On the road to Montreal - Jasper to Saskatoon

So I left Jasper a day earlier than I'd planned. Basically I was feeling restless and craving the monotony of the prairie-flat highway after the overwhelming hight and splendor of the Rockies. For a variety of reasons, I needed to get moving. So i headed east this morning on the Yellowhead Highway (otherwise known as Hwy 16). Once I cleared Jasper, the scenery changed very dramatically and very quickly. I had thought it would be more of a gradual transition from mountains to prairie but no. The sky suddenly opened up in the space of a few miles, the mountains being replaced by flat-bottomed mountains of fluffy white clouds on a giant blue sky. For a while I drove through rolling hills freckled with so many wildflowers it looked like snow. By the time I'd made it into the florescent yellow canola fields, I was chasing a dark purple storm way out on the horizon. I followed it for most of the afternoon but never quite caught it, although by the time I made it to Edmonton, the roads were wet and the smell of the storm was fantastic.

I'd hoped to camp in Elk Island National Park, just outside of Edmonton and Canada's oldest wildlife preserve (think elk, bear, deer and even moose), but it was full and I hadn't booked ahead. So I pushed on another 150 kms to the rather tiny town of Vermilion, which fortunately has a nice provincial park campsite where I am now. My first powered campsite in 3 weeks! I'm so terribly excited to be able to tap away at my laptop for an evening again.

The beauty of the prairies is more subtle than the Rockies and I'm finding the driving very soothing. But can someone please tell me why on earth there are seagulls this far inland?

Banff Back Country on Horseback - The compiled writings

Back in civilisation now after an amazing week in Banff's back country. This post is the journal entries I wrote while out there, mostly by the camfires at camp in the evenings. Photos to come when I can, but be warned, neither my writings nor any photographs can hope to capture a fraction of the experience. You'll just have to get out here and do it yourself. Enjoy!


June 26

To say I am awestruck by the scenery I've now spent two days riding through would not be doing this place or this experience justice. Right now I'm wishing that my previous travel writings were less prone to hyperbole so that I could give this place the emphasis is deserves.

The group I've joined for this week-long trek on horseback through Banff National Park is small, only 6 of us plus our soft-spoken guide, Kerry, a self-proclaimed mountain-man. There's Anna and Shirley, a mother and her 16-year-old daughter, both dairy farmers from Black Creek in the Comox Valley. There's Rob, a lawyer from Edmonton, and his 13 year old horse-crazy daughter Megan who is brave and enthusiastic and reminds me so much of myself at her age. And there's Mike, a 29 year old visual effects artist/programmer from London who is seeing Canada for the first time. All are keen and capable riders, all are good-natured and friendly and we've bonded already "through joy and adversity" as Shirley and I noted. The joy of the sheer splendor of this place and the adversity of sore legs, backs, and bums from our mode of transport.

The horses too have been well above what I'd expected. Well-muscled, responsive and wonderfully willing. I have been so pleased to see how much of my feared-forgotten horse husbandry, riding skill and general knowledge is still intact. And while my muscles may not quite have the same tone and strength they once did, the do still remember what to do.

In two days, we've ridden just over 60 miles, through alpine meadows still fringed with snow, steep grassy hillsides, peat bogs oozing with the clearest, sweetest water, and rocky valleys following and crossing rivers swollen with spring melt.

The mountains are almost too big and classically formed to seem real. Last night we camped beside Stoney Creek in the shadow of the Vermillion Range. As the light changed from early dawn to midday sun to golden dusk, these mountains continued to look completely surreal. I joked with Mike that they looked like something he could have created for one of his company's films. He offered to drop in a few mountain goats and wolves to complete the effect.


Tomorrow we climb to just under 7000 feet and it can only get colder, although I don't understand how it can possibly get more beautiful despite Kerry's promises that the best is still to come.


June 28

I am loving the sense of freedom, adventure and play that has come over me on this trip. Yesterday we stopped for lunch in a valley under the gaze of the mammoth rock that is Block Mountain, with the Sawback Ridge filling the rest of the skyline. The valley contained the source of the Cascade River, which we had been riding next to most of that day, crossing it numerous times. The sky was the deepest, clearest blue and the river so pure, running deep and cold and I sank to my knees next to it. I knelt in the shadow of that mountain, in that sunlit valley with the river in front of me and I laughed while tears ran down my face. I'd never been so moved by a place, by a sight as I was then. It completely startled me to have such a strong reaction. I just can't remember ever having been this content.

