Princeton and Beyond Part 3: Penticton and back again.

I woke up with the light of the sun rising over the hills and streaming through my hotel window. It was early but I almost jumped out of bed eager to start the day. The city of Penticton was out there waiting for me to explore and I wanted to make the most of the time I had left. I had approximately 10 hours before two colleagues would be landing in town, marking the end of my solo exploring time and forcing a return to Princeton, the old gold rush town where my adventure had started five days ago.

I had stopped in to see a friend who worked in town and had an open invitation to a backyard beer and barbecue day but with co-workers coming, I had to stick to their schedule and couldn't make it work so I was planning on staying on my own for the day. I sent a early morning message to him thanking him for the invite and then went down to the chain restaurant attached to the hotel and had a massive breakfast, took a few minutes to pack up and then checked out of the hotel.

The sun was absolutely beaming down and even although it wasn't even 9am the temperature was already in the high 90's. Seeing that I was steps for one of the two beaches in town I decided to start the day there. I grabbed a coffee at the Starbucks and wandered down to the beach where I could still catch a Wi-Fi signal from the coffee shop and check out what there was to do in town.

My first stop after the beach was a driving tour of the city and especially the eastern edge of town that was home to dozens of vineyards and wineries. I had no interest in touring the famous Okanagan vineyards but wanted to get a sense of the country that they existed in. Winding roads into the hills that surround Penticton led me to an interesting mix of residential areas that were spattered with world class wine producing estates, the grape vines ran between, in front and behind the homes and signs along the streets invited passersby in for tasting and, of course, buying.

 The road eventually would lead me to Munson Mountain where there was a short hike to a lookout point that gave a great view of the two lakes that border the city as well as its downtown, vineyards, and surrounding mountains. Standing at the top of the ridges that surround the Okanagan I thought this must be what areas of California must be like as the Great Northern Basin Desert that runs through the northern USand into southern British Columbia brings the same dry, moderate temperatures to both wine producing areas. I spent some time taking in the scenery and snapping pictures before I headed back to the car and back into the city.

Penticton is a small but pretty cool city, with pubs and patios and shops and I had a blast wandering around exploring the streets. A constant hope as I explore strange cities is that I come across a local record store and I was lucky enough to find one in town. I had a great chat with the friendly and welcoming woman that owned the shop and as I browsed thorough the vinyl I shared some of the stories of places and things that I had seen over the last week in the area. With a few classic records under arm I was on my way out when she suggested a great local restaurant for lunch and, famished, I headed right over. The Walla Artisan Bakery and Cafe was a quaint little hole in the wall that was perfect. An amazingly good lentil soup and mushroom sandwich satisfied the vegetarian grumbling of my stomach and I ate contentedly as I watched and listened as regular locals came and went buying fresh baked artisan breads and chatted with the friendly staff.

My belly attended to, I wanted to relax for the last few hours before my co workers arrived and decided to check out the other, larger beach in town. I love beaches. Baking in the sun with a book and a couple of cold (hidden under knapsack) beers, feeling the hot sand between my toes as both sun and beer lubricate my head is a Top 10 moment for me and seemed like a perfect way to quietly spend my last couple of hours alone.

Except.. when I got to Skaha beach on the other side of town I found the parking lot and surrounding streets jammed with cars and after a half kilometer walk from where I had to park I found the beach area just as busy with people. Edging closer to the lake I dodged through a small city of tents and people I gradually became aware (the piles of paddles and assorted gear were solid clues) that I had stumbled into a national dragon boat racing event. Dozens of teams had gathered in Penticton and a large crowd of paddlers and their supporters were occupying the entire area. I found at spot in the sand not far from the water where I could watch the races and then generally soaked up the almost 40 degree sun for the rest of the afternoon.

My two co-workers were just touching down as I pulled into the small regional airport and I met them in shorts, flip-flops, shades and a half-unbuttoned shirt at the baggage claim (I wasn't on shift until 8am the next morning and was staying in beach bum mode as long as possible!)  I suggested dinner before we headed to Princeton, as the food options would be limited later and we headed to a local pub where the food was marginal, the service slow but the views were excellent from the second floor patio.

We sped around town picking up a few necessities for my  A. who's luggage would not arrive until the next evening and we headed out onto the mountain highway for the 90 minute drive to Princeton. My two passengers oohed and aahed as we plunged in and out of the valleys and up and around the steep mountainsides, snapping pictures of mountains and avalanche and mountain goat crossing warning signs. In between the oohs and aahs I related some of my adventures from over the last week and gave the rundown on the dodgy hotel and small western town I was taking them to for the next few days.

My old friend the desk clerk had dressed up (for my two female companions I presume) electing for a full T-shirt with his cutoff jean shorts instead of a tank top and proudly assigned us our rooms. A. was the lucky one that got 'the new bed' room while I had the same room I was in a few days ago. The clerk was interested to hear about where I had spent the last few days and I stayed downstairs and related a few stories about the strange town of Coalmont and Otter Lake and the dragon boats at Skaha Beach before heading up to my room.

 (The dead flies that I had waged war against 6 nights ago still lay in their final resting place on the washroom floor, a testament to the high cleaning standards at this old neglected hotel.. I continued to use my sleeping bag and pack pillow instead of the provided bed clothes for the rest of the week.)

The rest of the week was mostly uneventful. The three of us worked during the day and ate at the Brown Bridge Pub each nigh and generally enjoyed the slow pace of live in small town BC. We marvelled at scenery and the deer as they wandered around town and watched the old prospectors, miners and cowboys wander with about the same urgency.

Arriving at the front desk of the 'hotel' early ready to check out on the last morning in town the three of us found ourselves staring across a dark unmanned counter. We rang the bell and called and waited impatiently Eventually a guy in a suit (the first tie I saw the entire week that wasn't cowboy-bolero style). It turned out the entire staff had  been relieved overnight. The woman who took three day to find me an ironing board gone, the tank top and jean short sporting desk clerk gone, even the cleaning ladies that had been congregating in the room next to mine for morning coffee and cigarettes each morning were gone.  And no-one at the hotel had any idea how to check the three of us out. We were late already and left our room keys and email addresses and credit card information and hit the Crowsnest Highway one last time.

