Just for fun, we thought it would be interesting to categorize some aspects of our holiday. Hope you enjoy this list!
Wildlife seen
bison, deer, antelope, moose, fox, badger, elk, skunk, coyote, caribou, black bear, grizzly bear, brown bear, bald eagle, golden eagle, magpie, wild turkey, dall sheep, mountain goat, reindeer, muskox, wolf, polar bear, walrus, sea lion, sea otter, seals, hump back whale, porpoise, salmon, halibut, rabbit, weasel, squirrel, chipmunk, Canada geese, ducks, heron, pelican, raven, hawk, pike, lake trout, grayling, dogfish shark, skate, owl, porcupine, ptarmigan, black and blue jay, butterflies
Domesticated animals
bison, reindeer, muskox, longhorn cow, llama, sheep, horses, cattle, pigs
Land formations
prairie, mountain, butte, cliff, pingo, volcano, glacier, river, stream, creek, waterfall, hill, valley, precipice, peninsula, island, fjord, spit, canyon, iceberg, beach, hoodoos, lake, pond, ocean, hot spring, foothills, desert, marsh, tundra, bog, permafrost, braided rivers, tunnels, rapids
Plants
cabbage size of basketballs, Queen Anne’s lace nine feet tall, acres of fireweed, redwoods, moss dripping from pine trees, dozens of wildflower species, black spruce hundreds of years old, pine trees gone rusty from mountain pine beetle, tumbleweed, sagebrush, aloe, banana plant, BC fir trees, orchids
Modes of transportation
truck, car, train, airplane, deep sea fishing boat, rubber raft, air tram, ferry, horse cart, bus, sternwheeler, motorboat
Provinces / Territories / States visited
Ontario, Alberta, British Columbia, Yukon, Northwest Territories, Michigan, Wisconsin, Minnesota, North Dakota, Montana, Alaska, Washington, Idaho, South Dakota, Wyoming
Landmarks visited
Mount Rushmore, Crazy Horse Monument, Corn Palace, Red Onion Saloon and brothel, White Pass, Kicking Horse Pass, Crow’s Nest Pass, Arctic Circle, Bonanza Creek Discovery Claim #1, Mississippi River headwater, Denali Park, Mount McKinley, Loonie near Sudbury, Robert Service’s cabin, Jack London’s cabin, Pierre Berton’s house, Miles Canyon, Lake Laberge, Yukon River, Klondike River, McKenzie River, Mississippi River, Fraser River, Beaufort Sea, Sault Ste. Marie Locks, Worthington Glacier, Meares Glacier, Exit Glacier, Salmon Glacier, Columbia Glacier, Mile Zero of Alaska Highway, Alaska Highway end point at Delta Junction, Dempster Highway, Top of the World Highway, Highway of Tears, Alaska Zoo, Homer Spit, Continental divide in the Yukon, Hell’sGate Canyon, Fort Steele, Minter Gardens, Burial site of the Lost Patrol, petrified dinosaur at Malta, MA
Unusual meals/ food
cinnamon buns from Braeburn, Alaska King Crab legs, reindeer sausage, caribou stew, buffalo/ bison burger, mile high raspberry soft ice cream cone, blackberry pie, arctic char, fresh-caught Copper River sockeye salmon, fresh-caught halibut
Unusual activities
rafting Nenana rapids, halibut fishing, watching a glacier calve, seeing a smoking volcano, air tram across the Fraser Canyon, panning for gold in Hunker Creek, 24-hour daylight, dipping hands in the Beaufort Sea, standing under the Alaska pipeline, crossing the Arctic Circle, flying in a small plane to Tuktoyaktuk, watching whales, catching pike on Little Atlin Lake, watching bison graze across the highway, watching grizzlies fish for salmon, feeding reindeer from our hands, touring a brothel in Skagway, watching a grizzly graze on the tundra, picking buckets full of blackberries, watching cancan dancers at Diamond Tooth Gertie’s, cruising on a sternwheeler in Fairbanks, petting sled dogs from the Iditarod race, visiting a muskox farm, standing on the marge of Lake Laberge, meeting the granddaughter of Commr Nicholson, visiting an underground goldmine in Fairbanks, touching a mammoth tusk
That's it! Till next time! Au revoir!
Monday, September 3, 2007
Friday, August 31, 2007
Home sweet home
Friday, August 31, 2007
OTTAWA, ONT. — My last blog is being prepared as I sit in my own easy chair at home. Our journey is over! And what an adventure it has been. When we got back to the house, we wandered through rooms we haven’t seen for three months, marveled at the box full of mail, the overgrown shrubs in the yard and the fact that our little car is still intact in the garage.
The day began as so many have over the last three months, with a chill in the air, and our normal routine, except it was different because it was our last day. Once we were all set to roll out of the park, we navigated the narrow roads and overhanging trees and were soon headed east and south toward Ottawa. It began to rain a bit and it was quite overcast, but before long the clouds cleared and the sun came out.
So many parts of this route along Highway 17 are familiar to us, having traveled it for almost 35 years together. We noticed this building had been torn down, that one was newly constructed, and this long-abandoned business had new owners who were making another go of it. We drank in the beauty of rural Ontario, with its lakes and streams, farms and forests, small towns and side roads. There were signs for the upcoming fall fair, rental trucks piled high with the belongings of students off to school, moms and dads in the coffee shops heading home after dropping their kids at college or university.
The highway was starting to get busy with Labour Day weekend traffic once we got south of Cobden. We stopped for a quick lunch in a parking area — did we munch a little more hastily than usual, with thoughts of home on our minds?
Soon we were passing all the familiar landmarks of the outskirts of town. Our destination was not for home immediately; we were going to leave the trailer at its summer home at Long Island, just south of the city, unpack our most immediate necessities and then head for the house. With that, we were off again, with the truck unhitched from the trailer for the first time since we left Chilliwack over a week ago!
And here we are! It’s great to be here. We have a busy weekend ahead of us, and beyond, getting everything in order again and I have to return to work on Tuesday. It has been great sharing this narrative with you, and it has been the trip of a lifetime. I will post one more blog of lists and statistics for anyone who is interested, but for now, farewell!
OTTAWA, ONT. — My last blog is being prepared as I sit in my own easy chair at home. Our journey is over! And what an adventure it has been. When we got back to the house, we wandered through rooms we haven’t seen for three months, marveled at the box full of mail, the overgrown shrubs in the yard and the fact that our little car is still intact in the garage.
The day began as so many have over the last three months, with a chill in the air, and our normal routine, except it was different because it was our last day. Once we were all set to roll out of the park, we navigated the narrow roads and overhanging trees and were soon headed east and south toward Ottawa. It began to rain a bit and it was quite overcast, but before long the clouds cleared and the sun came out.
So many parts of this route along Highway 17 are familiar to us, having traveled it for almost 35 years together. We noticed this building had been torn down, that one was newly constructed, and this long-abandoned business had new owners who were making another go of it. We drank in the beauty of rural Ontario, with its lakes and streams, farms and forests, small towns and side roads. There were signs for the upcoming fall fair, rental trucks piled high with the belongings of students off to school, moms and dads in the coffee shops heading home after dropping their kids at college or university.
The highway was starting to get busy with Labour Day weekend traffic once we got south of Cobden. We stopped for a quick lunch in a parking area — did we munch a little more hastily than usual, with thoughts of home on our minds?
Soon we were passing all the familiar landmarks of the outskirts of town. Our destination was not for home immediately; we were going to leave the trailer at its summer home at Long Island, just south of the city, unpack our most immediate necessities and then head for the house. With that, we were off again, with the truck unhitched from the trailer for the first time since we left Chilliwack over a week ago!
And here we are! It’s great to be here. We have a busy weekend ahead of us, and beyond, getting everything in order again and I have to return to work on Tuesday. It has been great sharing this narrative with you, and it has been the trip of a lifetime. I will post one more blog of lists and statistics for anyone who is interested, but for now, farewell!
Canada rocks!
Thursday, August 30, 2007
SAMUEL DE CHAMPLAIN PARK, ONT. — This park just outside of Mattawa is the same one we stayed in on our first day of the trip. We took a stroll after supper, crossing the footbridge over the small stream that flows out of the Mattawa River, and entering the woods beyond. There were tall red pine trees standing like columns along the road, and soft bars of evening sunshine sifting through them onto the needled forest floor.
Out on the water was a group of people gliding along in a red canoe, while tiny clusters of insects buzzed about above the water’s surface, and mossy seaweed undulated in the current of the stream below. The smell of campfires wafted through the air, and we could hear a comforting crackle of dry wood burning, along with children laughing and the low voices of tired parents.
The peace and beauty of this provincial park is a lovely way to bring our long trip to a close. The cool air and silence will be a tonic tonight as we spend our last night in our little cottage on wheels. There is much work to be done to get it ship shape again, after its daily barrage of road dust and all the jumping around the contents have endured.
Today we encountered a few miles of less than optimal road conditions, so one last time I had to rebuild the shoe tower by the trailer door. When I opened the cupboard under the sink, I was amazed to see the two remaining stacking bowls (the largest one succumbed to a bumpy road weeks ago) on the floor of the cupboard, intact, when their last resting place was on the shelf above the floor, about 10 inches higher up! I had put rubber matting between them, but there was nothing but hard linoleum flooring under them! We did lose one of our drinking glasses today, though. One dipsy-doodle too many for it, I guess.
As we drove from Sault Ste. Marie along Highway 17, I tried to look at the familiar landscape around us with the eyes of someone from, say, South Dakota, to see what might strike me as different. The biggest feature of the drive was the rocks. The pre-Cambrian shield is a huge feature of northern Ontario, and this was very much in evidence by the roadside. Some rocks were so huge they had to blast through them to cut a path for the highway. There were lots of different colours of rock as well, from charcoal grey to rust colour and beige, and some that were almost purple.
We saw a number of farms, and passed little roadside stands where people were selling sweet corn and ripe tomatoes. But this stretch offered nowhere near the amount of arable land that we had seen in Wisconsin, for example, where the fields covered hundreds of uninterrupted acres of land.
We passed a couple of very long trains of double-stacked cars sitting motionless on the tracks. Just as I remarked to Val that it must be frustrating for the people expecting these shipments to know they were not moving, we passed a repair crew cleaning up after a derailment, where several stacked cars were on their sides next to the tracks. That explained a lot.
Mother Nature provided beautiful weather today, with sunshine most of the way and a gentle temperature of about 21 degrees. The air in northern Ontario is so clear and refreshing; I just love to fill my lungs with it whenever we come up here. The water of Lake Huron was a sparkling blue as we passed near it not far from Sudbury. The pull of the north was still there when we got to North Bay and passed the familiar turn-off for Highway 11 up to Cobalt, Haileybury and New Liskeard, where Val grew up. But our horizons were elsewhere this trip.
Tomorrow will be our last day of travel. By the time we get home, we will have covered some 25,000 kilometres and seen some of the world’s most beautiful countryside. It’s hard to believe it’s almost over.
SAMUEL DE CHAMPLAIN PARK, ONT. — This park just outside of Mattawa is the same one we stayed in on our first day of the trip. We took a stroll after supper, crossing the footbridge over the small stream that flows out of the Mattawa River, and entering the woods beyond. There were tall red pine trees standing like columns along the road, and soft bars of evening sunshine sifting through them onto the needled forest floor.
Out on the water was a group of people gliding along in a red canoe, while tiny clusters of insects buzzed about above the water’s surface, and mossy seaweed undulated in the current of the stream below. The smell of campfires wafted through the air, and we could hear a comforting crackle of dry wood burning, along with children laughing and the low voices of tired parents.
The peace and beauty of this provincial park is a lovely way to bring our long trip to a close. The cool air and silence will be a tonic tonight as we spend our last night in our little cottage on wheels. There is much work to be done to get it ship shape again, after its daily barrage of road dust and all the jumping around the contents have endured.
Today we encountered a few miles of less than optimal road conditions, so one last time I had to rebuild the shoe tower by the trailer door. When I opened the cupboard under the sink, I was amazed to see the two remaining stacking bowls (the largest one succumbed to a bumpy road weeks ago) on the floor of the cupboard, intact, when their last resting place was on the shelf above the floor, about 10 inches higher up! I had put rubber matting between them, but there was nothing but hard linoleum flooring under them! We did lose one of our drinking glasses today, though. One dipsy-doodle too many for it, I guess.
As we drove from Sault Ste. Marie along Highway 17, I tried to look at the familiar landscape around us with the eyes of someone from, say, South Dakota, to see what might strike me as different. The biggest feature of the drive was the rocks. The pre-Cambrian shield is a huge feature of northern Ontario, and this was very much in evidence by the roadside. Some rocks were so huge they had to blast through them to cut a path for the highway. There were lots of different colours of rock as well, from charcoal grey to rust colour and beige, and some that were almost purple.
We saw a number of farms, and passed little roadside stands where people were selling sweet corn and ripe tomatoes. But this stretch offered nowhere near the amount of arable land that we had seen in Wisconsin, for example, where the fields covered hundreds of uninterrupted acres of land.
We passed a couple of very long trains of double-stacked cars sitting motionless on the tracks. Just as I remarked to Val that it must be frustrating for the people expecting these shipments to know they were not moving, we passed a repair crew cleaning up after a derailment, where several stacked cars were on their sides next to the tracks. That explained a lot.
Mother Nature provided beautiful weather today, with sunshine most of the way and a gentle temperature of about 21 degrees. The air in northern Ontario is so clear and refreshing; I just love to fill my lungs with it whenever we come up here. The water of Lake Huron was a sparkling blue as we passed near it not far from Sudbury. The pull of the north was still there when we got to North Bay and passed the familiar turn-off for Highway 11 up to Cobalt, Haileybury and New Liskeard, where Val grew up. But our horizons were elsewhere this trip.
Tomorrow will be our last day of travel. By the time we get home, we will have covered some 25,000 kilometres and seen some of the world’s most beautiful countryside. It’s hard to believe it’s almost over.
Wednesday, August 29, 2007
Closing the loop
Wednesday, August 29, 2007
SAULT STE. MARIE, ONT. — We have come full circle. Tonight we are staying at the same KOA campground we visited in early June, just before entering the States on our journey west. The same flowerbed decorates the entrance, but in the place of new blooms and freshly planted annuals are late summer flowers and dried grasses. Autumn leaves are scattered beside vacant campsites, and there is a chill in the evening breeze. Summer is almost over!
It was a long trip today — too long, says Val, who is resting with his feet up after being at the wheel for more than 600 kilometers. However, if we hadn’t pushed it, we would have been hard pressed to find a campground, as there are very few in northern Michigan, either listed in our directories or simply turning up by the roadside as we passed. Besides, the lure of home territory was strong. We are on the homeward stretch.
It was quite overcast when we left Lake DuBay this morning. We had plotted a zigzag kind of journey to get to Sault Ste. Marie the quickest way we could figure, so I tried to keep my navigator’s eyes on the laptop to ensure we didn’t make any wrong turns. In spite of this, we did! We were both enjoying the view of Lake Michigan and the lovely homes along the shore, and then I looked down and the GPS path was suddenly off route! So we found a place to turn around and get back on track.
No interstates today, except for a four-mile stretch just before the Canadian border, so we had to take what we got. Most of the roads were quite good, but every now and then we would come to a section of highway that was paved in slabs of concrete. Very durable, you might argue, but over time, between each slab a tiny gap begins to form, until your vehicle is going ka-dunk, ka-dunk, ka-dunk over every crack in a most annoying fashion! Not only that, but the heirloom Corelle is going ka-chink, ka-chink, ka-chink in the cupboards as the trailer bounces over the same gaps.
In addition, interstate highways are normally four lanes, so any construction being done only means a narrowing of lanes to one each way for certain intervals. When the construction is happening on a two-lane highway, you get detours. The fun one today was through a town called Marinette. It was at this junction that we were to switch from Highway 41 to 35, and the very corner we needed to turn was onto a road that was closed for construction! The detour sign that preceded that corner indicated a detour for Highway 41 but made no mention of the 35. There was an interlude of consternation until that hurdle was overcome.
Our travels today took us through lovely farm country. I love the sight of fields full of ripening grain and farmsteads with big, weathered barns, a couple of silos and a cozy house on a plot of land edged in shady trees. We saw apple trees ready to burst with red juicy orbs on every branch, and even one that had delivered its abundance onto the grass beneath it. Many of the large trees we passed had already registered the shortening days, and were holding back the sap that keeps the leaves green. Shades of yellow, orange and scarlet were already visible on the branches in splashes of bright colour.
The clouds lifted after a while, and the temperature rose a bit, but only to 70 degrees — a welcome break from the scorchers we had the last few days. There must have been a nasty storm along part of our route, because we passed a whole section where the forest had been devastated. Dozens of trees were broken off at 10 or 15 feet above the ground, and limbs were scattered everywhere. A number of logging machines were salvaging the lumber, at least. Later, we passed an area where a sign had been posted saying "wind damage" with the month and year. There were quite a few fallen trees, but these were obviously felled several years ago. We went by too fast for me to read the date.
By supper time, we were finally crossing the bridge into Canada, high above the city of Sault Ste. Marie. We looked down on the huge barges and ships going through the locks, and on the Algoma steel factory, which looked quite forboding with its black chimneys smoking against a darkly clouded sky. Home in Canada once again! It’s a good feeling.
We may not get a chance to post our blog for the next couple of days, since we will probably be camping at provincial parks which are not wired for the Internet, but in due course I will bring this long narrative to a close. I would love to know who has followed this blog. I have heard from some of you, which has been an added bonus! I am grateful to those who sent their encouragement, because the discipline of setting down each day’s activities for their sake has meant that we now have a complete account of events that I am sure we might have forgotten otherwise!
SAULT STE. MARIE, ONT. — We have come full circle. Tonight we are staying at the same KOA campground we visited in early June, just before entering the States on our journey west. The same flowerbed decorates the entrance, but in the place of new blooms and freshly planted annuals are late summer flowers and dried grasses. Autumn leaves are scattered beside vacant campsites, and there is a chill in the evening breeze. Summer is almost over!
It was a long trip today — too long, says Val, who is resting with his feet up after being at the wheel for more than 600 kilometers. However, if we hadn’t pushed it, we would have been hard pressed to find a campground, as there are very few in northern Michigan, either listed in our directories or simply turning up by the roadside as we passed. Besides, the lure of home territory was strong. We are on the homeward stretch.
It was quite overcast when we left Lake DuBay this morning. We had plotted a zigzag kind of journey to get to Sault Ste. Marie the quickest way we could figure, so I tried to keep my navigator’s eyes on the laptop to ensure we didn’t make any wrong turns. In spite of this, we did! We were both enjoying the view of Lake Michigan and the lovely homes along the shore, and then I looked down and the GPS path was suddenly off route! So we found a place to turn around and get back on track.
