"Stephanie is one of those persons who can fit a lot of words onto a standard size postcard -- usually by writing sideways, around corners, and even upside down if she can find some extra space. Most of these go to family and friends. But some of them -- those which document our RV adventures -- find their way onto this portion of our website..." Article reprinted by kind
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Photos from the BC Adventure Network
Postcard: August 13, 1998 Crossing into Canada at the Peace Arch can be a frustrating experience. There is so much traffic, that crossing can take a long time. The Aldergrove crossing is much quicker. This crossing is due north of Lynden, and only a short distance from Canada 1, the "interstate" into Vancouver. If you cross at the Arch, the route will try to take you right through the middle of downtown Vancouver -- not particularly enjoyable if you are towing, or are driving a large, or even a small, motorhome. In a couple of days, our Discovery Coast ferry will leave from Port Hardy at the northernmost end of Vancouver Island. There are two ways to get to Port Hardy -- cross from Vancouver to Nanaimo, or drive up the Sunshine Coast to Powell River, and cross further north. We opted for the Sunshine Coast. An hour of sun dappled water travel took us to Gibsons, the first city on the Coast. We were headed to Porcupine Bay Provincial Park, near the town of Sechelt. So were several thousand other folks. Sechelt was having an Artist Faire, a Carnival, and a Country Western Music Festival -- all on the very same weekend. Lynne, a most pleasant grocery checker, complained that, "all summer long, it is dead here, then everything happens at one time". No room at Porcupine Bay, so on we went. When you travel to Powell River, you must take two ferries. Their schedules are such that, if you drive promptly from one to the next, you will be able to catch the second. But this schedule doesn't allow time for exploration. Since we had two days before we were due in Port Hardy, we ambled slowly along. After all, we could stay anywhere, except Porcupine Bay, or so we thought. The trouble was, arriving at our next choice, a park in Pender Harbor, we found everything BUT the campground. We found the Royal Victoria Yacht Club outstation. We found a very crowded community barbeque. We found two lovely lakes with nice swimming beaches. We did not find Garden Bay Provincial Park. So, on we went. Now our choices were getting a bit limited. Time wise, we had missed the next ferry, and the one following that wouldn't come for another two hours. That would mean getting into Powell River quite late. But as we drove north, we noticed a steady stream of cars heading south. This could only be ferry traffic. Could the always prompt Canadian boats be running late? Yes. Hurrah!
We crossed Jarvis Inlet to Saltery Bay, and headed north. Within two kilometers, we found Saltery Bay Provincial Park. What a find! This park is very rarely full, has beautiful wooded spaces, and it is only a few hundred meter walk to Mermaid Cove. This lovely cove is right on the Jarvis Inlet. Here, thanks to the Japanese Current, the water is warm -- really warm. People of all ages were swimming or sunbathing on the smooth rocks of the cove. Even the rocks were warm, thanks to being baked for most of the day. This is a diver's paradise. In the clear, shallow water, you can see the various rock formations which snorkelers so enjoy. For the more adventurous diver, out in the water a hundred yards or so is a buoy which marks the mermaid. She is a statue 9 feet tall, sunk in 60 feet of water in 1989. She sits in a water garden of sea urchins, sea anenomies, sea stars, and sponges, as well as a variety of rock fish. If we were divers, this would be a must place. The waters of the Northwest are becoming an in place for divers, and with the warm water, this would be perfect. On the walk back to our campsite, we passed the old homestead of the "man who digs for fish". Frank Jenkinson, (whom I subsequently learned has just had his 101st birthday), was recently given an award from the Powell River community for his work restoring the salmon streams of the area. Digging for fish, means clearing the silt out of the streams and making them "fish-friendly" again. Back to our campsite for dinner and a night in the quiet of Saltery Bay. Tomorrow, we will cross the Georgia Straits to Vancouver Island. Heading North.
