Tour des Lacs

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Geo: 49.8868, -119.497

Perhaps only because it has been sunny almost every day I've been here, but the Northwest has captured my heart since I arrived roughly a month ago. The culture, the people, the vegetation, the air, the ocean, the mountains, the rivers, the billions of coffee shops, the music, the communities. However, I feel that my time is complete here (for now), and I feel compelled to head east.

After leaving Vancouver (again), I unintentionally began a tour of lakes, a Tour des Lacs

Cultus Lake: teaming with families, goobers, tourists, and teenagers – bare chested and bikini clad, excited and eroticized, begging, basking and battling for the attention of the opposite sex, but like Wiley Coyote, unsure of what to do with said attention once it is achieved (hell, I'm 31 and just starting to figure this out!). A coming-up-on-middle-aged man walking alone down these docks, I felt like people must be looking at me like I was some sort of pedophile, but I didn't care (honey badger don't care), I just wanted to swim. The water was cool, not cold, just to the point where breathing is affected, but not stopped dead in its tracks. A quick swim out to the rope boundary, then perched on it like a dove while my arms gently continued to tread, keeping me afloat, the smell of summer and lilypads and hormones on the air, a swim back, climb up, then on my back, soaking in the sweet sunshine. Leftover salmon from the night before.

Lake Chiliwack: An extra half hour drive on a dead end road, but well worth the jaw-dropping, breathtaking view (if the water doesn't take your breath away, the majestic beauty will). Much less crowded. Guitar and backpack in hand, I sought cover on the desolate pet beach rather than trying to find a place in the crowd. Seemed odd they all crammed themselves together on the "beach" when the rest was open for the taking. I was not one to complain. After retrieving my breath, I found a large boulder protruding into the water with a naturally built-in bench, as if God Himself put that stone there for someone to sit on and play guitar. I honored that rock's divine ordinance for nearly two hours as I sat and played guitar. More accurately, I let the guitar play my hands – this was one of those times when I sit, open heart, open mind, no intention, no plan, and just play, and within minutes a new song is born. I have a few of these songs. They are my favorites. So raw and bare; not forced, not concocted, not created. These are the songs – the longings, the heart whispers, the fears – that have always existed and are just waiting for the right moment and place to be seen and known and heard.

Lake Harrison: Excellent name! A very short detour would take me to the Harrison Hot Springs. Why not?! Got to town. Where are they? There was the “public pool”, and of course, everything in town had “Hot Springs” in its name. I asked a couple locals what they deal was – was it just the pools, or are there actually natural springs somewhere? They regretfully informed me that the pools were about it, and the only true “hot spring” was a mucky, shallow pool to the west of town that might be good if I was “feeling adventurous”. No thanks. I don't like giardia. A haux! A larse! A wild goose chase! A smug little town filled with ice cream shops and candy stores and Harrison Hot Springs hoodies and Harrison Hot Springs mugs and Harrison Hot Springs key chains and for what – a nasty indoor pool filled with RV tourists and foot sweat?! <sigh> The lake, however… Oh! The lake! It was dusk, the water inheriting a soothing, silvery blue, with layers and layers of foothills in the background fading lighter and lighter as the distance grows (there's gotta be a sad song in there somewhere).

Hicks Lake: A short drive out of Harrison led me to Sasquatch Provincial Park – my intended home for the night. I passed a ranger and asked if there was any free camping in the area. “Up Moss Road,” and he motioned to a dark, ominous side road darting off from the maintained section, “lotta bears up there.” Locked the hubs, put it in 4, and began crawling up. I passed one “pulloff” a few minutes up but continued. 10 minutes later the road got terribly rough so I backtracked to the little pulloff. It smelled like fresh cut lawn as I rolled over and ground up the grasses beneath. A wall of mosquitoes attacked me the moment I opened the door. I quickly put on pants and a jacket, retreated back to the cab, and consulted with myself. Besides the certainty of death by mosquito bite, it just didn't feel right. It's not that it was creepy or eerie (thought it was) – it just didn't feel right. Crept back down the mountain in the dark and chose a spot in a vacant row of campsites. The rangers (who collect fees for walk-ins) had already done their rounds, so I got to camp for free anyway. The forest was thick, like black hotel curtains, and 10am still felt like dawn. Breakfast on the tailgate, overlooking the lake, and I was off again.