Flying back across the country I thought about what a blast I had had touring around that slow dry western part of the country. I thought about passing through the old prospecting towns and exploring lakes and valleys and mountain passes and most of all the chance meetings with strangers and conversations with people who have nothing to do but talk. People like Marge Gunderson, the nutty provincial park officer, and attractive girls and their grandmothers that sell fruit at the side of the road in the Okanagan Valley, and especially Art (.. or Bart or Bert) who appeared out of nowhere on a cold morning and treated me to a lift and a story.

Princeton and Beyond Part 3: The Kettle Valley Trail

Sometimes I spend a week in a city and have virtually nothing to say about it when I return. (Notice there are no entries in this blog about Orangeville or Binbrock, Ontario and Timmins... well, I'm trying to stop slagging that place so much so I won't talk about how dull, dreary and depressing it was). This trip to Princeton, BC was so full of experiences though that I could write a dozen journals, this blog is about one of those experience that stands on it's own.

I previously glossed over the bunch of hours I spent looking for the KVR trail, talking about the KVR trail and eventually walking the KVR trail. Part of the reason I drove so far along the highway was because I knew (from my kitchen buddy at the Brown Bridge Pub in Princeton) that the trail followed the highway for the most part and I was looking for a good access point. Trail signs, or access to the trail signs, are not posted anywhere along the highway, or detailed on the all mighty Internet, so it was a matter of dodging on and off the highway, leaving the car on the side of the road and scouting for a spot to leave the rental and start hiking. I'd leave my own car anywhere, unlocked with the keys in the ignition. I'd even put up a welcome sign. This was a rental, even if it was a car more suited to clowns or Shriners, and the last thing I needed was too explain to the boss how my car got lost or stolen.

I knew the trail ran straight through the town of Coalmont so I was backtracking, driving back along the same mountain route I had passed through earlier in the day. The road snaked through the Similkameen Valley past lush green meadows and pastures and climbed into the hills at the edge of the Cascade Mountains and my only wish was to be walking the route instead of driving it.

Looking at scenery through a windshield limits the scope of the scene, like when you try to put a picture frame around it. You have to be in the scene, without borders, to really see the 'wow'.

I pulled into Coalmont and parked next to the sign indicating the Kettle Valley Trail. Stepping out into the dusty street I still wasn't sure about leaving the car and put off the decision for a few minutes by pulling out my camera for the obligatory snapshot to prove I was there. I was messing around, trying to attach the tripod to a tree with an old shoelace I found when an old pickup drove by very slowly, turned and pulled up next to me. I looked up, untied the tripod and said hello.

The driver was a local, and looked like he had been local for at least a couple of hundred years. Lines and creases crossed his face deeply and ended only when deeper lines and creases intersected their path across his skin. An amazingly huge set of ears and equally massive nose stuck out from the wrinkles- I mention this not to make fun but only to point out how old the guy must have been for the rest of his skull to shrink so much. He was very friendly and it wasn't long before he was talking about the town and the trail that ran through it. I told him where I was going and  he assured me it was ok to leave the car overnight and then we started chatting as he knew the KVR trail pretty well, remembering coal trains hauling full loads out of the mountains right up along the path I planned on walking. He introduced himself as Art.. or Arch. Bart.. Bert maybe. I'm not sure, names are like gibberish unless you wear a Hi my name is.. badge when I meet you. It didn't help that Art/Bart/Arch had long ago lost the ability or at least the desire to keep teeth in his mouth and had also, therefore lost the ability to pronounce many of the common sounds we call words.

-You gonna carry that thing all the way to Tulomen?

 It was my backpack he was looking at.

-Yes sir, it's got my tent and my food.

-You wanna ride to Tulomen?

I explained that I was in the mood to hike a bit, to see the country by foot and arrive at camp under my own steam. He looked at me for a minute or two without saying anything and I shifted a little uncomfortably, not sure how to break off the conversation but antsy to take my picture and get moving.

-I could take it for you?

He explained he was on the way to Tulomen and could drop of my pack right at the corner where the trail rejoins the road right next to the provincial park I was headed to for the night. I like hiking- a lot, but I would always rather do it without 30 pounds on my back. The guy seemed completely honest and helpful and kind and I decided to trust in that small town vibe and maybe a bit of  karma and assume the pack would be waiting for me 6.5km down the road.

The wide trail follows the path of the old Kettle Valley Railway and runs pretty much straight and flat through the meadows of the valley between Coalmont and Tulomen and then another 80 kms north and south from there. It wasn't the most interesting trail, often just a dirt path lined by tall pines that blocked any view except for the path ahead but as I trekked along the edge of farms and ranches I came through an amazingly beautiful meadow and a great exposed cliff of red ochre before the trail climbs up slightly out of the trees and ran to the side of the highway at the edge of the small cottage town of Tulomen.

I could see my pack resting on a post ahead of me as I turned into Otter Lake  (I knew I could trust Art!) and I smiled knowing that that was probably the easiest hike into a Provincial Park that I'd ever have. As I swung my pack onto my back, the park attendant pulled up in a pickup, shouted greetings and instruction to find any available spot and left me in a dusty cloud as she pulled away.

The provincial park was almost full, busier than I would have expected for this late in the fall and all the prime spots by the lacke were reserved so I dropped my pack on an interior side within a short walk of the waters edge and started setting up my tent. Car spots suck for tents, with gravelly hard packed ground that bent my tent pegs as I tried to drive them in. Making use of rocks and dead branches to support the lines I set up my tent and was just making a quick lunch when Marge returned in her pickup to register my spot for the night. She asked a 100 probing questions as she filled in the paperwork about who I was and why I was camping and did it all in a voice eerily reminiscent of Marge Gunderson, the quirky cop from the movie Fargo. I was tempted to introduce myself as Jerry and ask if she had a wood chipper available for the night but decided to answer the questions politely and get onto the business of relaxing. Marge took off shortly after and I finished my lunch and headed to down to the lake for an afternoon of reading and writing (and drinking beer)on the beach.

With darkness coming on early as the sun set behind the mountains surrounding the lake and a campfire ban in effect I retired to my tent and lay down, trying to avoid the sharp rocks digging into my back and listened to the sounds of the park around me.

Usually when camping I fall asleep to the sounds of loons and frogs at the lake and animals moving in the forest but this night I drifted off to the sounds of parents yelling at excited children, RV's backing up in the dark and Marge Gunderson circling around the campsites calling goodnight, friendly but loudly, to campers in the night.

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The cold morning had me up early the next day and I packed up and hit the road. There was a fire ban across most of the BC interior and without being able to light a campfire I needed to move to warm up. The road back to the trail leads through the sleepy town of Tulemen and I had stopped at a park by the lake in town to dig my hat and gloves out of the pack when a pickup pulled up right in front of me.

