Motorhome News from North America 11

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Motorhome News from North America 11. 2nd May - 13th May 2006

Canada, Oh,Canada

‘Splendor Sine Oceasu’, British Columbia’s motto on its coat of arms, has much to live up to. ‘Beauty without End’ will be our yardstick through the next few weeks as we journey eastwards from Vancouver Island across the Strait of Georgia to Vancouver and on through the Rockies to Calgary. It might take us a while. BC is Big. It is big enough to fit California, Oregon - and Washington inside and still have room to spare! And, it is truly beautiful. Local car registration plates boast the message, ‘Beautiful British Columbia’.

Vancouver Island forms BC’s southwestern barrier to the sea, a classic mix of snow-capped mountains, ocean and lakes - and trees; trees everywhere. There are said to be seven different weather zones on the island, giving it a climate as varied as its landscape. 280 miles long and 60miles wide, it lays on its mountainous backbone as if in a deck chair, its top pointing northwest into the Pacific and its southeastern tip reaching out towards Vancouver on the mainland. To the remote west lies rainforest, our first destination, and to the east a more temperate coastline, favoured by the island dwellers and farmers.

Our waterfront campsite at Victoria overlooked the bay, beyond the fine yachts and houseboats amidst the regular drone of noisy float-planes, so important to the economy. Six German couples were on site in hired motorhomes, heading off in the morning for the northern ferry to the Alaska wilds. It’s a romantic notion, but Janice has done the drive; on and on and on and on. And then you must turn around and do it again - the other way; no dna no dna no dna no. Our sights are set on other things.

Around 80% of the motorhomes we saw on the island were hired; from companies in Victoria, Vancouver or Calgary - and some from the States - many doing the circle through the Rockies, Vancouver, Kamloops, Jasper and Banff. There was little evidence of the bigger A Class motorhomes (those huge coach-sized units) during our stay, most being similar to our Winnebago.

It was a short distance across the bay from our campsite into Victoria, by pea-green bath-tub ferry, bobbing up and down like the owl and the pussy cat through choppy waters. Janice needed to go shopping for new clothes. It’s important to feel good in some smart clothes now-and-again and we travelled light across the pond skimping on things we might buy when the urge or the need arose. Always tempted by the interesting and free, we were in time to take the ten o’clock tour of British Columbia’s Parliament Building. The ‘House’ was sitting for business and we sat a while to listen to an education debate, (specially arranged for Janice’s visit no doubt) from the Public Gallery. Parliament here is entirely independent of Westminster of course, but all of the British traditions are still observed in BC.

Victoria’s suburbs stretch ever outwards into remote areas where lumber holds the communities together. We drove beyond the River Jordan and on westwards to the reaches of Port Renfew, (a reminder that many of the first immigrants to this area were Scottish) some seventy miles from Victoria. Our step quickens in these more isolated areas, hiking the trails in dense rain forest and stretching our toes on sandy beaches. We walked to the surging breakers at idyllic Botany Bay off Botanical Beach, where tiny tree-topped rocky islands nestle in a bay of rushing tidal waters. We sat awhile on craggy rocks, watching as a family of otters fished amongst the kelp, revelling in our good fortune to have chosen the perfect moment for our private viewing of ‘Ring of Bright Water’. The following day two more otters played high-speed tag across the rocks in front of us, splashing through pools and tumbling together - and just as suddenly they were gone, beyond the headland. At that spot, where forest meets the sea and sparkling rock pools harbour starfish, red sea urchins and mussels galore, a pair of bald eagles were repairing last year’s nest and a pine marten emerged briefly from the side of the road - our first ever sighting of a pine marten in the wild. Our camp looked out from the beach across the flat calm waters of the Strait Juan de Fuca to the shimmering Olympic Mountains in Washington, USA. You guessed it. We’re having the time of our lives!

White, sea-beaten logs line these western shores around river estuaries, characteristic of the whole coast north from San Francisco: washed downstream when the rivers run high, eroded from coastal beaches by the constant pounding of Pacific surf, or broken loose from logging rafts. This is nature’s way. The logs are left to the ravages of wind and tide, often a sight of devastation, reminiscent of the battlefields of Ypres - yet so beautiful in the sunlight against tree lined shores and sandy beaches. It is one of those stark images that will remain etched on my mind for eternity.

To conserve our expensive fuel we took the short route, the winding logging road, for 30 miles from Port Renfew through the hills to Lake Cowichan, leaving a trail of white dust-cloud billowing behind us. Little traffic uses these un-metalled roads, but huge logging trucks practise their rallying skills at high speed, one filling our wing mirrors with big red cab and dragon’s teeth grille, breathing fire behind us, until there was road enough to pass. We have travelled dirt roads in Scandinavia, surfaced with ruts like corrugated iron, but here in BC they are graded regularly and quite adequate, though dusty, for relatively short journeys.

