Seeing the Sault

It was with some regret I drove out of Pukaskwa Friday morning.  The road from Marathon to Wawa moves inland away from Lake Superior.  Most of the forests have been clear cut but there is sign that replanting has been done and younger trees are beginning to make the forsaken landscape look green again.  The highway is hilly with numerous rock cuts and elevated sections traversing huge areas of muskeg and swamp.  The highway passes a sign for Barrick where it was actually moved to make way for the Hemlo Gold discovery.  I stopped at the train station in White River, now the tourist bureau in the absence of any tracks and learned the town was the original home of the bear that became a troop mascot and ended up becoming the inspiration for Winnie the Pooh by A A Milne after it became an attraction at a London Zoo. 

 

At Wawa the Big Goose looks dwarfed by the new tourist bureau beside it.  John’s Valumart in town stocks all the essentials but its aisles accommodate one cart at a time and the experience is not for claustrophobes.  In my travels only one campsite has ever faced me with an electrical connection that failed—that was the Cadillac Campground in Bluff, Utah but the Wi-Fi service at the Wawa RV Resort was slow and inconsistent.  In small towns I’ve learned that if no one is around to sign you in set up camp and someone will show up eventually to take your money.  It may be almost summer but spring is slow to arrive in the north this year.  The temperature tumbled to near zero overnight. 

 

Leaving Wawa the highway follows the shore of Lake Superior until one approaches a towering wall of rock that marks the entrance to Lake Superior Provincial Park.  The highway traverses the length of the park returning to the shore some 40 km down the road.  To emphasize the point the fish and games people had set up a road block on the highway checking for contraband and unlicensed catches.  Once again having an honest face paid off and I passed through after the briefest of greetings.  When overcast skies turned to torrential rain I actually felt sorry for the guys. 

 

KOA Sault Ste Marie actually lives up to its online hype.  For once a kampground  that was easy to find but far enough off the highway to be peaceful.  The gal who signed me in even gave me a site upgrade.  The Dutch owners keep the place scrupulously clean and the Wi-Fi works.  It even allowed me to install the Windows Vista Service Pack II a whopping 567 MB download.  While all that progressed I read up on the history of the Algoma Central Railway and the Bushplane Museum.  I’ve ridden the railway but one can always make new discoveries.  Arcane facts one would never have dreamed of.  When the railroad converted from steam to diesel locomotives in 1952 it was one of the first lines in Canada to do so and one of the challenges involved was finding a horn that discouraged rather than attracted moose.  Feisty critters those moose willing to face down even a diesel locomotive. 

 

The wind-driven rain blew through last night and the thermometer dipped to near freezing.  Not a particularly good night to be camping in a tent I’d say.  Sunday morning began with clear but cold and windy skies.  On the advice of my hostess I drove the 8 KM to the Sault Waterfront for Sunday Brunch overlooking the Sault Locks.  Brunch was accompanied by live piano and featured good coffee, juice, made-to-order omelette, eggs Benedict, a chicken main course, French toast, waffles, and desserts.  I believe I had two meals in one. 

 

As I’d planned stopped off at the Bushplane Museum just up the street and made the hands on tour of their collection.  The process for starting one of the original 12 cylinder 900 pound engines made starting a Model T look easy.  The co-pilot was not an airman but an engineer.  Early bushplanes were covered in fabric, not metal or wood and so a sewing machine is among the exhibits.  Several planes being available for detailed inside inspection I discovered that being tall was a liability in early flight.  Whereas modern air travel again has one sitting with ones kneecaps under ones chin many of these aircraft seemed designed for dwarfs.  One look at the Bell helicopter with the metal stretcher strapped to the inflatable pontoon made me think that were I to be rescued in that craft I don’t believe I’d want to be conscious for the flight.  The no smoking signs at the entrance to the hangar made me wonder what old-time pilots would have had to say about the policy.  The object theatre show is a unique experience as is the opportunity to sit in the pilot’s seat and ‘fly’ in a water bomber.  A birthday party of kids climbing the fire tower made me wish I had a head set to protect my hearing. 

 

Alas as evening sets in the clouds are returning. 

Pukaskwa

Wednesday, May 27, 2009

After days dodging rain and dressing up in a winter coat to go outside imagine my delight when today dawned sunny and warm.  It was with no sense of regret that I departed my campground in Schreiber.  However pleasant its owner may have been when I finally met him Traveller’s Rest has seen better days and requires a lot of work before it can be accounted a restful place to bide.  Had I met the owners before they left for their day jobs I would have told them that if they continue to use computers on a network they should disable file sharing.  Karen’s iTunes folder showed up on my own iTunes playlist until I disabled show shared files. 

 

Today I encountered more truck traffic than I’ve been accustomed to experience attempting to give me a push.  When I got to Marathon checked out the town and later discovered the tourist bureau on the eastern end of town.  Not that the people there knew anything of use to me in the first place, an apprehension confirmed by parks staff when I got there.  Pukaskwa is accessed by the 15 km highway 627 that passes through Pic Native Reserve.  As expected half the campground was open and registration was by self service—mercifully they allow one to use a credit card.  Fees that add GST on top of the price make for strange change. 