No interstates today, except for a four-mile stretch just before the Canadian border, so we had to take what we got. Most of the roads were quite good, but every now and then we would come to a section of highway that was paved in slabs of concrete. Very durable, you might argue, but over time, between each slab a tiny gap begins to form, until your vehicle is going ka-dunk, ka-dunk, ka-dunk over every crack in a most annoying fashion! Not only that, but the heirloom Corelle is going ka-chink, ka-chink, ka-chink in the cupboards as the trailer bounces over the same gaps.
In addition, interstate highways are normally four lanes, so any construction being done only means a narrowing of lanes to one each way for certain intervals. When the construction is happening on a two-lane highway, you get detours. The fun one today was through a town called Marinette. It was at this junction that we were to switch from Highway 41 to 35, and the very corner we needed to turn was onto a road that was closed for construction! The detour sign that preceded that corner indicated a detour for Highway 41 but made no mention of the 35. There was an interlude of consternation until that hurdle was overcome.
Our travels today took us through lovely farm country. I love the sight of fields full of ripening grain and farmsteads with big, weathered barns, a couple of silos and a cozy house on a plot of land edged in shady trees. We saw apple trees ready to burst with red juicy orbs on every branch, and even one that had delivered its abundance onto the grass beneath it. Many of the large trees we passed had already registered the shortening days, and were holding back the sap that keeps the leaves green. Shades of yellow, orange and scarlet were already visible on the branches in splashes of bright colour.
The clouds lifted after a while, and the temperature rose a bit, but only to 70 degrees — a welcome break from the scorchers we had the last few days. There must have been a nasty storm along part of our route, because we passed a whole section where the forest had been devastated. Dozens of trees were broken off at 10 or 15 feet above the ground, and limbs were scattered everywhere. A number of logging machines were salvaging the lumber, at least. Later, we passed an area where a sign had been posted saying "wind damage" with the month and year. There were quite a few fallen trees, but these were obviously felled several years ago. We went by too fast for me to read the date.
By supper time, we were finally crossing the bridge into Canada, high above the city of Sault Ste. Marie. We looked down on the huge barges and ships going through the locks, and on the Algoma steel factory, which looked quite forboding with its black chimneys smoking against a darkly clouded sky. Home in Canada once again! It’s a good feeling.
We may not get a chance to post our blog for the next couple of days, since we will probably be camping at provincial parks which are not wired for the Internet, but in due course I will bring this long narrative to a close. I would love to know who has followed this blog. I have heard from some of you, which has been an added bonus! I am grateful to those who sent their encouragement, because the discipline of setting down each day’s activities for their sake has meant that we now have a complete account of events that I am sure we might have forgotten otherwise!
Tuesday, August 28, 2007
Got milk?
Tuesday, August 28, 2007
LAKE DUBAY, WISCONSIN — Tonight we are camping in the heart of dairy country, and somewhere in the neighbourhood there is a cheese outlet where eight-year-old cheddar cheese and curds are for sale. If we were to pass it, I’m sure Val would find it impossible not to turn in and see about sampling some!
We are a few miles south of Wausau, which is more or less south of Thunder Bay. It was a good day of travel, and our timing was pretty good in getting to the site as well; about 20 minutes after we got set up, the skies opened with pouring rain and hailstones and crashing thunder! It was the first rain we had seen since we were in northern BC. The temperature had reached above 90, so the rain helped cool things down considerably.
Once we’d had our supper, we went for a walk through the campsite and down to the lake. There are lots of sites amongst tall, straight pine trees. Most of the campers appear to be from the local area, as the trailers are well-established with little fences and decks around them. There is a big boat ramp down to the water, and when we got there, the sky was a lovely pink as the sun was setting. Lake DuBay is more than 6,000 acres in size, and we have crossed two bridges over it before we got to this point. There are boats tied up by the campground, and the lady at the registration desk said the fishing is pretty good — but the catching is another issue altogether!
We left in good time this morning, continuing our journey along the I-90 past lots of cornfields and other crops. (Yesterday we passed the turnoff for a small town called De Smet, where author Laura Ingalls Wilder lived. She wrote Little House on the Prairie and a number of other books, and it was clear she had written about what she knew.)
After an hour or so we turned off the highway in search of fuel. We always have to look hard to ensure that the gas stations we select do, in fact, sell diesel fuel. In the US it seems to be a convention that the pump where diesel is available has a green handle, so that helps a lot. They are also pretty good about posting the word DIESEL in big letters under the station name. When you have a 32-foot rig dragging along behind you, you don’t want to have to meander about looking for the right pump!
We turned in to the station and there was a bank of pumps in front, but no green handle could we spot. There were all kinds of 18-wheelers parked behind the main building with their engines running, so we figured there must be diesel somewhere. Finally I went inside to ask where we could fill up, and was directed to another bank of pumps to one side, separated from the gas area by large concrete barriers. So around we went, and pulled up to a pump. We were a bit uncertain, because the majority of customers there were semi truck drivers, but there was one family-sized pickup at a pump, so we figured it would be OK.
No such luck. The pump was calibrated for the cardlock system, and a humble pickup driver need not apply! After discovering this, we saw the other pickup driver back out and speed off down the road, so he must have been as frustrated as we were. We ended up backing out (which meant I had to climb out and watch that we wouldn’t run in to anything) and going to the station on the other side of the road. It was the first, and I believe the last, time we would visit that particular brand of fuel provider!
The flat, open land began to descend and wind until we came to a large bridge that took us across the Mississippi River once again — we crossed its headwaters on our way west three months ago, but the famous waterway was quite a bit wider at this point than it was further north. The river is the dividing line between Minnesota and Wisconsin, so when we got to the other side, we were in a new state.
Tonight the Interstate is far enough away that our slumbers will not be punctuated with the singing noise of rubber on concrete. There is a delicious peace around us with only the faint sound of crickets chirping away in the darkness.
LAKE DUBAY, WISCONSIN — Tonight we are camping in the heart of dairy country, and somewhere in the neighbourhood there is a cheese outlet where eight-year-old cheddar cheese and curds are for sale. If we were to pass it, I’m sure Val would find it impossible not to turn in and see about sampling some!
We are a few miles south of Wausau, which is more or less south of Thunder Bay. It was a good day of travel, and our timing was pretty good in getting to the site as well; about 20 minutes after we got set up, the skies opened with pouring rain and hailstones and crashing thunder! It was the first rain we had seen since we were in northern BC. The temperature had reached above 90, so the rain helped cool things down considerably.
Once we’d had our supper, we went for a walk through the campsite and down to the lake. There are lots of sites amongst tall, straight pine trees. Most of the campers appear to be from the local area, as the trailers are well-established with little fences and decks around them. There is a big boat ramp down to the water, and when we got there, the sky was a lovely pink as the sun was setting. Lake DuBay is more than 6,000 acres in size, and we have crossed two bridges over it before we got to this point. There are boats tied up by the campground, and the lady at the registration desk said the fishing is pretty good — but the catching is another issue altogether!
We left in good time this morning, continuing our journey along the I-90 past lots of cornfields and other crops. (Yesterday we passed the turnoff for a small town called De Smet, where author Laura Ingalls Wilder lived. She wrote Little House on the Prairie and a number of other books, and it was clear she had written about what she knew.)
After an hour or so we turned off the highway in search of fuel. We always have to look hard to ensure that the gas stations we select do, in fact, sell diesel fuel. In the US it seems to be a convention that the pump where diesel is available has a green handle, so that helps a lot. They are also pretty good about posting the word DIESEL in big letters under the station name. When you have a 32-foot rig dragging along behind you, you don’t want to have to meander about looking for the right pump!
We turned in to the station and there was a bank of pumps in front, but no green handle could we spot. There were all kinds of 18-wheelers parked behind the main building with their engines running, so we figured there must be diesel somewhere. Finally I went inside to ask where we could fill up, and was directed to another bank of pumps to one side, separated from the gas area by large concrete barriers. So around we went, and pulled up to a pump. We were a bit uncertain, because the majority of customers there were semi truck drivers, but there was one family-sized pickup at a pump, so we figured it would be OK.
No such luck. The pump was calibrated for the cardlock system, and a humble pickup driver need not apply! After discovering this, we saw the other pickup driver back out and speed off down the road, so he must have been as frustrated as we were. We ended up backing out (which meant I had to climb out and watch that we wouldn’t run in to anything) and going to the station on the other side of the road. It was the first, and I believe the last, time we would visit that particular brand of fuel provider!
The flat, open land began to descend and wind until we came to a large bridge that took us across the Mississippi River once again — we crossed its headwaters on our way west three months ago, but the famous waterway was quite a bit wider at this point than it was further north. The river is the dividing line between Minnesota and Wisconsin, so when we got to the other side, we were in a new state.
Tonight the Interstate is far enough away that our slumbers will not be punctuated with the singing noise of rubber on concrete. There is a delicious peace around us with only the faint sound of crickets chirping away in the darkness.
Monday, August 27, 2007
Palaces and portals
Monday, August 27, 2007
ALBERT LEA, MINNESOTA — As if to make up for the chilly temperatures of the majority of our "summer" holiday in Alaska and the Yukon, Mother Nature is delivering all she’s got in the waning days before Labour Day. Yesterday our truck thermometer read 101 degrees Fahrenheit, or 34 Celsius, and today it hit a high of 92 (32). I was singing the praises of vehicular air conditioning every mile of the way! Those kinds of temperatures make me wilt.
Our odometer was producing some high numbers today too. This is the longest distance we have covered in one day, as the trip counter reported more than 600 kilometers, and we are halfway across the state east of the one we started from this morning. We’ve also moved from the Mountain Time zone to Central Time.
By the scenery, you wouldn’t be able to tell much of a difference between South Dakota and Minnesota. We are traversing the breadbasket of America, where huge fields of grain stretch out to every horizon, and farming homesteads dot the countryside, with their clusters of shady trees, a couple of silos and large red barns set back from the highway, and pickup trucks parked in the laneways.
Beef and dairy cattle graze on wide open fields. We saw one herd taking a dip in a small pond to get some relief from the heat — and we even spotted one small group of buffalo. A steady wind set the cornfields dancing in waves, and the trees bending with a bit more dignity.
As the lunch hour approached, we were passing large billboards announcing the Corn Palace, a local attraction we had heard about from our friends Herb and Hannah in Gillette. "We’re all ears!" boasted the signs, so we decided to forgive the corny joke and turn off the highway for a look in the small town of Mitchell. Before venturing out of the RV parking area nearby, we popped in to the trailer for a bite of lunch.
The Corn Palace is a huge building about the size of a quarter of a city block and two storeys high. On the top corners are onion-shaped domes and there is a central turret, and all have flags waving from them. The front and side walls are decorated entirely in parts of the corn plant! Edgings are done with the stalks, with an inner frame of dried rust-coloured tassels, and huge pictures are set out in different colours of corn cobs — white, and yellow and dark red. One section showed a pair of cowboy boots, while another was a picture of a cowboy dad and his little boy. There were several more of these huge pictures all around the building. Apparently the pictures are changed every year as new cobs replace the old. It was a fascinating display! As we headed back to the parking lot, I noticed that even the lamp standards along the street have cobs of corn embossed on their concrete bases. There is no doubt about the staple of this community’s economy.
The Interstate 90 carried us further east, passing through several sections under construction. This brought the four lanes down to two, but didn’t cause any delay at least. It must have been a hot day for the workers in the blazing sun.
When we crossed into Minnesota the wind seemed to pick up quite a bit. We saw a number of huge wind turbines in the area that told us wind was probably not an unusual phenomenon, but Val could sure feel it pushing at the large side walls of our trailer.
After some distance it was time for a rest stop, and just as we were pulling off the highway we saw something flapping at the back of the trailer on the passenger side. It was the plastic molding around the trailer door! A small curved strip of molding fits into a groove all around the door to cover the screws that hold the frame in place. The relentless wind must have caught a little loose section and gradually unseated the whole strip!
The two of us started pushing the strip back into its little trough, one on either side of the door, all the while being buffeted by the fierce blasts of wind. When we met at the top, there was a large loop of extra length that wouldn’t fit; the heat, and age, had lengthened the strip from its original size. Clearly we would have to do more than just get it all back into its proper place. We dug out the duct tape and our Leatherman scissors and, while I held on to things as best I could in the gale, Val applied sections of tape. Doing the part above the door was the hardest part. Val had to stand on the top step with his belly flattened against the door, reaching up to press the plastic in and tape it down, while I held on behind him, supporting him so he wouldn’t fall backwards! We must have been a funny sight! One kind lady came by to give us some plastic ties, because she thought our awning had come loose!
Val’s taping job was very neatly done, but he still remarked that we must look like the Beverly Hillbillies now.
ALBERT LEA, MINNESOTA — As if to make up for the chilly temperatures of the majority of our "summer" holiday in Alaska and the Yukon, Mother Nature is delivering all she’s got in the waning days before Labour Day. Yesterday our truck thermometer read 101 degrees Fahrenheit, or 34 Celsius, and today it hit a high of 92 (32). I was singing the praises of vehicular air conditioning every mile of the way! Those kinds of temperatures make me wilt.
Our odometer was producing some high numbers today too. This is the longest distance we have covered in one day, as the trip counter reported more than 600 kilometers, and we are halfway across the state east of the one we started from this morning. We’ve also moved from the Mountain Time zone to Central Time.
By the scenery, you wouldn’t be able to tell much of a difference between South Dakota and Minnesota. We are traversing the breadbasket of America, where huge fields of grain stretch out to every horizon, and farming homesteads dot the countryside, with their clusters of shady trees, a couple of silos and large red barns set back from the highway, and pickup trucks parked in the laneways.
Beef and dairy cattle graze on wide open fields. We saw one herd taking a dip in a small pond to get some relief from the heat — and we even spotted one small group of buffalo. A steady wind set the cornfields dancing in waves, and the trees bending with a bit more dignity.
As the lunch hour approached, we were passing large billboards announcing the Corn Palace, a local attraction we had heard about from our friends Herb and Hannah in Gillette. "We’re all ears!" boasted the signs, so we decided to forgive the corny joke and turn off the highway for a look in the small town of Mitchell. Before venturing out of the RV parking area nearby, we popped in to the trailer for a bite of lunch.
The Corn Palace is a huge building about the size of a quarter of a city block and two storeys high. On the top corners are onion-shaped domes and there is a central turret, and all have flags waving from them. The front and side walls are decorated entirely in parts of the corn plant! Edgings are done with the stalks, with an inner frame of dried rust-coloured tassels, and huge pictures are set out in different colours of corn cobs — white, and yellow and dark red. One section showed a pair of cowboy boots, while another was a picture of a cowboy dad and his little boy. There were several more of these huge pictures all around the building. Apparently the pictures are changed every year as new cobs replace the old. It was a fascinating display! As we headed back to the parking lot, I noticed that even the lamp standards along the street have cobs of corn embossed on their concrete bases. There is no doubt about the staple of this community’s economy.
The Interstate 90 carried us further east, passing through several sections under construction. This brought the four lanes down to two, but didn’t cause any delay at least. It must have been a hot day for the workers in the blazing sun.
When we crossed into Minnesota the wind seemed to pick up quite a bit. We saw a number of huge wind turbines in the area that told us wind was probably not an unusual phenomenon, but Val could sure feel it pushing at the large side walls of our trailer.
After some distance it was time for a rest stop, and just as we were pulling off the highway we saw something flapping at the back of the trailer on the passenger side. It was the plastic molding around the trailer door! A small curved strip of molding fits into a groove all around the door to cover the screws that hold the frame in place. The relentless wind must have caught a little loose section and gradually unseated the whole strip!
The two of us started pushing the strip back into its little trough, one on either side of the door, all the while being buffeted by the fierce blasts of wind. When we met at the top, there was a large loop of extra length that wouldn’t fit; the heat, and age, had lengthened the strip from its original size. Clearly we would have to do more than just get it all back into its proper place. We dug out the duct tape and our Leatherman scissors and, while I held on to things as best I could in the gale, Val applied sections of tape. Doing the part above the door was the hardest part. Val had to stand on the top step with his belly flattened against the door, reaching up to press the plastic in and tape it down, while I held on behind him, supporting him so he wouldn’t fall backwards! We must have been a funny sight! One kind lady came by to give us some plastic ties, because she thought our awning had come loose!
Val’s taping job was very neatly done, but he still remarked that we must look like the Beverly Hillbillies now.
Sunday, August 26, 2007
Chiefs and presidents
Sunday, August 26, 2007
MURDO, SOUTH DAKOTA — This morning, before we left our campground in Wyoming, we exchanged addresses and phone numbers with our neighbouring campers, Herb and Hannah, from Florida (originally from Kentucky). Every now and then you meet folks who become friends in a matter of a few minutes of conversation, and even though our respective travels take us in different directions, there’s always a hope of meeting again and continuing what you’ve started.
Shortly after our departure this morning, we crossed the state line into South Dakota. Almost immediately our terrain changed from flat, scrubby fields to winding mountain roads among beautiful pine forests and enormous rock formations, all of which were part of the Black Hills National Forest.
Our destination was two-fold; we were headed to Custer, where the sculpture of Crazy Horse is located, and after that, we were going to visit Mount Rushmore. The route through the black hills of South Dakota was very picturesque. The land is still full of dark red soil that the wind erodes from the hilltops in the open areas, exposing streaks of rust colour against the yellow grasses and pale green sagebrush.
The rocks are a dark grey, and they are very high, jutting into the sky like great, dark knobs, rounded at the top and creased deeply with crevices. Perhaps because of these formations, and the dark pine trees that grow densely around them, the name of Black Hills was chosen.
After emerging from the steep winding road through the forests, we came to Custer, a busy little town with motels, theme parks such as the Flintstones and the wild west, and lots of cowboy atmosphere. The signs pointed us toward the Crazy Horse Monument, which we got to just before lunch. This enormous sculpture was begun in 1949 by sculptor Korczak Ziolkowski. He accepted the invitation of several Lakota chiefs to carve this monument, when they learned he had won first prize at the New York World’s Fair for his brooding sculpture of Paderewski.
We learned, from the short film they presented at the Visitor Centre, that he started the work all by himself, with an ancient compressor and a precarious staircase he had built on the face of the mountain. He had to climb around 700 steps to get to the top and work away with his jackhammer, but the compressor would often sputter and die in mid-climb, forcing him to go back down and rev it up again. Some days he climbed the stairs eight or nine times!
The sculptor and his wife Ruth had10 children, five of each, and seven of them continue to work on the project today, although Korczak passed away in 1982. They have never accepted public funds to support their work, preferring contributions and the free enterprise system.
The figure of Crazy Horse, when completed, will show the chief in a full war bonnet, naked to the waist, pointing out over the head of his horse at the land before him. "My lands are where my dead lie buried" is the statement this famous chief made in answer to a white man’s question, "where are your lands now?" when his people had been consigned to reservations and the era of the Sioux had ended.
