Motorhome News from North America 12

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Motorhome News from North America 12. 14th May - 25th May 2006
Vancouver and over the Rocky Mountains

Hi there, you guys.

We can only guess what George Vancouver might have said when he arrived here in the city that bears his name. “Blust me,” he say, “Tha’s a grit ole harbour,” is possibly quite close to the mark. George hailed from Kings Lynn, Norfolk, England, as many of you will know. We, too, came from Norfolk back in 1993 and loved it - and we wanted another look at this magnetic city.

Our energetic hosts, Cathy and Bill, live in North Vancouver with their equally energetic children, Andrew and Annie, who were making the most of summer temperatures to develop their rowing and kayaking skills on Deep Cove after school the evening we arrived. This is ‘outdoor country’, where it is clearly the requirement for all Canadian citizens to keep fit. Vancouver, home to 50% of British Columbia’s population, (around 1.4m) has grown considerably since our last visit. Tower blocks are sprouting like mushrooms, the roads are all busier, bigger container ships from China ply the waterways and Canadian Pacific pulls more miles of wagons from east to west and back again, feeding the modern insatiable consumer frenzy. The trolley busses are still here, the red double-deckers, and magnificent Stanley Park - surely the envy of every great city, with office runners running their lunchtime route, joggers jogging in the latest headphones, friendly cyclists riding by, hunky young men on well-oiled roller blades and photo shots of families and totem poles - in this the year of the Vancouver painted bear. Our all too brief stay in Vancouver was enhanced by wonderful Mauer family, their charismatic company and their generous, true Canadian hospitality.

Leaving Vancouver to the south, we stopped at the Rifel bird reserve for a peek at the birds on the marshes and then turned east to the flat fenlands, changing from open meadows to market gardens and nurseries; their tempting trees, shrubs and hanging baskets ready, just in time for Mother’s day. On our last visit to BC we took a circular tour from Calgary to Vancouver and back by hired car. This time we wanted to see the southern end of the Okanagan Valley, and east along the US border. Gradually, the road climbed the steady incline into the Cascade Mountains, topped with snow against a deep blue sky as temperatures soared into the upper 70’s. We last crossed the Cascades two months ago, way south in Oregon, when overcast skies obscured our view. That seemed a lifetime away!

The sun shone for Mother’s Day, 14th May here. The sleepy town of Hope on the limestone-grey Fraser River was busy with pre lunch-strollers walking the chainsaw-sculpture route through town. Many tourist towns have similar walks, following totem poles, historic landmarks or sculptures, linked by red bear paws, or yellow footprints on the sidewalk. Beyond Hope, in the broad valleys, ranches survive on irrigated grasslands and fruit trees flourish in the valleys between high rolling hills. One of our many hikes in the area took us to Manning Park and the Lightning Lake trail, a million mirrors sparkling on the rippling water; our first sighting of a Barrow’s Goldeneye there - and the mystical call of loons rising hauntingly on the still air across the water. The footpath was deep in snow and ice where the sun had failed to penetrate the trees making progress extremely difficult - and dangerous, so we didn’t venture far. Broken bones at this stage of our journey would be disastrous! But, strange as it might seem, high temperatures left us sweltering as the afternoon sun dipped below the hills, lighting the peaks with shafts of gold. We pulled into a campsite at 4pm and sat reading in the cool riverside breeze for two hours before deciding, on the spur of the moment, to move on to Okenagan Falls near Penticton. This semi-arid region hums to the sound of bees in the orchards and vineyards, for here, the peaches, pears and plums, cherries, nectarines, apples, tomatoes and grapes flourish on lakeshore farms in the lovely valleys, overlooked by rolling hills and rocky mountains where bighorn sheep run wild and golden eagles ride the rising wind. Jeremiah, a young aborigine environmentalist and endangered Bighorn sheep monitor, told us he doesn’t care much for golden eagles. He told us they have been known to knock adult sheep to their death from the high ridges as they swoop from above at high speed. One folded its wings and dived in peregrine fashion as we watched - fantastic, a sight we had never seen before!