 

The park, on the north shore of Lake Superior “protects 1,878 km² of roadless, boreal forest wilderness”.  The front-country campground on Hattie Cove with its electrical hook-ups allows for a taste of this wild frontier while preserving the comforts of home.  Got my bike in action and rode up to the admin office in a fruitless attempt to discover if I could find out more about the park.  Upon returning and getting set up set out to explore the day use trails in the park.  Ran into two parks staff out taking a break from their admin work to bird.  Greg, it transpired was a Newfie and his accent became very apparent when he got excited about our encountering a pine martin along the camp roadway.  When they left I set out on my hike. 

 

The day-hikes out of Hattie Cove may not involve great gains in elevation but they are no less strenuous for the rock ledges and outcrops that must be scrambled over and the tangle of dead-wood that litters the beaches.  Boardwalks cross most of the major wet areas and strategically placed stairs get one over the worst humps but plenty remain.  I could attempt to describe the scene but pictures do it better:

 

 

 

Back in camp I encountered an RV warm enough to force me to break out a short-sleeved shirt.  I also discovered that I had company in the park.  Do kids have to make so much noise?  For the first time I also encountered black flies and mosquitoes, a harbinger of things to come. 

 

Thursday, May 28, 2009

Taking my own advice I went off early to hike around a small inland lake.  The sound of Birdsong was all around me and a Redstart posed right in front of my nose.  Early spring flowers, encouraged by yesterday’s sun and heat were springing forth at every hand.  A small pocket of Marsh Marigolds was a pleasant discovery.   If I wanted my morning exercise I certainly got it as the route scrambled over rock outcrops, ridges and rifts and past ancient potholes.  I was truly thankful for the stairs, bridges, and boardwalks though a lengthy boardwalk merely two planks wide had me walking the straight and narrow.  When I got home made brunch and after a bit of reading settled in for an afternoon siesta.  My late afternoon trek took me for a walk out to the  tip of a peninsula which reaches out into Lake Superior near the mouth of the Pic River.  A rift valley nearly made an island of the point and the path in follows an elaborate set of stairs and traverses rough terrain that demands that one concentrate on every footstep and remain standing in place when one stops to look around.  The views of Lake Superior are spectacular.  Upon my return had a late Dinner. 

 

I’ve filled another bag with garbage and even though I produce only one a week my stock of grocery shopping bags is slowly dwindling now that stores are insisting on charging for bags or not supplying them at all.  The cynic in me wonders at just how much major chains care about the ecology but it certainly hasn’t taken them long to cop to the concept of making money off the sale of grocery bags. 

 

North of Superior

As wild and lonely as Highway Seventeen may look today and as treacherous I may find it on a rainy day with crosswinds and as dangerous as it may be in winter conditions with blowing snow and ice the north shore is a tame place compared to the conditions the early fir traders faced.  In the days before paved roads travel to Fort William was by freighter canoe in summer and by snow shoe in winter after freeze up.  Anyone who absolutely had to make the journey hugged the North Shore of Lake Superior with a weather eye for the next squall that might capsize their craft and a mind for the next sheltered cove.  When the highway was finally punched through it was not without great cost in human toil, injury and death.  To this day the labour of widening the rock cuts that make this highway possible goes on. 

 

Monday morning I set out for Eagle Canyon on the road to Ouimet Canyon.  There I was met by a laconic young man claiming to be the enterprise’s owner who proceeded to rhyme off his empire’s features by rote and then took my money.  After that I was on my own to set up at will and wander the facility.  On my travels I met his father out planting seedling pines along the trail.  For a man whose business is selling the wonders of his fiefdom the son was singularly lacking in excitement.  His father’s home with cathedral windows overlooking the canyon has a million dollar view.  Last night I had the entire campground to myself.  This morning in the rain I was awakened by a singularly exuberant American Robin who obviously found more delight in the weather than I.  

 

Driving rain-slicked roads in cross-winds is not my idea of fun.  The price of gasoline left me feeling rather cold as well.  When my gauge hit empty just short of Schreiber I stopped at a station where the proprietor by name of Filane came out to pump my gas and when I went in to pay for it told me of his career as a musician with Bobby Curtola and his connection with an enterprise on Kerr St in Oakville.  I was gifted with a bottle of Filane Spring Water.  Filane seems to be a common name around town.  After finding Traveller’s Rest Campground I discovered no one at home.  Having hooked up I decided to explore town.  As I walked up to the public library a lady flipped the sign in the window to closed at 3:00 and locked the door.  Feeling somewhat bored I explored the local stores, I’d come into town earlier and shopped at Costa’s. There are two hardware stores,  Spadoni’s Department Store, and Skale’s grocery where the gal in charge told me I should check out the Waterfall Campground in Terrace Bay.  Seems the mill is closed with no word on its re-opening and the railway is laying people off left and right.  As usual in a small town businesses are multi-purpose with virtually everyone renting DVD’s, a beer store at the garage, a gas station at the GM Dealers along with a Skidoo Shoppe.  For Sale signs were everywhere.  The tourist bureau was not open.  Summer may be less than three weeks away but the air about town felt more of winter than spring.  Given the conditions I felt no need to explore the beach. 