When we got back to camp that night, I went to the icy river, stripped to the waist and wadded in, jeans rolled to my knees. I scooped the frigid water over my head and shoulders and laughed like a maniac to be doing it. What a place is this to bring out such complete happiness in me?


June 29

Today we rode through Flint Park, along a ridge that passed Rainbow Lake and through 40 Mile Pass, a high alpine pass that bisects the Vermillion and Sawback ranges. I swam in the lake where snow still fringed it's edges and a glacier, hidden under crumbled slate, dipped its toes in the water. It was so cold my breath came in quick gasps. And it absolutely delighted me.

On this trip I've become a better rider. I've become a better conservationist for having lived in a travelled through such rare and special country. I've become a better naturalist, more comfortable with the dust and discomfort of the wilderness. I've become more patient, understanding and I have been, quite simply, happier than I can remember.

Banff - June 24: Canadian cheese, you have redeemed yourself

I was all set to write a diatribe bemoaning the state of Canadian cheese. Horrible orange dye aside, even the most simple white cheddar is just horrible. First of all, the texture is just wrong. I bought what should have been a lovely organic white cheddar in the market the other day and it was _sticky and crumbly at the same time_. Wrong, just wrong. Then there's the taste. Slightly bitter with an aftertaste that makes you reach for something to wash it away with. And this has consistently been my experience for the past month and a half. What happened to your cheese Canada? I remember it much better that this. But then maybe my taste has, ahem, improved beyond your merge reaches.

But then, oh then, in one fell swoop you have redeemed yourself entirely. After a lovely late afternoon soak in Banff's hotsprings, chatting with two visiting Torontonians about of all things, French literature and organ musicianship, I decided to continue my indulgence with a drink on a beautiful sunlit patio in downtown Banff. Graham, my wonderful waiter, gently encouraged me to try the house specialty, fondue. He even arranged a half serve for my lonely self (the usual serve is for two or more) and I am so very glad he did. The melted gruyere was absolute bliss with a nice local pinot grigio. Oh, oh, and the dish of roasted garlic cloves that went with it. Oh dear god. While the cheese was Swiss and the wine Californian, somehow, Canada, you have redeemed yourself ever so slightly as far as cheese is concerned.

So loaded with tasty, tasty cheese (dear god, Tim, if you ever make it to Banff, this place has a 4 course fondue dinner!), I am back at my campsite for my last night relative civilisation. I do hope I can get to a net cafe early tomorrow morning to post this before I head off for a week of back-country horse rising. And now I must go pack my bags, bearing in mind that everything I bring has to be carted by a mule. I promise, poor beast of burden, that I will pack light with your well-being foremost in my mind.

On mountain roads

After having a couple days in Vernon with my uncle and aunt (who I'd hadn't seen since I was about 12!), I headed further into the mountains and have made it as far as Banff. It's a funny little mountain town. Much like Rotorua in New Zealand, Banff was founded as a tourist destination, primarily to encourage wealthy Victorians to travel the new railroad. As such, it has no really industry of it's own. It is a destination solely for it's placement among incredible mountains, eerily turquoise lakes and wild forests. So I don't feel too conspicuous as a tourist here seeing as most are. That said, I've been asked for directions four times now so I must look a bit like a local.

The highway alone to get here was just amazing. What a complete feat of engineering, cliche as that sounds. The highways wind around, through and beside incredible cliff faces, running next to rivers and lakes a lot of the time. Truly just incredible. The photo in this post is a bridge that was part of the old highway, now replaced with four lanes of smooth, sweeping road.
I've done a couple good hikes, one amazing one along the ridge of Tunnel Mountain, as well as had two good nights relaxing at my campsite. But this afternoon it's raining, so I'm camped out in a Starbucks (no, no horrid coffee for me; just a nice safe Tazo tea), scamming WiFi and electricity.

Banff is the base for my long-anticipated horseback camping trip. From the little I've been able to see from my less than ambitious hikes, I'm keen to utilise the more robust legs of a good horse to get a bit further into the wilderness around here.

