It all started with the week-long semi-annual Boivin reunion, held at the lake (Lac la Hache), surrounded by about a hundred and thirty folk – all related. Mind boggling to me because a family reunion on my side would total in the single digits. Myffy, our eleven year old granddaughter flew from Toronto to accompany us and Cairo who lives near us is now fourteen and would never miss a family event.
We perched Maggie at the very edge of the lake in a semi-secluded grassy corner where we also pitched tents and a screen house. Arriving a day or two before the horde descended, we were well ensconced and sat back watching as the multitude of RV's and cars packed tight with tents and appurtenances spat out their happy clan.
The brothers, the sisters (all 13 of them), their parents, their spouses, their children & grandchildren, dozens of cousins, uncles and aunts chatted like birds on a wire, moving from site to site, hugging and reminiscing and on the last day, crying as separation was once more imminent.
The time passed sublimely, the week packed with organized, unorganized and disorganized events. From golf tournaments, whist drives, potluck dinners, a 50's & 60's costume dance party, a myriad of poker games and family photos to fishing, swimming off the end of the dock and tubing behind a sea-doo – and for me, my lounge chair in the shade of the cottonwood trees and a good book, which usually fell off my lap as I snoozed in the warmth. It was an idyllic week.
Oh!.......almost forgot, the afternoon 'women's only' martini party. Two who had just reached the legal age of 19, were overjoyed to be part of it. I was on the other end of the spectrum, age-wise ...... but there were a bunch more in the middle range. I think we totalled about a dozen.....probably labelled 'lushes' by the men who were left to fend for themselves. Each of us brought a 'concoction'. There were Raspberry Lemonades, Blueberry Martinis, shooters called Porn Stars, and I can't remember the names of the rest of the delicious cocktails but I tried them all. We held this soiree outside in the centre of it all, and I think displayed a noisy and colourful distraction.
And then it was over.......saying goodbye is always hard but particularly so as I waved to Myffy as Tracey's car sped away with her down the highway.....I probably won't see her until next year.
Alone again.....naturally!
Luckily, Fernie and I relish our time alone....just the two of us....and we were off to explore new territory. This time it was north and west over to Prince Rupert on the coast of British Columbia. A fishing village and deep-water port, Prince Rupert is also a lively town, with an unusual ethnic mix. The First Nations, of course who first inhabited the area but Japanese fishermen and also Chinese workers made it their home in the early 20th century as well as the Europeans who took control of it all. The Japanese and Chinese men coupled with the First Nations' women and it has resulted in an unusual new ethnicity....pale skinned, almond-eyed with the high cheekbones and broad noses of the aboriginals.
There was no boondocking in Prince Rupert, no Walmart, no Costco, no Canadian Tire and every pull-out and gravel pit is either barred or proclaims in large letters “No Overnight Parking”. And it was just as well because we ended up at Prudhomme Lake Provincial Park enjoying it thouroughly. As we lit our campfire a cheeky little chipmunk came calling. He jumped on our picnic table and was about to devour a weiner but we offered him a nut instead. He became our resident pet, feeding from our hands and chattering madly when he wanted another nut. He used his little paws to hold onto our finger as he took each snack. We found he didn't like the banana chips, wasn't crazy about the bits of mango, but just wanted nuts and sunflower seeds. He sat about five feet away with his back to us nibbling ...... absolutely trusting. And then a motley crew (not knowing the correct group name) of Stellar's jays descended. They loved the banana chips that Cheeky had discarded but not so much the mango. We had a raucous and demanding menagerie by now, the dozen or so jays not intimidating Cheeky one bit. He held his own. One short-sighted jay, took a peck at my toes.....did he think they were food? Or was he just trying to get my attention.
Prince Rupert is not known for sunny weather, moreso for rain but we were lucky; not a drop of rain fell and the clouds drew back to display deep cornflower blue skies. In days gone by, most of the canned salmon in our stores was processed in Port Edward, just a few miles out of Prince Rupert. The large North Pacific Cannery and the surrounding village, home of Clover Leaf, is now a museum and tours take place several times each day. I was chagrined to find that some of the office equipment and other objects that are considered 'antique' were part of my past. As I watched the tourists (a lot of them German) exclaim at how funny the 'old' stuff was, I felt terribly ancient. Now I understand my mother who, when she was in her eighties, said she still felt young mentally and it was only when she looked in the mirror that she had a reality check. Thus, I avoid mirrors and cameras. Let others see my aging visage while I go on not letting the erosion of time get it my way.