And so, the hours rush by; as fast as rippling mountain streams, great cascades and waterfalls, as swallows skimming open harbours, migrating geese in tight formation and all too soon the sun dips down upon the ocean.

Our primary goal on the island was to explore that stretch of the Pacific Rim National Park on the west coast from Ucluelet to Tofino where the impenetrable rain forest attracts migrant birds - and rain. Janice talked to a campsite neighbour who had just returned from the area soaked to the skin after three days of solid precipitation, so we expected to get wet. We’ll be OK. Our skins don’t leak. We decided to take our chances and set off westwards for the coast once more.

Characteristically, the sun shone for us and we were tempted to take time out from enjoying ourselves to play our first game of golf since the 12th March. Long Beach Golf Club at Tofino is a 6600 yard, par 72 scenic course with narrow fairways through mature forest with snow-capped peaks as a backdrop; the mighty Elkhorn, Golden Hinde and Albert Edward mountains, all above 6,000ft. Janice kept the scorecards; she likes lists. She marked mine after the round. ‘David is capable of better work. Must try harder.’ The golf card for Long Beach has a most interesting local rule: ‘If a bear interferes with or takes your ball (free drop!).’ We were chatting to Dave, a golfing fanatic from Vancouver, in the bar after the game. “Did you see the bear?” he asked. We told him we hadn’t, though we had seen several deer. He shrugged his shoulders disappointedly. “Neither did I,” he said. Anyway, whoever heard of bears on a golf course, they don’t play golf, do they?
Well, no, they don’t. But ten minutes later, just a couple of hundred yards along the road after leaving the clubhouse, a rather large black bear ambled across the road in front of us; stopped, took a nonchalant look in our direction and ambled off towards the 18th green, melting into the undergrowth. Janice doesn’t much care for bears in close proximity - except Todd of course. She certainly doesn’t like snakes at all and we have seen rather more than she would care to think about in recent days, slithering silently across our path as we walked in the rain forest. We have yet to come face-to-face with a cougar, but you never know your luck! There would be more close encounters with bears in the following days.

And so, the days pass us by, as gentle ripples on an ebb tide, as great bald eagles soar above and our simple existence becomes a way of life, each day the turning of another page.

Tofino sits on the edge of the Pacific Rim National Park, its broad sandy beaches firm under foot on the outgoing tide, its seasonal shops awaiting active tourists: for whale watching, bear watching, sport fishing, surfing, kayaking, hot springs, scenic flights, spa and massage therapy - and a healthy First Nation presence, bringing with it some spectacular art. America refers to its American Indian population as Native Americans. Here in Canada, they are referred to as First Nation, reflecting a respectful approach to the most difficult political subject of on-going integration. Integration on another front, that of language, also plods somewhat drunkenly along Canada’s political path. Canada has two official languages, French and English. Both are required teaching in schools and road-signs and all official literature carry both languages as we tend to do back home in Wales. However, I am intrigued by ludicrous things like the road-sign for Green Point on the coast, repeated underneath in French as ‘Pointe Green’. One has to ask why it’s not Pointe Verte? But anyway, Pointe Green is not shown on maps; it's Green Point on the map, so anyone speaking French and no English might spend a lot of time looking for it. Now, Canada must be anxiously awaiting the onslaught of Spanish speaking immigrants as they advance relentlessly northwards through the USA from Mexico.

There is much more to savour on this magical island. We have not ventured more than half way to the north nor deep into the mountain trails, but we have sampled its coastal beauty, its history and its culture. The true character of an island is always in its people, but sadly we have met few locals on this visit. Those ‘locals’ we have met hail from as far away as Leicester (retired, came here in 1953 and horrified by UK cost of living when he recently returned), Plymouth, Chingford (Essex boy, retired and keen birder, came in 1986 - hated the crowds when he last went back to visit relatives), Guildford and Zimbabwe - an author, living on a small island off shore. They all love its leisurely pace and small population, though they recognise that growth is everywhere - and banging on their door. For urban sprawl exists here too with increasing house prices pushing the lower incomes ever outwards from Victoria, to the west and to the north along the main arteries, exerting endless pressure on the wilderness that first brought them here. It is easy to understand why they came here from Britain: the climate is similar, the summers perhaps a touch more reliable, the scenery a little more dramatic and gardens grow as only English gardens grow.