Horsey adventures

I was back on a horse again today, a wonderfully smooth-gaited Tennesse Walking named Thunder, at a property owned by friends of my aunt and uncle. Their daughter, Greeta, took me out for a few hours and we chatted about growing up in rural BC as horsey girls, she in the Okanagan Valley and me on Vancouver Island. Seems the culture was much the same with both of us owning green (read: untrained and therefore cheap) horses which we spent a lot of time and effort training up for the show circuit ourselves. We'd both resented the spoiled girls of wealthy parents who competed against us on their $15,000 professionally trained, 'push-button' horses.

Only a couple years older than me, Greeta has been able to stick with regular riding longer than I could and has built a career of sorts around it. She now teaches kids with disabilities at the local theraputic riding centre and guides trail rides on her dad's property in the summer, mending fences and looking after the horses as well. I can't help but be quite a bit envious.

I drove back to Vernon beside field after field of yellow, purple and white wildflowers that framed a glassy lake (Swan Lake) and the odd delapitated shed or barn. Tonight I'll ease my only slightly sore muscles and butt in my aunt and uncle's hot tub. I think I'll take up Greeta's suggestion of buying a sheepshkin to cushion my saddle with. Otherwise, spending 7 days riding the backcountry in Banff next week will leave me seriously sore.

Manning Park: Pine Beetles and Marmot sentinals

Written June 17th in Manning Park.

I'm at Manning park, choosing to spend a few days here as it was convenient to the route I wanted to take to Vernon and because of it's reputation as a bit of a wilderness paradise. When glaciers covered what is now BC many thousands of years ago, the area that is now Manning park was left exposed. As a result, the biodiversity here is pretty amazing. It's also seriously off the beaten path. Just getting here involved a very long climb up sweeping mountains. I've decided to stay close to my base at Lightning Lake, mostly to conserve gas so that I can comfortable make it to the next town.

Being here I've been able to see a very concrete example of global warming damaging an exquisite space. The forests here are mostly Douglas Fir and Western Red Cedar and are one of the few large-scale virgin forests in BC. That is, they have never, ever been logged. Most of the forests in BC have been logged at least once in the past 300 years. What is referred to as "old-growth forests" have generally not been logged for at least 100 years. The forests here are therefore pretty special, and they are being ravaged by Pine Beetle. They literally peel the bark off the trees from the inside. This pest used to be kept in check by long, cold winters which would kill of most of the population. Those winters have stopped happening and the beetles are systematically stripping the bark from every second pine tree on most of the slopes here. The lake I'm camping next to is surrounded on all sides by towering pines, dropping right to the lakes edge. I can only imagine how much more dramatic they must have been a few years ago when they would have been a wall of green, not checkered with dead brown trunks. I'd been told about how bad the pine beetle problem was and how much of an impact it was having on the forestry industry, but to see whole mountainsides destroyed and to walk amongst so many dead trees has made it really sink in.

I walked the 9km trail that circumnavigates the lake today and came into a pretty green meadow. I was greeted by a dozen curious brown heads, spotted with shiny black eyes, standing meerkat-like staring at me. These are (I believe) some sort of marmot, but smaller than marmots I've seen before. They seemed to think I wasn't much of a threat and went back to their grazing pretty quickly. Then a couple of hikers with a golden lab came into the clearing and right away I heard a high pitched chirping, followed by all the marmots instantly disappearing into their burrows. The chirping continued and I saw that it was coming from a lone sentry marmot, standing up on a hillside at the edge of the clearing. He'd been there all along, keeping watch over the small herd.

I'm loving mountain lakes. Manning Park is about 1400 metres from sea level and feels very much an alpine forest. The lake I'm camped next to is as clear as any tropical bay, brilliant blue under the sun at a distance, and deep turquoise close to the shore. I put my ear to a tree and listened to the tattoo of a woodpecker high above me reverberate down the trunk.

Squirrels

Written June 17th, Manning Park.

In the evening here, loons make their forlorn calls across the lake. In the mornings, squirrels do battle in trees, grunting agressively and chasing each other around and around and around trunks. These are not your tame city park squirrels. These are muslcular, wild squirrels. These are all dark meat.

Manning Park

Written June 16th. - More to come on the amazingness of Manning Park as I have time to type up lots of written notes.