We wandered through the beautiful visitor centre, an enormous building with vaulted ceilings and expansive floors of golden knotty pine, where Native clothing with beautiful beaded designs are on display and current Aboriginal handicrafts are available for viewing and purchase. We could have spent a lot more time there than we had.
After a quick lunch, we drove the additional 17 miles to Mount Rushmore. This involved more climbing of winding roads among great rocks and trees. As we drove to the RV parking area, we got our first glimpse of the magnificent sculptured heads of Presidents Washington, Jefferson, Roosevelt and Lincoln on the rock face above the park! They are really impressive.
Built at the base of the mountain is a granite reception area with large pillars, and a promenade area where all the flags of the 50 states and six territories are on display. At the end of the promenade is a viewing platform where you can gaze on the rock face and snap photos. I have seen this mountain in pictures, movies and even animated cartoons all my life, so it was a particular delight to see the real thing at last.
Despite our two sightseeing activities today, we were able to make quite a bit of distance, and are now close to the eastern state line between South Dakota and Minnesota. Along the highway to Murdo we saw billboards of an old 1880 pioneer town where you could see props from the movie Dances with Wolves, some of which was filmed around here. We will have to watch that film again and look for familiar scenery!
MURDO, SOUTH DAKOTA — This morning, before we left our campground in Wyoming, we exchanged addresses and phone numbers with our neighbouring campers, Herb and Hannah, from Florida (originally from Kentucky). Every now and then you meet folks who become friends in a matter of a few minutes of conversation, and even though our respective travels take us in different directions, there’s always a hope of meeting again and continuing what you’ve started.
Shortly after our departure this morning, we crossed the state line into South Dakota. Almost immediately our terrain changed from flat, scrubby fields to winding mountain roads among beautiful pine forests and enormous rock formations, all of which were part of the Black Hills National Forest.
Our destination was two-fold; we were headed to Custer, where the sculpture of Crazy Horse is located, and after that, we were going to visit Mount Rushmore. The route through the black hills of South Dakota was very picturesque. The land is still full of dark red soil that the wind erodes from the hilltops in the open areas, exposing streaks of rust colour against the yellow grasses and pale green sagebrush.
The rocks are a dark grey, and they are very high, jutting into the sky like great, dark knobs, rounded at the top and creased deeply with crevices. Perhaps because of these formations, and the dark pine trees that grow densely around them, the name of Black Hills was chosen.
After emerging from the steep winding road through the forests, we came to Custer, a busy little town with motels, theme parks such as the Flintstones and the wild west, and lots of cowboy atmosphere. The signs pointed us toward the Crazy Horse Monument, which we got to just before lunch. This enormous sculpture was begun in 1949 by sculptor Korczak Ziolkowski. He accepted the invitation of several Lakota chiefs to carve this monument, when they learned he had won first prize at the New York World’s Fair for his brooding sculpture of Paderewski.
We learned, from the short film they presented at the Visitor Centre, that he started the work all by himself, with an ancient compressor and a precarious staircase he had built on the face of the mountain. He had to climb around 700 steps to get to the top and work away with his jackhammer, but the compressor would often sputter and die in mid-climb, forcing him to go back down and rev it up again. Some days he climbed the stairs eight or nine times!
The sculptor and his wife Ruth had10 children, five of each, and seven of them continue to work on the project today, although Korczak passed away in 1982. They have never accepted public funds to support their work, preferring contributions and the free enterprise system.
The figure of Crazy Horse, when completed, will show the chief in a full war bonnet, naked to the waist, pointing out over the head of his horse at the land before him. "My lands are where my dead lie buried" is the statement this famous chief made in answer to a white man’s question, "where are your lands now?" when his people had been consigned to reservations and the era of the Sioux had ended.
We wandered through the beautiful visitor centre, an enormous building with vaulted ceilings and expansive floors of golden knotty pine, where Native clothing with beautiful beaded designs are on display and current Aboriginal handicrafts are available for viewing and purchase. We could have spent a lot more time there than we had.
After a quick lunch, we drove the additional 17 miles to Mount Rushmore. This involved more climbing of winding roads among great rocks and trees. As we drove to the RV parking area, we got our first glimpse of the magnificent sculptured heads of Presidents Washington, Jefferson, Roosevelt and Lincoln on the rock face above the park! They are really impressive.
Built at the base of the mountain is a granite reception area with large pillars, and a promenade area where all the flags of the 50 states and six territories are on display. At the end of the promenade is a viewing platform where you can gaze on the rock face and snap photos. I have seen this mountain in pictures, movies and even animated cartoons all my life, so it was a particular delight to see the real thing at last.
Despite our two sightseeing activities today, we were able to make quite a bit of distance, and are now close to the eastern state line between South Dakota and Minnesota. Along the highway to Murdo we saw billboards of an old 1880 pioneer town where you could see props from the movie Dances with Wolves, some of which was filmed around here. We will have to watch that film again and look for familiar scenery!
Saturday, August 25, 2007
Where Custer last stood
Saturday, August 25, 2007
GILLETTE, WYOMING — If you were to travel straight north from here, you’d hit Moose Jaw, Saskatchewan. So we’ve made some progress eastward again today, covering almost 500 kilometres from our departure point. We’re pushing it a bit, but we want to fit in all the things we hoped to see before our time is up!
One of those things was to see the battlefield of General Custer’s Last Stand, the Battle of Little Bighorn, and that’s where we got to this morning. We turned off the highway a bit before that to pick up some badly needed groceries, in a town called Columbus, as well as some fuel. When we arrived at the battlefield it was just about noon.
The sun was high in the sky and there was a searing heat outside. The truck thermometer read 92 degrees, but it felt even hotter out on the dry hilltop in the full sun. There were spiky plants and sagebrush and dry grasses all around, and a lot of dusty soil. We were advised not to stray off the pathways because we were in rattlesnake country!
At the top of the hill was a large cairn over a mass grave where the remains of almost all the soldiers who were killed that day in June 1876 are buried. General Custer’s remains were removed and are buried at West Point, but there are headstones clustered below the cairn in a fenced area marking the places where the men actually fell — including Custer — at the hands of warriors from the Lakota, Cheyenne and Arapaho tribes. It was a pivotal event in U.S. history, when it began to dawn on the natives who had lived there for centuries that the land was never going to belong to them again.
In recognition of the fight these first peoples launched to protect their old way of life, another memorial has been added to the site with pictures and quotations from leaders such as Chief Sitting Bull, Chief Two Moon and others describing the battle from their point of view. Red granite headstones have been placed to mark the graves of native warriors, as historians have been able to discover them.
The visitor centre displayed a number of artifacts belonging to General Custer, as well as the beaded garments and implements of the native peoples who lived in the region. In the gift shop area, there were dozens and dozens of books for sale, all focusing on this one period of American history, and a battle that lasted two days!
We stopped in another gift shop down the hill that is run by native Americans, with several teepees set up outside, and a lot of colourful handicrafts inside. We even saw a basket full of arrowheads you could buy for a dollar apiece — that are made in Canada!
After we’d had some lunch, we headed off once again, in the direction of the Wyoming state line. The desert-like terrain continued, with buttes silhouetted against the sky just like every cowboy movie backdrop you’ve ever seen, and when we crossed into Wyoming we could see great patches of red and pink soil on the hillsides. They even paved the highway with stone that made the road look red!
In some of the gullies, there were clusters of green trees, but most of the land was flat and bare, except for sagebrush. When we got to Sheridan, we pulled off the highway once again, because we wanted to visit Dan’s Western and Work Wear. We were in search of an authentic cowboy hat, and this would be the ideal place to do that. We found one by the original hatmaker for the west, Stetson, and at half price to boot.
Once again on the I-90, we passed more ranches with beef cattle and horses grazing, and then another creature came into view — antelopes, by the dozen! We must have seen nearly 50 in clusters of a dozen or so in various spots, grazing amongst the sagebrush. I couldn’t resist bursting into a few bars of "Home on the Range" as we passed by.
Our campground is called Green Tree’s Crazy Woman Campground, which seemed an odd name when we read it in the Woodall’s guide, but made a bit more sense when we passed Crazy Woman Creek a few miles before our destination. After the sun set the temperature moderated quite nicely, so it should be comfortable for sleeping despite today’s being our hottest yet this trip.
GILLETTE, WYOMING — If you were to travel straight north from here, you’d hit Moose Jaw, Saskatchewan. So we’ve made some progress eastward again today, covering almost 500 kilometres from our departure point. We’re pushing it a bit, but we want to fit in all the things we hoped to see before our time is up!
One of those things was to see the battlefield of General Custer’s Last Stand, the Battle of Little Bighorn, and that’s where we got to this morning. We turned off the highway a bit before that to pick up some badly needed groceries, in a town called Columbus, as well as some fuel. When we arrived at the battlefield it was just about noon.
The sun was high in the sky and there was a searing heat outside. The truck thermometer read 92 degrees, but it felt even hotter out on the dry hilltop in the full sun. There were spiky plants and sagebrush and dry grasses all around, and a lot of dusty soil. We were advised not to stray off the pathways because we were in rattlesnake country!
At the top of the hill was a large cairn over a mass grave where the remains of almost all the soldiers who were killed that day in June 1876 are buried. General Custer’s remains were removed and are buried at West Point, but there are headstones clustered below the cairn in a fenced area marking the places where the men actually fell — including Custer — at the hands of warriors from the Lakota, Cheyenne and Arapaho tribes. It was a pivotal event in U.S. history, when it began to dawn on the natives who had lived there for centuries that the land was never going to belong to them again.
In recognition of the fight these first peoples launched to protect their old way of life, another memorial has been added to the site with pictures and quotations from leaders such as Chief Sitting Bull, Chief Two Moon and others describing the battle from their point of view. Red granite headstones have been placed to mark the graves of native warriors, as historians have been able to discover them.
The visitor centre displayed a number of artifacts belonging to General Custer, as well as the beaded garments and implements of the native peoples who lived in the region. In the gift shop area, there were dozens and dozens of books for sale, all focusing on this one period of American history, and a battle that lasted two days!
We stopped in another gift shop down the hill that is run by native Americans, with several teepees set up outside, and a lot of colourful handicrafts inside. We even saw a basket full of arrowheads you could buy for a dollar apiece — that are made in Canada!
After we’d had some lunch, we headed off once again, in the direction of the Wyoming state line. The desert-like terrain continued, with buttes silhouetted against the sky just like every cowboy movie backdrop you’ve ever seen, and when we crossed into Wyoming we could see great patches of red and pink soil on the hillsides. They even paved the highway with stone that made the road look red!
In some of the gullies, there were clusters of green trees, but most of the land was flat and bare, except for sagebrush. When we got to Sheridan, we pulled off the highway once again, because we wanted to visit Dan’s Western and Work Wear. We were in search of an authentic cowboy hat, and this would be the ideal place to do that. We found one by the original hatmaker for the west, Stetson, and at half price to boot.
Once again on the I-90, we passed more ranches with beef cattle and horses grazing, and then another creature came into view — antelopes, by the dozen! We must have seen nearly 50 in clusters of a dozen or so in various spots, grazing amongst the sagebrush. I couldn’t resist bursting into a few bars of "Home on the Range" as we passed by.
Our campground is called Green Tree’s Crazy Woman Campground, which seemed an odd name when we read it in the Woodall’s guide, but made a bit more sense when we passed Crazy Woman Creek a few miles before our destination. After the sun set the temperature moderated quite nicely, so it should be comfortable for sleeping despite today’s being our hottest yet this trip.
Friday, August 24, 2007
A topsy turvy day
Friday, August 24, 2007
GREYCLIFF, MONTANA — It all started this morning when we were out of milk, and it was too early to shop at the campground mini-grocery. So, instead of cereal, we had sandwiches for breakfast. No big deal, you might say, but heaven knows what cosmic alterations were set in motion as a result of this unusual turn of events.
Anyway, the morning unrolled after breakfast in a fairly routine fashion as we went about our respective duties to break camp. Soon we were on our way again, heading east.
The I-90 follows the Clark Fork river — or at least, it’s situated in the same depression of land. Over several miles, we crossed bridges over the meandering Clark Fork at least half a dozen times! There were some beautiful vistas of golden plains and rolling hills, speckled with low bushes in colours of sage and olive. The mountains in the distance were clearly visible at first, but soon we were looking at them through a grey haze.
The smell of woodsmoke explained the haze a bit further on. We had heard on the radio that there were some forest fires in the vicinity, but clearly they were quite close by. We later learned that the community of Frenchtown, through which we drove, had been singed at the edges by fires that had actually destroyed some property. Persistent fire-fighting and sheer luck prevented worse damage or injury. Apparently some 4,000 acres of land were burned.
The scenery was quite spectacular as we headed toward Missoula and beyond. I must have counted about seven different colours of earth as we passed fields, cliffs and bluffs streaked with pink, pale green, purple, grey, sand, rust, black and brown earth! The grasses also came in a variety of colours, from pale gold to sage to brown. In addition to rolling hills, we came across some buttes, rock formations that are flat on top with cliff-like drops, sometimes like terraces. In one spot, I remarked to Val that a certain cliff looked like just the sort of place where natives would have staged a buffalo jump in olden times — and then we passed a sign indicating the turn for a native buffalo jump historic site!
We stopped at a rest area for lunch where there were interpretive signs explaining the gold rush in the area and the building of the railway. For my lunch, I ate a bowl of cereal, causing further cosmic alterations! We took a stroll by the creek near the rest stop before setting out again.
A few miles further on, Val spotted an orange sign telling motorists with rigs taller than 12 feet to take the next exit. We quickly consulted our laminated card, on which we have recorded the height in feet and metres of our trailer and realized we were 12 feet, six inches high — so off we turned, in the nick of time. Bright orange detour signs directed us alongside the I-90 for five or six miles, and brought us back to it at the next interchange. We were a bit puzzled, though, because we saw several big 18-wheelers on the interstate where we would have been if we had missed the sign. Better safe than sorry, anyway.
When it came time to refuel, I saw a billboard for a Flying J truck stop 17 miles further on, so we decided that might be a good place to find a few small grocery items at the same time. Not much later, there was the Flying J, but we hadn’t seen any ramp that we could have taken to get to it! So on we went, spotting a fuel sign at the next exit.
We got off the highway and located the gas station, only to discover it didn’t provide diesel, so I went inside to see if they knew of one that did, and they gave directions. These took us alongside the interstate for about a mile and then across it, where finally the Conoco station we were looking for came in to view. Val pulled up to the pump and picked up the nozzle, turning to open the flap on the truck and screw off the cap. Suddenly, the nozzle spurted a geyser of diesel fuel into the air, spraying the truck, the front of the trailer and dousing Val before shutting off again! Someone had flipped the clip that holds the nozzle open and replaced it that way on the pump, to catch the next customer by surprise. Some surprise.
We spoke to an attendant, who directed us to another pump where he had been cleaning up a similar spill, it seemed, with a pressure hose. He gave the truck and trailer a good rinsing off with the pressure hose and we filled up there, but poor Val had to change his T-shirt and rinse his eye, where some fuel had gone in. Fortunately he had his glasses on, or it might have been worse.
As soon as we got to our campground I rinsed his shirt three or four times at the camp laundry, doused it in stain remover and threw it in the machine along with his jeans and socks that also got hit with a few drops. Even after that, however, the smell and oily spots were still there, so it looks like we have a new rag for the trailer. Good thing it wasn’t one of Val’s new T-shirts!
One good thing rounded things off nicely, at least. In all the kerfuffle, I didn’t get a chance to phone ahead to reserve a campsite, so we drove in unannounced. Luckily, there was space for us, and the campground is a nice one.
GREYCLIFF, MONTANA — It all started this morning when we were out of milk, and it was too early to shop at the campground mini-grocery. So, instead of cereal, we had sandwiches for breakfast. No big deal, you might say, but heaven knows what cosmic alterations were set in motion as a result of this unusual turn of events.
Anyway, the morning unrolled after breakfast in a fairly routine fashion as we went about our respective duties to break camp. Soon we were on our way again, heading east.
The I-90 follows the Clark Fork river — or at least, it’s situated in the same depression of land. Over several miles, we crossed bridges over the meandering Clark Fork at least half a dozen times! There were some beautiful vistas of golden plains and rolling hills, speckled with low bushes in colours of sage and olive. The mountains in the distance were clearly visible at first, but soon we were looking at them through a grey haze.
The smell of woodsmoke explained the haze a bit further on. We had heard on the radio that there were some forest fires in the vicinity, but clearly they were quite close by. We later learned that the community of Frenchtown, through which we drove, had been singed at the edges by fires that had actually destroyed some property. Persistent fire-fighting and sheer luck prevented worse damage or injury. Apparently some 4,000 acres of land were burned.
The scenery was quite spectacular as we headed toward Missoula and beyond. I must have counted about seven different colours of earth as we passed fields, cliffs and bluffs streaked with pink, pale green, purple, grey, sand, rust, black and brown earth! The grasses also came in a variety of colours, from pale gold to sage to brown. In addition to rolling hills, we came across some buttes, rock formations that are flat on top with cliff-like drops, sometimes like terraces. In one spot, I remarked to Val that a certain cliff looked like just the sort of place where natives would have staged a buffalo jump in olden times — and then we passed a sign indicating the turn for a native buffalo jump historic site!
We stopped at a rest area for lunch where there were interpretive signs explaining the gold rush in the area and the building of the railway. For my lunch, I ate a bowl of cereal, causing further cosmic alterations! We took a stroll by the creek near the rest stop before setting out again.
A few miles further on, Val spotted an orange sign telling motorists with rigs taller than 12 feet to take the next exit. We quickly consulted our laminated card, on which we have recorded the height in feet and metres of our trailer and realized we were 12 feet, six inches high — so off we turned, in the nick of time. Bright orange detour signs directed us alongside the I-90 for five or six miles, and brought us back to it at the next interchange. We were a bit puzzled, though, because we saw several big 18-wheelers on the interstate where we would have been if we had missed the sign. Better safe than sorry, anyway.
When it came time to refuel, I saw a billboard for a Flying J truck stop 17 miles further on, so we decided that might be a good place to find a few small grocery items at the same time. Not much later, there was the Flying J, but we hadn’t seen any ramp that we could have taken to get to it! So on we went, spotting a fuel sign at the next exit.
We got off the highway and located the gas station, only to discover it didn’t provide diesel, so I went inside to see if they knew of one that did, and they gave directions. These took us alongside the interstate for about a mile and then across it, where finally the Conoco station we were looking for came in to view. Val pulled up to the pump and picked up the nozzle, turning to open the flap on the truck and screw off the cap. Suddenly, the nozzle spurted a geyser of diesel fuel into the air, spraying the truck, the front of the trailer and dousing Val before shutting off again! Someone had flipped the clip that holds the nozzle open and replaced it that way on the pump, to catch the next customer by surprise. Some surprise.