Veging in Thunder Bay

What was Pepsi's original name?

 

The original name of Pepsi-Cola was Brad’s Drink.

 

Apparently I managed to miss Southern Ontario’s first Smog Alert of the year.  Somehow I don’t feel deprived.  Just discovered that Season 2 of Everwood is finally to be made available on DVD.  It aired in 2003-4 and the show was terminated in June of 2006 with Season 4—what’s taken them so long? 

 

I’m spending the weekend at the KOA Thunder Bay in the middle of nowhere east of town too close to a double grade along Hwy  17.  Since all indoor activities grind to a halt around here once it becomes warm enough to go outside I see no reason to stay past Monday.  I’m headed east toward Ouimet Canyon.

 

Highway 17 has to be one of the most isolated pieces of roadway I’ve travelled.  Hwy 11 may have 100’s of mile with no habitation but at least it’s more open.  Hwy 17 wends through swamp, bush, black spruce forest, and massive rock cuts followed by stretches of elevated highway.  At least the stretch from Dryden to Thunder Bay is recently paved; Hwy 102 into the city is a mess.  Plenty of construction and a lengthy wait at one point for a blasting operation. 

 

Friday was the first time I had to contend with insects on my windshield but it was the woodpecker that dive bombed it that startled me the most.  After running over a prairie chicken the day before I’m hoping I don’t meet up with anything bigger.  Plenty of deer around and for good reason I don’t brave meeting a moose at night.  I was just outside cleaning my windows. 

 

Dryden was a chance to stop for the night at a small campground that demanded payment in cash and offered a sodden camp site and no Wi-Fi.  When I drove into town to shop at the local IGA I was thankful I was west of the towering Domtar Plant that shadows the town. 

 

I had some good views of the Sleeping Giant on the way into town on Friday but I haven’t found anything to attract me to pull up stakes and drive into the city.  At one time or another I’ve toured almost all the touristy places around here. 

Kenora Blues

No man ever listened himself out of a job.

Calvin Coolidge (1872 - 1933)

 

The above is for Joe—you know who you are!

 

Attempting to get around Kenora, Ontario frequently brings to mind that old adage:  You can’t get there from here.  Making an already difficult road system even more miserable is the fact that the main downtown intersection is closed due to sewer replacement construction.  The place is also overdue for a couple more traffic lights.  When I finally did find my way to the grocery store I discovered I needed a quarter I did not have to get a shopping cart—at that point I thought something unprintable and decided I’d do my shopping in another town on another day.  The fact that I’d just spent $4.50 extra on gas because the only place in town that could fill my propane tank had already increased the price of gas by 5¢ a litre probably did nothing to improve my mood. 

 

Kenora is typical small town.  People may bitch about traffic tie-ups but they’d complain even more if installing million dollar traffic lights made the mil rate go up and councillors do like getting re-elected.  Alas nature has not given the town an opportunity to present itself in its best light given freezing temperatures, clouds, rain and snow.  The place is best seen from the water, the best beach in town being on Coney Island, accessible only by boat.  On the way into town one is greeted by Husky the Muskie an oversized muskellunge that broods over the harbour area.  At every turn vistas of Lake of the Woods present themselves.  The town is justly proud of its well preserved heritage architecture and its 20-some wall-sized murals about town. 

 

As I write this I have completed most of the housekeeping items I needed to accomplish before my early morning departure tomorrow.  Seeing a cold front visibly approaching with a thunderstorm in tow I just went out to put my bicycle back up on its rack.  In front of the storm a broad-winged hawk patrols the sky.  Yesterday I took advantage of some morning sunshine to ride 10 miles west of town to Vernon Nature Area to walk their trails among the adjacent Red Pine/Balsam Fir and Buroak forests.  Again there’s a docking area for those in boats to visit and a boardwalk through the lake front wetlands near the Osprey platform.  I enjoyed my visit to Casey’s even if they were out of cod for fish and chips and my main course arrived before I’d properly started my bowl of soup.  Made it back just before the heavens opened.

 

When a seaplane isn’t taking off from the harbour area and the staff aren’t cutting the grass Anicinabe Campground is a serene place to relax.  Taking a shower when the outside temperature is just a bit above freezing in an unheated washroom is quite another experience.  There’s a lovely beach but the ice just came off the lake last week.  I’d have visited the bookstore downtown yesterday but it doesn’t open until 11:00 AM.  Lacking a boat bicycle or walking are definitely the preferred ways to get around town.  Parking meters are plunked everywhere.  For those so inclined there is a newly built Lake of the Woods Museum. 