Postcard: August 18, 1998 The ferry, Queen of Coquitlam, sailed from Port Hardy (north end of BC's Vancouver Island) for the Discovery Coast at 9 pm on Monday the 17 th of August. We spent the next day cruising among the islands of the mid coast of British Columbia. Overnight, we passed down FitzHugh Sound en route to a morning visit to the native village of Bella Bella (Waglesla to its inhabitants). More accurately, we would stop in McLaughlin Bay, just a short distance south of the village. Bella Bella is off limits to non-native persons. The inhabitants of this town, (they refer to themselves as "aboriginal people") are attempting to determine just what impact the non-natives (tourists) will have on their people. Until they decide this question, the town remains closed. Interestingly, they were debating this question when we first came by on an Alaska bound ferry in 1987. One of the Heiltsuk (Waglesla natives) is trying to show his and the other coastal tribes just what benefits tourism can bring. Frank Brown's See Quests gives tours through the old towns (those established before the current Bella Bella), and takes tourists on canoe trips in this most scenic area. When our boat docked this morning, there was a presentation in a nearby Long House, a replica of the Long Houses of the tribes of this area. It was a small building, made of red cedar. A thunderbird spread its wings across the entry doors. The tips of those wings turned into canoes, each painted a different color, each symbolizing a different race of people. Under the outstretched wings was a depiction of a human form. This form, in turn, had its arms outstretched over all the continents. Inside there were seats along one side, and pictures of older times, fish harvesting, shellfish gathering, etc. At one end of the room was a display of most attractive jewelry and native artifacts. Indian girls were manning this display. Nearby sat two young men in front of a barkless log. Each held a short stick in his hand. Frank gave some introductory remarks, welcoming us to his land. He talked of the band's winter plans for building a full scale replica of a Long House, where dances and singing will be shared. His use of the word "shared" was deliberate. If you preform for someone, you are not on a level with him. If you "share" with someone, you are his equal. Next he introduced the young men. Keeping time by striking the log, Ian and Delbert Reed sang several "songs". These were more like chants than songs, the rhythm varied and tricky. There was a canoe song, and one for a women's dancing competition. Then the two of the women led the tour of the old towns, and Ian and Delbert, Cindy and Mary Jane took the braver ones on a canoe trip to Shearwater. We used two canoes-- Northern Dancers -- replicas of the old ceremonial canoes. These are not made of heavy cedar, but are fiberglass, traditionally painted. Each seats 12 persons, 10 to paddle, 1 to steer and 1 to set the paddle stroke pace. Delbert and Ian were the steerers, while Cindy and Mary Jane set the stroke. I paddled in Ian's canoe. We were to paddle the 5 miles from McLaughlin Bay to the town of Shearwater on Denny Island. While we did this, the ferry would also go to Shearwater (a scheduled stop) and wait for us there. It was a wonderful trip, I could imagine a trip much like many the long ago bands would have taken. I sat in the stern of the canoe, just in front of Ian. Like everyone else, my paddle was painted with Indian designs, adding to the illusion of a trip into the past. We paddled across a small channel and right along the shoreline of nearby Denny Island. I could have jumped ashore. We paddled under the cedar limbs and along the mossy rocks. Eagles watched us from their overhead perches. Ian pointed out the Bella Bella guardian, the Watcher. This is a totem pole with only one carving -- a face with large eyes. It peers out of the forest, watching the village, keeping it safe. Denny Island housed airmen during the Second World War. At that time, there was a board walkway all around the Island. Now it has fallen into ruin, contributing still more to the romance of this canoe trip. Add to that Ian's singing. He sang the song that the Haida gave his people when they made peace. He sang the songs his people sang when going to war. Just when I was feeling that this was all the world there was, I looked off into the main channel. Traveling so slowly that it could not be heard over Ian's songs, an enormous cruise ship sailed out into view. It was so big that it dwarfed the trees of either side of the channel. There is a world for cruise ships. This morning, I would not have traded places with a single one of her passengers. We rejoined the boat at Shearwater, and were off to Klemtu. This Indian band lives on Swindle Island, a 4 hour ferry ride from Bella Bella. There is a lot more than distance separating these bands. The first thing you notice at Klemtu is a large sign reading "Klemtu Welcomes You". The villagers have arranged a tour of their town and a dinner for those who would like to partake. You can stroll along a boardwalk so long it has made the Guinness Book of World Records. Everyone waves or says "hi". You do have to be careful of the children, they will talk you to death. We met a group of them, and they were delighted to find that one shared a name with our dog. Missy met Missy. Another had my name. Many giggles, and non-stop smiles. The stopover in Bella Bella lasted 1 1/2 hours. In Klemtu, the boat was docked for 4. This must be at least in part due to the overt friendliness of the villagers. Those who were not part of the tour or the dinner, came aboard to visit the gift shop, and the children loved to wander around the decks. We walked around the village, visited the fish hatchery and the fish counting area. Somehow it is possible to determine how many fish are returning to the river by checking them from a low bridge (actually just a plank across the river). The mile+ hike to the lake above the town was very popular. I was concerned about bears until we met about half the ferry passengers walking this picturesque trail. Now its back to the ferry for dinner. The meals on this boat have been gourmet. You don't have to eat hamburgers for lunch and dinner -- today I had chicken Caesar salad for lunch, and tonight we will have fresh salmon. Tomorrow morning, we will dock in Bella Coola, and start the land based portion of our Discovery adventure.