Dolly's is the famous local Fish 'n Chips shop. Recommended to us by Fernie's youngest brother and his wife and then again by the girl at the info centre, it was obviously a must for lunch. “Let's have one piece of halibut and chips” I suggested frugally “at $10.95 they're probably huge pieces”. Well, it was absolutely delicious but the little bit of halibut was what Fernie would call an 'appy'. He salivated over the man at the next table's plate loaded with three pieces. But instead of ordering more, he said “Let's go to Tim's for dessert!”. I've taught him well.
There was some meagre geocaching around town; only a total of five in the entire area; It has not taken off in Prince Rupert. But they took us to some nice little areas that we might otherwise have missed, like the monstrous (Maggie sized) hunk of white quartz in the middle of the woods. How did it get there? We also sat on the dock at the Sea Plane Port watching the little planes soar off along the harbour and up through the mountains. We considered taking a flight tour, the one that scours the beaches and rivers viewing the wildlife and then tours over Misty Fjords, but we figured that with the final payment for our Australia jaunt due soon, the $250 each for an hour was a bit too rich for our budget. Next time! Instead, we headed off for the 5.5km hike down to the Buntze Rapids; it was free, invigorating and we worked off Dolly's calories.
One morning in the middle of the reunion, I had awoken to find that my tongue didn't fit into my mouth (and it wasn't because my foot was in the way). The edges of the back of my tongue had swollen sorely between my teeth. It was a puzzle....was it an allergy? Had I picked up a virus? The glands in my neck were like rock hard little marbles, throbbing and painful. I gargled and rinsed with hot salt water but the soreness continued and migrated around my tongue and gums. When passing through Prince George, we had to stop at Costco and so I asked the pharmacist could it be an allergy and what should I take for it. She said I shouldn't take antything and recommended that I see a doctor. It had been almost a week now so the next day we found a 'walk-in' clinic in Smithers. A big sign greeted us “Please remove your shoes”. We wondered if it was also a religious shrine, but the perky young receptionist told me that if I didn't have socks on I could leave my sandals on. “Not to seem discriminatory but the sign is not aimed at you” she said with a sardonic smile. Hmmmmm! She was obviously referring to the First Nations folk; do they wear big ol' dirty work boots? Is this racism or a matter of fact?
It wasn't long before I was ushered into an examination room and a young and handsome South African doctor ambled in. Oh gosh! Will I ever be too old that I won't admire a good-looking man? Luckily, Fernie finds it amusing knowing that the admiration certainly won't turn to lust. We spent the first five minutes swapping tales of his homeland, that Fernie and I visited a couple of years ago and his impressions of British Columbia and Canada. He and his wife have been here for ten years now, love it and their first two children are Canadian. He told me he'll never ever leave.
“So, what brings you here?” he asked and after “Open mouth; say ah” he said the possible causes were – strep throat, a virus, mononucleosis or sinus drainage.
“I shouldn't think it's mono ...... unless you've done any French-kissing?” he said with a sly grin.
“Well I have done a lot of hugging and kissing at my husband's family reunion and they are a French family” I answered naively with a returned smile. He chuckled with amusement. In case it was strep, he took a swab from the back of my throat and told me if I didn't hear from them in two days, there was nothing to worry about. Three days later, no word from them and my tongue was back to normal. Could it have been from too much talking?
The Nis'gaa highway runs north from Terrace about 100km (60 miles) to New Aiyansh and Canyon City, both Nisg'aa reservations. An active volcano erupted only 250 years ago wiping out several aboriginal villages, killing more than 2,000. The lava fields have altered the flow of the Nass River and the result is a changed environment; there are lovely water falls, lush forests, lichen-covered lava beds, streams teeming with salmon.
I'm always disappointed though at First Nations villages; I still naively expect to come across one where the residents take care of their homes and beautify their towns using their native traditions and art. I'm sorry to say that New Aiyansh followed the stereotype. Icicle Christmas lights hang haphazardly off the houses; junk and old cars are strewn everywhere; toys spread out all over the yards; garbage left to rot; houses unfinished with blue tarps covering leaky areas; an absence of front steps; yards full of overgrown weeds, no lawns, no flowers and no fences. Canyon City tried a bit harder but still missed the mark.