We spoke to an attendant, who directed us to another pump where he had been cleaning up a similar spill, it seemed, with a pressure hose. He gave the truck and trailer a good rinsing off with the pressure hose and we filled up there, but poor Val had to change his T-shirt and rinse his eye, where some fuel had gone in. Fortunately he had his glasses on, or it might have been worse.
As soon as we got to our campground I rinsed his shirt three or four times at the camp laundry, doused it in stain remover and threw it in the machine along with his jeans and socks that also got hit with a few drops. Even after that, however, the smell and oily spots were still there, so it looks like we have a new rag for the trailer. Good thing it wasn’t one of Val’s new T-shirts!
One good thing rounded things off nicely, at least. In all the kerfuffle, I didn’t get a chance to phone ahead to reserve a campsite, so we drove in unannounced. Luckily, there was space for us, and the campground is a nice one.
Thursday, August 23, 2007
Centre of the universe
Thursday, August 23, 2007
ST. REGIS, MONTANA — We’ve visited three states today, having crossed into Montana this afternoon and set up camp in this tiny town, nestled between mountains covered with evergreens, including some very tall redwood cedars. It’s a lovely campground with generous pull-through sites, separated from each other by strips of grass and low shrubs.
The lady who registered us at the campground office suggested we take a stroll around to see what had been done with various trees that campers had hit. She says that a local chain-saw sculptor turns the resulting tree stumps into bears or other creatures for a few dollars. At the back end of our site is a cute little black bear perched on a stump about three feet high.
Despite the relatively limited number of miles we covered today — just over 300 — we enjoyed an amazing array of terrains in that distance. When we left Ellensburg this morning, we were in real cowboy country, with dusty brown fields studded with sagebrush, tufts of yellow grass and gently rolling countryside.
Val was delighted with the long, straight stretches under a huge sky. "I’ve had enough of mountains," he announced, reveling in the opportunity to let his gaze wander over the wide open plains on a highway he could see for miles, free of dips, potholes or other hazards.
There were plenty of ranches, where cattle or horses grazed. There was one cluster of cows on a dry patch of land with sagebrush behind them and one of those weathervane windmills that you see in the western movies. You half expected the Lone Ranger to ride up in a cloud of dust!
Windmills of a more modern variety, about 30 of them, were generating energy from the hilltops in central Washington. By this time, there were more hills, though still dusty brown, separated from time to time by gulches where green willows grew in the moist soil left by a creek or river.
Then we came to Vantage, where the land dipped down to the Columbia River, running north and south across our path. We crossed over a causeway and bridge, and climbed the banks on the other side to a height of land where we were able to pull off the highway and take a look.
High on the ridge by the highway were a dozen figures of wild horses, silhouetted against the sky with manes flowing and hooves pawing the air. We were at the foot of the ridge, and from that vantage point we could look back on the bridge we had crossed as well as the great river, reflecting the blue of the sky against the dry terrain around it. Far in the distance we could see the flat dry land we had crossed. It was a worthwhile stop!
As we continued across eastern Washington, we passed a huge, rich farming area with enormous fields on either side of the highway. We were even able to tell what was growing, since they had posted crop names on signs along the fences by the road — potatoes, field corn, sweet corn, timothy hay, wheat, peas, and peppermint! We also passed dozens of barns and long quonset huts, each the length of two football fields, filled from end to end and up to the rooftops with bales of hay.
Shortly before leaving Washington, we passed through Spokane, a prosperous town with its own international airport, lots of suburbs, and a bustling downtown with interesting-looking buildings of a 1930s vintage. At its eastern end was a large industrial section that included a B.F. Goodrich company, a Peterbilt truck business, steel foundry and metal casting factory.
Very shortly after that, we entered Idaho. On the map, the part we crossed is a small vertical panhandle that touches the Canadian border for less than 100 km just south of Cranbrook, BC. The terrain changed completely to mountains, lakes, pine trees and winding highways, with steep climbs and descents. You should have heard Val griping as we entered the Fourth of July Pass! And not without reason; there was quite a bit of construction going on, and the road was rough in places.
There were a number of small towns along this stretch, one of which, Wallace, posted an enormous billboard declaring itself "the Center of the Universe!" We had been to the Top of the World, so why not take in the centre of the universe on the same trip?
The Lookout Pass was near the Idaho-Montana border, and we have now left the Pacific time zone and entered into Mountain time. So we’ve lost an hour of sleep tonight, but it means we’re that much closer to home.
ST. REGIS, MONTANA — We’ve visited three states today, having crossed into Montana this afternoon and set up camp in this tiny town, nestled between mountains covered with evergreens, including some very tall redwood cedars. It’s a lovely campground with generous pull-through sites, separated from each other by strips of grass and low shrubs.
The lady who registered us at the campground office suggested we take a stroll around to see what had been done with various trees that campers had hit. She says that a local chain-saw sculptor turns the resulting tree stumps into bears or other creatures for a few dollars. At the back end of our site is a cute little black bear perched on a stump about three feet high.
Despite the relatively limited number of miles we covered today — just over 300 — we enjoyed an amazing array of terrains in that distance. When we left Ellensburg this morning, we were in real cowboy country, with dusty brown fields studded with sagebrush, tufts of yellow grass and gently rolling countryside.
Val was delighted with the long, straight stretches under a huge sky. "I’ve had enough of mountains," he announced, reveling in the opportunity to let his gaze wander over the wide open plains on a highway he could see for miles, free of dips, potholes or other hazards.
There were plenty of ranches, where cattle or horses grazed. There was one cluster of cows on a dry patch of land with sagebrush behind them and one of those weathervane windmills that you see in the western movies. You half expected the Lone Ranger to ride up in a cloud of dust!
Windmills of a more modern variety, about 30 of them, were generating energy from the hilltops in central Washington. By this time, there were more hills, though still dusty brown, separated from time to time by gulches where green willows grew in the moist soil left by a creek or river.
Then we came to Vantage, where the land dipped down to the Columbia River, running north and south across our path. We crossed over a causeway and bridge, and climbed the banks on the other side to a height of land where we were able to pull off the highway and take a look.
High on the ridge by the highway were a dozen figures of wild horses, silhouetted against the sky with manes flowing and hooves pawing the air. We were at the foot of the ridge, and from that vantage point we could look back on the bridge we had crossed as well as the great river, reflecting the blue of the sky against the dry terrain around it. Far in the distance we could see the flat dry land we had crossed. It was a worthwhile stop!
As we continued across eastern Washington, we passed a huge, rich farming area with enormous fields on either side of the highway. We were even able to tell what was growing, since they had posted crop names on signs along the fences by the road — potatoes, field corn, sweet corn, timothy hay, wheat, peas, and peppermint! We also passed dozens of barns and long quonset huts, each the length of two football fields, filled from end to end and up to the rooftops with bales of hay.
Shortly before leaving Washington, we passed through Spokane, a prosperous town with its own international airport, lots of suburbs, and a bustling downtown with interesting-looking buildings of a 1930s vintage. At its eastern end was a large industrial section that included a B.F. Goodrich company, a Peterbilt truck business, steel foundry and metal casting factory.
Very shortly after that, we entered Idaho. On the map, the part we crossed is a small vertical panhandle that touches the Canadian border for less than 100 km just south of Cranbrook, BC. The terrain changed completely to mountains, lakes, pine trees and winding highways, with steep climbs and descents. You should have heard Val griping as we entered the Fourth of July Pass! And not without reason; there was quite a bit of construction going on, and the road was rough in places.
There were a number of small towns along this stretch, one of which, Wallace, posted an enormous billboard declaring itself "the Center of the Universe!" We had been to the Top of the World, so why not take in the centre of the universe on the same trip?
The Lookout Pass was near the Idaho-Montana border, and we have now left the Pacific time zone and entered into Mountain time. So we’ve lost an hour of sleep tonight, but it means we’re that much closer to home.
The evergreen state
Wednesday, August 22, 2007
ELLENSBURG, WA. — It was tough saying goodbye to Ken, Linda and Al after breakfast this morning, and doing all the little jobs to get ready to hit the road once again. We had a terrific time with the Byrts, who spoiled us totally, and we had also enjoyed being in one place for several days in a row — a luxury we will not be able to take again this trip.
The U.S. border was a very short distance from Chilliwack, and there were quite a few other people heading across at the same time as us, but it didn’t take too long before we were heading south toward Seattle, passing through lovely farmland and quiet little towns. We entered through Sumas, and took Highway 9, with the intention of connecting to Interstate 5 as directly as possible.
Harvest time is very much in evidence, with the corn standing tall in the fields, apples in the orchards, and bales of hay near the barns. There were lots of little roadside stands along the way through the northern part of Washington state, selling fruit and vegetables of all kinds.
By the time we got to the Interstate, we were in a much more populated area. Seattle is a big city with a lot of suburbia built up around it, and even though we were not heading into the city proper, we were definitely not in a rural setting any more.
One of our destinations today was a stop in Burlington to visit Camping World, a big box store dedicated to owners of RVs and tents, with every gadget, accessory, part and add-on you could imagine. We saw everything from clamps to keep your awning from flapping to patio lights shaped like the Stars and Stripes to doggie life-jackets! There were a few items we picked up, as well as a catalogue for future reference, so it was a successful visit. We even took advantage of their spacious parking lot to pause and eat our lunch before hitting the Interstate again.
The state of Washington has, as its slogan — which you can read on any licence plate you pass — "the evergreen state", and there were plenty of evergreen trees along the highway near the coast as we passed through Mount Vernon, Marysville and Everett. We took the ring road around Seattle and then headed east on Interstate 90, which took us into the Cascade mountain range.
The mountains were steep, closing out the sky. There were lots of rock cuts, covered with a giant version of chicken wire to keep boulders from tumbling onto the highway, and tall, stately evergreen trees on the slopes. We went through the Snoqualmie Pass, and when we got out the other side, the terrain opened into flat, sweeping plains with yellow grass and low shrubs, and beige-coloured, rolling hills in the distance, with a great big sky full of puffy clouds. It was a refreshing contrast to the congested city areas, as well as the closed-in feeling in the mountains.
The sound of trucks and cars whizzing past on the highway is quite audible here at the RV park in Ellensburg. We’re next to a Days Inn on paved sites with full amenities — except the Internet connection has been flipping constantly between "connected" and "not connected". That has been a constant challenge on the trip: finding a strong, persistent signal to allow communication via the Internet. The traveling public demands this means to stay in touch with family and friends, and most campgrounds try to furnish it, but it’s not always reliable. Sometimes I think ESP would be a better way!
ELLENSBURG, WA. — It was tough saying goodbye to Ken, Linda and Al after breakfast this morning, and doing all the little jobs to get ready to hit the road once again. We had a terrific time with the Byrts, who spoiled us totally, and we had also enjoyed being in one place for several days in a row — a luxury we will not be able to take again this trip.
The U.S. border was a very short distance from Chilliwack, and there were quite a few other people heading across at the same time as us, but it didn’t take too long before we were heading south toward Seattle, passing through lovely farmland and quiet little towns. We entered through Sumas, and took Highway 9, with the intention of connecting to Interstate 5 as directly as possible.
Harvest time is very much in evidence, with the corn standing tall in the fields, apples in the orchards, and bales of hay near the barns. There were lots of little roadside stands along the way through the northern part of Washington state, selling fruit and vegetables of all kinds.
By the time we got to the Interstate, we were in a much more populated area. Seattle is a big city with a lot of suburbia built up around it, and even though we were not heading into the city proper, we were definitely not in a rural setting any more.
One of our destinations today was a stop in Burlington to visit Camping World, a big box store dedicated to owners of RVs and tents, with every gadget, accessory, part and add-on you could imagine. We saw everything from clamps to keep your awning from flapping to patio lights shaped like the Stars and Stripes to doggie life-jackets! There were a few items we picked up, as well as a catalogue for future reference, so it was a successful visit. We even took advantage of their spacious parking lot to pause and eat our lunch before hitting the Interstate again.
The state of Washington has, as its slogan — which you can read on any licence plate you pass — "the evergreen state", and there were plenty of evergreen trees along the highway near the coast as we passed through Mount Vernon, Marysville and Everett. We took the ring road around Seattle and then headed east on Interstate 90, which took us into the Cascade mountain range.
The mountains were steep, closing out the sky. There were lots of rock cuts, covered with a giant version of chicken wire to keep boulders from tumbling onto the highway, and tall, stately evergreen trees on the slopes. We went through the Snoqualmie Pass, and when we got out the other side, the terrain opened into flat, sweeping plains with yellow grass and low shrubs, and beige-coloured, rolling hills in the distance, with a great big sky full of puffy clouds. It was a refreshing contrast to the congested city areas, as well as the closed-in feeling in the mountains.
The sound of trucks and cars whizzing past on the highway is quite audible here at the RV park in Ellensburg. We’re next to a Days Inn on paved sites with full amenities — except the Internet connection has been flipping constantly between "connected" and "not connected". That has been a constant challenge on the trip: finding a strong, persistent signal to allow communication via the Internet. The traveling public demands this means to stay in touch with family and friends, and most campgrounds try to furnish it, but it’s not always reliable. Sometimes I think ESP would be a better way!
Scrub and strum
Tuesday, August 21, 2007
CHILLIWACK, B.C. — It was clean-up time this morning in our well-supplied parking spot in the driveway of Ken and Linda Byrt — hot water and unlimited hose coils made a proposed car and RV wash session ideal. To sweeten the process even further, ever-energetic Linda volunteered to help. (Ken had an eye appointment today, so he managed to avoid getting his hands wet!) While Linda used the long-handled brush on the truck and trailer’s sides with wonderful vigour, Val attended to the elbow-grease sections, and I took rinse duty with the hose.
Somewhere along the Cassiar Highway, when we passed a paving crew, we got splattered all down Val’s side of the truck and rig with some kind of liquid that dried on like cement. It would not budge under the high pressure hoses we used, nor with hot water and soap. It did respond to rubbing with a special dry wash solution and plenty of elbow grease. That’s what Val undertook, spot by spot, while Linda and I soaped and rinsed elsewhere. He got most of the stuff off the truck, but the trailer spots will have to wait.
The brown streams of water that flowed off the trailer as I sprayed the sections Linda had scrubbed were evidence of the many dusty, dirty miles we had covered. We are expecting pavement pretty well the rest of the way home — although nothing will surprise us — so we figured we may as well start this leg of the trip in a clean state.
After that chore was done, we went in for some lunch. Ken and Linda had invited a couple of friends for dinner, and my brother Alan was driving in from Victoria to see us, so there was a nice big turkey thawing in readiness. The blackberry pie from last night had been such a success, I offered to make another one for the crowd, since we still had plenty of berries from our picking session yesterday. So, while I rolled pastry, Linda prepared the berry filling, and we popped it in the oven ahead of the turkey.
Not long after that, Val’s cell phone rang, and it was Al, calling from the street outside the house! We were in the back yard, so it was a good thing he didn’t try the doorbell. It was great to see my dear brother and catch up on all his news. We had a leisurely afternoon that melted happily into a pleasant evening when Kerry and Betty, the Byrts’ friends, arrived.
When our delicious feast was consumed and the sun had gone down, lending a chill to the evening air on the patio, we moved indoors for the musical portion of the evening. Al had brought his guitar, and Ken and Linda pulled out theirs, and plugged in the keyboard. For the next couple of hours, we sang, strummed, laughed, listened and sang some more, flipping through the Byrts’ collection of lyrics and tunes for various numbers, as well as listening to Al’s wonderful solos of songs he knew by heart. There’s nothing like making music with friends and family, and a good time was had by all.
It was hard to wrap up our jam session, but wrap we did finally, since we had to pull out in the morning and head on our way. We set up the pull-out couch for Al in the trailer so he could spend the night and make the return trip to the ferry and Victoria after a good night’s rest.
CHILLIWACK, B.C. — It was clean-up time this morning in our well-supplied parking spot in the driveway of Ken and Linda Byrt — hot water and unlimited hose coils made a proposed car and RV wash session ideal. To sweeten the process even further, ever-energetic Linda volunteered to help. (Ken had an eye appointment today, so he managed to avoid getting his hands wet!) While Linda used the long-handled brush on the truck and trailer’s sides with wonderful vigour, Val attended to the elbow-grease sections, and I took rinse duty with the hose.
Somewhere along the Cassiar Highway, when we passed a paving crew, we got splattered all down Val’s side of the truck and rig with some kind of liquid that dried on like cement. It would not budge under the high pressure hoses we used, nor with hot water and soap. It did respond to rubbing with a special dry wash solution and plenty of elbow grease. That’s what Val undertook, spot by spot, while Linda and I soaped and rinsed elsewhere. He got most of the stuff off the truck, but the trailer spots will have to wait.
The brown streams of water that flowed off the trailer as I sprayed the sections Linda had scrubbed were evidence of the many dusty, dirty miles we had covered. We are expecting pavement pretty well the rest of the way home — although nothing will surprise us — so we figured we may as well start this leg of the trip in a clean state.
After that chore was done, we went in for some lunch. Ken and Linda had invited a couple of friends for dinner, and my brother Alan was driving in from Victoria to see us, so there was a nice big turkey thawing in readiness. The blackberry pie from last night had been such a success, I offered to make another one for the crowd, since we still had plenty of berries from our picking session yesterday. So, while I rolled pastry, Linda prepared the berry filling, and we popped it in the oven ahead of the turkey.
Not long after that, Val’s cell phone rang, and it was Al, calling from the street outside the house! We were in the back yard, so it was a good thing he didn’t try the doorbell. It was great to see my dear brother and catch up on all his news. We had a leisurely afternoon that melted happily into a pleasant evening when Kerry and Betty, the Byrts’ friends, arrived.
When our delicious feast was consumed and the sun had gone down, lending a chill to the evening air on the patio, we moved indoors for the musical portion of the evening. Al had brought his guitar, and Ken and Linda pulled out theirs, and plugged in the keyboard. For the next couple of hours, we sang, strummed, laughed, listened and sang some more, flipping through the Byrts’ collection of lyrics and tunes for various numbers, as well as listening to Al’s wonderful solos of songs he knew by heart. There’s nothing like making music with friends and family, and a good time was had by all.
It was hard to wrap up our jam session, but wrap we did finally, since we had to pull out in the morning and head on our way. We set up the pull-out couch for Al in the trailer so he could spend the night and make the return trip to the ferry and Victoria after a good night’s rest.
Monday, August 20, 2007
The fat of the land
Monday, August 20, 2007
CHILLIWACK, B.C. — Anyone with the slightest hint of horticultural ability deserves to live in a place like Chilliwack. Around here, you could jab a stick into the ground and walk away from it, and a week later it would be sprouting leaves.
From the Byrt’s front window, you can look across to beautiful grassed properties across the street with tasteful landscaping, and beyond their back fences are fields full of tall stalks of corn with dark shiny leaves and swaying tassels. There’s a strip of the Trans Canada visible beyond that field, and then some towering trees and the dark mountains at the horizon.