Arriving at my first proper wilderness campsite, I actually felt rather out of my depth. My camping so far has been in serviced campsites on the outskirts of small towns. Tofino, Hornby Island, Squamish, all of them with electricity at every site to plug my van into, hot showers to wash in and gas stations, food store and cafes within a 10 minuite drive. But here, oh here in Manning Provincial Park, here I climbed a serious mountain range in my van just to get here, gears working overtime to make it up the long, straight slopes. Here there is no electricity, just an aqua lake down the steep slope from my campsite. Gravelled and furnished only with a government-issue picnic table and a firepit, its ringed on all sides by firs not by other campers.

Spirit of adventure or no, arriving I was a bit aprehensive, worried that the milk I had carefully bought at the last town, Hope, would go rancide, develop some sort of bacteria that would kill me painfully. Kill me because my meagre half tank of gas wouldn't last me to the next town.

Much effort spent priming, pumping and generally knob fiddling resulted in a tiny glimmer form the pilot light of my propane fridge. I think I may have actually cheered aloud. The sqirrels and marmots may be barking at my campervan door, but i can still feed myself and stave off food poisoning at least until my propane tank runs empty.

In which Kate actually has a plan

I've been able to get myself organised a bit for the next leg of my trip, mostly out of necessity as campsites book up pretty quick in the summer. For the curious and for those keeping track, here is what I'll be up to for the next little while:

June 16 - 18: Manning Provincial Park.
June 19, 20: Vernon. Staying with my uncle and aunt and doing a bit of warm-up horse riding.
June 21 - 24: Banff. Hiking and hopefully swimming if it warms up a bit more.
June 25 - 30: Banff. Back country camping by horseback in the Rockies.
June 30 - July 4: Lake Louise. Doing the backpacker thing and soothing my aching muscles.
July 5 - 7: Jasper. Some proper hiking, if my body has recovered enough.
July 7 - 13: Travel from Jasper to Montreal. Route still to be determined, but I'll have just over 3000 kms to cover.
July 14 - 21: Montreal. Being joined by Jolyon and doing the Juste Pour Rire thing and practicing my French.
July 21 - 30: Touring Quebec. Route still to be determined. More French practice and inevitable failure.
July 30 - Aug 21(Approx): Maritimes, Nova Scotia most likely. Route still to be determined.
Aug 22 - 29: Vancouver/Victoria. Fly back from east after selling van. Fly for Brisbane on the 29th.

Oh, and on the drive back from Whistler yesterday, I clicked over the first 1000 kms in my van. Feeling kinda proud about that.

So now I'm officially off. After a short stop for groceries and gas I'll be on my way east. To adventure and the unknown! And to lots and lots of Tim Horton's coffee in my Mountain Equipment Co-op mug!

Heading out

My last day before I start my journey east. I'm excited as well as nervous as atfer today I won't have a base to return to. I hadn't thought I would spend this much time in BC but I'm really quite glad it worked out this way. I have fallen in love with the energy here. It has actually felt a lot like coming home, which I wasn't expecting. From Australia, BC felt like a bit of a made-up place at times. The island was that place I grew up but I didn't feel any real connection to it. To the landscape in particular. And the memories I had of it were things that had happened to a much younger, very different person. Coming back has let me make new memories and to see this place with adult eyes.

What was once familiar became strange over the years. Not because it changed but because I did.

To the naysayers

I've had mixed reactions when I tell people - friends, relatives, friends of relatives - that I'm traveling alone and that I'm traveling long and far. Some think it's exciting. Some reminisce about the time in their youth that they did something similar. And some look a little askance at me. They think that for a single woman to travel alone she must me running away from something. Some recent trauma that has her all unhinged. To these people I would like to say, loudly and emphatically, I AM NOT BROKEN.

I am not running away from something. I'm having a rest. There is nothing wrong with me that fresh air, long horizons and a lot of good sleep can't repair. So please, keep your disapproval, your tsk-tsks, there theres, and wagging fingers to yourselves. Keep your brows furrowed with concern too because I am not broken.

On economy of space - Written June 3

I'm sitting in my van at by beachfront campsite while a west coast storm rages outside. Rather than feeling claustrophobic and cooped up, I feel comforted and tucked in. I've been developing for a few months now this notion of economy of space. I like the idea of taking up less room on this rather crowded planet and of living in small but well-designed spaces. Of consuming and hoarding less, so that less space is needed to house the hoard. My van, although a little dated, is a great example of this.