 

One final entry.  I have received word that I will be spending my summer acting as Campground Host in the Province of Nova Scotia Campgrounds.  All that remains between me and that goal is an ocean of paperwork and appointments in Oakville before I head East. 

 

 

Weekly Rant 2009-05-15.doc

[Abstract art is] a product of the untalented, sold by the unprincipled to the utterly bewildered.

Al Capp (1909 - 1979)

 

A compromise is the art of dividing a cake in such a way that everyone believes he has the biggest piece.

Ludwig Erhard (1897 - 1977)

 

You talk to God, you're religious. God talks to you, you're psychotic.

Doris Egan, House M.D., House vs. God, 2006

 

A diplomat... is a person who can tell you to go to hell in such a way that you actually look forward to the trip.

  - Caskie Stinnett

 

For anyone who has read Richmond P Hobson’s trilogy Nothing Too Good for a Cowboy or seen the TV series of the same name starring Yannick Bisson as Hobson and Ted Atherton as Panhandle Phillips it may be of interest that Panhandle Phillips daughter has written a memoir of her father and life on the Home Ranch. 

 

Still with the entertainment business after nearly three-quarters of a century on air the Soap Opera, Guiding Light will cease production this fall.  When I got back to updating my download files in iTunes I discovered yet another effect of the cut-backs at CBC—Podcasts of The Hour are now a paid service. 

 

Driving north in Alberta confronts one with the affects of elevation and geography on climate.  In spite of the fact that it is located at a far northern latitude the Peace River District was 10 degrees warmer than Calgary.  In related news, the fact that the Mackenzie River took out the ice bridge leading to Yellowknife with a consequent month-long wait for the resumption of ferry service that area of the territories is closed to road traffic for nearly a month each spring and fall.  A mile and a half long bridge is under construction but no one is predicting when it will be ready for use. 

 

Commerce seems to create strange bed-fellows but the discovery in grocery stores in Northern Alberta, Saskatchewan, and Manitoba that dairy products are imported from Montreal, Quebec left me scratching my head—it did serve to explain why I couldn’t find fresh cream.  Whoever does purchasing for the National Parks System seems to have contracted with a company in Gatineau, PQ across the river from their Ottawa Offices hence a package of their bathroom tissue in a privy in Northern Saskatchewan. 

 

I’ve run out of gall for my pen. 

That Rainy Day Feeling

I’ve got that rainy day feeling again.  When the weather is cold, indeed just a bit above freezing and the sky dark and the air filled with driving rain one’s location isn’t all that important.  As it happens I’m parked overlooking Lake of the Woods in Anicanabe Park in Kenora, Ontario but once the curtains are drawn not much else matters.  In my last entry I was leaving Brandon, Manitoba.  On the advice of my neighbour at Turtle Crossing Campground I made the right turn at Carberry, Manitoba and drove down to Spruce Wood Provincial Park.   The drive seemed to take a long time especially given the broken pavement on which I was driving.  When I got to the Kiche Manitou Campground Office I found 3 people ready to sign me in—as it transpired I was the sole occupant of the park that night.  With or without the added attraction of Spirit Sands nearby this is a great place to camp.  Free showers, a large laundry room and ample free firewood stacked at every campsite make it a welcoming environment—especially given the firewood was so dry kindling was barely needed to light it.  The tank range at Shilo a few miles west does make for an uneasy neighbour.  Feeling the need for rest I put off exploring the parks attractions.  Alas, that night a thunderstorm brought in heavy rains and cooling temperatures. 

 

Travelling in the driving rain is not a particularly inviting prospect but my campground lacked internet access so I decided to relocate.  Taking Hwy 5 south to Hwy 2 I drove east by-passing Winnipeg.  I had thought to visit Whiteshell Provincial Park on the Manitoba/Ontario Border but when crosswinds added to the tensions of rain-slicked and ponded highways I decided to try out Pinetree Campground at a place not on the map called Prawda.  Some people run campgrounds with mercenary intent finding campers a necessary nuisance in their goal of making money.  This was such a place.  The owner’s attitude and the signs at every turn telling one of something else one shouldn’t do served to make one feel one’s presence was a bother.  The ‘restaurant’ with its over-priced menu of frozen entrees did not look inviting.  The power worked and I wisely avoided the flooded area beside the swollen creek.  The rain which had fallen all day took a turn toward hail and large flakes of snow as the temperature dropped further making me thankful I wasn’t on the highway. 

