Thursday, May 20th
Due South
And it’s a heave-ho, hi-ho, comin’ down the plains
Stealin’ wheat and barley and all the other grains
It’s a ho-hey, hi-hey farmers bar yer doors
When ya see the Jolly Roger on Regina’s mighty shores— The Arrogant Worms. The Last Saskatchewan Pirate.
Flin Flon is right by the border with Saskatchewan. So the first thing I need to do today is learn to correctly spell that province’s name. This isn’t really all that hard: The vowels are all a, except for an extra e sneaked in before the last syllable. In case you care, it is named after the Saskatchewan River which in turn is named after the Cree word for ‘swift current,’ and, incidentally, is also a city in the south-west of the province.
The weather this morning is what meteorologists call crap. The clouds are so low, the top of the big smoke stack disappears into them. And it is rather cold, too. The roads are wet, so it must have rained, but right now, it is dry.
I take off through central Flin Flon and on towards the Saskatchewan border. Every single business here seems to have a large black advertisement board with neon-coloured clip-on letters. Right after the border lies Creighton, which is a tiny place and seems to just have been put up there so that Saskatchewan has some representation in the area, too. Main Street is currently under construction.
After that, back into wilderness, which here consists of forests and lakes and rocks and is rather hilly. Again there is a large area with dead trees. There is a plaque about something called the Hudson Burn, but a fly by too quickly and can’t be bothered to turn around. Along the road, there are more such areas.
The area has a strong tourist touch. There are lodges here and there, between twenty and hundred kilometres apart. Like most things up north, these are for fishing and hunting, and possibly some Germans (whose uniforms are nowadays made by Jack Wolfskin. Watch out for a yellow paw logo and you know the outdoorsy Germans).
On lonely roads, Saskatchewan has placed mileposts ten kilometres apart. This seems about optimal for feeling progress. In Quebec and Manitoba, there is a posts every two kilometres, which means they are just meaningless numbers. Ontario had signs indicating the distance to the next bigger place every twenty kilometres, which is too far, as you don’t see them often enough.
There are occasional rain showers. The clouds are hanging rather low, maybe thirty feet up. It feels like you could touch them. After Narrow Hill Provincial Park the clouds lighten and finally the sun returns. As a trade off, the highway now is in rather poor condition.
A deer grazes by the road. Or maybe it is a caribou. What is the difference anyway? The deer or caribou on the Saskatchewan version of the warning sign appears to flying Superman style.
The crossing of Torch River seems to have a frog fence, unless the knee-high green plastic fencing has been erected for some other purpose. Apropos of nothing, I remember the time change. While Saskatchewan uses Central Time like Manitoba does, they don’t do daylight saving. Which means that during summer they are in the same time zone as Alberta, whereas in winter they join Manitoba.
My plan is to go further south. As the highway is turning south-west, I take a little short cut along what turns out to be an unpaved road. If you look at the prairies from an aeroplane, there seem to be roads everywhere. Unfortunately, about ninety-five percent of them are unpaved dirt roads. Driving along them isn’t all that much fun. The car seems to be rather unstable, sliding through every turn. You can’t do more than eighty whereas along highways they usually allow a hundred. The short cut ends at Snowden, which seems to be more a point on the map then a real place.
I head east a bit and turn south again in Choiceland. According to the sign, it has all services you could probably wish for; two full rows of symbols. They all seem to be operated by one single business by the roadside. Or possibly you are going to find a hidden town centre a bit north.
We have entered proper grain farming country. There are huge fields with little pockets of trees here and there, mostly along the rivers and streams. A big difference to other parts of the country is the lack of spread out settlements. People’s houses seem to be clustered in villages, except for some rather big farms here and there. Most likely, the population is also a lot less dense than in the east.
Farm country stops for a second at Fort à la Corne Provincial Forest. It seems to have fallen victim to a fire as well. But it must have been a while ago. The new trees are already four to five metres tall.