It was Bert!

 He called out a good morning and we chatted for a minute about how chilly it was and then he asked if I wanted a ride back into town. It sure seemed like he had been expecting me to be there at that park by the lake early in the morning and it felt wrong to say no to the ride.  I had seen enough of the KVR trail and jumped at the chance for a lift so threw my pack into the back of the truck and climbed into the cab. It was only a fifteen minute drive back to Coalmont but it seemed much longer as my ancient friend talked about his life as a miner, first gold and then coal. I got out a short time later at the rental car and thanked Art for the lift and the stories. I didn't tell him so but the ride back from Otter Lake was the best part of the trip.

I finished getting the pictures that I had wanted to snap the day before and then changed out of my long johns and drove slowly down the street of Coalmont before pulling back onto the Crowsnest Highway, happy just to follow the road and watch the scenery and think. I found myself thinking a lot about how great it was to randomly met a guy like Art, what an amazing mood our meeting had put me in and about how weird it was to meet him again in the early morning again in a way that  seemed so random. It's those kind of meetings that feel like there is something to learned from the experience, some knowledge or insight to be gained and I drove thinking about what it might be.

 Mostly though I just thought about Art, and wondered if that was indeed his name.

Princeton and Beyond Part 2: Exploring the Similkameen Valley

I had had enough of the town of Princeton by the second morning and with three days off I decided to hit the road. They desk clerk seemed disappointed that I was leaving but cheered up when I said I would be be back in a couple of days with colleagues and promised to stay for two more nights with them.

A quick breakfast at the Heartland Family Restaurant and I was on my way. On my way to where? I wasn't sure but I had a tent in my backpack and I wasn't worried. I was ready for some serious exploring.  The woman at the Tourist Info center was friendly after she recovered from the apparent shock of someone walking in and was excited to give me some ideas. Unfortunately she was creatively vague about the directions. She talked about an amazing hike up a mountain stream to a waterfall and crown country (free) camping and I was totally sold on the idea but her directions included a turn onto a dirt road at the tree where the big sign used to be and a a trail head that might be marked with spray paint. I did get some maps and a sense of which direction I was going to take and that was worth the stop.

A quick stop at the local hardware store for camp stove fuel and I headed north west on the mountain road looking for adventure. I was vaguely headed to the waterfall hike, knowing that it was unlikely that I would find the route but knowing there were other options and I was happy to let the road and fate lead me to whatever my destination turned out to be. I wanted to get out of town and into the country, and my first stop was the China Ridge Trail just down the highway. The side road took me via a series of switchbacks up the mountain side and gave me my first closeup look at the semi-desert landscape and I got out of the car and walked around for a bit, taking pictures and grinning with excitement. Further up the trail was a resort but I wasn't interested in that so it wasn't long before I got back in the car and headed back down through the hills to the main highway out of town.

I followed the road for about sixty kilometers as it turned into a dirt road cutting through cow pastures and horse ranches. Twenty kilometers past the spot that I had hoped to find the turnoff the the waterfall I finally stopped and accepted the fact that the directions that had been given were just a bit too vague and I headed back the way I came. The Kettle Valley Railway trail forms part of the Trans-Canada hiking trail that when completed will connect all the provinces, territories and oceans of the country. The KVR, I had been warned., was mostly used by ATV's and didn't provide the best views or challenging hikes. It did, however lead directly to Otter Lake Provincial Park and that's where I had decided to spend the night. I pulled into the town of Coalmont an hour later and found the trail access point.

The trail led me along an easy level dirt road that follows the path of an old railway that served the gold mining towns of the early1900's. The land was covered in meadows and farms with horses and sheep and cows. I moved quickly along the road and arrived at the front gate to Otter Lake within a couple of hours. As I walked through the gate a truck drove by and the driver called out to me. "Pick any open spot and I'll come by in a while." I didn't get the chance to answer before the pickup pulled out and sped off down the road. I swung my pack onto my shoulders and headed into the park to find a site. With all the spots backing onto the lake full I found a spot close to a beach and started unpacking and setting up my tent. Not long after the pickup truck pulled up beside my home for the night and a woman climbed out and introduced herself as the park official. She had an accent that was very reminiscent of Frances McDormand's character Marge from the film Fargo and I couldn't help but smile as she asked me 100 questions while she was checking me in. I was tempted to tell her my name was Jerry and that I needed a wood chipper for the night to see if she made the connection but let her check me in and I got to setting up my tent.

The park was a car camping site, meaning the sites was gravelly and hard and more suited to RV's and trailers than tents and I struggled to drive the tent pegs into the ground. McGyvering it up using rocks and a picnic table for support I made a quick lunch of soup and na'an bread and then headed to the lake and spent the afternoon exploring the beach and the surrounding forest, collecting rocks and photos and generally just taking it easy. The sun set early and with a fire ban in effect I retired to my tent with a headlamp and spent the rest of the evening with a book. Tossing and turning on the hard ground later, bits of gravel poking through the sleeping pad, I listening to the night sounds. Usually from my tent I hear the sounds of loons and frogs calling from the lake and assorted critters moving through the forest but this particular night I dozed in and out of sleep listening to the sounds of parents yelling at children, RV's backing up into sites in the dark, and Marge Gunderson circling the park in her pickup calling 'goodnight' to campers as she passed.

I woke up the next morning early, stiff from a cold night cold sleeping on chunks of gravel, and started coffee while I dug for my hat and gloves. It was really chilly and without being able to start a fire I tried to get warmed up but tearing down the tent and cleaning up the site. I had finished breakfast and packed before 7:30 and headed off down the trail back to Coalmont to continue my adventure. By the time I reached town a couple of hours later it had gotten much warmer and I got changed in the car before taking some time to check out the little town stuck in the middle of the mountains. Coalmont is officially classified as a ghost town (unlike other places I've visited that just feel like ghost towns like Humbolt, Sask for example or even worse, the airport in Timmins, Ont) and felt like a movie set for a western classic with a saloon, barbershop and wood structure hotel. A couple of chickens wandering in a front yard and a deer on the main road were the only signs of life other than the amazingly tongue in cheek signs 'welcoming' visitors to town. 