Postcard: August 20, 1998 Ever since we planned this trip, we have known we would have to pull "the hill". The Hill is a 43 kilometer stretch of narrow road east of Bella Coola. There is a 5.5 mile part of it which climbs with grades of up to 18 % grades. Depending on your source, the road is either terrifying or a "piece of cake". There is even a brochure available at the Port Hardy ferry terminal describing it. That was not a good thing for the peace of mind of this less than intrepid traveler. We arrived in Bella Coola in the mid afternoon. During a quick stop at the neighborhood grocery store, I learned that the daughter of the checker had driven straight from Vancouver to Bella Coola, after a Spice Girls concert. She drove the hill during the night. Of course, she is only 18. We heard from various sources that the Hill was in disrepair. Others said that it was in good shape. We would have to test it for ourselves We camped at the Gnome's Home RV park in Hagensborg, a Norwegian settlement just 15 miles outside of Bella Coola. The sites at this park are large, some in grassy areas, others in the forest. At the edge of the campsites, is located several acres in reserve which has been left in a natural state. Boardwalks cover this area, with signs pointing out different trees, what sorts of animals, amphibians or insects you might expect to find, and other information on the ecology of this area. On this preserve, as in other parts of both towns, references to the bears of the area were everywhere. The chum salmon are spawning now, and we expected to see bears in every stream. Dozens of eagles wait for their dinners on the shores of the streams, but no bears were in sight. Rumor has it that there is an unwritten law which all bears know and every fisherman must learn. "You catch the fish, I eat the fish, you run away." Karl, "Mr. Bella Coola", recommended we tour the town, with stops at this historical museum, at Kopas, where you can get anything from CDs to bear bells, and at a local artist's shop. He told us where to go for fish (the grocery store in town doesn't carry it, because "everybody already has fish!"). If we wanted to see bears, the local landfill in the morning was certain to have some. There is a side trip to the top of Mt. Saugstad for the surrounding scenery. Exploring Bella Coola, we met Darren Edgar, the goodwill ambassador of the town. He will take you on a tour of the town, or out to see the petroglyphs. Having lived here all his life, he is a walking encyclopedia of the area. We stopped by the historical museum in the afternoon and enjoyed the pictures of the pioneer days. The curator of the museum is married to a direct descendant of the founder of Hagensborg. If all this makes Bella Coola seem like a small town -- it is. But the "town" stretches for miles, through Hagensborg, Firvale to Stuie. As far away as the Tweedsmuir Lodge, some 75 kilometers east, the proprietress considers herself a citizen of Bella Coola, and knows most of the people of the area. I find myself staring at a blank computer screen when I try to find words to describe the Bella Coola Valley. Larger and as awesome as Yosemite. Norway's fjord country. Glacier sanded granite cliffs rise straight up to 9,540 feet, while the floor of the valley is at or about sea level. Rushing streams make silver streaks down the sides of the hills. Glaciers perch precariously on impossibly steep slopes. Glorious! The road we will be following is known as the Freedom Road. In 1953, the last 60 km of the road connecting Williams Lake, BC with Bella Coola was finished, and the people on the coast were no longer landlocked. The road had been considered impossible, since it had to climb the Coast Range, and work its way through miles of deserted backcountry. The government thought this an impossibly expensive task, and it was due to the perseverance and hard work of the locals that the road was completed. Today sections of it are still unpaved, though reasonably smooth. It covers some of the most beautiful country -- BC's "Last Frontier". It also covers The Hill.