 

Eastern Manitoba belies the prairie myth with its rolling hills, rocks, and boreal forests.  With Northern Ontario to the east it shares the Laurential Shield.  Save for a slight change in the quality of the highway there is little to mark the crossing into Ontario.  Whereas Manitoba roads were a four-lane divided highway Hwy 17 is a two-lane badly in need of the reconstruction that appears to be in the offing.  Arriving in Kenora I found a tourist bureau beside the harbour downtown with an OPEN sign in the window.  After paying to park I walked in to find they had no info!!!!  The tourist bureau that was ready being on the other side of town I negotiated the construction zone that is Main Street and drove over.  Arriving early in the season may relieve one of the need to make advanced reservations but can also find one’s hosts less than prepared.  When I arrived at Anicinabe Park the overnight frost had frozen up the plumbing, their advertised Wi-Fi was not yet activated, and their credit card approval system was not yet online.  Their electrical system was working however.  In the course of the day these deficits were rectified and a walk about the site proved that Lake of the Woods had recently thawed and the beach looked inviting even if the water was rather high and barely above freezing.  The free shower in an unheated comfort station looked somewhat intimidating.  When the rain resumed last night just being outside was a shower though with the thermometer hovering around freezing not an experience that looked pleasant. 

 

I believe it’s time for a genuine rant but I’ll make it a separate entry. 

Flin Flon to Brandon

After two days of idyllic wilderness camping in Prince Albert National Park I drove out to thank the gal who had given me such good advice.  Unfortunately she did not advise me that I was driving into an ice storm on the way to Flin Flon, Manitoba.  I’ll spare you the gruesome details, suffice to say I was thankful to take the advice of the gal in the tourist bureau and park in the town campground, closed or not, having safely arrived.  Next morning I awoke to a world of white.  After driving across to the local Wal-Mart and shopping at the adjoining food mart with some trepidation I cautiously set out on the road south.  It was a matter of not wanting to be driving and not being able to stay.  In Mid-May I had hoped winter driving would have been behind me.  Travelling at 50 in a 100 KM zone is not a pleasant way to go but safety required it.  At least few others were crazy enough to be on the highway.  It was not until I reached The Pas that I got out of the snow zone.  There I stopped for lunch at an internet café where I was able to catch up after three days offline.  It was during the drive south I met up with Officer Stu Oman who gave me a line on the Thunder Hill Motel in Swan River where I was graciously allowed to park on their lot for the night. 

 

The next morning I got out of my RV and asked a local about breakfast.  I took his advice and drove across the highway to the small Inn where the locals congregate for breakfast.  The food was good but it was the waitress’s sunny disposition that lit up the place.  I was the kind of place where the locals helped themselves to coffee refills and offered to warm up anyone else who asked.  Thus fortified I set out eastwardly to head down into Riding Mountain National Park.  In spite of two coffees I was not all that bright.  From the north one traverses the width of the park before reaching the townsite on Clear Lake.  The organized campground was just opening for the season and at the Administration Centre brand new staff new little more about the park than I did, the visitors centre was not open nor was much else in town.  Tom, at the campground gate assured me the beach opens tomorrow—Clear Lake was frozen solid.  I appreciated his sardonic sense of humour.  Spent a quiet evening writing E-mail I couldn’t send and enjoyed a peaceful rest.  Next morning I braved the cold and availed myself of the first shower offered without the need to feed loonies into a coin machine before heading out south toward Brandon. 

 

Brandon Manitoba is known to me as the home of the violinist James Ehnes.  Alas it will stick in my mind and in my eye as I drive for the stone chip in my windshield I received a mile out of town.  First act was to get gas—at least it was 10¢ a litre cheaper than along the highway.  Next, since I stumbled on it I went shopping at Safeway.  You know you’re in a small town when strangers talk to you.  I met Josiah in the checkout line.  After a roundabout route found Turtle Crossing Campground where I paid the owner cash for three night’s rest.  Three nights in camp truly involves only 2 days in camp.  At least this campground enjoys good high-speed Wi-Fi and I used it to catch up the first night.  After sleeping in Sunday Morning I set about cleaning the crusted dust from my RV windows, getting my bike down from its rack and doing the usual household RV chores.  In the afternoon after I’d scrubbed my floors I took my bike for a spin around the park to ensure it still worked.  As I write this I should be putting it back in place so that I don’t have to do so in the rain tomorrow.  Tomorrow when I awake to rain I’ll be thankful I took the time to do so.  Last evening I started watching Paul Gross’s Passchendaele—he wrote, produced, directed and stars in it. 

 

After sleeping in again this morning I set to work at catching up on my blogging.  After lunch I disconnected my land line and set out to find Speedy Auto Glass and have me windshield repaired.  Found them, processed the paperwork and grabbed my computer while they worked their magic.  The blemish in my windshield has been softened and they guarantee it will not spread but the pit is still very visible—at least it isn’t in my field of view while I am driving.  On the way home visited Safeway again and found my way to Brandon’s Discovery Centre for tourist info.  Not every day, it would seem, can be filled with excitement and wonder.  Now I need to decide what I do and where I go from here. 