From Coalmont I drove south down the Crowsnest Highway to the next place I could find to stop at which turned out to be an even smaller town called Hedley. This town consisted of three or four small streets that housed a couple of hundred people and not much more. Back in it's turn of the century heyday Hedley had a population of about 1000 people that spent their days mining the hills for gold. Now the small town at the base of Copper Mountain has no industry except a museum detailing it's gold rush glory years. Surprisingly the town also was home to the highest recommended restaurant within a hundred and fifty kilometers. Sadly, The Hitching Post closed  at 8pm when the remaining residents went to bed and I never got the chance to eat there. It was still interesting to explore the little town that was sure to disappear in a few more years.

My next stop was about 30 kilometers south to a town called Keremeos. The town is situated on the edge of the Okanagan Valley and is renowned for its fruit orchards and wine producing vineyards. On the way I took the time to stop in at a couple of more provincial parks to see if I might find somewhere to stay for the night. Both Stemwater and Bromley Provincial Parks are small but beautiful parks along the Similkameen river that I had been folllowing for the most part of the last two days. Both had sites available but would have been no more comfortable than the one I had the night before and I explored a bit but continued on my way. Driving back through Princeton shortly after I didn't even consider stopping and found my way to Keremeos shortly after.

What an amazing place I found myself in. Peach and apple orchards, fields of vegatables and vineyards covered every square inch of land and farmers and their families lined the streets selling the products of the land from booths that lined the streets. The town had an old world charm that separated it from the dry, empty towns of Thulle, Coalmont, Hedley and Copper Springs that I have seen earlier in the day. The charm extended to the people and when I stopped to but some fruit I ended up in a long, pleasant conversation with an elderly woman and her (very attractive) grand daughter. I was a bit relectant to leave the beautiful town of Keremeos  but with the sun getting lower in the afternoon sky I needed to find somewhere to sleep and I knew exactly where to go.

Not far north of Keremeos the Crowsnest Highway leads back to Penticton, a real town that had real hotels, restaurants and beaches and that's where I went next. I stopped in to see a friend in town at his work and had a great chat abourt the town and what to do while I was there and then booked a room in town and headed over to check in and get a shower before dinner. I cleaned up and ate and exhausted after hiking camping and exploring the roads, towns and mountains of the Similkameen Valley I headed to bed early, excited to spend the next day exploring the thriving metropolis (it's all relative) of Penticton.

Part 1: Princeton and beyond. Hiking, goldminers, and ghost towns.

I had to google Princeton to find out where the hell I was going and I swear the computer laughed at me when I later typed in 'Things to do in Princeton' but I was determined to have an adventure of some sort while I was there for eight days so started the preparation several days before I flew out by digging out my camping gear and packing it along with my normal travelling stuff.

I flew into Vancouver and then hopped on a smaller plane for the hour flight to Penticton BC, a neat town nestled between a couple of lakes in the Okinawan Valley between the Cascade and Columbia Mountain ranges and also sits at the northern edge of the Great Basin Desert. I've always wanted to spend some time in a desert (not in a biblical 40 years of wandering sense, or eek out a living in Afghanistan while dodging Taliban and  hyaenas in the sand sense either) so I couldn't wait to land and get out on the road to my final destination and see what there was to see. I always get a bit of an adrelin rush when I'm about to get to new place and i had a feeling this was going to be an exciting week.

 Princeton is about 150 kilometers from Penticton through the eastern ridges of the Cascade Mountains and I would be following the Trans-Can highway along the Similkameen River most of the way, from the very start of the trip I was already gawking at the landscape around me.

By the time I was on the road out of Penticton the sun was getting lower in the sky and I 'wowed' to myself as I caught it setting again and again. Driving the narrow curved highway through the mountain hills and valleys I watched it fall behind different horizons over and over. Road sign warnings for possible rock slides/avalanches and mountain goat crossings were new to me as were the straight down for hundreds of meters edges of the highway that was carved out the solid granite mountains. It was a pretty amazing drive that had some nerve wracking moments as the sky got blacker and my knuckles got whiter and by the time I reached my hotel I was a bit of a wreck.

The hotel, to be as polite, gracious and as non-elitist as possible, was a shithole, a 50 year old motor inn that had never been renovated even after the Sandman group bought it and stuck their name on the sign. I don't expect luxury accommodations when I'm on the road  (although I have charmed my way into car and hotel upgrades from coast to coast) but I do need an appropriate place to stay when I'm expected to look and feel like a professional in the morning, this place took two days to locate an iron and never was able to supply an ironing board. The night desk attendant was friendly, if not helpful, and I was glad I didn't prejudge him even though he checked me in wearing a badly stained white tank top and cutoff jean shorts.

My room was a joke. A twin bed and an antique kitchenette that I would've been scared to use even if I had food to prepare, which I didn't as the town closed down at 5 in the afternoon, several hours before my arrival. I spent the evening chasing flies around the room with the rolled up hotel 'service guide' and then went to bed early after retrieving my sleeping bag from my backpack in the car rather than crawling under the sheets provided for me.

After work the next day, I wandered around the town a bit, looking for excitement and finding none. Princeton was a gold mining town, a hundred years ago. Today its a town of about 2500 residents, I think they included wildlife n the census count as I saw as many deer in town as I did people. I'm thinking the ancient miners, their rancher friends and their stay at home offspring don't need entertainment because quite obviously none was being provided. The town was small, very small.. and in the middle of a desert.

But I found an oasis.

I walked into The Brown Bridge Pub about a half a kilometer down the highway my second night in town. It was the only place I saw in four days that looked even remotely appealing to eat in, or for that matter, to even sit in. A polished bar, big screen TVs, young folk. Like I said, an oasis the desert. I spent the next few hours drinking pints of Granville Island pale ale and eating nachos with some of the locals. Sitting next to me was a guy that I ending up having several dinners next to over the next week, we chatted about baseball and hockey and then 'the' game came on. Every TV was turned to the NFL game and the whole place watched, intently. Green Bay somethings against some other team. I know nothing about NFL, not interested in the least. But I am good at talking about stuff I know little or nothing about and had a good time picking apart defensive schemes and yelling at the refs..umps..linesman..whatever. The other great thing that came out of the night was I got a chance to chat with a guy that worked in the kitchen about hiking in the area. He was an avid hiker and gave me some really key knowledge and ideas about what I could do with my three days that I would have alone in town before my team arrived.

Pitt Meadows: Into the Mountains Part 1

The more time I spend in British Columbia the more I love it but most of my time there has been spent in the Vancouver area so was I eager to take the opportunity get out of that city and start to explore different parts of the lower mainland area and my five days in Pitt Meadows was my first real opportunity. Pitt Meadows is a small town about 60kms east of Vancouver nestled at the foothills of those Coast Mountains that I had been gazing at from airplanes, highways and distant hotel windows for the last few weeks.