The ‘Crows Nest Trail’ runs parallel to the US - Canada border, passing through mining and logging towns with wide main streets and timbered Victorian Buildings joined together in blocks, all neatly painted in pastel shades. This area, and all of that to the west of here, was not settled until ‘gold rush’ times around the 1870’s and every town bears the marks of that period, straight rows of buildings on a grid, stretching ever outwards now along the highway with roadside diners, motels, tyre depots and gas stations. As a holidaying Dutch motorhome-renter pointed out, “Where are the churches from the 16th Century, the walled towns of the 17th, the palaces - the earth of history?” Well, history is still in the building and here too it was hard won, by the navigators, pioneers, the fur trappers, the prospectors and gold miners - and by their sons and daughters. Now, many of the mines are closed, the smaller wood-mills are being demolished; change persists at frightening speed and water pumped from beneath the earth now irrigates the broad fertile valleys as agriculture creeps up the hillsides, across ranching meadows, lavender farms, orchards, vineyards and wheat fields - and tourists come to town in droves. There might be a shortage of history here, but they make up for it in ‘heritage’. They’re proud of their pioneering roots, though for many Canadians, their roots are elsewhere in Europe having arrived in the 1950’s and 60’s.

And ever onwards, past Christina Lake, a double take for the Italian Lakes, past Rossland’s Red Mountain ski-resort, Trail and Montrose, on towards Creston, climbing the long haul eastwards over the 1,700m Kootenay Pass, still deep in snow by the roadside, the pristine apple-green of spring’s aspen amongst dark lodgepole pine on the mountainside - and the gleaming white ridge of the Rockies now lining the horizon to the north. Such is the call of the mountains, tempting us, enticing us.

The call is out for Canadians too. Monday was Victoria Day (after Queen Victoria) with droves of campers heading off our path to the Rockies to grab their share of break-time and show off their bigger and better gear - the mark of a truly capitalist society. There was a feeling we should book ahead to reserve a site for the three days, but we were hesitant, not wishing to book anything ‘sight unseen’. We decided to take our chances.

Mountain Standard Time kicked in as we crossed the Kootenay River into Cranbrook, the neon sign capital of Canada. Suddenly our day was one hour shorter. That’s not fair is it? There should be some form of compensation for taking an hour from a person’s life. It now gets dark at around 10pm, and the sun is up at some ridiculous hour before we wake at sixish most mornings.
Janice had been looking at maps again and noticed we were within striking distance of Waterton Lake just a few hours drive away. On lour last trip we dropped down to Waterton before going on to Yellowstone and loved it so much, we promised to return one day, but our recent change of plan involving an extra 1,000 or two miles to Newfoundland had prompted us to cut Waterton and Yellowstone from this journey to make up some extra time. “Let’s go,” she pleaded….. OK, so we agreed to leave for Waterton next morning, back on our tracks, out and back in a couple of days, before resuming our present route northwards up to Lake Louise and the Rockies. That’s fine. We can go whichever way the stick floats.