Totems flanked the bridge leading into town; a native B&B stood in the center of town, garishly decorated but at least they tried. I think the tribal leaders should take a lesson from strata law where they can demand that residents follow set rules.
We stayed a couple of days at Lakelse Provincial Park on the road from Terrace to Kitimat luckily getting the last available site. It's a large park with a sandy beach and it was teeming with families who spend their two week annual holidays there. But as usual, the sites were huge and we had a private woodsy haven in the midst of the chaos.
Kitimat, a planned community, just 50km south of Terrace at the end of a deep water inlet, was built in the fifties to house the workers employed at the new Alcan Smelter. They used the 'strip-mall' mentality when designing the town, no Main street; instead high on the ridge, they grouped the hospital; government buildings, shops, restaurants, gas stations into a sprawling conglomeration, sort of Disney-esque.
There's a lovely view over the inlet but it's marred by the pall of smoke emanating from the Methanol Plant, Rio-Tinto Aluminum and Eurocan Pulp & Paper. A few miles along the inlet sits the First Nations fishing village of Kitama'at. A lovely situation other than the view of far off Rio Tinto, but it still is shabby and unkempt.
Just west of Kitwanga, the gateway to the Stewart Cassiar Highway, we experienced the highlight of our trip. A group of vehicles parked haphazardly ahead on the highway made us think that there'd been an accident but Fernie spotted a guy with a camera and we realized it was a wildlife sighting. Expecting a black bear or a moose, we were overjoyed when we spotted a large creamy coloured Kermodei bear (aka a spirit bear in native lore). Just about ten metres from the side of the highway, he nibbled contentedly holding the stalks with his massive and long-clawed paws. They are so rare that we never dreamed we'd be so lucky.
Snap, snap, snap on the camera and we had to move on as a huge bottleneck of trucks and cars had resulted. A bit further on a black bear and cub ambled across the road in front of us and deer scurried into the forests but they couldn't live up our Spirit Bear sighting.
The K'san tribe at Hazelton have recreated a First Nations Village to capture the tourists on the way to Alaska via the Cassiar Highway. It's well done with totem carving in progress, audio visual presentations and lovely cedar buildings emblazoned with the red and black aboriginal designs. There were some lovely goods at the store/museum and Fernie bought me a beautifully designed pendant in turquoise, red and black.
Babine Lake at 110km (or is it miles) long, is the longest natural lake in British Columbia and the tiny town of Granisle is perched in the center. The town was built to house the workers of the Granisle Copper Mine but the mine closed in 1992 and the town has fizzled. 350 hardy folk still reside there but when I asked what they all did for a living, I was told that the residents are almost all retired. That accounts for the neat homes with cultivated green lawns and flowers. The few businesses that once thrived have now closed and the buildings are empty and broken down. Other than fishing tourists, using the lodges and RV Parks, there is no other commerce.
We stayed at Babine Lodge RV Park at Topley Landing, affording us a spectacular view down the lake. We sat on the dock, dangling our feet in the cool water to beat the raging heat (34 degrees or so), then snoozed in the shade until the sun sank behind the trees. What I love about the north is that the heat of the day quickly dissipates when the sun sets and it gets quite cool overnight and into the next morning.
Love & Marriage......
The little town of Fort St. James nestled into the southeast end of Stuart Lake, is home to four of Fernie's siblings. Logging and the lumber mills keep this historic town alive and most of the resident family work in the industry. The government has done a terrific job in recreating the original fort situated at the edge of the glorious lake and it's a lure to the many tourists on their way to the Yukon and Alaska; interactive displays, live fur trading, and freshly cooked bannock to nibble on. But the 'piece de resistance' is the geocache that we placed out front...with permission of course.
And ohhhhhhh.......the properties around the lake are glorious; the residents have a life-style that I truly envy. But it's so remote. The trouble is that I want all this within an hour of Vancouver. I want access to an international airport, a ten-screen movie theatre, shopping centres, a Costco of course, and all the amenities of a world-class city – theatre, concerts, opera and so forth. Since we don't have five million dollars to spare (because that's what it would cost around Vancouver), it just won't work.