I sat down at the pub attached to the hotel and ordered dinner and chatted with the staff as the place was empty of customers. Beer serving dudes in strange pubs across the country have been my most reliable source of local information over the last year and the guys at the Golden Ears Pub continued that trend with a couple of great restaurant options as well as some outdoors stuff that I got pretty exited about.

The first couple of days in town I was pretty busy at work but stole whatever time I could to drive out into the country surrounding the small town, exploring the roads that led through farmland and closer to the mountains that lay tantalizingly close across Pitt Lake.

By the third day when I finished work I had a pretty good idea of what I wanted to do with my spare time alone in town. Wildplay is a chain of outdoor adventure parks in BC that offer zip lining, bungee and tree top walks among other things. I had called the site just about thirty kms away just north of Maple Ridge and was disappointed that they didn't have any of those activities but had Monkido, which is a tree to tree course that entails maneuvering short zips, rope swings and nets. The lady I talked to had me pretty gung ho to give it a try and headed for what I hoped would be my first adventure of the week.

The drive out to Wildway finally brought me right to the edge of those mountains that I had been driving around for the last couple of days and my excitement level rose the closer I got but as I approached the place my heart kind of sank. The Monkido course was not exactly the level of excitement I was expecting. Instead of the vision I had of soaring through trees with mountain vistas in the background the course was contained in about an acre* of somewhat bare, dark and uninteresting forest right at the side of the road and the ropes and swings had a very family friendly, lo risk, safety first, anyone can do it feel that didn't seem adventurous at all.

 *I use the word 'acre' a lot but have no real concept of how big an acre is, it may have been a hectare as well as I have no comprehension of that unit of measurement either.

I wanted to push my boundaries a bit and have an adventure and this wasn't going to be it.

I didn't even get out of the car as I made the split second decision to continue further up the road which I knew would lead me right into Golden Ears Provincial Park. Another ten kilometers and I saw a sign for a hiking trail and I pulled over immediately, grabbed my water and camera and headed into the forest. The trail started with a short interpretive nature walk that was interesting and gave me some background about the forest I found myself in. I quickly walked the two kilometer path and then headed further into the forest following signs heading for a lookout point. I have never seen a forest like this one. The forest is covered in moss from the fern covered floor to the soaring branches of coastal hemlock and cedar trees. The area is regenerated forest after being cleared by a major forest fire back in the late 1920's's that ended turn of the century logging operations.

Most interesting was the evidence of that logging from almost a hundred years ago. Massive stumps, some of which were two or three meters wide and many of which still showed evidence of fire dotted the forest floor. The bases of these massive trunks still bore the notches loggers had cut to mount springboards to take down the massive trees with hand axes and saws. It was hard to imagine the sight of one those 80 meter tall trees crashing to the ground but I sure wish I had seen them standing before they fell.

As I the trail started to climb steeply up a dry riverbed covered with loose rock I was reminded of a part of LaCloche Silhouette Trail in northern Ontario nicknamed 'The Hog' that I have hiked up several times with an full forty pound pack. Today I appreciated having my arms and back unencumbered and my shoulders pain free on this climb. I clambered to the top about a half hour later, sweaty and winded to a less than breathtaking view back into the valley below but loving the fact that I was hiking in the middle of the forest in  BC's Coast Mountains. I didn't spend long at the lookout before I continued along the trail as it dipped back into the thick green moss covered forest. As I descended back into the forest it became darker and darker quite quickly and after about half a kilometer I decided to turn around and hike back out the way I had come in. It was about three kilometers either way but as the trail was crossed often by horse riding trails as well as deer and other other animal trails and I felt more comfortable and safe taking the same path back to the car as I had taken in, especially if I had to make my way, without a headlamp, in the dark.
Being alone, with no-one knowing where I am, I have started to learn to take the safest, not the most adventuresome, route out.

The sun was close to setting when I finished my 90 minute Spirea Trail/Lookout Loop hike and I headed back to town for dinner. I picked up sushi and ate while looking at pictures from my first few days in town, then did a bit bit of online research about the other trails at Golden Ears before going to sleep with thoughts of a morning hike rolling around my head.

Pitt Meadows 2- Golden Ears Provincial Park

I woke up the next morning excited to head back to the Provincial Park. There was 7 kilometer loop to a waterfall that sounded like a great way to start the day and I was on the road shortly and at the trail head by 9am.

The Lower Falls Trail took me further into the coastal forests of British Columbia. Again I was stunned by the size of the massive tree stumps and the scars left by loggers a century ago. The trail follows Gold Creek for several kilometers and was a mostly easy, quiet walk. When I stopped to drink from the creek at a beach half way up I was amazed by how cold and clean it tasted.

 (Not a trace of beaver shit in this water for those who know about my Giardia or 'beaver fever' incident a few years back).

 Usually the water from lakes and streams is warm, and when chemically treated has a slight metallic taste. This water was straight from the mountains and it was amazing. It was a beautiful morning and I took my time along the trail stopping to take pictures and just enjoy the natural surroundings. Making my way along the creek and closer to the waterfalls, I could hear the water rushing and splashing ahead of me and before I ever saw it I could feel the spray in the air from the falls, cool and refreshing.

http://www.youtube.com/my_videos_edit

The trail continues past the waterfalls and up towards Gold Creek Lookout and back country camping at Alder Flats where you can sleep in the same sites loggers did almost a hundred years ago. I wished I had time and my hiking/camping gear so I could've kept going but with work to do I headed back down the path regretfully. I passed several groups of tourists/hikers heading up the trail on the way back, most of them Japanese which meant we didn't speak more than a few words of greeting before continuing and I was glad i had started early so I had the path, the beach and the waterfall to myself.

An error in booking my travel had meant that I had a completely free day before heading back to Toronto and I was intent on continuing to explore Golden Ears PP as much as I could so I was up early and again on the road by 8am. I stopped for breakfast and then headed into the forest again, this time cutting off the Lower Falls Trail that I had walked yesterday about a kilometer in and trailblazing for another kilometer across to the East Canyon Trail that would lead me to a somewhat secluded beach on Alouette Lake. The cut across the forest off-trail was a bit risky as I had no map other than the picture I had downloaded to my Blackerry® but I ended up taking the perfect route with no major obstacles.No obstacles except for the need to stop every ten seconds to take a picture of another tree, rock, stump or slug.