Prince Albert National Park

May 4, 2009

My day began this morning at 8:20 AM in Big River Regional Park in Saskatchewan when a crow landed on the spare tire of my RV six inches from my head and raucously called for a handout and when it didn’t materialize started drumming on the tire’s metal housing. No, he didn’t end up in a pie but the thought did cross my mind. Of course I’d been awake at 4:30 to do chores but went back to bed afterward. After discovering that Big River is just west of the 11,000 Sq Km Prince Albert National Park I decided to make use of my National Parks Pass to visit it. After stopping at the COOP gas station north of town being the only outlet available I drove south and opted for the shortest route into the park which took me along newly graded dirt roads through rolling farmland past farmers out tilling their fields. After seeing the dust on my vehicle and the bike on its rack at its rear I may be questioning that decision.

I entered the park along Cookson Road and found the South Gate unmanned and only French Versions of the Park Guide available at the self-serve fee station. After flagging down a Parks Canada car I was able to obtain a bit more information from it’s three college-aged occupants. Like Banff, Prince Albert Park has a townsite called Waskesiu after the lake beside which it is located. Thirty-Five KM later I reached the town and made enquiries as to the park office location and when I got there found everyone either out to lunch or at a meeting. The one person holding down the townsite office advised me to go have lunch myself at the Hawood Inn, the only place open, and come back later. The Seafood Paella Special was good. Upon my return I still had to make an effort to find a staffer but when she did arrive she was cordial and helpful informing me of the free camping and the hiking trails available in the area of my chosen campground.

The road into The Narrows has just finished thawing out in the low-lying areas but has not yet dried out enough to be graded making the drive a bit of an adventure. As advised I took the branch road to the Mud Creek Picnic Ground and walked the 2 KM Mud Creek Trail. Only a small rim around Waskesiu Lake is thawed but already Buffleheads and Mallards were paddling about on it. I had to cross several snow drifts to reach the trailhead but the actual trail was dry. The area alternates between Quaking Aspen Forest with Paper Birch and Black Spruce and Tamarack, southern and northern forests. The only under-storey plant in evidence were the shining club mosses however wildlife abounds. Loons called in the distance and directly overhead were the cries of the hawks. Ravens and Crows made loud complaint and red squirrels chattered away. The deer have wandered through my campsite and in the distance ruffed grouse are busy drumming for their mates. Along the trail a few early warblers were singing along with a white-throated sparrow. In the creek itself the backs of huge lunkers headed upstream to spawn could be seen. This is prime beaver territory but I saw no sign of present occupation. A few more warm sunny days such as the one just past and these woods will be filled with spring ephemerals.

Only one other site in this large campground is occupied by someone in a tent. Sharing their liking for a site beside the lake I chose a spot at some distance from theirs. Given the idyllic location and the utter peace and quiet of the place and the fact that the price is right I have decided to stay over an extra day and walk or bike over to the Treebeard Trail tomorrow. The day was so warm and the location so inviting even I couldn’t sit inside and type so I took my laptop outside and set up on a picnic table under my awning until the cool of evening and my depleted battery drove me inside but not before a red squirrel wandered up looking for an illegal handout. Having gotten here using Co-op gas I’m having a sandwich on Co-op bread made with Co-op Mayo—are you sensing a certain theme here? The tomatoes came from Sobeys in Calgary and were probably grown in Israel.

I’m just back from a wander around the park. My neighbour is a female who ignored me as I walked by. Found the path out to the point of land beside the Narrows. The current there has caused the ice to melt and the activity around that lead is prodigious. Ducks of all kinds stand on the ice at its edge. Huge fish surface and splash their fins while grebe and mergansers dive for their dinners. A cacophony of mating calls fill the air as Common Flickers call from the forest’s edge, woodpeckers of all kinds drum, killdeer fly overhead, kingfishers rattle, and the plaintive call of a loon sounds in the distance. Save for these natural sounds all else is silence.

My brother-in-law will be proud to learn that I was moved to use some of the freely available dry wood to make a fire in the raised BBQ grill—ground fires being too dangerous here. At 9:30 the sun has only now set turning the western sky a lingering red. As thankful as I am for the comforts of my RV in this place I do miss the sounds of nature from which my walls serve to insulate me. On the other hand in the morning I was more than grateful for the opportunity to turn on my furnace to give the place some warmth, nor do I miss exposure to the overnight rain I see on my windshield.

Treebeard

Tree size is a matter of perspective; along the Avenue of the Giants in Humboldt County, California these trees are saplings but here in this harsher environment these are giants. I am grateful to those who recently walked these trails with power saws and cut a path through the wind throws of last winter. Many venerable trees were lost. Given the elevation gain involved in walking this trail some benches along the route would be much appreciated—there is only one on the entire 1.2 KM loop. It’s not as if there aren’t loads of raw materials available. For maximum wildlife viewing early morning or late afternoon would be ideal.