A cool breeze welcomed us to our camp at Marysville near Kimberley, at the crest of a canyon above the wide swirling river. Temperatures had hovered in the seventies and eighties every day since leaving Vancouver, setting new records for May in BC - and giving us endless pristine mountain views in bright sunshine. Marysville campsite also brought new friends and fine-wine drinkers, Mary and Merrill from Banff. We walked in the hills with Mary and her very special dog, Gracie, the following morning amongst bright Balsam root, sunflowers, wild pansies and lilac gentians whilst Merrill played golf - the season starts earlier down here he told us, and when you play off ten, it’s good to get a head start on your mates.
There’s some good skiing to be found in the mountains around Kimberley. Once a wealthy lead, zinc and silver mining community, they piped home the final shift in 2001. They were preparing for the influx of visitors this first spring weekend under the shadow of tragedy. Four young people died here the day before we arrived; two of them paramedics attempting a rescue, overcome by gasses in a disused mine tragedy. Like Whistler, the town is a second-take for Bavaria and a thriving tourist stopover. A giant cuckoo clock stands in the main-street Platzl (square) and balconied wooden shops and restaurants line the manicured precinct. Our lunch of bratwurst and pan-fried potatoes was eaten to the sound of Mozart in one ear and yodelling to merry accordions in the other! Kimberley is a fine example of success, carved with pride and the courage and willingness to change. Oh, that I could take this model to my own home-town. Before lunch was finished, we (the royal we, that is) had changed our minds about Waterton - it would have to wait until after Calgary. “Let’s get up to Lake Louise to make sure of a campsite for the weekend,” the queen of the nomads suggested. She's always right and it made good sense really: five minutes later and we would have been heading south. Anyone else out there married to a Gemini? (For those who would like to wish her ‘Happy Birthday’, it’s on the 8th June, but don’t tell her I told you.)

The Columbia River rises in a tranquil lake at the foot of the Kootenay National Park, heading first northwards and then turning in a rushing torrent to the south and west, impatient to reach the Pacific Ocean in Oregon after a journey of 1,150miles. Our road also took us north, heading for Lake Louise (this one named after Queen Victoria’s daughter) through the valley of 1000 peaks, with the Rockies to our east, a line of linked jagged peaks topped out in white extending to the horizon, and the Purcell Range on the west; past Invermere on Lake Windermere ‘en route to ‘well being’ country at Radium Hot Springs. Janice could not be persuaded to take the plunge - just yet, but we did like Radium for its pleasant community size and cared-for houses, still surviving and thriving on its timber industry and tourism.
With two walks on the schedule for the day and rain forecast for the afternoon, we arrived at Lake Louise early the next morning before the busloads of tourists staying at the Chateau had finished their breakfast. As with many ‘best laid plans’, the walks were not as energetic as we might have liked. After only a short while we abandoned the higher route, dangerous still with snow and ice, and settled for a modest walk around the lake. The coaches were all revving their engines by the time we got back, ready for the off - next stop Jasper, as half of Asia fought for pole position in front of the lake for the last photo opportunity at this most enigmatic of vistas. I’m always mug for a picture shoot with my camera around my neck, and I always respond in my most gentlemanly fashion to the request, “Plise, you take picture, mister? Me with wife. Press button here.”

The glacial turquoise mirror of Lake Louise reflects the splendour of the surrounding mountains, heads heavy with snow and ice at 10,000ft and more, their glaciers reaching down to the shores in long slender fingers. Despite a generous coating of ice still covering much of the lake’s surface, it was still a sight to behold. A young couple from Austria sat beside us on a bench, soaking in the impressive view from the rocky walk above Moraine Lake close by. “Our mountains are so different,” she sighed. “These mountains are wonderful. There is so much space here to fully appreciate their beauty.” It’s true, I guess; there are many bigger mountains and many stupendous lakes in Europe - the Canadian coastal ranges are indeed higher, but the Rockies earn their reputation as a tourist hotspot for their broad skies, their placid lakes and embracing landscapes that make The Rockies so popular.
This was my second visit to Lake Louise and Janice’s fourth, but for all that familiarity the sensations remain true, the deep breath of awe, the widening of eyes in amazement, the uncontrollable smiles of inner pleasure. We would go on to Banff in a day or two, but first we wanted to visit Yoho National Park just a few miles on. Yoho, Cree for ‘awe’, is indeed awesome. Straddling the TransCanada Highway 1 between Lake Louise and Golden, the park encompasses some of the most dramatic Rocky Mountain scenery: high, snow-capped peaks, thundering waterfalls and truly wonderful turquoise lakes. The TransCanada Railway also passes through the Kicking Horse Pass, spiralling back and forth up the gradient through a series of tunnels near the road, designed and engineered using Swiss engineering expertise. Locos don’t run away down the hill anymore!