The East Canyon trail rose in elevation about 200 meters along the 4 kilometer hike and provided some stunning views of mountain peaks with permanent snow fields along the ridges. Blanshard Peak stood out among the mountains in the park and I kept turning to look back at it as I continued my hike towards Alouette Lake, dreaming about hiking through those higher altitude passes, and making the decision to start taking my camping gear on any future trips to British Columbia.

It took about 90 minutes to make my way down through the East Canyon, through Gold Creek campground and up an unmarked trail to the north beach. I had brought a book to read, a book to write in, snacks of fruit bars and trail mix and a couple cans of beer and I planned on finding a secluded spot on the rocky beach and spending the rest of the afternoon in quiet solitude. The day passed slowly as I read and wrote and I felt the pressure of everyday work and home demands slip away.  With no cell or Wi-Fi signal deep in the Coast Mountains I happily turned off my Blackberry®, the only link to the world around me and passed the time with the pages of my books and the thoughts in my head.

Later that night I decided to check out on of the restaurants the guys at the pub had suggested. Charlie's Mexican Cafe in Port Moody was about a thirty minute drive from the hotel in Pitt Meadows and was worth every minute of the drive. Amazing food that I let the waitress suggest for me, accompanied with Dos Equis beer and deep fried ice cream and all with a window view of the beautiful marine town on the Fraser river. it was a great meal to end an amazing day and my only only sobering thought was that I had to return to Toronto early the next morning.

I love Toronto and I love being home but I wasn't anxious to leave. I have really started to enjoy my time in BC and would've loved a couple of more days to explore the trails and the towns in the lower mainland. As I was packing my suitcase that evening I had a strange mixed feeling of sadness and excitement, sadness to say goodbye to the amazing mountain forests, creeks, and beaches of Golden Ears but excited to move on to the next place and an opportunity to spend some time in the small towns of the interior.

The historic gold mining town of Princeton BC is next on the list and with a full week booked in the town I was planning on coming prepared not only with dress clothes and training materials but with tent and backpack as well.

Regina.. show me what you got!

It was my first trip to Regina and I had no real expectations of Saskatchewan's capital, I've been to the prairie province before and left without much of an impression at all. I'm horribly uninformed about the city, my knowledge confined to 3 hard and cold facts. Their CFL fans are intense (according to a guy I met from Edmonton while I was in Brandon), it is the home of 'The Musical Ride (that silly RCMP thing that people go nuts about) and it was the childhood home of our 13th Prime minister, John G Diefenbaker (I'm not obsessive for those who know I've mentioned him before.. but if I ever make it to final Jeopardy and John G is the answer.. I'm nailing it.)

I arrived at the hotel after nine on a Sunday night starving as usual and headed out to scavenge for food and drink. The hotel clerk had directed me to a restaurant not far away and I headed into the streets of Regina with map in hand. I still managed to walk several blocks in the wrong direction then turned around twice before I finally came across a place, not the place, called O'hears Pub . The guys behind the bar were friendly as were the patrons and it didn't take long to strike up conversation. I got the rundown on the indie art and music scene which sounded really vibrant. The bartender  also directed me to a record store not far from where I was staying which yielded a vintage vinyl copy of the original Jesus Christ Superstar soundtrack.

Because the job site, airport and hotel were all within a a few kilometers so I had decided not to rent a car. I would confined to walking exploration of the city but I didn't mind as Regina is a rather small city, the weather was good and it would give me the chance to see up close whatever there was to see.

Spending some quiet time in a downtown park under an incredible oak tree with a book one afternoon (such a great way to spend and hour or two.. seriously, when was the last time you sat under a tree!) I kept being distracted by people heading across the park. My distraction grew to curiosity when I began noticing that many of them had painted faces. I was so contented and comfortable sitting where I was and I had been dying to finish the novel I was reading. My curiosity grew and I could see a crowd growing so eventually I sighed knowing once I moved I probably wouldn't get back to my book. I was however glad I wandered over as a 'Living Art' exhibition was just starting. About a dozen different groups from local school and amateur theater groups were performing frozen scenes imitating artistic works of all different sorts. Included was an obvious Warhol a ballerina painting that I recognized and a scene depicting early Canadian life. It was pretty cool and was a further indication Regina has a pretty good arts scene.

Walking farther from downtown Regina one morning headed to the Provincial Parliament grounds I passed through city hall and then the Provincial courts. There were two cool sculptures in front of the Supreme Court building that threw me for a loop at first but made sense after a moment or two.  A bust of Gandhi (that looked nothing like Ben Kingsley) and a full size likeness of Confucius, both wise and worthy icons to inspire the courts to wisdom were at the front of the building. I continued walking through the city and scoped out the Provincial Parliament and grounds which also contains one of the most most beautiful war memorials I've ever seen and is situated at the edge of a lake and in the middle of a  massive park which I would've loved to throw a frizbee around in for awhile but without a partner and with an afternoon shift at work awaiting I turned and headed back to the hotel to change and grab some sushi for lunch.

 

That evening I sat at The Beer Bros Restaurant for dinner on the patio. I started with a 'flight' of beer, sampling three small glasses of beer from one of the most interesting beer menus I've ever seen (The Laughing Buddha in Sudbury, Ont still wins that contest.. but it's close) and stuffed my belly with a delicious German pasta dish called Spaetzle as I sat and read and watched the city life after me.

 I was becoming aware of one thing in particular that surprised me as I spent more time on the streets of Regina. This was the first city I had been to in a long time that didn't seem to have much of a homeless population, I saw very few people asking for change. Even more so, with such a large First Nation population, it seemed as though there was little to no indication of this particular Native community suffering from the circle of dug and alcohol dependency and homelessness that I have commented on, and been so terribly saddened by, in past blogs. It appears the Native community has succeeded here in ways where in other places across the country they have not. A multi-cultural energy seemed to be present here between members of the First Nations and the rest of the community in ways I've not seen elsewhere.

 This is important, I think, to the fabric of our nation.. until some new form of understanding exists between our First Nations and all the nations that followed I find it hard to believe we, as a nation of  people, can ever be 'all we can be be'.