There’s a well established wildlife trail along the Narrows from the Marina to the point, a boardwalk across the swamp would complete the pathway. The otters said to inhabit the docks were not in evidence. b

Peace River Country

What is unique about heading north in Alberta from Calgary to Edmonton and on to Peace River Country is the drop in elevation and the consequent rise in temperature as you go.  North of Edmonton the highway forms the Eastern route to the Alaska Highway and the entire route comprises a four-lane divided highway with passing lanes that formed part of the original two-lane on the northbound side.  Given the lack of traffic on this Apian Way I had to remind myself that this was a weekday—the economic downturn is hurting business it would seem.  The price of gasoline, however, is not sliding.  When I got to Valleyview found a just-opened tourist bureau and in a town where everyone knows everybody discovered that my assessment of where the farm I wanted to visit was located was correct.  Surprised my hostess by driving up to her door.  After leaving a chilly Calgary finding a warm sunny day this far north was refreshing.  My hostess and the dogs gave me a warm Alberta Farm Welcome and I immediately became a member of a farm family.  My host had barely arrived home when we were sent on a shopping errand to the local COOP.  Although the farm is on a paved country road, town is only a dirt concession road away. 

 

The Peace River District of Alberta has a milder microclimate that the rest of the province and geologic history has left it with deep  fertile soil.  My hosts raise beef cattle and show horses that live out on the range year-round.  As I arrived the last of the season’s calves were being born.  Mending fence, getting a live-in horse trailer ready for the show season, and cleanup were the order of the day.  Cattle here are branded, get numbered ear tags, and electronic identification sensors.  Cattle here are still pastured on community pasture.  Farmers eat well on home-grown beef and pork as well as the ground buffalo I learned was in the spaghetti sauce.  French Toast and biscuits for breakfast.  Did I get spoiled?  It was with great reluctance I packed up and left the farm with an invitation to come back for harvest season any October. 

 

The drive east to Athabasca led through alternative aspen and black spruce forests along roads that tended due East at 90º true east.  Lesser  Slave Lake, when I got to it, was solidly frozen.  When I drove into town the Athabascan River still  had ice pans floating in it.  Had to look up the directions in Woodalls guide to find my campsite across a plank bridge on the north side of  town beside the Golf and Country Club.  Later, when I drove into town on my bike I was bemused to discover that 3 large liquor stores serve a population of 3000.  The three grocery stores obviously serve the surrounding area.  The town has the usual regional amenities plus a university and athletic complex.  On a clear day the Lions Club Park near my campground affords a bird’s eye of the town from a cliff overlooking the river. 

 

Driving East from Athabasca becomes rather monotonous and the signs announcing Northern Alberta’s Forests look out of place when one sees miles and miles of clear cuts.  On the approach to Cold Lake the roads deteriorated to broken potholes and ridges.  The entire area had the worst highways I’ve seen in 27,000 km.  The town had a ramshackle look of a boom town that happened with no planning evidence.  The provincial park online research had led me to believe should be open had nothing but gated campgrounds.  The drive through the park was pleasant but….  On the out south out of town I encountered a mile-long strip on one-night motels, big box stores, liquor stores, gambling casinos and taverns—it appeared to be prospering.  On entering Saskatchewan I was met by reconstructed washboard gravel for 12 KM; it seemed much further.  When I finally reached the Métis Community of Big River I would have been satisfied to park anywhere.  At the regional campground I was rented a site with power and Wi-Fi.  What I discovered after the hostess left never to return was power that hadn’t been switched on inside the service building and Wi-Fi requiring a code I had not been supplied.  The only business in town was the COOP grocery store and gas station just north of town.  The Métis Band Office and Legion completed  the picture.  The trailer park north of town is not on the wrong side of the tracks as the tracks no longer exist thought the train stations has a new life as the senior’s centre.   Life was so exciting I went out and flew my kite Sunday Afternoon. 

Cowtown

In Calgary I had the luxury of sleeping in a Queen-sized bed that didn’t rock every time I turned over or the wind blew and soaking in a full tub of bathwater for the first time in nearly 8 months.  I’m not certain that my host has made the adjustment to retirement with complete ease.  Having a wife who still has to go off to work daily doesn’t help matters either.  For a couple days I tagged along while my host made the rounds of his favourite shopping locations and visited his favourite watering holes but in the end my natural antipathy to shopping took over.  I spent considerable time rehabilitating my computer and finishing the picture puzzle laid out on the dining room table. 

 

On Saturday morning joinied my hostess for a walk along the local river trails.  This early in the season everything looked brown and dead with standing water in many locations.  On Sunday joined my hosts for a tour of Gasoline Alley, the latest addition to Calgary’s Heritage Park.  Among all the restored antique cars and trucks plus original gas pumps the only thing missing was a Bennett Buggy.  The vehicles were restored to mint-as new-condition.  Monday saw my host and I take a drive out to Crowsnest Pass to tour the Frank Slide Interpretive Centre.  Mr. Frank, the mine owner, was more concerned with the loss of productivity of his mine than the loss of over 100 lives.  The exhibits and movie theatre were impressive, the hunky scientist explaining the ongoing danger and monitoring of the site lit up the screen; but it was the book of reproductions of letters to friends describing the trauma of the slide which particularly riveted my attention.  For lunch we stopped at a Fifties Diner in Double Diamond that came complete with checkerboard floor, banquettes, jukeboxes, full fountain service and burgers.  Talk about a nostalgia trip.  Driving back into Calgary was just as tedious with someone else driving. 