The occasional breeze brings in some ripe farm animal smells every now and then, attesting to the agricultural activity all around the homes here, and there are even some drive-through corn stands by the roadsides where you can purchase freshly-cut cobs of sweet golden corn for supper.
This morning, while Val and Ken were off getting our truck attended to, Linda and I headed out with plastic pails to harvest some of the abundant fruit that burgeons along fences and roadsides. We drove to the Pacific Region Training Centre, where around the old tennis court are great dripping grape vines. We could see clusters of green grapes, but Linda guessed that the cooler weather they’ve been having was delaying the ripening process, so we didn’t pick any of these.
At the edge of the property is another untended, wild section where huge clumps of blackberries grow. Each branch was bending over with berries, some of which were small, hard and green, while others had developed a red blush that made them look like raspberries, except they too were hard. Our objective was the fully ripe, shiny black berries that separated easily from the plants and tumbled into our pails in great abundance. The canes are eight feet tall or more, and covered with thorns and prickles, so I was glad of my long sleeves. It hardly took any time for us to fill two pails full to take home for tonight’s dessert.
I was rolling pastry for blackberry pie when Val and Ken returned, without the truck, but with news that the trouble was not misaligned wheels, but damaged universal joints, which they could fix today — one bit of good news — and which was covered by our extended warranty — the other good piece of news. They were able to pick up the truck later in the afternoon, ready for the next leg of the journey.
After lunch, we all went to visit the Minter Gardens in a part of Chilliwack slightly east of here. This 32-acre site was built in the late 1970s on a plot of land where a centuries-old landslide had deposited rocks and rich alluvial soil in the Fraser River Valley. The Minter family envisioned a beautiful garden, making use of the native trees that were already flourishing there, and dividing it into 11 themes, joined by meandering paths.
It was quite simply the most beautiful garden I have ever seen. Curving flowerbeds displayed every colour and type of blossoming plant you could imagine, set against perfect green lawns, or along gurgling streams and waterfalls with little footbridges. There was a fragrant rose garden, a Chinese garden with bonsai trees, a huge peacock on a hillside with flowers for tail feathers, an arbor garden, a perfectly symmetrical formal garden with precisely-trimmed boxwood hedges, a hilltop wedding pavilion with huge hanging baskets dripping with vines and colourful petunias and lobelia, and rows of pretty white chairs set under a tented roof, just waiting for a bride and groom. There were little fish ponds, and a cedar labyrinth, two Victorian ladies whose skirts were made of flowers, and an enormous Canadian flag on a hillside made of hundreds of red and white begonias. I could hardly stop myself from snapping one photo after another of this spectacular place!
Back at the house, at supper, we enjoyed hot, sweet cobs of corn with the main course followed by freshly baked blackberry pie with ice cream melting on top for dessert, washed down with the Byrts’ home made wine. The whole day was a feast to the senses!
CHILLIWACK, B.C. — Anyone with the slightest hint of horticultural ability deserves to live in a place like Chilliwack. Around here, you could jab a stick into the ground and walk away from it, and a week later it would be sprouting leaves.
From the Byrt’s front window, you can look across to beautiful grassed properties across the street with tasteful landscaping, and beyond their back fences are fields full of tall stalks of corn with dark shiny leaves and swaying tassels. There’s a strip of the Trans Canada visible beyond that field, and then some towering trees and the dark mountains at the horizon.
The occasional breeze brings in some ripe farm animal smells every now and then, attesting to the agricultural activity all around the homes here, and there are even some drive-through corn stands by the roadsides where you can purchase freshly-cut cobs of sweet golden corn for supper.
This morning, while Val and Ken were off getting our truck attended to, Linda and I headed out with plastic pails to harvest some of the abundant fruit that burgeons along fences and roadsides. We drove to the Pacific Region Training Centre, where around the old tennis court are great dripping grape vines. We could see clusters of green grapes, but Linda guessed that the cooler weather they’ve been having was delaying the ripening process, so we didn’t pick any of these.
At the edge of the property is another untended, wild section where huge clumps of blackberries grow. Each branch was bending over with berries, some of which were small, hard and green, while others had developed a red blush that made them look like raspberries, except they too were hard. Our objective was the fully ripe, shiny black berries that separated easily from the plants and tumbled into our pails in great abundance. The canes are eight feet tall or more, and covered with thorns and prickles, so I was glad of my long sleeves. It hardly took any time for us to fill two pails full to take home for tonight’s dessert.
I was rolling pastry for blackberry pie when Val and Ken returned, without the truck, but with news that the trouble was not misaligned wheels, but damaged universal joints, which they could fix today — one bit of good news — and which was covered by our extended warranty — the other good piece of news. They were able to pick up the truck later in the afternoon, ready for the next leg of the journey.
After lunch, we all went to visit the Minter Gardens in a part of Chilliwack slightly east of here. This 32-acre site was built in the late 1970s on a plot of land where a centuries-old landslide had deposited rocks and rich alluvial soil in the Fraser River Valley. The Minter family envisioned a beautiful garden, making use of the native trees that were already flourishing there, and dividing it into 11 themes, joined by meandering paths.
It was quite simply the most beautiful garden I have ever seen. Curving flowerbeds displayed every colour and type of blossoming plant you could imagine, set against perfect green lawns, or along gurgling streams and waterfalls with little footbridges. There was a fragrant rose garden, a Chinese garden with bonsai trees, a huge peacock on a hillside with flowers for tail feathers, an arbor garden, a perfectly symmetrical formal garden with precisely-trimmed boxwood hedges, a hilltop wedding pavilion with huge hanging baskets dripping with vines and colourful petunias and lobelia, and rows of pretty white chairs set under a tented roof, just waiting for a bride and groom. There were little fish ponds, and a cedar labyrinth, two Victorian ladies whose skirts were made of flowers, and an enormous Canadian flag on a hillside made of hundreds of red and white begonias. I could hardly stop myself from snapping one photo after another of this spectacular place!
Back at the house, at supper, we enjoyed hot, sweet cobs of corn with the main course followed by freshly baked blackberry pie with ice cream melting on top for dessert, washed down with the Byrts’ home made wine. The whole day was a feast to the senses!
Food, friends and family
Sunday, August 19, 2007
CHILLIWACK, B.C. — A beautiful breakfast of fresh-baked cranberry-almond scones, hot coffee, cereal and golden-fried slices of ham awaited us in the warm, inviting kitchen of our hosts, Linda and Ken Byrt this morning. When we weren’t chomping appreciatively, our chins were wagging in conversation about every topic under the sun.
The Byrts have covered considerably more miles in North America with their truck and fifth-wheel trailer than we have, so they have a wealth of wisdom, experience and tidbits to pass on, which we gratefully absorbed.
I absented myself from the group for the Sunday service at St. John’s Anglican Church nearby — and returned wonderfully restored from singing favourite hymns, participating in sacred rituals, and contemplating the mysteries of life in the spirit.
When I got back, Ken and Linda took us to see their new trailer, which was parked in a compound at the Pacific Regional Training Centre, a large campus owned by the RCMP where members can go for in-service training in a wide range of areas. It was great to see the Centre, which we had read quite a bit about, as well as to look at all the well-designed features of the Byrts’ new home on wheels.
Back at the house, on this somewhat grey and drizzly day, Linda’s homemade beef and barley soup and warm buns were a welcome treat as the conversation continued around interesting travels, eccentric characters one meets along the way, and the many adventures of nomadic life.
Before we knew it, it was time for Val and me to head toward Vancouver to meet my brother John, my nephew Spencer and his girlfriend Laurie. We had realized, when talking to John on the phone, that to drive all the way in to his place in Vancouver West from Chilliwack would eat up a large portion of the afternoon, so we arranged to meet at a halfway point, the historic town of Fort Langley. Laurie suggested a little coffee house for our rendez-vous, which was not at all hard to find, thanks to our GPS and Streets and Trips program.
It was a delight to see them, and to collect big bear hugs from John and Spence. We whiled away several hours, catching up on everyone’s news, getting acquainted with Laurie, and enjoying the coffee house fare. We also strolled around the main street of Fort Langley, which had quaint little shops and an old-fashioned look about it that was very appealing.
After a very pleasant afternoon, we parted ways. Our route back to Chilliwack took us along Highway 1 through an interesting mixture of suburbia and farmland, where we went past Walmarts and car dealerships and cornfields and cow pastures in quick succession. The beautiful backdrop was the dark, rolling hills on the horizon and equally dark, rolling clouds in the heavy sky above them.
Time for more food! The four of us headed for the Greek Isles restaurant for a delicious meal of Mediterranean salad, rack of lamb, moussaka and chocolate truffle dessert. We were in complete agreement with local residents, who had chosen this establishment repeatedly as the best ethnic eatery, according to the string of awards posted above the entrance to the restaurant. More lively and varied conversation ensued at our booth, in the car on the way home and in the living room until past midnight, and a good time was had by all.
CHILLIWACK, B.C. — A beautiful breakfast of fresh-baked cranberry-almond scones, hot coffee, cereal and golden-fried slices of ham awaited us in the warm, inviting kitchen of our hosts, Linda and Ken Byrt this morning. When we weren’t chomping appreciatively, our chins were wagging in conversation about every topic under the sun.
The Byrts have covered considerably more miles in North America with their truck and fifth-wheel trailer than we have, so they have a wealth of wisdom, experience and tidbits to pass on, which we gratefully absorbed.
I absented myself from the group for the Sunday service at St. John’s Anglican Church nearby — and returned wonderfully restored from singing favourite hymns, participating in sacred rituals, and contemplating the mysteries of life in the spirit.
When I got back, Ken and Linda took us to see their new trailer, which was parked in a compound at the Pacific Regional Training Centre, a large campus owned by the RCMP where members can go for in-service training in a wide range of areas. It was great to see the Centre, which we had read quite a bit about, as well as to look at all the well-designed features of the Byrts’ new home on wheels.
Back at the house, on this somewhat grey and drizzly day, Linda’s homemade beef and barley soup and warm buns were a welcome treat as the conversation continued around interesting travels, eccentric characters one meets along the way, and the many adventures of nomadic life.
Before we knew it, it was time for Val and me to head toward Vancouver to meet my brother John, my nephew Spencer and his girlfriend Laurie. We had realized, when talking to John on the phone, that to drive all the way in to his place in Vancouver West from Chilliwack would eat up a large portion of the afternoon, so we arranged to meet at a halfway point, the historic town of Fort Langley. Laurie suggested a little coffee house for our rendez-vous, which was not at all hard to find, thanks to our GPS and Streets and Trips program.
It was a delight to see them, and to collect big bear hugs from John and Spence. We whiled away several hours, catching up on everyone’s news, getting acquainted with Laurie, and enjoying the coffee house fare. We also strolled around the main street of Fort Langley, which had quaint little shops and an old-fashioned look about it that was very appealing.
After a very pleasant afternoon, we parted ways. Our route back to Chilliwack took us along Highway 1 through an interesting mixture of suburbia and farmland, where we went past Walmarts and car dealerships and cornfields and cow pastures in quick succession. The beautiful backdrop was the dark, rolling hills on the horizon and equally dark, rolling clouds in the heavy sky above them.
Time for more food! The four of us headed for the Greek Isles restaurant for a delicious meal of Mediterranean salad, rack of lamb, moussaka and chocolate truffle dessert. We were in complete agreement with local residents, who had chosen this establishment repeatedly as the best ethnic eatery, according to the string of awards posted above the entrance to the restaurant. More lively and varied conversation ensued at our booth, in the car on the way home and in the living room until past midnight, and a good time was had by all.
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.
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.
Friday, August 17, 2007
Counting the Miles
Friday, August 17, 2007
CACHE CREEK, B.C. — Tonight we are staying in the heart of cowboy country. Cache Creek is south of Williams Lake, and west of Kamloops, in a setting straight out of the western movies. There are dry hills studded with sage grass and many a ranch outlined with weathered wooden fences, where horses graze for a few blades of grass and cows cluster in the shade of a clump of trees. A creek meanders through the valley, and the hills rise up, all tan-coloured, with pine trees, both green and rust, silhouetted against the sky.
The desert-like terrain is broken up from time to time with startling green fields of grain and other crops, rendered that way by great spurting irrigation systems. Apparently the soil is quite fertile here as long as it gets sufficiently watered, and there are enough rivers and creeks around to make this possible. The contrast between dusty brown and emerald green is stark.
We got off to a bit later start today, since we had a relatively short distance to cover. Val hauled out the air compressor to inflate the trailer and truck tires. Some of them had softened a bit in all the tough driving we have done the past few weeks, so he got them in fighting form once again.
It was a lovely fresh morning, and the first town we came to after leaving McLeese Lake was Williams Lake, named after the Shuswap Chief Willyum. It’s a large town of 12,000 where there is an annual rodeo, the Williams Lake Stampede, that draws cowboys from all over Canada and the US.
Shortly afterward, we came to 150 Mile House. The name comes from this settlement’s early days, when it was a stopover during the Cariboo gold rush. They started the count from Lillooet to the south, which was Mile 0 of the journey. Nearly every town we went through after 150 Mile House was a something- Mile House! There was 108 Mile Ranch, 100 Mile House, 83 Mile House, and 70 Mile House. (Just outside of 100 Mile House was the 99 Mile Restaurant!) This part of the country must have gone into fits when Canada adopted the metric system!
A couple of other neat town names that we read on distance signs by the road were Likely and Horsefly. And yesterday we passed through Cinema!
We had a nice lunchtime stop at 108 Mile Ranch, where there is a small cluster of old log buildings from gold rush days. They have a post office, a school house, a blacksmith shop and a barn, as well as a goldminer’s cabin and a museum. Inside the cabin, there were bunks, an old stove, and a tin bathtub that had to be filled with kettles full of hot water — a tedious job that didn’t happen all that often in the bush!
Log buildings are frequent sights along the highway in this region — which is known as Cariboo. We passed several log-building establishments, where great stacks of logs are cleaned to a gleaming golden colour and carefully stacked one on top of the other into beautiful homes. Some are very simple, but others have elaborate dormers or porticoes over the front door. We saw one building set back on a hillside that looked like it was going to be a conference centre or something. It was huge, and all made of beautiful golden logs. 100 Mile House calls itself "the hand-crafted log home capital of North America", but all we could see along the road as we drove through were gas stations and fast-food places, none of which had so much as a visible twig in their construction!
More evidence of the mountain pine beetle could be seen on the hillsides. The bugs seem to favour mature lodgepole pines, and the milder winters have meant that the larvae aren’t killed off by freezing temperatures any more. There were several hillsides where all the diseased trees had been cut down and stacked in huge piles. In other places, there were great rust-coloured stripes across the green hillsides where the trees continue to be ravaged.
The flat plains we passed earlier in the day were soon replaced by more hills, and at Chasm Creek Valley there was a turnout from the highway where you could look out over a deep valley that rose up to hillsides striped with different colours of red, brown, yellow and purple, caused by varying layers of lava flow from thousands of years ago. This section of British Columbia has certainly been a change from terrain we have seen in the north.
CACHE CREEK, B.C. — Tonight we are staying in the heart of cowboy country. Cache Creek is south of Williams Lake, and west of Kamloops, in a setting straight out of the western movies. There are dry hills studded with sage grass and many a ranch outlined with weathered wooden fences, where horses graze for a few blades of grass and cows cluster in the shade of a clump of trees. A creek meanders through the valley, and the hills rise up, all tan-coloured, with pine trees, both green and rust, silhouetted against the sky.
The desert-like terrain is broken up from time to time with startling green fields of grain and other crops, rendered that way by great spurting irrigation systems. Apparently the soil is quite fertile here as long as it gets sufficiently watered, and there are enough rivers and creeks around to make this possible. The contrast between dusty brown and emerald green is stark.
We got off to a bit later start today, since we had a relatively short distance to cover. Val hauled out the air compressor to inflate the trailer and truck tires. Some of them had softened a bit in all the tough driving we have done the past few weeks, so he got them in fighting form once again.
It was a lovely fresh morning, and the first town we came to after leaving McLeese Lake was Williams Lake, named after the Shuswap Chief Willyum. It’s a large town of 12,000 where there is an annual rodeo, the Williams Lake Stampede, that draws cowboys from all over Canada and the US.
Shortly afterward, we came to 150 Mile House. The name comes from this settlement’s early days, when it was a stopover during the Cariboo gold rush. They started the count from Lillooet to the south, which was Mile 0 of the journey. Nearly every town we went through after 150 Mile House was a something- Mile House! There was 108 Mile Ranch, 100 Mile House, 83 Mile House, and 70 Mile House. (Just outside of 100 Mile House was the 99 Mile Restaurant!) This part of the country must have gone into fits when Canada adopted the metric system!
A couple of other neat town names that we read on distance signs by the road were Likely and Horsefly. And yesterday we passed through Cinema!
We had a nice lunchtime stop at 108 Mile Ranch, where there is a small cluster of old log buildings from gold rush days. They have a post office, a school house, a blacksmith shop and a barn, as well as a goldminer’s cabin and a museum. Inside the cabin, there were bunks, an old stove, and a tin bathtub that had to be filled with kettles full of hot water — a tedious job that didn’t happen all that often in the bush!
Log buildings are frequent sights along the highway in this region — which is known as Cariboo. We passed several log-building establishments, where great stacks of logs are cleaned to a gleaming golden colour and carefully stacked one on top of the other into beautiful homes. Some are very simple, but others have elaborate dormers or porticoes over the front door. We saw one building set back on a hillside that looked like it was going to be a conference centre or something. It was huge, and all made of beautiful golden logs. 100 Mile House calls itself "the hand-crafted log home capital of North America", but all we could see along the road as we drove through were gas stations and fast-food places, none of which had so much as a visible twig in their construction!
More evidence of the mountain pine beetle could be seen on the hillsides. The bugs seem to favour mature lodgepole pines, and the milder winters have meant that the larvae aren’t killed off by freezing temperatures any more. There were several hillsides where all the diseased trees had been cut down and stacked in huge piles. In other places, there were great rust-coloured stripes across the green hillsides where the trees continue to be ravaged.
The flat plains we passed earlier in the day were soon replaced by more hills, and at Chasm Creek Valley there was a turnout from the highway where you could look out over a deep valley that rose up to hillsides striped with different colours of red, brown, yellow and purple, caused by varying layers of lava flow from thousands of years ago. This section of British Columbia has certainly been a change from terrain we have seen in the north.
Thursday, August 16, 2007
Prayer cycle
Thursday, August 16, 2007
McCLEESE LAKE, B.C. — This lakeside resort is between Quesnel and Williams Lake, and, until a short while ago there were children frolicking on the beach and splashing in the water. Any minute now, the skies are going to open with a dump of rain that, from the look of some fields we passed today, will be heartily welcomed. There are steel-grey clouds rolling over, the wind is whipping up the trees, and thunder is rumbling overhead.