So as I sat back later that evening, my last night in town, on a patio at The Beer Bros restaurant around the corner from the hotel and I smiled. I hadn't found anything weird or wonderful, although some would say that a life sized sculpture of Confucius in downtownn Regina might be a bit weird but I  had found some neat things to take pictures of, explored the city to the best of my pedestrian ability, met some interesting people (I didn't even write a bout the amazing cattle rancher I spent several hours talking to before admitting I was a vegetarian!) and even bought some vinyl.

It was my last, I think, trip to the prairies and I'm glad I had such a great time. Where in that flat bunch of acres in the middle of our country I found life, arts and music and people.. very friendly people.

Back to the west coast for the next few weeks, heading further into the interior of BC's lower mainland. Pitt Meadows is next and from the quick preview I got already I will love it. Those mountains are calling me, pulling me closer and closer and I'm pretty stoked about the chance to start exploring them instead of looking at them from a distance.

A Return to Vancouver

Every once in a while I get stuck in cities and towns that just suck. Really suck. Like Timmins Ontario and Humboldt Saskatchewan. Long evenings with little to do, or eat, or see. These towns are often stuck in the middle of nowhere meaning a couple of hours of driving during which there is also usually nothing to see. Hotels are a little sketchier, as well as the restaurants and sometimes even the people.

Vancouver is not one of those places.

I love Vancouver, it's become my favourite city outside my home of Toronto. Maybe even including Toronto. I have been lucky enough to spend a week there on three separate occasions and I had been looking forward to returning ever since the town of Surrey showed up on my project schedule. Surrey is 45 minutes outside of Vancouver and I could commute from downtown and take advantage of any free time I had.

My colleague A and I arrived late Sunday, tired but hungry so we set off in search of dinner and stumbled into a small Sushi restaurant that we would return to every several times during the week and headed back to the hotel to sleep off the time difference before an early start to our first day of work. The 45 minute drive from downtown Vancouver to Surrey was a confusing jumble of highways, bridges and construction as I dodged in and out of the suburb towns of Burnaby, Coquitlam and New Westminster and even at the end of the week I never really had a sense of where I was going. (It didn't help that the gps took me a different route each time.) The return drive seemed simpler and provided some pretty amazing vistas which I tried to capture via blackberry camera as I drove until I started thinking about how many accidents may be caused by drivers doing the same thing. I had wondered about oddly placed fences and trees and realized that they were quite likely blocking views that could absolutely be distracting from the highway.

One night after A and I had finished dinner at The Cactus Club I decided to go for a walk downtown. I ambled along Robson St, wandering in and out of tourist shops but really just people watching until I stumbled upon the remnants of a sort of street performer/busking fair. It had pretty much wrapped up but a mime and a living statue  performer still plied their 'acts' for coins and I stopped and watched for moment.. more like half a moment. Not surprisingly it doesn't take long to become disinterested when watching a mime and a statue. Not far up the street a woman sat at the edge of the sidewalk at a card table with a sign offering Tarot card reading. I walked past her but stopped after a few steps and decided to go back. I've never had a tarot reading and I thought it might be interesting to see what it is all about.

The reader and I seemed to have a bit of connection immediately and we chatted a bit before she laid out the cards and started talking about their meanings. It was quite uncanny listening to how the cards might relate to different things that had been forefront in my life and my thoughts recently. Relationships with family, as well as friends both past and present were illuminated in interesting ways and possible paths in the future were more than exciting to talk and hear about. The thirty minute reading stretched out for more than an hour and I walked away very glad that I had taken the experience. It was amazing that within the next two weeks I found happiness in unexpectedly renewing a distant friendship and found sorrow when a current relationship came to an end, both things that the cards had talked about happening (and I had vehemently denied..) in the very near future.

Walking back through Robson Square I could see lights and the sound of hip-hop music coming from the open air ice rink. When I got closer I could see about a couple of dozen dudes in small groups practicing and performing break dancing maneuvers and just generally getting down to classic beats on the smooth ice free surface of the rink. It was hard to tell if it was an organized event or just people hanging around dancing but I was happy to allow myself to think it was just random coolness. http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=pRI0COASCEg ..not quite busting out the cardboard in the streets of Brooklyn 1983 cool but cool nonetheless and I sat a watched for much longer than I had watched the mime for.

As much as I am beginning to love spending time in Vancouver soaking in the energy and atmosphere, after a few days in any city I start yearning for some relief from the hustle and noise of the downtown streets so when a colleague from the nearby town of Pitt Meadows called and invited A and myself to drive out for a quiet dinner I jumped at the chance. I would be spending a week in Pitt Meadows later in the month and it was a great opportunity to see what I was in for. The drive out took us through Surrey, Burnaby and to the edge of Maple Ridge and we gasped at the beauty of the mountains as we drove. You can almost feel the mountains presence when in the city but they are often obscured from view by the soaring commercial and residential sky scrapers, heading out of the city the white and green capped mountains are everywhere, rarely hidden from view and I snapped a few good pictures before heading out for dinner at a restaurant not far from town. It was a great first glimpse of the town and as G started talking about some of the attractions nearby I grew excited to return later in the month.

The next morning A and I got up early and with the morning to ourselves we set out so I could share some of the sites that I had explored in previous trips to Vancouver. Breakfast at the hotel was followed by a long walk along the waterfront, a bit of shopping and then a drive to Stanley Park where we snapped pictures of the totem poles, bridges, trees, and of course the mountains. It was a beautiful day and it was cool watching A's first reactions to some of the sights that I was becoming familiar, but no less impressed, with in what I agree is got to be one of the most beautiful cities in the world.

I left Vancouver with a strange feeling, not quite as giddy with the WOW factor as I have been on my last few trips. The 'new car' smell has started to wear off for me I think, the excitement of visiting a new and wonderful place has been replaced by a feeling of comfort, familiarity and maybe even too much routine. Other than the quick trip to Pitt Meadows I hadn't really seen anything new. It was the first time in a long time that I've felt that way about a place and  served as a reminder of an agreement I had made with myself some time ago. To make sure I keep stretching my boundaries, looking for the weird, the wonderful, the stupid and crazy things that are hidden below the surface, in towns and cities across this country, and as well as in life and love in general. 

Regina is one the few provincial capitals I haven't had the chance to explore and that's up next. I know two things about Regina, they have insane CFL fans and the mounted policeman are famous for a musical ride.. so I guess that leaves me to look for the weird and the wonderful.