 

For the remainder of the week I divided my time between getting my computer back up and running, reading, and watching TV.  I did get out to rake my hosts’ lawn and ended up finishing the job as a snowstorm blew in blanketing everything with 2 inches of snow.  I was not amused.  I did manage to get my laundry done using my hosts’ fancy front loading washer and dryer.  On the second weekend my hostess, having heard me talk about the calluses on my feet took us both for a pedicure.  My feet are not as ticklish as they once were and I must say it was a unique experience.  Fear I may be too much a cheapskate to spend $45 on another but the feeling, post treatment was relaxing.  I did not get coloured nail polish but the clear gloss still has the nails looking shiny.  On Sunday we went on a tour of the Museum of the Regiments on the site of the Army Base.  To find out more about this unique and lovingly cared for display of military relics and history see their website:

 

http://www.themilitarymuseums.com/main/page.php?page_id=1

 

I found it particularly encouraging to see that teenagers come on their own to tour the place.  There has been a recent large addition and the displays have been updated to include the regiments’ involvement in Bosnia and Afghanistan. 

 

An interview by phone with people from Parks Nova Scotia forced me to stay over until Tuesday Morning but that call completed I set off for points north. 

Springtime in the Rockies

Anytime one uses commercial transport be it by air or sea the passenger soon learns his place in the scheme of things and it is low on the totem pole—not a bad analogy in these parts. After sitting in line for an hour and a half I was surprised when we waited until the ferry from Horseshoe Bay unloaded and then were directed to make a right-angle turn away from the ferry in front of us we had sat looking at and board the one which had just come in. With three car decks that didn’t take long. Although they fussed about propane when I picked up my ticket the boarding process was extremely casual and used a bare minimum of staff. Passengers were not required to leave their vehicles on the card decks but the foot passenger area above had lounges, a full restaurant, study kiosks, a commodious head, giftshop/magazine/bookstand, and children’s play area. On the top deck were sheltered open seating areas and walkways. Sheltered by the island these inland waters were calm and busy with ferries and tugboats pulling chains of barges. Horseshoe Bay proved to be remote from the city in a rugged area of coastline north of town.

I found Stanley Park but the parking that was available at $2.00 an hour was unsuitable for a Van the size of mine so I gave up on the idea and drove out through the city south to Surrey and Hazelmere RV Park a few miles from Blaine in Washington State. When I got in the much-tattooed, T-shirt-clad urchin at the counter interrupted the conversation he was having with his girlfriend to sign me in. My campsite was in a hollow beside the Little Campbell River, brook-sized save for the fact that its waters, in full flood, raced by at 15 miles an hour. I spent a quiet evening talking to my fellow campers who I’d earlier watched manoeuvring their castle-sized trailers into small campsites.

I can count myself indeed fortunate to have had calm sunny days to cross the Canadian Rockies. Driving high mountain roads lined with snowbanks and avalanche warning signs; the shoulder filled with salt and sand you can appreciate that Highway One does not always grant benign passage. In spring every mountain is snow-capped and the scenery tempts one to let one’s attention stray. Fortunately traffic was light. Save for the steep grades the road into Revelstoke is largely double-tracked and smooth. In Revelstoke amid snow drifts and mud I camped at Smokey Bear, the only place open this time of year behind a giant Smokey Bear statue in a hollow with chickens wandering loose. The Peaks Resort was opposite and though the skiing season was past snowmobiling was still rampant. The local cop sat at the corner in her SUV picking off speeders including a semi pulling a massive load of logs. The fine notwithstanding getting that load going again up a steep grade had to hurt. Revelstoke may be a tropical rainforest in summer but in spring it is hemmed in on every side by towers of white-clad slopes.

From Revelstoke Rogers Pass climbs over summits on roads heaved by the spring thaw curving around mountainsides, through rock cuts and under snow sheds, tunnels and rock slide shelters. After long climbs one is quickly moved to find low gear on the downward slope. Although the roadway was clear all the famous attractions, hiking trails, and campgrounds in the mountain parks were closed. At Yoho’s West Entrance Gate I paused for lunch beside the closed fee station and had my sandwich at a picnic table beside a snowbank. Later in Field I stopped for a break at the Visitor’s Centre. Just before the drive into Calgary I took the off-ramp into the over-commercialized Banff Townsite where the bored staff at the Park Visitor’s Centre largely ignored me. After finding nothing of interest I left tuning into Park Radio as I drove East.

Calgary is a city that seems to have been built in spurts with no overall plan in place. The series of confusing interconnected Expressways seem unnecessarily complicated and poorly laid out. Not for the first time I allowed my GPS to lead me south of downtown to reach the packed subdivision where my friends live.