Leaving Bella Coola and its neighboring towns, the road climbs very little. It winds up the valley, past rushing streams, through verdant farmland, and through Tweedsmuir Provincial Park. Then, without warning, the pavement ends, the road turns and begins to climb -- up and up and up. The steepest and narrowest spots occur in the first 3 1/2 miles. At the end of these miles, you have a short reprieve, then, just before Heckman Pass, some seven miles further on, there is another shorter, steep portion. We were traveling east -- we climbed up The Hill. It wasn't that bad. The road was smooth and recently oiled, and we climbed easily. The switchbacks were wide, and only a couple of spots were actually one lane. Then we pulled over and got out to look down the road. Uh, oh. I guess that thing really is steep. Tom, doing the driving, didn't think it all that bad, however, though he did say he would rather not have towed our fiver down it. But large trucks do it, and there is a twice weekly bus service between Bella Coola and Williams Lake. The bus only takes 7 hours to travel the 450 + kilometers. The Hill behind us, we are looking forward to exploring the Chilcotin. The Chilcotin is the area from Bella Coola to the Fraser River. It should be distinguished from the Cariboo, that area to the east of the Fraser, and the locals in the Chilcotin will be happy to correct you if you get confused. Lakes abound in this region, and Tom's love of fishing becomes more apparent with each one. We expect to stay in and around this area until he is "fished out" (or until September, whichever comes first!).
Postcard: August 21, 1998 Fishing the Chilcotin If a person came by who was out granting wishes, We cleared the Hill and headed for the lake country of the Chilcotin. We planned on spending several days fishing these intriguing small lakes and exploring the countryside. We started at Anahim Lake. There are two small fishing resorts here, neither especially busy at this time of year. Like all the fishing resorts here, they will guide you fishing, or take you hunting in the fall. They will fly you to the remoter lakes of the area, for the "trophy trout". They will take you flightseeing or show you the best hikes. We stayed at Escott Bay Resort. Here there are several small cabins, and a grassy campground with water and electric hookups. The fishing was wonderful. Tom caught so many rainbow trout that he had to make a rule: don't keep anything smaller than the last one. This lake spoiled us, for Lady Luck wasn't with us as much at other lakes. But besides fishing them, the lakes here are beautiful just to look at. Clear blue water, sometimes ice blue water, green forested hills, lovely streams and rivers. Not just a fisherman's paradise, but a nature lover's as well. Waterfowl everywhere. Ducks of every description. White Pelicans can be found here in the summer. One day at Escott Bay, then we explored further. Our destination was Puntzi Lake less than 100 miles east. But there were a lot of lakes between us and Puntzi. Nimpo Lake is only 15 miles down the road. It too, has many places to camp, reported excellent fishing, and the same "fly-in" amenities. The one spot we looked at here, Pine Point, was completely full owing to a small caravan (14 units) which occasionally happens by. Continuing toward Puntzi, we explored Clearwater Lake, but here it was too windy to fish. A few miles further on, we stopped at One Eye Lake. This would have been a great lake to fish had we had a boat. There is a nice British Columbia Forest Campground, and only one person who looked as if he would stay overnight. We haven't a boat with us, so we made it a lunch stop. Enter the Robbers. We were sitting on a picnic table, lost in the idyllic scenery around us. Just what they wanted! In the blink of an eye, one Canadian Gray Jay landed on Tom's sandwich, while it was still in his hand, and flew away with a big chunk! Tom yelled, but it was far too late. These were the two aptly named camp robbers, who flew to a branch of a nearby tree, and continued to eye his sandwich. Tom covered what was left with his free hand, and ate more conscientiously. Eagle Lake is 6 km off the road, again with a nice campsite. The lake is ice blue, and quite shallow around the shoreline. Too shallow for fishing. Off again to Puntzi Lake. Puntzi is large enough to easily accommodate its 5 fishing resorts. We stopped at Puntzi Lake Resort. As we entered the campground we were treated to a picture of "Longball Walter" -- a fish with a golf club over his shoulder! They have a driving range and practice green . We had a large and level grassy campsite, with electric and water, and a large field where they encourage you to exercise your dog. So Missy had lots of room to roam, and loved it. But this lake's fishing left something to be desired. It seems to be the wrong season for really good fishing, which should pick up again when the weather gets cooler. So we will be off again tomorrow to see what other lakes we can find.