In an interior space of about 4 meters long and less than 2 meters wide (exactly the stretch of my arms), I have a loungeroom with seating for 4, a dining room with the potential for excellent views, a complete and functional kitchen, a washbasin that doubles as a laundry tub, a comfortable bed, storage for the minimal objects I'm finding I need, a front porch, electricity, running water and a guest bedroom in the loft. And even 25 years since being built, this space of mine is still a comfortable home. It still works just as it was designed to because it was well-designed. And all this comfort and practicality is mobile.

Allow me to ramble my way to a point for a moment. Twenty-five years is a long time for a design to remain relevant, to remain sought-after. Here on the west coast, I've seen dozens and dozens of VW Westfalias cruising about. Not just camping mind, but in towns and cities as well. It appears that the done thing if you own a Westfalia is to wave at other Westfalia drivers when you pass them on the road. I love this. I don't think though, that Westfalia fans amount to a cult following. Cult followings of products generally involve a love of an image of an object and an overlooking of inherent design and functional flaws. I think that Westfalia owners are followers because of the inherant practicalities of the design.

Think about this for a second as I finally make my way to my point: How many designs remain relevant 25 years on? How many of the objects and products being designed today will have relevance 25 years from now? Will be sought after not for their impractical cult value but for their functionality and the pleasure brought by their use? The problem is that we design for aesthetic and for immediacy more than we design for practicality and longevity. What results are objects that are shiny and new enough to attract our attention, but so semi-functional or just plain awkward to use that their use isn't pleasurable. They don't become part of our routine or part of our identity. As a result, we discard them or store them away in ever-increasing closets and spaces. Consumption of a well-designed, practical but still beautiful object leaves a feeling of satisfaction and of contentment.

Conversely, the brief consumption of an object that is destined not to become part of a routine but part of a storage space leaves a hollow feeling. Almost like having been deceived. And so the cycle continues.

So what does all this mean for me and my van? It means that I am content to occupy and to enjoy my small, enduringly designed space for the duration of my trip. I already feel sad to know that come fall, I will have to sell this space. I've already developed that sense of attachment to this particular object. It has already found its way into my identity. But I'm determined to take this lesson with me back to my life in Brisbane. I will seek out a small, well-designed space in which to live. One with a shared laundry because there really is no point in dedicating an entire laundry space to one person. One with a small courtyard or patio so that I can grow things. One with a minimal of wasted space and with not too many closets. One that is close to the places I need to go on a regular basis so that I will drive less. I realise all this will be difficult to find in Brisbane with its leanings towards big, sprawling, individual spaces. I want an element of communalism.

And I will fill my space only with those objects that I feel an attachment to. I will reconsider and ultimately reduce my consumption, so as to avoid cluttering up my small space with empty objects.

If you've stayed with me this long on my journey to a point, thank you.

Tofino - Written June 2

An only slightly harrowing 5 hr drive from Victoria has found me in Tofino, on Vancouver Island's far west coast. The drive really was just brilliant, especially the leg from Port Hardy to Tofino. The potholed highway hugs rivers, lakes and more than a few mountainsides. Last time I came out here it was mid-winter and pouring rain. Waterfalls fell from the overhanging rocks and onto the road and passing cars. This time, I drove in sunshine and the only flowing water was in the fast-moving creeks that diverted under the road.

Although I'd visited Tofino at least 3 times before, I'd never made it out to the natural hot springs at the creatively named Hot Springs Cove. I set out to fix this today. I joined a charter going out to the island where the springs are and spent the first 2 hours of the day cruising between dozens and dozens of mostly unnamed islands. The wildlife was everywhere and we stopped to gawk at a huge pile of enormous sea lions sunning themselves on the rocks. There were also cormorants, puffins, harbour seals, porpoises, many many bald eagles and even a grey whale made an appearance, waving his tail in the air for effect.

The springs themselves aren't like any other natural hot springs I've been to. First, there's barely a wiff of the sulfur smell that usually accompanies geothermal springs. Second, you'd hardly know the springs were even there if it weren't for the cedar shelter set back in the trees. The hot water come out of the ground and flows down a 20' waterfall into a small crevasse in the rocks. Barely as wide as I am long, the hot water flows straight down into the ocean, slowed into a few pools by armfuls of rocks cum dams. What was really surprising was how close the spring is to the shore. Instead of jumping into a cold-water plunge pool, the pacific is right there and just as cold.