It's a pity that the town itself has not recreated itself ... perhaps in the style of the early pioneer days. With such a lovely setting, surely it could be more of a tourist draw. Instead, the road into town runs through the First Nations reservation and once again the stereotype lives on. The centre of the village is comprised of a couple of seedy strip malls where loitering and unkempt groups mill around and not far down the road drunks spill out of the lacklustre local 'hotel/bar' nicknamed “The Zoo” for obvious reasons. But the farming town of Vanderhoof which offers a bit more commercially is only 45 minutes away and the bustling and industrial city of Prince George with a population of over 100,000 is less than a two hour drive and they all make regular shopping trips to replenish their larders.
Folks are so 'back-to-basics' in FSJ....gardening, canning, pickling, preserves, freezing, cooking from scratch, wine-making and crafting consume much of their time. Their free time is spent ATVing (otherwise known as quadding), boating, sea-dooing, camping, fishing, hiking and in the winter ski-dooing, cross-country skiing and ice fishing. I purposely overlooked hunting as I have a hard time accepting the killing of animals but it's part of this north country back-to-basics lifestyle and traditionally 'the men' have always foraged to provide food for their families.
One of Fernie's brothers and his wife (T&M) have two properties on Stuart Lake, their fairytale log home with emerald lawns rolling down to their private beach and a vacant treed lot also on the lake T&M's daughter, C was getting married and thus the reason for our visit.
We rolled Maggie into the vacant lot for our first week because with the wedding festivities, there was an endless stream of traffic in and out of M&T's home. Enjoying the peaceful and private haven, we lounged through the heat of the days while the breeze off the lake cooled us.
The wedding was such a memorable affair. There is no more perfect venue than a sunny day on M&T's lawn by the lake. Their fears of the forecasted thunderstorms were quelled when nary a threatening cloud appeared in the sky. A hundred chairs fit comfortably with still lots of room for wandering and clustering while we waited for the ceremony to begin. A glitch or two, didn't mar the proceedings. The delighful little ring bearer stooping to pick up the blossoms just strewn by the flower girl brought delighted laughter from the onlookers; the music stopping just as the bride emerged through the trellissed archway was quickly handled when the bride staunchly announced “You don't mind if we start over, do you?”. And then it went by perfectly; some tears and some laughs and they were husband and wife and they released a dozen ruby butterflies to acknowledge that moment forever. Days later, those lovely butterflies flitted about; perhaps they'll breed and colonize the area. The groom then lifted the petite bride into the flower-adorned boat for a spin around the lake not worrying that the water was lapping at his shiny black shoes. C, her mother M, her grandmother, aunt and cousins made every decoration in the theme of butterflies and daisies. The wedding cake was made by M; alternating layers of hazelnut torte and orange chocolate cake decorated with daisies. Even the wine glasses were etched. Martha Stewart would have been so impressed. Later that evening we all gathered on the balcony of the golf club on the opposite shore of the lake for the wedding dinner and party. We all brought a dish, salads and appetizers to accompany the prime rib and the authentic native smoked salmon freshly done and brought by the groom's (K) aunt. But my favourite was the bannock that we nibbled on while waiting for the dinner to be served. It was made by another of K's relations and I know it's not healthy being deep-fried and all, but it was so yummy.
When all the festivities were over and the myriad of other relations had returned home, we lingered and moved Maggie to M&T's home. She fits in so comfortably between the house and the little trapper's cabin and our view over the 'ocean-like' lake was perfect.
Saskatoon trees bursting with succulent dark berries and monstrous hanging baskets spilling out a profusion of multi-coloured blooms tantalized humming birds, tiny yellow finches and butterflies while bald eagles perched regally on high bare branches suddenly swirling down over the lake on a fishing expedition and ravens chattered in their deep throaty manner. While the sun went down which it did so dramatically over the water, we'd soak in the hot tub, our senses overwhelmed. We're going to call this T&M's Resort & Spa.
So many days we were entertained by Fernie's family. His two FSJ sisters and his cousin had us over for dinner. They are all amazing cooks and we came home with recipes so we can try their creations. From Fernie's sister H, we learned how to make Salmon Pate with egg sauce in the French tradition; from his sister G, we learned how to make home made ice cream and from his cousin L we got the recipe for pickled beets that had been handed down from his grandmother. On the last day, Fernie's brother, T gave him a cooking-on-the-barbecue lesson. They rotisserried chickens to a succulent golden brown and T even showed him how to make his 'special' rice. The cardinal rule was 'cook the sxxx out of the onions until they're almost black'. Men!