Kamloops Lake: Heading east (mostly north, actually) on highway 1, through the town of Hope (chainsaw carving capital of Canada), hours up through a V-shaped gorge past Yale and Hells Gate and Boston Bar and Lytton (where the pristine, blue waters of the Thompson reluctantly meet with the muddy waters of the Fraser). East from here, following the Thompson, the climate getting drier by the minute, reminding me of Nevada, the far-off mountains of pine and sage surrounding, brewing clouds at dusk, sun rays spilling between the cracks. Got to the grocery store 10 minutes before closing time in Ashcroft – a small town built around the river and the railroads. Though small and still and silent, the town felt good, pleasant, well, but seemingly on the brink of a struggle that could tip its fate either way. East from here, along the stretching banks of Kamloops Lake with the relatively large town of Kamloops at its head. I changed in a parking lot to the sound of live blues music blasting from the nearby City Park. Dinner on the tailgate – on to the pub! First stop, a slightly dingy and dusty local's pub with a single pool table, bad lighting, and feisty 50-something bartender. Perfect! Met a man who has been cheffing on the railroads for fifty years. Currently, he is working on a deburring train – when the rails start to get grooves, these trains run along the tracks, basically acting as a giant mobile file – smoothing out the rails. He told me it looks as if the train is on fire – sparks flying and leaping out from the front of the train, plumes of black smoke rising up into the air – a giant fireball etching along the mountainsides. Last call was at 9. Across the street to Carlo's, the type of bar where all of the waitresses look like models and the “uniform” is a plaid skirt. The male bartender told me it's a very tough place to work, and that they're always hiring. Walking back to my truck, I passed a 24 hours McDonald's. I'd had a craving for chicken mcnuggets earlier in the day. Perfect. Just around the corner was a sad, ragged, buzz-headed kid of 20-something slumping against the wall with nothing but his holey backpack. “You hungry boss?” “Starving.” “I'm gonna head inside – you want something?” “Yeah, anything! Anything!” I ordered my nuggets and a Whopper for him. We chatted while waiting for our food. His name is Sean, from Winnipeg, and has been hitchhiking toward some friends in Vancouver. He got to Kamloops and liked it, so he has been there a while (he didn't specify how long). He thanked me profusely and I walked on to my truck, munching on nuggets. They were not as good as I remembered or hoped. I think you need to be a kid or drunk to really appreciate them.

Lake Okonawa: Despite the potential job and fellow transient, I moved along. Driving into the night as I have become a fan of, I tired at 1am and found cover behind a few trees on the crest of a hill just beyond Vernon. I woke in the morning to see a large lake resting far below at the foot of the hill (Kalamalka Lake). Lake Country. Beyond Wood Lake and on to Kelowna, a “ski town in the winter and lake town in the summer”, per recommendation from Shari. I liked it immediately! (One thing I've noticed about Canada is they're not wifi addicts. I went to two coffee shops and a sandwich place, only to have to resort to a Starbucks parking lot in order to post this!) A lovely sunny afternoon spent getting fried (just by the sun) at Gyro Beach. The lake quickly drops to 2-3 feet, but I wandered outward for nearly 10 minutes and it never reached more than chest high. I swam and waded and bathed a little (yes, I brought the biodegradable soap out there with me), confirming again that wherever I live next needs to be by a body of water. I've felt to drawn to it lately, and I definitely believe that it will prove to have some sort of life value or spiritual significance for me.

Sitting in Kelowna, appreciating the sun but hiding from its rays that beat my body into its content but exhausted state, my mind now shifts gears to a little grub, possibly a cold beer, some tailgate guitar-pickin, and a safe place to rest my head.

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Comments

[Linda]

Yay! Harrison stuff rocks. However, you still have to live in the US. We will rename something for you. Beautiful pictures of you and the lake. Looks very peaceful.