Postcard: August 22, 1998 Blame it on the fishing. No lake had been as productive as Anahim. Blame it on the roads. When we finished our 100 kilometers of gravel road, and hit the pavement, we felt as if we had returned to civilization. And when we got to the passing lanes -- that was more civilization that we wanted. Whatever our excuse, we pulled into Alexis Creek, only 113 kilometers from Williams Lake, got some diesel -- and turned around. We made a return reservation on the ferry from Bella Coola for next Tuesday, and headed back for Anahim Lake. Back to good fishing, and back to The Hill. This time we will get to drive down it. We spent the night at Anahim Lake Resort. This is a very attractive place, with level, grassy campsites right on the water, with electric and water hookups and firerings. It is home to countless bunnies -- Missy spent every outside moment frozen in place watching them. The fishing was just as good as before, and Tom released many more fish than he kept. An influx of Airstream trailers and motorhomes meant that we would go to Pine Point Resort at Nimpo Lake in the afternoon. This resort full just two days ago, now had plenty of room. Nimpo Lake is larger and deeper than Anahim, which meant larger fish that were also harder to catch. But we did get our largest trout of the trip so far, 17 inches and 1 1/4 pounds. Fish were jumping all around us -- so often and so high that we wouldn't have been surprised to have one land in the boat! The resort is, as its name suggests, set among the pines along the shores of the lake. There are 10 full service RV sites, although it isn't unusual to see multiple rigs sharing one site. There are 5 housekeeping cabins, and a very attractive lodge. This resort offers fly-in fishing at some of the otherwise inaccessible lakes in the area. Now off to The Hill again. We knew the road better on this return trip. About 5 miles before we got to Heckman Pass, the start of the downward trek, we met John, from Victoria. John was bicycling from Williams Lake to Bella Coola. We had passed him a couple of times, so recognized him when we both happened to stop at the same information sign. He was curious about the upcoming descent, and we felt fairly knowledgeable, having recently come up it. As we crossed the Pass, we noticed the warning sign posted there. It warned drivers of all vehicles, that they would have to climb up again once they had made their descent -- as if up were the more difficult direction. And maybe it is. There's no denying the hill is steep, but we found that, except for one or two places, second gear with the pac brake on was almost too much compression. Unfortunately, third gear was a bit too fast. Tom is documenting our descent down The Hill, by miles and by the driver. I can only say that I might, maybe, try it someday.
At the bottom of The Hill, we stopped at the Fisheries Pool Provincial Park Campground, just to take a look around. There are bear warnings posted prominently here, as this campground is right on the Atnarko River, home of one the largest concentrations of grizzlies in BC. There was a father and son fly fishing here for the spawning pink salmon, catching and releasing fish. The fish seemed in very good shape, considering they were spawners. Those we had seen in Bella Coola a few days earlier had been much more battle scarred. They reported having seen a Mother Grizzly and two cubs. At the campground you are encouraged to pick up a checklist for seeing bears. The government wants to know such things as: how many bears did you see, did they run away immediately, run away and stop, or perhaps charge you! Were their ears tagged? Did they have collars? Not the sort of thing I would notice on a charging bear. But we still haven't seen a bear. Tom & I had a contest as we began this trip. Called "How Many Bears Will We See", we both guessed a number. I guessed three, Tom chose zero. So far, he is winning. Tomorrow we will reboard the ferry for a return trip to Port Hardy. From there we will begin the homeward leg of our journey. We don't know our route, or the length of time it will take us to get back, but homeward we go.
