oh, canada!

Our first night in Canada passed pretty uneventfully. We’ve been staying in provincial parks (think state-run camp sites), which have been anything between a parking spot in the woods to a lakeside picnic site with flush toilets and a store. Thankfully, they’ve all been pretty cheap and I highly recommend this method if you’re traversing across BC. We’ve met a bunch of friendly camp attendants and scoffed at the myriad RV’s that have surrounded us in the parks. Of course, I suppose one day we, too, will be retired and used to the creature comforts. Seriously, doesn’t ANYBODY under the age of 50 make this trip?!

Some of the more exciting points:
Our second day through Canada brought us up through the gorgeous Fraser River Valley, a lush, mossy Pacific Northwest forestland enclosed by craggy, snow-capped mountains. Coniferous forests blanket the walls of this valley, that is sometimes so narrow it only fits the river and the highway. Midday found us passing Hell’s Gate, a rugged crossing of the Fraser River. It was named thus by the explorers for its dangerous passage through the valley. Today, it is marked by a tourist trap—a cable car that descends into the ravine and deposits you on the opposite bank. A four minute ride to a gift shop and suspension bridge back across the river to nowhere, all for $16.

Who knew British Columbia had a desert? Ok, probably all of you. Anyway, the valley eventually opened into arid ranchland. Those parts that are irrigable serve as pastureland to cows and as fields of alfalfa and mysterious swaths of black fabric, later explained to be ginseng. KT compared the space to Wyoming. Scattered pines cover the dusty mountains that run along either side of the river and patches of scrub speckle the spaces between. Although rivers and lakes exist all along the valley and are fed by snowmelt in the higher mountains, very little rain actually falls here.

The towns in this part are dolled up in Wild West, Gold Rush fashion, featuring old-style facades and names such as 90 Mile House. One town, Clinton, claims to be the Gateway to the Cariboo and hosts a collection of “traveler’s trees” in the center of town—15 foot poles covered head to toe with wooden slats listing names and hometowns of passersby. There was nothing to mark the spot, but any sign would’ve been unnecessary. KT caught a glimpse of the poles as we jetted past and thought they deserved a second look. On closer inspection, we found records of visitors from Quesnel, BC, to France, marked in any way possible: blue magic marker, nail scratches, and even carved out with a router.

Day three brought us into the Canadian Rockies and across the Continental Divide. The mountains surprised us as we pulled off to a lookout point for Bijoux Falls. Here, snow was still on the ground and just ahead were the Rockies, great stony pinnacles still white with the fading winter. Just a month ago, the ski resorts in this area were still operating.

The little town of Chetwynd claims to be the chainsaw sculpture carving capital of the world. We paused only long enough to admire the line of champions outside the visitor center. 2006’s winner was carved by a Pennsylvania resident!

The towns were getting smaller and fewer the deeper we drove into BC. Signs warned us to check our gas, as refreshment was getting to be 150 km or more apart. But we arrived safe and sound at the luxurious Mile 0 RV camp in Dawson Creek. We’re here for the night, hoping to regroup before hopping on the Al-Can tomorrow. Here we bid adieu to convenient towns and unending paved road. Alright, that sounds a little sensationalist. Dawson Creek isn’t the last bastion of civilization between us and Fairbanks, but it sure is fun to play that way!