Sailing back to Tofino's harbour, we ducked in and out between islands. I just love the shape of the west coast. Waves of mountains start blue in the distance with each ridge and foothill becoming progressively greener until there's one right in front of you, tumbling into the ocean. Branches hang just above the high-tide mark and make me think of hands and arms reaching out to prevent a fall.

There are still a few slopes in Claquot Sound that have never been logged and the forests that grow on them are something to be seen. It makes no sense to refer to them as trees, they are true forests in every sense of the word. Tangled and interwoven, deep green live trees propping up the silvered dead ones, opportunistic moss and lichen covering every surface sheltered from the winds. They aren't colourful forests - the dominant colour being a ubiquitous blue-grey green - but the abundance of textures make up for it.

I've been a little more active this past week. Between horse-riding, getting out on the water, and a few good hikes, my body is starting to be put to use again. Muscles are sore but happy to be working. I'm liking this outdoors-y thing I think. It's been ages since I've slept as well as I do in my van, with the crashing surf in my ears and nothing but darkness and stars in my eyes. I may have to make a habit of this.

To Tofino

A short note before I leave Victoria and head to Tofino, the west-most point on Vancouver Island. This last week in Victoria has been surprisingly wonderful. I spent a glorious sunny morning riding trails around Thetis Lake. The smell of horse sweat, leather and sun-warmed broom flowers sent me right back to teenage memories. It was great to be back out on a horse, riding windy douglas fir forests, treading on familiar ground with tall scottish broom brushing my knees.

An impromptu meeting with a friendly local afforded me a fantastic hike yesterday along a little-used railway track in the Malahat range complete with two dizzingly-high trestle bridges to cross. I was invited back for a few drinks at home with a great group of people. Smart, funny, quirky, and very welcoming. I tucked into their folds without feeling the twang of the outsider. I had an incredibly relaxing and fun night chatting and watching an Ultimate Fighting match, with the sound muted and Band of Horses, Feist, and a bit of the Beatles replacing the sound. Just brilliant. If this group was representative of Victorian locals, it has only added to my want to live here. I am sad to be leaving.

Now I'm about to pack up the van and head as far west as I will be on this trip. A fitting place to start my cross-country trek in earnest.

A few words on victoria

So I'm spending an extra week in Victoria, officially house-sitting for the newlywed couple off on honeymoon, but more than that, I'm using the extra time to try to get under this city's skin. Partly because it seems to be a city full of wonderful contrasts and partly because I'm beginning to feel quite certain that when the pull from this country eventually grows strong enough to make me lift up roots and move across the pacific again, Victoria is no doubt where I will likely land.

Victoria has a great youth culture, contributed to predominately by the University of Victoria but also it seems by the swaths of 20 somethings from all over the island who migrate south in search of work and of nightlife that just can't be found in, say, Coombs. But Victoria's population also has the largest percentage of retirees in the country. Add to that the constant influx of tourists from all over the world and it becomes a city with a bit of something for everyone with an energy built on relaxation and recreation, in various forms.

Historically, Victoria was the lone British outpost that stopped the newly forming US from taking the wide strip of land that is now British Columbia. After Alaska was bought from the Russians, this particular chunk of Canadian West was sandwiched between two rather large slices of America. It was the settlement in Victoria that formed the base for a resistance that kept BC for the crown and then for Canada. That said, such close proximity to Washington State means that the number of (rather rotund) American tourists loping about downtown does make you wonder how successful the resistance was.

Today is seems that Victoria has a strong counter-culture, based in environmental conservation, a bit of cooperative communalism, and a general political left-wingedness. But this is balanced by the realities of a tourism-driven economy and the subsequent need to keep up appearances. The Empress Hotel, one of the icons of Victoria's Inner Harbour, is slowly sinking into the swamp on which it was built, but of course any suggestion that it should be demolished as the unsafe building it is becoming is met with fierce opposition.

I like Victoria and Victorians. They are a friendly lot, for the most part. And despite the pockets of crime and homelessness, I really could see myself living here at some point. Although, I think I'd better do it soon while I'm young or else I'll have a long wait till retirement.