In our cozy trailer, we can enjoy the power of nature in comfort, dryness and warmth.
Making good distance is the main agenda now as we head south toward the Lower Mainland. Nevertheless, we try to stick to an average of 300 miles per day. No point in exhausting ourselves and putting our travels at risk.
We followed the Yellowhead Highway into Prince George, passing rolling plains with lots of farms and ranches, as well as forested areas. We could see evidence of the mountain pine beetle, which is a major problem in BC these days. The bugs are killing thousands of trees, which gradually turn a rust colour as they succumb. Some entire hillsides are covered with the afflicted trees. We read in the paper that they are considering making use of the otherwise wasted lumber to produce ethanol fuel.
Before reaching Prince George, was passed through Vanderhoof, which claims to be the geographical centre of British Columbia. It’s named after Chicago publisher Herbert Vanderhoof, who established the town in 1914 when he was associated with the Grand Trunk Development Co. The town provides service to the mining, logging and agricultural activities in the area.
Prince George is a bustling town, big enough for a Walmart, Canadian Tire, Home Depot and Costco. I was here in the late 1990s, but didn’t see anything familiar as we drove through. And, I was so intent on locating the turnoff from the Yellowhead to Highway 97 that I missed seeing Mr. P.G., a tall wooden figure with a round head and a big smile, representing the logging industry’s role in the community.
Not long after turning south on Highway 97, we saw another orange triangle sign saying "prepare to stop" but this one also had a sign saying "accident scene". As we drove past, we saw in the ditch a great big tractor trailer lying flat on its side. The driver must have pulled onto the shoulder only to discover it couldn’t hold the rig’s weight, and the whole thing tipped sideways. There was no sign of an ambulance, so hopefully the guy got away with just some explaining to do.
We are finally experiencing some summer temperatures; the thermometer on the truck today climbed to 29 degrees! I’ll have to get used to not putting on long sleeves and long pants by default! It was beautifully sunny as well.
By mid-afternoon, we were ready to get out and stretch our legs, so we pulled off at a rest stop. At the entrance we saw a team of cyclists in bright yellow and red jerseys, setting off down the highway. There were others in the rest area who hadn’t yet left, having just had a refreshment stop apparently. A couple of ladies in the support vehicle told us the cyclists are with the Canadian Bible Society, and are raising money by cycling to pay for 200,000 Bibles that will be distributed to soldiers in Afghanistan. The project was initiated at the request of army chaplains, who said there was a great need for them. The Canadian Armed Forces gave the society permission to duplicate the desert and green camouflage design on the Bible covers. I mentioned to them the article we had seen in a recent paper of a soldier in Afghanistan whose life had been saved when a bullet was stopped the Bible he was carrying in his breast pocket — but I don’t think they were thinking of the Good Book in terms of body armour!
After we left the rest site, we counted 30 cyclists along the highway — and the slowest pair were riding a tandem bicycle. That must have been fun on some of the steep inclines we came to later on.
The ravages of the highways are making their mark on our nice red truck. We have developed a vibration that’s indicating we need a wheel alignment, so we’ve called ahead to Chilliwack and made an appointment to have that done. I’m sure that is a legacy of the Cassiar Highway. Val discovered the other scar this afternoon when we stopped to fuel up: we have a crack in the windshield! Plus two nicks where stones have hit it. The crack is near the top edge and doesn’t impede our vision, but it will also need to be repaired when we get home. Forget the T-shirts bragging that we’ve braved this and that highway. Now we have true battle scars as proof.
McCLEESE LAKE, B.C. — This lakeside resort is between Quesnel and Williams Lake, and, until a short while ago there were children frolicking on the beach and splashing in the water. Any minute now, the skies are going to open with a dump of rain that, from the look of some fields we passed today, will be heartily welcomed. There are steel-grey clouds rolling over, the wind is whipping up the trees, and thunder is rumbling overhead.
In our cozy trailer, we can enjoy the power of nature in comfort, dryness and warmth.
Making good distance is the main agenda now as we head south toward the Lower Mainland. Nevertheless, we try to stick to an average of 300 miles per day. No point in exhausting ourselves and putting our travels at risk.
We followed the Yellowhead Highway into Prince George, passing rolling plains with lots of farms and ranches, as well as forested areas. We could see evidence of the mountain pine beetle, which is a major problem in BC these days. The bugs are killing thousands of trees, which gradually turn a rust colour as they succumb. Some entire hillsides are covered with the afflicted trees. We read in the paper that they are considering making use of the otherwise wasted lumber to produce ethanol fuel.
Before reaching Prince George, was passed through Vanderhoof, which claims to be the geographical centre of British Columbia. It’s named after Chicago publisher Herbert Vanderhoof, who established the town in 1914 when he was associated with the Grand Trunk Development Co. The town provides service to the mining, logging and agricultural activities in the area.
Prince George is a bustling town, big enough for a Walmart, Canadian Tire, Home Depot and Costco. I was here in the late 1990s, but didn’t see anything familiar as we drove through. And, I was so intent on locating the turnoff from the Yellowhead to Highway 97 that I missed seeing Mr. P.G., a tall wooden figure with a round head and a big smile, representing the logging industry’s role in the community.
Not long after turning south on Highway 97, we saw another orange triangle sign saying "prepare to stop" but this one also had a sign saying "accident scene". As we drove past, we saw in the ditch a great big tractor trailer lying flat on its side. The driver must have pulled onto the shoulder only to discover it couldn’t hold the rig’s weight, and the whole thing tipped sideways. There was no sign of an ambulance, so hopefully the guy got away with just some explaining to do.
We are finally experiencing some summer temperatures; the thermometer on the truck today climbed to 29 degrees! I’ll have to get used to not putting on long sleeves and long pants by default! It was beautifully sunny as well.
By mid-afternoon, we were ready to get out and stretch our legs, so we pulled off at a rest stop. At the entrance we saw a team of cyclists in bright yellow and red jerseys, setting off down the highway. There were others in the rest area who hadn’t yet left, having just had a refreshment stop apparently. A couple of ladies in the support vehicle told us the cyclists are with the Canadian Bible Society, and are raising money by cycling to pay for 200,000 Bibles that will be distributed to soldiers in Afghanistan. The project was initiated at the request of army chaplains, who said there was a great need for them. The Canadian Armed Forces gave the society permission to duplicate the desert and green camouflage design on the Bible covers. I mentioned to them the article we had seen in a recent paper of a soldier in Afghanistan whose life had been saved when a bullet was stopped the Bible he was carrying in his breast pocket — but I don’t think they were thinking of the Good Book in terms of body armour!
After we left the rest site, we counted 30 cyclists along the highway — and the slowest pair were riding a tandem bicycle. That must have been fun on some of the steep inclines we came to later on.
The ravages of the highways are making their mark on our nice red truck. We have developed a vibration that’s indicating we need a wheel alignment, so we’ve called ahead to Chilliwack and made an appointment to have that done. I’m sure that is a legacy of the Cassiar Highway. Val discovered the other scar this afternoon when we stopped to fuel up: we have a crack in the windshield! Plus two nicks where stones have hit it. The crack is near the top edge and doesn’t impede our vision, but it will also need to be repaired when we get home. Forget the T-shirts bragging that we’ve braved this and that highway. Now we have true battle scars as proof.
Wednesday, August 15, 2007
A change of scenery
Wednesday, August 15, 2007
BURNS LAKE, B.C. --- What a difference 300 miles can make. This morning, we woke up in Stewart, surrounded by mountains so tall the sun didn't reach the trailer park till well past dawn, and now we're in a flat agricultural region with a few low hills on the horizon.
The change isn't only geographic. When we got to Smithers, we saw our first Tim Hortons since Whitehorse, and at about the same time, we discovered we had the use of our cell phones again! We kind of felt like we had come in from the hinterland!
But I'm getting ahead of myself. Our first order of business this morning, after getting hitched up, was to drive in to Stewart and get the trailer washed. It was still caked with dried mud we had picked up on the Cassiar Highway, and we figured we probably wouldn't see the likes of that kind of road again (let's hope not!), so we should get cleaned up.
Looking spiffy once again, we headed out to the Cassiar from Stewart, passing through the amazing narrow gorge and past the toe of the Bear Glacier, right by the highway, before making the turn south. It was a beautiful sunny day today, with a promise of warm temperatures in the air.
Today was a day of black bear sightings. The first was a young cub standing on the left shoulder of the road, looking at us and then loping back into the underbrush. A few miles later, we saw the ears and head of another cub on the right side of the ditch. Val saw two others several miles apart, but they were too quick for me.
The condition of the highway was excellent, and we were enjoying the smooth pavement when we came upon the orange sign that says "prepare to stop", followed by another that said --- and we both groaned in unison --- "fresh oil"! There ahead of us glistened a stretch of highway that would undo our wash session in the first few feet! Our groans dissipated fairly quickly, however, when we realized that "fresh" was a relative term, and this oil job was not all that recent. Whew!
As noon hour approached, we began to look for a turnout where we could eat our lunch. The highway was quite remote, and we hadn't passed so much as a cabin for miles. The Milepost guide said the next turnout was some distance away. But with the shoulders so narrow, we had no choice but to soldier on till we got to it. Good thing I always make sure to have snacks on hand.
Only a couple of kilometres to go --- and then we saw that familiar orange "prepare to stop" sign again. Only this time, a full crew was laying down fresh asphalt. We sat and waited till the flag person flipped the sign from "stop" to "slow", and off we went again. Wouldn't you know, the long-awaited turnout was right in the middle of the roadwork, blocked off by machinery and filled with workers' trucks! We'd have to go yet another 10 kilometres before we could pull over!
I don't think I ever made a sandwich that fast in a long time. I had flipped open the hard outer door of the trailer to get a breeze through the screen door on this warm day, but when Val came in, he closed it and locked it: as he did his regular spot check around the truck and trailer, he heard some grunting noises in the reeds by the road that were distinctly bear-like. When lunch was done, we looked about carefully to ensure our return to the truck would be uneventful. It was.
Not long afterward, we came to the end of the Cassiar, and turned eastward on the Yellowhead Highway, or Highway 16, headed toward Prince George. There were a number of small Aboriginal communities in the area, some of which had, according to Milepost, some impressive displays of totem poles and other artifacts. Unfortunately they weren't visible from the road, and we had some distance to cover, so we didn't see them.
We did see a sobering highway billboard reminding young girls not to hitch hike alone on this road; then I realized this was the infamous Highway of Tears, along which many young girls had been murdered while trying to hitch a ride from one town to the next. The murderer has still not been apprehended.
For the first time in a long time, we saw farmland by the road, with cows and horses grazing, and freshly mown fields spotted with round bales of hay. There were still the last bits of the Cassiar Mountains on the horizon, including the beatiful Seven Sisters peaks (which looked like seven sisters and a brother-in-law to me; I counted eight peaks, not seven!), and by the road flowed the Skeena River and, later on, the Bulkley River, which feeds into it. We also enjoyed the tall deciduous trees along the way, which we hadn't seen in a long time. There were a number of trucks loaded high with huge logs; logging is one of this area's main activities.
The KOA campground where we're set up tonight is a nice quiet spot back from the highway, so we should get a good night's rest.
BURNS LAKE, B.C. --- What a difference 300 miles can make. This morning, we woke up in Stewart, surrounded by mountains so tall the sun didn't reach the trailer park till well past dawn, and now we're in a flat agricultural region with a few low hills on the horizon.
The change isn't only geographic. When we got to Smithers, we saw our first Tim Hortons since Whitehorse, and at about the same time, we discovered we had the use of our cell phones again! We kind of felt like we had come in from the hinterland!
But I'm getting ahead of myself. Our first order of business this morning, after getting hitched up, was to drive in to Stewart and get the trailer washed. It was still caked with dried mud we had picked up on the Cassiar Highway, and we figured we probably wouldn't see the likes of that kind of road again (let's hope not!), so we should get cleaned up.
Looking spiffy once again, we headed out to the Cassiar from Stewart, passing through the amazing narrow gorge and past the toe of the Bear Glacier, right by the highway, before making the turn south. It was a beautiful sunny day today, with a promise of warm temperatures in the air.
Today was a day of black bear sightings. The first was a young cub standing on the left shoulder of the road, looking at us and then loping back into the underbrush. A few miles later, we saw the ears and head of another cub on the right side of the ditch. Val saw two others several miles apart, but they were too quick for me.
The condition of the highway was excellent, and we were enjoying the smooth pavement when we came upon the orange sign that says "prepare to stop", followed by another that said --- and we both groaned in unison --- "fresh oil"! There ahead of us glistened a stretch of highway that would undo our wash session in the first few feet! Our groans dissipated fairly quickly, however, when we realized that "fresh" was a relative term, and this oil job was not all that recent. Whew!
As noon hour approached, we began to look for a turnout where we could eat our lunch. The highway was quite remote, and we hadn't passed so much as a cabin for miles. The Milepost guide said the next turnout was some distance away. But with the shoulders so narrow, we had no choice but to soldier on till we got to it. Good thing I always make sure to have snacks on hand.
Only a couple of kilometres to go --- and then we saw that familiar orange "prepare to stop" sign again. Only this time, a full crew was laying down fresh asphalt. We sat and waited till the flag person flipped the sign from "stop" to "slow", and off we went again. Wouldn't you know, the long-awaited turnout was right in the middle of the roadwork, blocked off by machinery and filled with workers' trucks! We'd have to go yet another 10 kilometres before we could pull over!
I don't think I ever made a sandwich that fast in a long time. I had flipped open the hard outer door of the trailer to get a breeze through the screen door on this warm day, but when Val came in, he closed it and locked it: as he did his regular spot check around the truck and trailer, he heard some grunting noises in the reeds by the road that were distinctly bear-like. When lunch was done, we looked about carefully to ensure our return to the truck would be uneventful. It was.
Not long afterward, we came to the end of the Cassiar, and turned eastward on the Yellowhead Highway, or Highway 16, headed toward Prince George. There were a number of small Aboriginal communities in the area, some of which had, according to Milepost, some impressive displays of totem poles and other artifacts. Unfortunately they weren't visible from the road, and we had some distance to cover, so we didn't see them.
We did see a sobering highway billboard reminding young girls not to hitch hike alone on this road; then I realized this was the infamous Highway of Tears, along which many young girls had been murdered while trying to hitch a ride from one town to the next. The murderer has still not been apprehended.
For the first time in a long time, we saw farmland by the road, with cows and horses grazing, and freshly mown fields spotted with round bales of hay. There were still the last bits of the Cassiar Mountains on the horizon, including the beatiful Seven Sisters peaks (which looked like seven sisters and a brother-in-law to me; I counted eight peaks, not seven!), and by the road flowed the Skeena River and, later on, the Bulkley River, which feeds into it. We also enjoyed the tall deciduous trees along the way, which we hadn't seen in a long time. There were a number of trucks loaded high with huge logs; logging is one of this area's main activities.
The KOA campground where we're set up tonight is a nice quiet spot back from the highway, so we should get a good night's rest.
Tuesday, August 14, 2007
Glacierissimo
Tuesday, August 14, 2007
STEWART, B.C. — Imagine you’re playing with clay and you decide to make a mountain — a really steep one, shaped like an upside down ice cream cone. Then you make a couple more and put them next to the first one. Then you carve a little road into the side of your mountains with a popsicle stick, spiraling up one, over to the next, and on to the third.
The topography of your little clay creation would resemble greatly the terrain we covered today on the way to visit the Salmon Glacier. The only thing is that the popsicle stick would make nice, smooth roads around your mountains, while the ones we drove were, along several stretches, deeply pocked with potholes or ribbed with washboards and covered with gravel. Imagine such treacherous stretches are strategically placed near the deepest precipices, so that a swerve to avoid a pothole brings you to the very brink of a near-vertical drop.
Such were the conditions we put our esteemed driver into this afternoon — a driver not fond in the slightest bit of near-vertical drops from the top of a ladder let alone an alpine mountain. Said driver was pressed to the point of profanity along a couple of really dicey sections, but managed to keep his cool all the way to the top of the third mountain.
Great was his reward! For, at the end of our trek, we beheld one of the hugest glaciers we’ve ever seen. We were about even with its highest point, looking down on its long icy green length in a huge backward S between several mountains and down to the valley below. Great cracks and crevasses marked its surface, and while it looked a bit sooty lower down, its crest was pure, brilliant white in the afternoon sun.
The drive began at Hyder, Alaska, the neighbouring town to Stewart, but the road crossed into Canada again part way up — and it was from that point that the road improved considerably, although even the Canadian side had its scary bits. In addition to the many snow-topped mountains and deep gorges filled with rivers, and the little cascades that trickled down in various places, we passed many groves of huge cedar trees — not quite as big as the Sequoias, but impressive — towering above us with thick trunks that went out of sight down the mountainside.
There were also landslide areas, one of which placed a huge boulder right by the road to build our confidence, and another that let loose a little trickle of stones just as we passed, to get our hearts beating a bit faster. We passed several clumps of snow, right by the road, and on our way back we saw a group of young people stopping their van and getting out to stage a snowball fight!
Fortunately we didn’t encounter too many other vehicles on the road — because clinging to the inside or outside lane to let them pass was a bit more excitement than we needed, and the dust billows behind them weren’t that appealing either.
We almost didn’t go at all. We set out to have a look earlier this morning, but after a stretch of lurching and bobbing over potholes, we decided we didn’t need to see another glacier if it meant 37 kilometres of road like that, and we turned back. However, at the carwash lineup, we chatted with a tour leader who was waiting to clean her mini bus, and she said the road got better on the Canadian side. Then, back at the trailer after lunch, another gentleman came by looking for a stamp and asked us if we’d seen the glacier yet. His RV caravan group had gone by bus and he said it was spectacular.
At that point, we asked ourselves, when had we been intimidated by a little rough highway before? Not on the way to Haines Junction. Not at the Top of the World. Not at the Dempster. So why now? That did it; we headed out right away. And we got back again in one piece to tell the tale. The moral of the story is, take the road less traveled — but be sure your seatbelt is tightly fastened! And bring home treasured memories of amazing sights that few people get to see.
STEWART, B.C. — Imagine you’re playing with clay and you decide to make a mountain — a really steep one, shaped like an upside down ice cream cone. Then you make a couple more and put them next to the first one. Then you carve a little road into the side of your mountains with a popsicle stick, spiraling up one, over to the next, and on to the third.
The topography of your little clay creation would resemble greatly the terrain we covered today on the way to visit the Salmon Glacier. The only thing is that the popsicle stick would make nice, smooth roads around your mountains, while the ones we drove were, along several stretches, deeply pocked with potholes or ribbed with washboards and covered with gravel. Imagine such treacherous stretches are strategically placed near the deepest precipices, so that a swerve to avoid a pothole brings you to the very brink of a near-vertical drop.