Rain came at midday after almost two weeks of dry and sunny summery weather, forcing us to get our heads down to more planning and reading. Having just finished “The Grapes of Wrath”, I’m starting on Steinbeck’s 'Cannery Row', a gift from our friends in Olympia. Good stuff. Meanwhile, Janice has completed the exploits of Lewis and Clark, 'The Secret Voyages of Sir Francis Drake' (who came to the west coast on his way round the world in 1579), and is now nose deep in 'Epic Wanderer - David Thompson and the Mapping of the Canadian West.'

To our great relief, we found the National Parks campsites in the area far from full, the locals from BC and Alberta had obviously headed south to warmer climes and they are more knowledgeable than us when it comes to knowing when the snow finally leaves the trails - and that it can get extremely cold up at 5,000ft in May! There were lots of Brits about in BC, doing the golden triangle tour by hired car or motorhome. Brits are not the novelty here that they are in the west of the USA. Canadians are more worldly and quite reservedly British. In the USA, we were a bit of a novelty and always greeted with a, ‘Hi. Howa you doin’ today?’ Here, where there are hundreds of Brits, we get a polite ‘Good morning,’ or, ‘Hi.’ Political correctness has come to the National Park campsites, however. We are now greeted with, “Hello, Bonjour,” by the park staff who have obviously just completed their 2006 training ready for the next influx of visitors from the east. BC campsites visited so far, have not had camp hosts; there are Park Rangers, but they don’t wear big Boy Scout hats and they don’t carry guns - just walkie-talkies.

Winnie continues to perform with remarkable ease, her V10 taking the passes without complaint and a big service due when we get to Calgary to keep it that way. To date we’ve had one service and oil change, and put nothing in but petrol. We did some housekeeping last week (we might do it again next week), and the new Black and Decker vacuum cleaner packed up. It is now for sale to the highest bidder - used twice only! We can’t find the receipt, so when next we get the urge to do some cleaning, it’s back to the manual dustpan and brush. Apart from that - no problems.

Banff has grown a little and it’s a perhaps a wee bit more upmarket since last we were there - and it’s still as beautiful. Like much of Canada, Banff is a cosmopolitan town, home to adventurous souls who have left their homeland for new beginnings and the mountains: Greeks, Austrians, English, Germans, and many Asians. This is a proud nation, proud to be Canadian and definitely not to be mistaken for American. There is a stubborn determination to remain Canadian in face of the ever present commercial and cultural pressures from the south, that straight line across 3,000 miles of pastures, lakes, mountains and plains that separates Canadians from Americans, the longest and most vulnerable undefended border in the world.

We dined in style with Mary, Merrill and Gracie, the Portuguese water dog, in their comfortable home on the edge of town before lifting anchor once more and heading further east, but not before we had sampled Merrill’s Canmore Golf and Curling Cub, a delightful manicured course amongst the trees and mountains that many of our friends would die for! The golf was awesome; we think the ball flies further at altitude - are we correct?

Our travels continue to leave us with a wealth of memories to sleep on, and a harvest of dreams still to reap. Within an hour we would be in the exciting boom town of Calgary, Alberta, with a population touching on 1m and still growing like the heartbeat of an army of nodding donkeys with the oil boom, and straining at the leash to keep pace with demand for housing and infrastructure. Now, that’s growth, eh?
We’ll just increase the population by two for a few days whilst we enjoy the company of old friends. More of that soon.


David and Janice. The grey-haired-nomads.

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Photos

Deep Cove Vancouver
Strenuous activity

Stanley Park Vancouver
Janice with our host Cathy

Reifel Reserve Vancouver
A haven for birds, like these wood duck

Manning Park
Lightning Lake

Kimberley
Nature Park

Yoho
Emerald Lake

Canmore Golf and Curling Club
Amazing scenery to play golf by

The beautiful Gracie
Portuguese Water Dog