Travelling the Prairies.. Brandon, Manitoba and Humbolt Saskatchewan

The plane touched down in Winnipeg and I was soon in a car driving through the city and then onto the Yellowstone Highway for a 250km drive south to Brandon. With the satelite radio not working and my iPod battery dead I was not looking forward to the 3 hours in the car by myself so when I saw a hitchhiker with his thumb out satnding at the end of the on-ramp I made a split-second decision to stop and pick him up. I had never picked up a hitch hiker before and I'm not sure what prompted me to do so this time. I have an uncle who travels across the country each summer, often relying on rides from strangers and maybe a part of me hoped the karma would flow back to him and help him get a ride when he needed one.

The traveller got in the car, explaining his previous ride had broken down and he was struggling to complete the trip to Brandon. I was happy to offer to take him the rest of the way into town. My new companion was an older fellow who had travelled across the country many times and we compared stories about towns and cities that we had both been to from coast to coast and across the north of Canada and it turned out we had a mutual acquantance in Fort McMurray, Alberta. As the conversation turned to federal politics I began to realize the hitch hiker probably was dealing with some sort of cognitive disabilty. He blamed Stephen Harper for everything from the amalgamation of the Canadian Armed Forces  in the 1960's to the close Quebec referendum vote in 1995. The conversation became more of struggle as we drove and by the time my companion got out of the car I was relieved to be able to concentrate on my own, slightly more rational and reasonable thoughts about our current Prime Minister's shortcomings.

I hadn't expected Brandon, Manitoba to be a hotbed of culture, entertainment or fine dining and it didn't disappoint.The staff at the hotel gave me a list of restaurants but just about everything sounded pretty sketchy. I did find an Applebee's that served a decent piece of salmon and I struck up a conversation with a guy from Edmonton in the lounge as I ate. I shared some of my Edmonton stories from the week before and he seemed surprised that I was able to find some much to do in the city that he lived in, but quite obviously despised. I drove around the town after dinner hoping to find something interesting to take pictures of but ended back at the hotel soon after without even taking my camera out of my bag.

Two days later and I was driving back out of Brandon en route to Winnipeg where I would fly into Saskatoon. I had started the drive early with the plan on stopping in at a local community park that bordered the Assinaboine River. All my life I had heard stories and seen pictures of the flooding of rivers across the west and this area of Manitoba was still recovering from the overflowing water. Along the highway water barriers and sandbags were still stacked by the side of the road and caution signs were everywhere. I walked around the park taking a few pictures and noticing the water marks on trees that denoted how high the water had been.

A short plane ride from Winnipeg to Saskatoon and I was soon on another 250 km drive to the town of Humbolt. The 2.5 hour drive took me on a dead straight road through the prairies through gently rolling fields of wheat and canola crops. I could have turned on the cruise control and had a nap without danger of missing a turn along the way, I probably could've taken that nap lying on the road without danger of being run over as well, there being no other traffic on the highway.

Humbolt turned out to be a one street town of about 5000 people. I had thought Brandon was dull but it was a hotbed of excitement compared to Humbolt. The only recognizable restaurants were a PizzaHut/KFC Express (?) just off the highway, a McDonalds we would be warned not to eat at but weren't given an explanation as to why, and a brand new Tim Hortons across from the hotel that turned out to be staffed by people that were absolutely insane. With most of my team due to arrive the next day, a colleague and I stopped for dinner at 'Chick Allens' and ate with every senior citizen who lived in the town. Later after stopping in a convenience store looking for a beer store I was directed to a 'private liqour store' across the street. I entered the store through an unmarked door at the back of a run down motel and talked to 287 year old woman through a metal security grill. With only three choices of beer, I paid for a six-pack of Kokanee and headed for the hotel to spend the rest of the evening sitting in the parking lot watching the sun set over the field of tumble weed across the street.

 (Yes, I wrote 'field of tumbleweed' and I wasn't joking..)

I spent the next few days working during the day and trying to stay amused in the evening. Desparate for decent food the locals  recommended eating at Rick's Place, the finest restaurant in town. They did warn us to ask if Rick was cooking and only eat there if he was in the kitchen, leaving us unsure of what to do if he was not. We drove by the 'restaurant' twice before realizing that it was was, in fact, a public eatery and entered the room. 'Rick's Place' was a small, homey, room that looked like a converted rec room in someones basement, self decorated with vintage posters and placards of  50's and 60's movie stars. The place was empty and we were served by a young girl that had to go next door to find someone who could take our drink order. The food was good when it arrived shortly after, nothing fancy at all but tasty and home style. We talked and laughed among ourselves and headed back to the hotel early.

Not yet ready for bed, I decided to take a walk through the back fields and see if I could find a nice spot to watch the late northern prarie sunset. The back of the hotel looked out over a construction site but behind that were flat empty fields so I started tramping through the dirt and dust to the get a nicer view. The mounds of dirt and meter wide and deep trenches were a more formidable barrier than I had anticipated and when I emerged thirty minutes later I was covered in a yellowish dusting of.. well, dust I guess. The prairie field was not quite as flat and empty as it had appeared from a couple of hundred meters away and was inconveniently surrounded by a rusty barbed wire fence and gaurded by a 'Keep Out' sign. Thirty meters more past a stand of short brush and I would have a clear view of the whole horizon but I wasn't sure if I should continue. Thoughts of a crazed country farmer protecting his land with a long rifle competed with the prospect of taking a seriously good sunset picture as I watched the sky redden in the distance.

 I skirted around the fence not long after and waded through the almost waist high thorny shrubs. The night was warm and grasshoppers, mosquitos and dragonflies buzzed around in the air, the mosquitos of course paying me the most attention. As the sun fell behind a cloud close to horizon the sky behind it lit up and the ground darkened making me realize suddenly how dificult it would be to manoveur the field of thorns followed by the perils of the construction yard in the dark.

'Stupid city boy!' I thought to myself as I turned and began the walk back to the hotel turning around every few steps to watch the sun drop down and start to turn the sky red and then begin to darken over my shoulder.

Another long drive back to Saskatoon a couple of days later would complete a thousand kilometers around Saskatchewan and Manitoba and my first trip through the prairies.

Flying out of Saskatoon a few days later over the endless patchwork quilt of fields and the empty stretches of prarie grass I had a greater understanding of the 'flat, empty' ground below. A greater understanding perhaps, but not necesarily a greater appreciation. Brandon was wet in terms of water but dry in terms of entertainment. Humboldt was just dry.. a desert in terms of both. Next week back to BC and my favourite city in the country. Vancouver, where there is food and people and traffic and noise and mountains.. those incredible mountains that I first saw back in February. I can't wait.