Phobia central

Saturday, August 18, 2007
CHILLIWACK, B.C. — They say that it’s healthy to depart from your comfort zone every now and then. Today, our itinerary unfolded such that both of us would have an opportunity to do just that. Val and I each have little things that give us the heebee jeebees. For Val, it’s high places, that is to say anything beyond the third rung of your average ladder.
I will grant that Val has done a fair bit of exploration outside his height comfort zone this holiday, what with the Kicking Horse Pass, the sheer drops on the bus tour of Denali Park, and the harrowing journey through landslide zones on the way to the Salmon Glacier. He braved those challenges with grace and tenacity, leaving only slight indentations in the steering wheel.
My comfort zone gets frayed at the edges when I have to go through a tunnel. We did that on the train through the White Pass on the way to Skagway, Alaska, when we plunged into inky blackness for several seconds before emerging into daylight again. And on our tour of the Eldorado Goldmine near Fairbanks, we rode the little steam train into an underground cave and — to my great discomfort — stopped for several minutes while the guide explained about bedrock and paydirt and permafrost, and I counted the seconds until we were above ground again.
Today, we visited the gates of Hell. After leaving Cache Creek this morning, we continued our journey through desert-like hills tufted with sage brush, following the mighty Fraser River. The further south we got, the more the hills grew into mountains, and the greener the landscape became. The mountains crowded closer together until we were in the Fraser Canyon, where the river was squeezed from a wide flowing waterway to a narrow, boiling torrent where 200 million gallons of water hammer through at any given moment.
This was the point at which the explorer Simon Fraser declared, in 1808, that no human being should ever venture near, so devilish were the currents and rapids on the river. He’s the one who gave Hell’s Gate its colourful name.
In his day, there were no tunnels along the steep hillsides on either side of the canyon. Now, trains disappear through the ones on the far side, while the tunnels on our side swallowed highway traffic. The China Bar tunnel was the first, and longest one we came to — nearly 2,000 feet underground. It was the worst kind of tunnel, too. It curves so you can’t see the end of it, and there’s no telling how long you will be buried alive. Fortunately there are lights on the walls so you’re not in complete darkness.
Not long after recovering that trauma, I saw the entrance to the Hell’s Gate Airtram, which shuttles hundreds of tourists every day across the chasm, descending 500 feet to the other side over the most treacherous section of the river. A sight not to be missed!
Val stood stoically at the very centre of the tram, gripping the centre pole and staring straight ahead while I leaned out the window snapping pictures of the chasm. Once on terra firma at the other side, our next thrill was to cross back over on a suspension bridge, with a metal grillwork floor that allowed you to look through it past your feet to the churning waves below. Val bravely sauntered across, eyes fixed on the landing on the other side, while I paused to gaze down at the little boat that was passing under us, moving sideways along the eddies as it bobbed along. Our exciting crossing had to be repeated in order to get back to the tram car that would bring us up to the starting point again, giving Val the double opportunity to leave his comfort zone — but not his composure — behind. The view was fantastic from every angle.
As we resumed our southward trek, Val became noticeably more relaxed, while I blanched at the information I read out of Milepost, indicating that we had no fewer than six more tunnels to pass through on the way to our destination! Fortunately, the worst was behind me. All the others were shorter and straighter. Phew!
Our altitude (and blood pressure) plunged steadily as we came out of the canyon and headed for the Lower Mainland. Soon, we were on a flat plain where we passed dozens of fresh fruit and berry stands, as well as wide fields planted high with shiny green, tassled corn stalks, or dotted with cows and horses.
Before we knew it, we had arrived at Chilliwack, and the home of our friends Ken and Linda Byrt. Val and I both worked with Ken at different times before he retired from the RCMP. Once we got the trailer comfortably parked on their driveway, we went in for a delicious supper and a long, pleasant evening of catching up on all our news.