Postcard: August 26, 1998 Three Hours on Alert An uneventful trip from Bella Coola to Port Hardy. The weather was rainy and a bit foggy, but the wind was non-existent, and the water flat calm. We stopped briefly at Namu, the site of a former fish canning factory, with a current population of exactly 4 -- the caretaker and his family. We had a short time to walk around the boardwalk, and look in the old buildings. Namu is for sale now, and there are dreams of converting it into something of a resort. We spent the night in Port Hardy and then drove the 30 miles to Port McNeill and Alert Bay. I have long wanted to make the trip to Alert Bay. This is the home of the 'Namgis First Nation -- the Kwakwaka'wakw! Unable to pronounce that word, (or any other of this very complicated language), white settlers called them the Kwakiautl. Their village is located on Cormorant Island, a 40 minute ferry ride from town. We found the ferry sitting at the dock already loading cars. We hurriedly parked and literally ran for the boat. En route, Tom decided that he would rather return to Port McNeill, pick up what he could of his email, walk the dog and just putter, in general. So I was left to explore on my own. Whee! First stop, the Visitor Center. Here I picked up a bushel of pamphlets. Who would ever have imagined there were so many things to do in one small village. There is a walking tour including the municipal hall and court house, the library, the old Anglican and Catholic churches, the "Gator Gardens", and the U'Mista Cultural Center. This last is what most visitors come to see. But I got a special bonus. A small announcement read, "'Na'nakwala Dancers. Performances take place (today) at 1 pm sharp. Experience the Kwakwaka'wakw culture through our children". The dance area was next to the Cultural Center, on the other side of the village, not too far, but I had better get going. The gym at St. Mike's school had been decorated with various Indian paintings. There was a red and green thunderbird at one end of the room. All along the sides were various paintings of the bear, beaver, raven, etc. all painted and signed by children. The dance troupe consisted of 12 children and three adults. All were costumed in button blankets, mostly red and black, designed with white silvery buttons. The more recent blankets were decorated with buttons of one size, the older ones with buttons of varying sizes. The buttons formed patterns, some traditional, others random. In addition to the blankets, all the dancers wore patterned tunic skirts. These were black and decorated with sequins -- gold, blue, green, red. The dancers also wore caps woven from red cedar, for they would be performing the red cedar bark dances. They were accompanied by various rattles, bells and the traditional chants and drumming. We watched portions of the Cannibal Dance, the Weather Dance and the Salmon Dance. The last dance was the Potlatch Dance, where we were all encouraged to participate. I did learn a little of the politics of these people. They are negotiating with the BC government to regain all of Cormorant Island. They claim they would not remove any non-Indian inhabitants, but would like a return of their lands. There was also some discussion of the history of the Potlatch. We learned that, in 1921, the practice of the Potlatch, those feasts where people would give all their possessions away to others, was banned by the government. Having a potlatch could now earn you a jail sentence. In 1965, the law was repealed, and the natives still appreciate their older generations for remembering the old traditions and passing them down to the younger people. After the dances, I went to the U'mista Cultural Center. Here I found a continuation of the story of the potlatch. There is a collection of the old masks which were confiscated by the government when the potlatch was outlawed and which ended up in museums in Toronto and Ottawa. The same fate befell the native "coppers". Coppers are large, flat pieces of hammered copper metal. They can be compared to bills of large denomination, which gain in value each time they change owners. Both masks and coppers are slowly being returned to their rightful owners. Indeed, the word U'mista refers to the return of persons taken captive by raiding tribes in earlier days. When they were returned to their homes, they were said to have "u'mista". The natives feel that the return of their treasures from other museums is a form of u'mista. As you view the masks, you can read the words of the chiefs when they were forced to give up their masks, their coppers, their potlatches and their sense of identity. You can also read the words of the missionaries who claimed that the Indians were so interested in potlatches that they were not working as hard the missionaries thought they should. The gift shop in the Cultural Center featured "modern" masks. These are also beautiful, brightly painted and carefully carved, but cannot equal the old masks in the sense of their history. The gift shop also carries clothing, jewelry, books, and cards. There are some very beautiful items to be found there, and they were doing quite a business. I helped. But by now, it was almost time for the ferry to be in. I only got a short look at the ornate Anglican church, with the native language hymnals. I barely got to talk to the folks who were canning (they say "jarring") salmon or those who were barbecuing whole butterflied salmon on the beach. I completely missed the Gator Gardens, where you can take a boardwalk stroll to the surrounding forested areas. But I did have a wonderful three hours, and will definitely return. But not this trip. Tomorrow we will be heading back to our Island home. We will be telling stories about our Mid Coast and Chilcotin adventures for a long time -- and planning our return. Continue the adventure... be sure to read: © Text copyright RVers On-Line
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