Such were the conditions we put our esteemed driver into this afternoon — a driver not fond in the slightest bit of near-vertical drops from the top of a ladder let alone an alpine mountain. Said driver was pressed to the point of profanity along a couple of really dicey sections, but managed to keep his cool all the way to the top of the third mountain.
Great was his reward! For, at the end of our trek, we beheld one of the hugest glaciers we’ve ever seen. We were about even with its highest point, looking down on its long icy green length in a huge backward S between several mountains and down to the valley below. Great cracks and crevasses marked its surface, and while it looked a bit sooty lower down, its crest was pure, brilliant white in the afternoon sun.
The drive began at Hyder, Alaska, the neighbouring town to Stewart, but the road crossed into Canada again part way up — and it was from that point that the road improved considerably, although even the Canadian side had its scary bits. In addition to the many snow-topped mountains and deep gorges filled with rivers, and the little cascades that trickled down in various places, we passed many groves of huge cedar trees — not quite as big as the Sequoias, but impressive — towering above us with thick trunks that went out of sight down the mountainside.
There were also landslide areas, one of which placed a huge boulder right by the road to build our confidence, and another that let loose a little trickle of stones just as we passed, to get our hearts beating a bit faster. We passed several clumps of snow, right by the road, and on our way back we saw a group of young people stopping their van and getting out to stage a snowball fight!
Fortunately we didn’t encounter too many other vehicles on the road — because clinging to the inside or outside lane to let them pass was a bit more excitement than we needed, and the dust billows behind them weren’t that appealing either.
We almost didn’t go at all. We set out to have a look earlier this morning, but after a stretch of lurching and bobbing over potholes, we decided we didn’t need to see another glacier if it meant 37 kilometres of road like that, and we turned back. However, at the carwash lineup, we chatted with a tour leader who was waiting to clean her mini bus, and she said the road got better on the Canadian side. Then, back at the trailer after lunch, another gentleman came by looking for a stamp and asked us if we’d seen the glacier yet. His RV caravan group had gone by bus and he said it was spectacular.
At that point, we asked ourselves, when had we been intimidated by a little rough highway before? Not on the way to Haines Junction. Not at the Top of the World. Not at the Dempster. So why now? That did it; we headed out right away. And we got back again in one piece to tell the tale. The moral of the story is, take the road less traveled — but be sure your seatbelt is tightly fastened! And bring home treasured memories of amazing sights that few people get to see.
Monday, August 13, 2007
Mama and the three bears
Monday, August 13, 2007
STEWART, BC — This morning when we looked out the window at our campground in Iskut, there was a mess of garbage bags, old paper plates, orange peels and other debris spread all around the garbage cans across the way. Somebody hadn’t clamped the can tightly when disposing of their trash, and the bears had had a feast.
Incidents like these make me glad our trailer has nice, hard sides and a lockable door. Here at our campground in Stewart, they won’t even allow people to camp with soft-sided trailers or tents; it’s just too dangerous.
Before we set out, we wandered down by the side of the lake. It was quite chilly — the truck thermometer said four degrees — and the water was crystal clear. The morning sun cast a blush of warm light on the tops of the mountains across the lake, and the edge of the water barely moved against the round beach stones at our feet. It was a beautiful, peaceful sight.
The southern half of the Cassiar Highway contrasted greatly with the stretch we had covered at the north end yesterday. This was a pleasant discovery, as we covered mile after mile of smoothly paved asphalt, broken only twice with very short gravel sections, one of which was another recent washout.
Not having to watch closely for axle-breaking potholes gave Val more time to admire the absolutely spectacular scenery all along the way. I got to watch it more steadily, when I wasn’t checking Milepost for an interesting tidbit to read out about. It may start to sound boring when I expound enthusiastically about the majesty of the snow-capped peaks, and the beauty of the lakes, flowers and trees, but that’s what it was like, mile after mile. It was interesting to see the vegetation change as we drove further south. The greater height of the pine trees and thicker forests were a definite change, and more and more deciduous trees of an appreciable size came into view, as well as great fronds of fern and lush undergrowth.
We must have seen more than half a dozen glaciers hanging icy and blue between the jagged mountain tops, and from them would splash long, thin streams of foaming water, tumbling downward like a lacy veil against the dark rocks. There were also great patches of snow even at much lower altitudes than one might expect in late summer.
Shortly after lunch we spotted a young black bear at the side of the road before he quickly jumped off the shoulder and disappeared into the bush.
The road in to Stewart, which is a dead end along which we will have to return, took us through more fantastic vistas, as well as views of glaciers right by the highway, and deep gorges and narrow passes between huge high rock cuts. Thick forests of enormous pine trees stood on either side. I guess I’m gushing once again.
We got to our campground at around three, so there was time to unhitch, set up and rest a bit before driving in to town to see the lay of the land and visit the information centre. Stewart’s big claim to fame is bear viewing, so we wanted details. The guide told us the best times are between six and 10, morning or evening, when the sun isn’t at its height. There is a special area with fenced-in boardwalks where you can stand and watch without endangering yourself or impeding the bears’ activities.
After supper, we headed for the viewing area. It’s actually in Alaska! Stewart is at the Canadian border across from a lively ghost town called Hyder, and Fish Creek, where the salmon go to spawn, is on the American side. When we arrived, there were already dozens of vehicles parked and scores of people lining the boardwalk overlooking the creek. I’ve never seen so many telephoto lenses and tripods in one place! Some lenses were as big as sewer pipes, I swear! We felt a bit under-equipped with our little digital, until behind me I heard the click and whir of a disposable pocket camera.
It looked as though some people had been waiting by the stream for quite a while to view the bears. We found an empty section of railing to stand, and looked down on the water, where we could easily see dozens of large salmon resting in the stream, thrashing for a better position every now and then with a noisy splash. These exhausted creatures had made their long journey to spawn and were living out their last minutes or hours before they would die.
Only moments after we got to our spot, a mother grizzly and her three cubs sauntered out of the bushes right across from us! It was almost as though they had made an appointment with us! For a good 20 minutes, we watched this furry family move up and down the stream, mother giving fishing lessons and cubs tumbling about, watching Mama, or tearing into a fresh fish that she brought to shore for them. Every time the mother moved to another part of the stream, the salmon would scatter in all directions and the water would boil with activity. One of the cubs was a good student, trying its hand at catching the slippery creatures, while another was content to stay on shore eating. When the others got a bit far away, it would grab its shredded supper and scamper along to catch up. It was a wonderful session, watching these beautiful animals in their natural setting.
STEWART, BC — This morning when we looked out the window at our campground in Iskut, there was a mess of garbage bags, old paper plates, orange peels and other debris spread all around the garbage cans across the way. Somebody hadn’t clamped the can tightly when disposing of their trash, and the bears had had a feast.
Incidents like these make me glad our trailer has nice, hard sides and a lockable door. Here at our campground in Stewart, they won’t even allow people to camp with soft-sided trailers or tents; it’s just too dangerous.
Before we set out, we wandered down by the side of the lake. It was quite chilly — the truck thermometer said four degrees — and the water was crystal clear. The morning sun cast a blush of warm light on the tops of the mountains across the lake, and the edge of the water barely moved against the round beach stones at our feet. It was a beautiful, peaceful sight.
The southern half of the Cassiar Highway contrasted greatly with the stretch we had covered at the north end yesterday. This was a pleasant discovery, as we covered mile after mile of smoothly paved asphalt, broken only twice with very short gravel sections, one of which was another recent washout.
Not having to watch closely for axle-breaking potholes gave Val more time to admire the absolutely spectacular scenery all along the way. I got to watch it more steadily, when I wasn’t checking Milepost for an interesting tidbit to read out about. It may start to sound boring when I expound enthusiastically about the majesty of the snow-capped peaks, and the beauty of the lakes, flowers and trees, but that’s what it was like, mile after mile. It was interesting to see the vegetation change as we drove further south. The greater height of the pine trees and thicker forests were a definite change, and more and more deciduous trees of an appreciable size came into view, as well as great fronds of fern and lush undergrowth.
We must have seen more than half a dozen glaciers hanging icy and blue between the jagged mountain tops, and from them would splash long, thin streams of foaming water, tumbling downward like a lacy veil against the dark rocks. There were also great patches of snow even at much lower altitudes than one might expect in late summer.
Shortly after lunch we spotted a young black bear at the side of the road before he quickly jumped off the shoulder and disappeared into the bush.
The road in to Stewart, which is a dead end along which we will have to return, took us through more fantastic vistas, as well as views of glaciers right by the highway, and deep gorges and narrow passes between huge high rock cuts. Thick forests of enormous pine trees stood on either side. I guess I’m gushing once again.
We got to our campground at around three, so there was time to unhitch, set up and rest a bit before driving in to town to see the lay of the land and visit the information centre. Stewart’s big claim to fame is bear viewing, so we wanted details. The guide told us the best times are between six and 10, morning or evening, when the sun isn’t at its height. There is a special area with fenced-in boardwalks where you can stand and watch without endangering yourself or impeding the bears’ activities.
After supper, we headed for the viewing area. It’s actually in Alaska! Stewart is at the Canadian border across from a lively ghost town called Hyder, and Fish Creek, where the salmon go to spawn, is on the American side. When we arrived, there were already dozens of vehicles parked and scores of people lining the boardwalk overlooking the creek. I’ve never seen so many telephoto lenses and tripods in one place! Some lenses were as big as sewer pipes, I swear! We felt a bit under-equipped with our little digital, until behind me I heard the click and whir of a disposable pocket camera.
It looked as though some people had been waiting by the stream for quite a while to view the bears. We found an empty section of railing to stand, and looked down on the water, where we could easily see dozens of large salmon resting in the stream, thrashing for a better position every now and then with a noisy splash. These exhausted creatures had made their long journey to spawn and were living out their last minutes or hours before they would die.
Only moments after we got to our spot, a mother grizzly and her three cubs sauntered out of the bushes right across from us! It was almost as though they had made an appointment with us! For a good 20 minutes, we watched this furry family move up and down the stream, mother giving fishing lessons and cubs tumbling about, watching Mama, or tearing into a fresh fish that she brought to shore for them. Every time the mother moved to another part of the stream, the salmon would scatter in all directions and the water would boil with activity. One of the cubs was a good student, trying its hand at catching the slippery creatures, while another was content to stay on shore eating. When the others got a bit far away, it would grab its shredded supper and scamper along to catch up. It was a wonderful session, watching these beautiful animals in their natural setting.
A jaded community
Sunday, August 12, 2007
ISKUT, B.C. — Our journey today provided me with a new way of describing a place that looks like it was hit by a cyclone. Our trailer looked like it had ridden over the Cassiar Highway — which it had, lumps, washboards, dipsy-doodles, potholes, gravelly bits and all. When we got settled at the Red Goat RV park in this tiny burg and I unlocked the trailer door, I was greeted by a jumble of shoes at the door, the sofa about six inches out from the wall with the cushions tossed to the floor, two platters and a dictionary flung out of the back cupboards above our two easy chairs, and the dining chairs, still tethered by a bungee cord around their legs, all standing crooked. On top of every horizontal surface was a thin film of brown dust. Welcome home!
What the drive lacked in a smooth driving surface, it gained in scenery. Even as we lurched from one dip to the next, we oohed and aahed at the monumental mountains, majestic pine trees, sparkling lakes and sweeping vistas of the Cassiar Mountain range.
There is still active gold mining in the area, and just before lunchtime we arrived at Jade City, little more than a couple of turnouts on either side with jade-selling establishments, one of which had recently closed down. The active one displayed great chunks of raw jade on tables and on the ground, some as big as doghouses, and a whirling circular saw that was slowly eating through a large piece of jade on a worktable. Beside the table, the dust had turned the nearby shrubs and fireweed a ghostly white.
This part of BC is the world’s greatest source of jade, and the establishment boasts on a sign outside "We mine it; We design it." However, the execution of those designs is done overseas in southeast Asia and New Zealand, and then shipped back! We looked at the glass cases inside, full of figures of Inuit trappers, bears, moose, pigs, cats, frogs in various sizes, as well as chess sets, cars and boats. There were also hundreds of earring sets, necklaces, rings and pins for sale. I found a lovely pendant necklace, and Val selected a carved grizzly bear with a salmon in its mouth.
A little further down the road, we pulled over for our lunch, looking over a tributary of the jade-green Dease River flowing past a small island, where a little cabin nestled between tall pine trees. It was lovely.
The Cassiar Highway is paved intermittently. The rest is either seal-coated (tamped gravel with an oil coating) or loose gravel. It is often narrow, with underbrush nibbling at its edges, and it also has a number of steep grades, as much as eight per cent, which put our truck engine through its paces. Once or twice Val stopped to engage the four-wheel drive to provide a better grip on some washboard sections. Every now and then we passed a sign noting "Road Conditions — OPEN, 24 hours". We had heard reports that earlier in the season there had been a washout that closed the highway for a week.
We recognized the spot when we got to it. On our right, the hillside was raw earth with broken trees, and the road itself was newly graded, but the left side dropped off precipitously and we could see rubble and stones down the hillside. There was one very narrow section with bright orange cones where the worst of the washout had occurred. We were glad it was a sunny, dry day with no sign of instability at this spot.
Services were few and far between the length of the road we traveled. Several places may have provided fuel and other amenities in the past, but were closed down and boarded up now. It’s too bad such a lovely route appears to be so neglected.
We couldn’t even reserve a campsite today because our cell phones wouldn’t work here and there were hardly any places to phone from. When I did find a functioning pay phone, no one would answer my call at the camp. So we had to pull in on a wing and a prayer — and luckily, there was space for us at our second choice. We were a bit worried, because the first camp we came to had posted a sign saying "full".
The campground is small and set below the highway beside a beautiful lake, surrounded by mountains and tall pine trees. It was a bit tight driving through with our big rig to pick a spot, which the owner invited us to do. We settled for a pull-through in a less picturesque spot because we couldn’t find a lakeside site. We felt quite lucky later on when we heard another rig pull in, head toward the lake, and crunch ominously against a tree! The poor people had sideswiped the tree, which ripped off the protruding grip handle by the trailer door. It took them quite a while to figure out how to get out of their jam without doing further damage. It could happen to anyone!
An interesting feature of the Red Goat RV Park is not goats, but llamas! There are three of them wandering about the grounds, and one has a cowbell around its neck which clangs gently.
ISKUT, B.C. — Our journey today provided me with a new way of describing a place that looks like it was hit by a cyclone. Our trailer looked like it had ridden over the Cassiar Highway — which it had, lumps, washboards, dipsy-doodles, potholes, gravelly bits and all. When we got settled at the Red Goat RV park in this tiny burg and I unlocked the trailer door, I was greeted by a jumble of shoes at the door, the sofa about six inches out from the wall with the cushions tossed to the floor, two platters and a dictionary flung out of the back cupboards above our two easy chairs, and the dining chairs, still tethered by a bungee cord around their legs, all standing crooked. On top of every horizontal surface was a thin film of brown dust. Welcome home!
What the drive lacked in a smooth driving surface, it gained in scenery. Even as we lurched from one dip to the next, we oohed and aahed at the monumental mountains, majestic pine trees, sparkling lakes and sweeping vistas of the Cassiar Mountain range.
There is still active gold mining in the area, and just before lunchtime we arrived at Jade City, little more than a couple of turnouts on either side with jade-selling establishments, one of which had recently closed down. The active one displayed great chunks of raw jade on tables and on the ground, some as big as doghouses, and a whirling circular saw that was slowly eating through a large piece of jade on a worktable. Beside the table, the dust had turned the nearby shrubs and fireweed a ghostly white.
This part of BC is the world’s greatest source of jade, and the establishment boasts on a sign outside "We mine it; We design it." However, the execution of those designs is done overseas in southeast Asia and New Zealand, and then shipped back! We looked at the glass cases inside, full of figures of Inuit trappers, bears, moose, pigs, cats, frogs in various sizes, as well as chess sets, cars and boats. There were also hundreds of earring sets, necklaces, rings and pins for sale. I found a lovely pendant necklace, and Val selected a carved grizzly bear with a salmon in its mouth.
A little further down the road, we pulled over for our lunch, looking over a tributary of the jade-green Dease River flowing past a small island, where a little cabin nestled between tall pine trees. It was lovely.
The Cassiar Highway is paved intermittently. The rest is either seal-coated (tamped gravel with an oil coating) or loose gravel. It is often narrow, with underbrush nibbling at its edges, and it also has a number of steep grades, as much as eight per cent, which put our truck engine through its paces. Once or twice Val stopped to engage the four-wheel drive to provide a better grip on some washboard sections. Every now and then we passed a sign noting "Road Conditions — OPEN, 24 hours". We had heard reports that earlier in the season there had been a washout that closed the highway for a week.
We recognized the spot when we got to it. On our right, the hillside was raw earth with broken trees, and the road itself was newly graded, but the left side dropped off precipitously and we could see rubble and stones down the hillside. There was one very narrow section with bright orange cones where the worst of the washout had occurred. We were glad it was a sunny, dry day with no sign of instability at this spot.
Services were few and far between the length of the road we traveled. Several places may have provided fuel and other amenities in the past, but were closed down and boarded up now. It’s too bad such a lovely route appears to be so neglected.
We couldn’t even reserve a campsite today because our cell phones wouldn’t work here and there were hardly any places to phone from. When I did find a functioning pay phone, no one would answer my call at the camp. So we had to pull in on a wing and a prayer — and luckily, there was space for us at our second choice. We were a bit worried, because the first camp we came to had posted a sign saying "full".
The campground is small and set below the highway beside a beautiful lake, surrounded by mountains and tall pine trees. It was a bit tight driving through with our big rig to pick a spot, which the owner invited us to do. We settled for a pull-through in a less picturesque spot because we couldn’t find a lakeside site. We felt quite lucky later on when we heard another rig pull in, head toward the lake, and crunch ominously against a tree! The poor people had sideswiped the tree, which ripped off the protruding grip handle by the trailer door. It took them quite a while to figure out how to get out of their jam without doing further damage. It could happen to anyone!
An interesting feature of the Red Goat RV Park is not goats, but llamas! There are three of them wandering about the grounds, and one has a cowbell around its neck which clangs gently.
Farewell to the Yukon
Saturday, August 11, 2007
JUNCTION 37, YUKON — We are in a campground at the junction of the Alaska Highway and Highway 37, which heads south into British Columbia. It’s not a town or anything, just a crossroad with a gas station, store and RV park, but it’s a pretty spot with plenty of trees and nice, long pull-through sites. We haven’t even unhitched from the truck tonight — it makes for a faster getaway in the morning, and there’s no reason for us to drive anywhere this evening anyway.
As soon as we head down the highway tomorrow, we’ll be leaving the Yukon. We have been hovering around the 60th parallel most of today, from our start in Atlin, BC when we headed back out the same highway we drove in (it’s a dead end road) and entered the Yukon again, to two more spots where the highway dipped into BC and back to the Yukon.