Weather forecasts are posted at most Visitor Centres. At the Wickaninnish Park Centre the charts showed a 60% chance of rain, but during our 10 day stay on the island, we encountered only a few spots of rain, that day - and once overnight when it rattled on the roof like a tap-dancing sea gull (and they do, I assure you). On the way into the Park we had seen more bears, a mother and her cub grazing the grass verge, content for us to watch and oblivious to our presence. Before finally leaving the west-coast we had promised ourselves one last walk in the rainforest, from the Visitor Centre out to the surfing breakers at Florencia Bay, but with bears in the area, Janice was a little unsure - nay, very unsure! She now has a new and very posh bear bell, ‘a psychological comforter’ hanging on her rucksack, and jingling along, we enjoyed one of our most rewarding walks - without the company of bears or snakes or cougars. Now I shall be able to find Janice whenever she wanders off whilst we’re shopping.

Conversation turns quickly to travel amongst campers, like a forest fire on a windy day, and every so often our travel plans are influenced by chance meetings. A retired couple noticed our Arizona plates the other morning and, thinking we were from those parts, asked when might be the best time to visit the Grand Canyon. I’m not sure we’re the best people to advise on that point, but we tried. They also told us about their favourite places. Newfoundland topped their list - as it has with many others who have travelled that far across Canada - and we could be tempted, it's there in the back of our minds! There will be lots of crumpled paper under the table in the coming days as we shuffle the ‘must sees’ and ‘could miss it this times’, with agreement and compromise, the if’s and but’s, New England in the fall - and promised deadlines to meet up with people!

Followed by clear blue skies, we journeyed back across the island to the east in easy steps, revelling in forest walks, past tumbling falls and turbulent rapids, giant spruce, and western cedar, the new green cloak of sun-soaked maple, alder and aspen, the croak of raven on territorial patrol and the rattle of woodpeckers on the standing wounded. It would be negligent of me not to mention Englishman Falls, for it is one special gem, a glittering river 100meters wide, splashing madly over rocks and boulders, suddenly disappearing in a surging swirl through a 3 meter wide crevasse between the rocks below a narrow bridge, emerging 30 meters below in a roaring pool of rippling blue water!

And so, the weeks pass by, as the sun dips behind the trees, the wise old owl calls it’s merry tune, the winds bend grasses across the marsh and fresh green buds mark a new beginning.

If you’re planning to retire to somewhere special some day, a visit to Qualicum Beach might just tempt you. Here is little England, where sandy bay meets tended gardens, tidy houses and airy shops mingle with town-side golf, ladies take tea in china cups and there’s every chance the sun will shine. Founded by an Englishman, General Money (so we’re told), this is Bournemouth - or Cromer perhaps, with wide streets and an air of Victorian grace. “No, Janice, we’re not staying.” This was to be our last stop before leaving the island to catch the ferry for Vancouver - and setting foot on the Canadian mainland for the first time since 1993.

Our base in Vancouver was at the home of Catherine, the daughter of friends Jack and Joan back in Cornwall. It’s hard to resist an invitation to visit friends, friends of friends, or family of friends and we are always grateful for the chance to chew the cud whilst distant ears burn and have common ground over which to mardle. We’ll tell you a little about our visit when next we write. Meanwhile, were leaving behind the mighty Pacific coast for the long haul across our beloved Canada to the Atlantic Ocean.

And so, the seasons pass us by. Winter slowly melted into spring as we ventured north, daffodils and tulips now fill Victoria’s parks and gardens and laburnum follows the azaleas and rhododendrons. With the coming of May’s full moon, the planting of new bedding and the first cut of hay herald the arrival of summer.

Until we meet again,

David and Janice. The grey-haired nomads.

For those who like statistics:
Fuel costs in Oregon and Washington accounted for 33% of our total expenditure;
Arizona 30%, and California 26%. (Overall average to date 30.5%, a little more than in Europe) We travelled 79miles per day in USA and we’re running within our budget of £50 per day - excluding capital costs. With all the facilities on board, we rarely eat out, but enjoy the experience all the more when we do.
Campsites have cost $14 -22 a day. A few were free, (we’re not into free camping or boon-docking as it’s known here) and some - in San Francisco and Las Vegas, were ridiculously expensive, but convenient. The best campsites in the USA to date ,were, without question, those in Oregon’s National and State Parks. A round of applause please for Oregon!

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Photos

Wickininnish
Logs on the beach

Golf?
After playing at Tofino Long Beach, we had a bit of putting practice!

Black Bear
Run Janice!

Ucluelet
The Beatiful coast