M&T took us to visit the lakeside home of two transplanted Welsh recently retired teachers, the man the former principal of the local elementary school and his wife a grade one teacher there. She is a potter and we visited her studio and admired her creations; she also quilts and paints watercolours. He is an avid gardener and wine-maker. Their home is so artistically designed in a rustic and pioneer style that it belongs in Better Homes and Gardens. An enclosed sunroom for winter and a huge shady deck for summer overlook the lake. We sank into big comfy chairs on the deck sipping wine while listening to tales of FSJ all seasons.... and the wonder of it in the middle of the freezing cold winters. They painted such a vivid story in such a beautiful locale that I was ready to immediately buy a home on the lake in FSJ. That is until Fernie said pragmatically “.....and what would you do after the first five days when the novely wears off?”. That man knows me so well.
Our plans to visit Bella Coola on the coast of British Columbia and down a long, long hill famous for it's steep grade and hairpin turns, seemed to best be put on hold this year. With 89 forest fires smouldering around BC and particularly the one that closed Highway 20 to Bella Coola, it would have been foolish to attempt any back country touring. So, we headed straight home taking a few days to do it – it is 1,000 km after all. We stopped in Prince George to visit Fernie's aging aunt and uncle and Fernie treated me to lunch at Earl's (Thai curry) out of his poker winnings while in FSJ. As we were about to pull out of the restaurant parking lot, I couldn't get the gear shift out of park at first but then I thought no more about it until I was trying to do a left hand turn in the middle of busy four-lane Hwy 16 and the car's gauges started going crazy as it sputtered and I inched it along at a couple of miles per hour and luckily managed to get over to the side of the road before it quit totally. Phew! My adrenaline was running I'll tell you. We called BCAA and they sent out Ron's Towing to help us; he got there fast when I told them we were blocking a couple of cars. Ron (or whatever his name is) was an older guy who thought he knew everything there was to know about mechanics – a real 'man's man, or so he thought.
“It's the battery” he said. “You just need a boost”.
You know I'm not one to meekly play the quiet, unassuming 'woman's role' and said “No, I don't think so” and explained how it started fine and acted crazy as it was running. “I think it's the electrical system” I continued not remembering the name of the parts...alternators, and generators or whatever.
Wow, he sure didn't like to hear that I had an opinion. He carried on basically telling me that I didn't know what I was talking about while over his shoulder, I could see Fernie putting his finger over his mouth in a 'shhhhh' gesture. So I did shhhhhh because we needed his help. He got it going and told us the only place open to help us at 4:30 on a Sunday afternoon was Canadian Tire and we should get our battery charged there or buy a new one. I crossed my fingers as we drove the roughly three miles and we made it. While Fernie was inside talking to the service guys, I kept the car running and an older mechanic wandered over. I told him my story and he said that it didn't sound like a battery problem, but more like an alternator gone. Hah! It turned out it was the alternator and they had to keep the car overnight to get the part in Monday morning so they sent us back to Maggie at the casino in a taxi. It was ready by 11:30am and $500 later, we were homeward bound. Or so we thought.
The following morning, after staying the night at Clinton about 225 miles north of home, I tried to start the car to run it through the routine to lubricate the transmission ready for towing – Aak! The battery was dead. Another call to BCAA, but we had 'No Service' on our Rogers cell so Fernie had to find a pay phone and that's not easy these days. The local towing company assigned by BCAA, boosted the battery and we drove to his shop where the mechanic tested the battery. It was dead and not revivable. Grrrrrrr, why didn't Canadian Tire check it and replace it. The nearest auto supply shop was in the neighbouring town of Cache Creek, 25 miles away but when the delivery truck arrived an hour later, the driver forgot to bring the battery. When things go wrong, they really go wrong. The mechanic felt so bad for us that he immediately jumped into his car and drove to Cache Creek to pick it up; that was another 45 minute wait. But they gave us great service and didn't overcharge. Finally, we were on our way home and even I was looking forward to getting there.
We've travelled a long way through North America this year and it pleases me intensely to state “There is no more spectacularly beautiful place than British Columbia”.