It has been a fantastic visit to this territory, and the place has cast its spell on us. Poet Robert Service, who lived in Dawson and drank in the grandeur and unforgiving ruggedness of this part of the world, expressed it wonderfully in his poem The Spell of the Yukon.
"There’s a land where the mountains are nameless,/ And rivers all run God knows where, / There are lives that are erring and aimless,/ And deaths that just hang by a hair;/ There are hardships that nobody reckons;/ There are valleys unpeopled and still;/ There’s a land — oh, it beckons and beckons,/ And I want to go back — and I will...." Just reading this poem gives me goosebumps.
Today we saw dozens of nameless mountains, some rounded and tree-covered, others sharp, rocky and bare, and still others distant, hazy and flecked with snow. We passed rivers — the Teslin, the Nisutlin, the Morley — and dozens of streams and creeks, some a mere trickle and others tumbling torrents. There were rock cuts and gravel slopes, ponds edged with soft green rushes and tall pillars of pine trees, and splashes of colour from the fireweed that, in this area at least, are still blooming.
All the while, the sky was constantly changing, from the perfect, clear blue of the morning to one swept with wisps of cloud, and then later filled with towering fluffy thunderheads that eventually splattered us with rain once or twice. We pulled in to the campground as more rain threatened, and got set up just before it really came down. Now the sun is shining once again and the sky is as clear and blue as it was this morning!
One thing we are seeing again after a long absence is night-time darkness. It took us a while to get used to going to bed in broad daylight, or being able to read at 11 o’clock at night without aid of lamps, but now the sun goes down around 10 and doesn’t return until about 5 in the morning, so we actually get night at night once again.
When we left Ottawa in early June, we found as we traveled west that the spring weather was moving with us. We saw lilacs still in bloom near Lake Laberge in early July. In Seward, Alaska, we enjoyed their fresh scent still in mid-July, compared to Ottawa where they are pretty well spent by the end of May. Conversely, the fireweed was mostly finished north of Whitehorse as autumn began to show signs of arriving, but along the roads today they still had more buds at the top yet to bloom. I expect we will be appreciating their beauty for some miles to come as we head south to warmer climes. That’s all relative, of course — there haven’t been more than three or four days in our whole holiday when Val put on shorts instead of jeans because of the heat. But I imagine before long we’ll be experiencing some summery temperatures once again.
JUNCTION 37, YUKON — We are in a campground at the junction of the Alaska Highway and Highway 37, which heads south into British Columbia. It’s not a town or anything, just a crossroad with a gas station, store and RV park, but it’s a pretty spot with plenty of trees and nice, long pull-through sites. We haven’t even unhitched from the truck tonight — it makes for a faster getaway in the morning, and there’s no reason for us to drive anywhere this evening anyway.
As soon as we head down the highway tomorrow, we’ll be leaving the Yukon. We have been hovering around the 60th parallel most of today, from our start in Atlin, BC when we headed back out the same highway we drove in (it’s a dead end road) and entered the Yukon again, to two more spots where the highway dipped into BC and back to the Yukon.
It has been a fantastic visit to this territory, and the place has cast its spell on us. Poet Robert Service, who lived in Dawson and drank in the grandeur and unforgiving ruggedness of this part of the world, expressed it wonderfully in his poem The Spell of the Yukon.
"There’s a land where the mountains are nameless,/ And rivers all run God knows where, / There are lives that are erring and aimless,/ And deaths that just hang by a hair;/ There are hardships that nobody reckons;/ There are valleys unpeopled and still;/ There’s a land — oh, it beckons and beckons,/ And I want to go back — and I will...." Just reading this poem gives me goosebumps.
Today we saw dozens of nameless mountains, some rounded and tree-covered, others sharp, rocky and bare, and still others distant, hazy and flecked with snow. We passed rivers — the Teslin, the Nisutlin, the Morley — and dozens of streams and creeks, some a mere trickle and others tumbling torrents. There were rock cuts and gravel slopes, ponds edged with soft green rushes and tall pillars of pine trees, and splashes of colour from the fireweed that, in this area at least, are still blooming.
All the while, the sky was constantly changing, from the perfect, clear blue of the morning to one swept with wisps of cloud, and then later filled with towering fluffy thunderheads that eventually splattered us with rain once or twice. We pulled in to the campground as more rain threatened, and got set up just before it really came down. Now the sun is shining once again and the sky is as clear and blue as it was this morning!
One thing we are seeing again after a long absence is night-time darkness. It took us a while to get used to going to bed in broad daylight, or being able to read at 11 o’clock at night without aid of lamps, but now the sun goes down around 10 and doesn’t return until about 5 in the morning, so we actually get night at night once again.
When we left Ottawa in early June, we found as we traveled west that the spring weather was moving with us. We saw lilacs still in bloom near Lake Laberge in early July. In Seward, Alaska, we enjoyed their fresh scent still in mid-July, compared to Ottawa where they are pretty well spent by the end of May. Conversely, the fireweed was mostly finished north of Whitehorse as autumn began to show signs of arriving, but along the roads today they still had more buds at the top yet to bloom. I expect we will be appreciating their beauty for some miles to come as we head south to warmer climes. That’s all relative, of course — there haven’t been more than three or four days in our whole holiday when Val put on shorts instead of jeans because of the heat. But I imagine before long we’ll be experiencing some summery temperatures once again.
Friday, August 10, 2007
Island penthouse
Friday, August 10, 2007
ATLIN, B.C. — This tiny burg, population 350, has been nicknamed Little Switzerland by some, Shangri-la by others. It is situated on the shore of Atlin Lake, and surrounding it on all sides are tall, rocky mountains streaked with snow. More distant mountains to the southwest are crowned with the Llewellyn Glacier that stretches from here to Juneau, Alaska’s capital city, on the other side.
The little village is home to many small log cabins and wooden buildings from Gold Rush years, and tall pink fireweed, wild yellow snapdragons and deep blue stalks of larkspur grow in beautiful profusion along the roadsides and next to the structures’ weathered boards. There is a homey, small-town feel to the place. We stopped to pick up some milk at the store, and people were gossiping with the lady at the counter, while the aroma of fresh bread wafted in from the bakery next door.
We chatted with the bearded proprietor of the gas station and car repair shop, just across from the RCMP detachment. The detachment is basically a trailer, but up the road the wood is being sawed and hammered for a new building that the three members will be moving to soon. The owner said he’s seen a lot of really nice members in his time, who come and roll up their sleeves and give the community much more of themselves than is required. Nice to hear.
It was a short drive here today from Whitehorse — we arrived at about noon. The road was mostly gravel (so much for the car and RV wash of yesterday!) and in need of grading in quite a few places. Val likes the challenge of dodging the worst potholes as we drive along, but isn’t so happy when there’s no avoiding them. The shoes were scattered about in the trailer again, but no damage was done. The last few miles were paved, at least.
The scenery along the route was gorgeous. The mountains were visible most of the way, and we passed beautiful lakes, some as calm as mirrors, reflecting the tall pine trees and blue sky. Aside from some red squirrels which scampered across the highway in front of us, we saw a handsome deer with an adolescent set of antlers bound across the road and into the bush.
The Norseman Adventures RV park where we’re staying is quite small, and since we were the first arrivals of the day, we had the pick of the lot, which Mitzi, the owner, called the Penthouse. It’s on a narrow spit of land with a marina on one side, the lake on the other, and a little round picnic table complete with a blue-and-white umbrella at the tip. Bright white, yellow and orange poppies are growing at the edge of the spit, which is just wide enough for the trailer. Inside, when we stand facing the back, all we can see out the windows is water on three sides! It’s as if we were on a houseboat!
Water has been a worry for the people of Atlin this year, Mitzi told us. They had nine feet of snow over the winter, and the lake is higher than it has been in years. People have put out sandbags around some of the properties, and the small docks next to our trailer are submerged under a foot of water. The water usually peaks in mid-August, which is still a few days away, so they’re watching it very closely. We’ll know things are really bad if we wake up tomorrow on an island!
After we ate our lunch we headed out to see the town. We stopped in at the courthouse, an old wooden structure with a tower over the main door and staircase, topped with a flagpole. The building doesn’t appear to have a courtroom, but houses the town library on one side and an art gallery for local works on the other. There was some lovely pottery, quilting, paintings and handmade jewelry on display. The curator was telling us about the area and how much she loves to wake up in the morning and look out on the lake and glacier. It looks different every day.
We asked about the glacier, as we hadn’t seen it, and she gave us directions to a side road that had a good lookout point. We drove out, passing some beautiful log homes tucked in the woods with big windows facing the lake and mountains. After about 15 kilometers, we came to the lookout point and pulled out the binoculars. There were about six mountain peaks in the distance, all capped with snow, and in the valley at their base was the Llewellyn Glacier, deep green at the bottom and white on top. It stretched out of sight on the right and left, making the peaks behind appear as if they were floating on air. Apparently students come each year and spend the summer living on, and studying, the glacier, moving along its length. At the end of the summer they hold a town meeting to report what they have learned about it.
ATLIN, B.C. — This tiny burg, population 350, has been nicknamed Little Switzerland by some, Shangri-la by others. It is situated on the shore of Atlin Lake, and surrounding it on all sides are tall, rocky mountains streaked with snow. More distant mountains to the southwest are crowned with the Llewellyn Glacier that stretches from here to Juneau, Alaska’s capital city, on the other side.
The little village is home to many small log cabins and wooden buildings from Gold Rush years, and tall pink fireweed, wild yellow snapdragons and deep blue stalks of larkspur grow in beautiful profusion along the roadsides and next to the structures’ weathered boards. There is a homey, small-town feel to the place. We stopped to pick up some milk at the store, and people were gossiping with the lady at the counter, while the aroma of fresh bread wafted in from the bakery next door.
We chatted with the bearded proprietor of the gas station and car repair shop, just across from the RCMP detachment. The detachment is basically a trailer, but up the road the wood is being sawed and hammered for a new building that the three members will be moving to soon. The owner said he’s seen a lot of really nice members in his time, who come and roll up their sleeves and give the community much more of themselves than is required. Nice to hear.
It was a short drive here today from Whitehorse — we arrived at about noon. The road was mostly gravel (so much for the car and RV wash of yesterday!) and in need of grading in quite a few places. Val likes the challenge of dodging the worst potholes as we drive along, but isn’t so happy when there’s no avoiding them. The shoes were scattered about in the trailer again, but no damage was done. The last few miles were paved, at least.
The scenery along the route was gorgeous. The mountains were visible most of the way, and we passed beautiful lakes, some as calm as mirrors, reflecting the tall pine trees and blue sky. Aside from some red squirrels which scampered across the highway in front of us, we saw a handsome deer with an adolescent set of antlers bound across the road and into the bush.
The Norseman Adventures RV park where we’re staying is quite small, and since we were the first arrivals of the day, we had the pick of the lot, which Mitzi, the owner, called the Penthouse. It’s on a narrow spit of land with a marina on one side, the lake on the other, and a little round picnic table complete with a blue-and-white umbrella at the tip. Bright white, yellow and orange poppies are growing at the edge of the spit, which is just wide enough for the trailer. Inside, when we stand facing the back, all we can see out the windows is water on three sides! It’s as if we were on a houseboat!
Water has been a worry for the people of Atlin this year, Mitzi told us. They had nine feet of snow over the winter, and the lake is higher than it has been in years. People have put out sandbags around some of the properties, and the small docks next to our trailer are submerged under a foot of water. The water usually peaks in mid-August, which is still a few days away, so they’re watching it very closely. We’ll know things are really bad if we wake up tomorrow on an island!
After we ate our lunch we headed out to see the town. We stopped in at the courthouse, an old wooden structure with a tower over the main door and staircase, topped with a flagpole. The building doesn’t appear to have a courtroom, but houses the town library on one side and an art gallery for local works on the other. There was some lovely pottery, quilting, paintings and handmade jewelry on display. The curator was telling us about the area and how much she loves to wake up in the morning and look out on the lake and glacier. It looks different every day.
We asked about the glacier, as we hadn’t seen it, and she gave us directions to a side road that had a good lookout point. We drove out, passing some beautiful log homes tucked in the woods with big windows facing the lake and mountains. After about 15 kilometers, we came to the lookout point and pulled out the binoculars. There were about six mountain peaks in the distance, all capped with snow, and in the valley at their base was the Llewellyn Glacier, deep green at the bottom and white on top. It stretched out of sight on the right and left, making the peaks behind appear as if they were floating on air. Apparently students come each year and spend the summer living on, and studying, the glacier, moving along its length. At the end of the summer they hold a town meeting to report what they have learned about it.
Thursday, August 9, 2007
Giant weasels
Thursday, August 9, 2007
WHITEHORSE, YUKON — We’re back in Yukon’s capital city once again — our third time through! It’s nice to pull in to place you know a little bit every now and then. Especially when we had several chores to take care of, and we knew exactly where to go to get them done.
The drive from Carmacks to Whitehorse was only 175 kilometres, but we enjoyed the vistas of rolling hills, lakes as smooth as glass, and some magnificent cloud formations. We spotted a handsome red fox trotting across the highway several yards in front of us. And, just as I was looking down at the Milepost guidebook to read aloud an interesting description of a local landmark, Val caught sight of a weasel doing a similar road crossing. When I chided him for not calling it to my attention, he teased me by saying it wasn’t just an ordinary weasel, it was a GIANT weasel. He almost mistook it for a horse, he said!
It was just before lunch when we rolled in to town. The first thing we did at the Hi Country RV Park was head for the pressure wash station. It was great to see the brown streaks of mud and dirt flowing off the truck and the trailer, and to emerge all bright and clean again.
Next stop was to get an oil change and pick up a few necessities — including a great big can of Tim Hortons fine grind coffee for Val. He’s been in withdrawal for about a week now with a substitute brand, which provided the required caffeine fix every morning but did little else for him. For me, it was the President’s Choice Decadent Chocolate Chip cookies — just the right size, and each one crammed with delicious dark chocolate chips. So we’re both much happier now!
Val wanted to see about buying some wild game meat, such as caribou or bison, from a deli we had seen here before. We found the place and got some bison burgers and reindeer sausage, but he’ll have to look for muskox meatballs and polar bear steaks somewhere else.
We were quite close to the Visitor Information Centre, so we decided to drop in and see what we could find out about our next destination, Atlin, BC. They had some brochures, and the lady at the counter gave us some useful information about the Cassiar Highway, which we will be taking in a few days as well. Apparently some parts were washed out earlier in the summer, and the route had even been closed for a few days, so the fact that it is now useable was good to know.
We mentioned our interest in seeing the grizzly bears in Stewart, BC, a spot that is known for them in great numbers. She said they are still there aplenty, and remarked that she hoped we wouldn’t do anything dumb to get good photos — like the man who sent his wife out, munching on a sandwich, and suggested she hold some out to the bears to get them to come closer!!
One of the little chores that needed attending to this afternoon was a small leak from one of the trailer’s tanks that Val noticed. He spread out a plastic tarp, strapped his miner’s flashlight onto his head and got down on his back underneath to see what was what. He had found some epoxy putty at a hardware store, which, when kneaded together, produces a leak stopper that even works on wet surfaces. Once that was firmly applied, we worked on loosening up the valve handles that open the waste tanks. For some reason, they had become very stiff, so I worked them back and forth while Val applied squirts of WD40 in strategic places. These jobs, plus an intensive bug-and-tar removing session on the front surfaces of the truck and trailer, rounded out our afternoon nicely.
Our reward this evening was dinner at the Klondike Rib and Salmon BBQ restaurant — our third visit! — for generous plates of caribou stew and Arctic char. We were too full to even consider the thick slabs of apple-walnut cake with ice cream and caramel sauce, which we saw our neighbours eating at the next table. But they did look yummy.
WHITEHORSE, YUKON — We’re back in Yukon’s capital city once again — our third time through! It’s nice to pull in to place you know a little bit every now and then. Especially when we had several chores to take care of, and we knew exactly where to go to get them done.
The drive from Carmacks to Whitehorse was only 175 kilometres, but we enjoyed the vistas of rolling hills, lakes as smooth as glass, and some magnificent cloud formations. We spotted a handsome red fox trotting across the highway several yards in front of us. And, just as I was looking down at the Milepost guidebook to read aloud an interesting description of a local landmark, Val caught sight of a weasel doing a similar road crossing. When I chided him for not calling it to my attention, he teased me by saying it wasn’t just an ordinary weasel, it was a GIANT weasel. He almost mistook it for a horse, he said!
It was just before lunch when we rolled in to town. The first thing we did at the Hi Country RV Park was head for the pressure wash station. It was great to see the brown streaks of mud and dirt flowing off the truck and the trailer, and to emerge all bright and clean again.
Next stop was to get an oil change and pick up a few necessities — including a great big can of Tim Hortons fine grind coffee for Val. He’s been in withdrawal for about a week now with a substitute brand, which provided the required caffeine fix every morning but did little else for him. For me, it was the President’s Choice Decadent Chocolate Chip cookies — just the right size, and each one crammed with delicious dark chocolate chips. So we’re both much happier now!
Val wanted to see about buying some wild game meat, such as caribou or bison, from a deli we had seen here before. We found the place and got some bison burgers and reindeer sausage, but he’ll have to look for muskox meatballs and polar bear steaks somewhere else.
We were quite close to the Visitor Information Centre, so we decided to drop in and see what we could find out about our next destination, Atlin, BC. They had some brochures, and the lady at the counter gave us some useful information about the Cassiar Highway, which we will be taking in a few days as well. Apparently some parts were washed out earlier in the summer, and the route had even been closed for a few days, so the fact that it is now useable was good to know.
We mentioned our interest in seeing the grizzly bears in Stewart, BC, a spot that is known for them in great numbers. She said they are still there aplenty, and remarked that she hoped we wouldn’t do anything dumb to get good photos — like the man who sent his wife out, munching on a sandwich, and suggested she hold some out to the bears to get them to come closer!!
One of the little chores that needed attending to this afternoon was a small leak from one of the trailer’s tanks that Val noticed. He spread out a plastic tarp, strapped his miner’s flashlight onto his head and got down on his back underneath to see what was what. He had found some epoxy putty at a hardware store, which, when kneaded together, produces a leak stopper that even works on wet surfaces. Once that was firmly applied, we worked on loosening up the valve handles that open the waste tanks. For some reason, they had become very stiff, so I worked them back and forth while Val applied squirts of WD40 in strategic places. These jobs, plus an intensive bug-and-tar removing session on the front surfaces of the truck and trailer, rounded out our afternoon nicely.
Our reward this evening was dinner at the Klondike Rib and Salmon BBQ restaurant — our third visit! — for generous plates of caribou stew and Arctic char. We were too full to even consider the thick slabs of apple-walnut cake with ice cream and caramel sauce, which we saw our neighbours eating at the next table. But they did look yummy.
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