn't even get as far as the fence.
'I'm very happy to say that all of those are minor in nature and as a result we were able to take minimal action to move the risk away'.
It will be a relief to Canada's Mr Carney that no world leaders, or bears, were harmed during the G7.