At the end of the forest, the highway descents into the valley of the surprisingly mighty Saskatchewan River. It crosses the river by way of the George Willis Bridge. As it climbs out of the valley again, it comes along Wapiti Valley Ski Park which features an actual ski lift. The slopes may be a wee bit disappointing, though. You probably need an entirely new colour for them in the slopes colour code system.
Today, it is really nice and warm here. The crickets are out in force. One of the red-shouldered birds is sitting on a sign and kindly waits until after I made a picture before flying away.
In Grorud, no, wait, Gronlid they seem to be breeding horses. Off the road lies Fairy Glen. Whether this is the fairy named Glen or a glen for fairies, I can’t say. A small boat is stranded in the middle of a field. While I think about the horrible floods they must have here, a sign reveals that it is for sale and the field just acts as a large show room. The crossing of Carrot River reminds me of lunch.
Two tall buildings appear on the horizon. Are these the fabled grain elevators? Probably are too. They must be part of the town of Melfort. It starts with the Melfort Union Hospital, which is all new and shiny. Most hospitals I’ve seen are quite new. The exterior doesn’t necessarily say much about the quality of their services, of course.
The town has a million traffic lights, all of which are red. The proud old post office is now empty and a new concrete bunker opposite serves as the current office. The courthouse stands out as its bricks are yellow not red. Thereafter follows the usual business district and thereafter follows the mall. Most of these small malls are rather sad affairs, rather run down and shabby. But they have restrooms and grocery stores.
There is smoke further south. It doesn’t look like a forest fire and everyone seems to be rather calm. A while later I pass by another such fire right by the road. There are two fronts slowly working their way over a field. Each is guarded by a man. So these seem to be on purpose, although the actual purpose eludes me.
It becomes more and more windy, thirty kilometres per hour with gusts up to forty five according to the weather man. Passing trucks create such strong disturbances that the bonnet is almost ripped off every time. Looks quite scary.
I am passing Wakaw, which boasts John Diefenbaker’s Law Office. Diefenbaker was Canada’s 13th Prime Minister. After finishing his law studies in Saskatoon, he spent five years as a lawyer in Wakaw before moving on to greater things.
The road leaves its straight southerly course to swerve around Muskiki Lake. It apparently is a salt lake. However, its waters are utterly green. Even the foam on top of the waves created by the strong winds is green. It looks a bit like a Saint Patrick’s Day stunt gone horribly wrong.
Something huge appears on the horizon. At first, it looks like a giant road bridge, a bit like Brooklyn Bridge has been moved into the Prairies. Ten kilometres later, it turns out to be a gigantic potash mine. What looked like bridge cables are in fact the escalators. Next to the factory is a mountain if dirt. Whether they remove the potash from the mountain or whether it is the waste from excavations, I can’t say.
Because of the strong winds (or so I hope at least), fuel consumption of the Silver Avenger has gone up quite a bit and I have to fill up again in Watrous after only 650 km. Watrous is a train station, a big grain elevator, three petrol stations and a burger restaurant.
Saskatchewan’s license plate motto is ‘land of living skies.’ And at least today, the skies indeed present a most vivid show. All day long, clouds of all kinds have been forming: white smears along the blue sky, big, fluffy cotton clouds, black clouds of doom. But now, south of Watrous, the spectacle gears up to a grand finale. In the west, tall grey clouds are dominating the sky but leave patches of thinner cover where sun rays beam through. They also leave a large hole the borders of which are brightly illuminated. You somewhat expect the face of God to show up and with a thundering voice send you out on a quest.
Going further south, the town names seem to tell a story. First there is Imperial, then Liberty. Later follow Holdfast and Findlater. Off to the east is Last Mountain Lake, a very long, small lake. No explanation for the name. There certainly aren’t any mountains nearby even though the terrain often is very hilly and not at all as flat as promised. The lake features Tripple T Beach. Not quite sure what that is supposed to be. A Tripple X Beach I would get, but tripple t? Something very English maybe?
The ground doesn’t seem to be very resistant. The tiny Arm River has over the years created a thirty metre deep gorge which is very green and home of a camp site by the road. The much more mighty Qu’ Appelle River a bit further south has created its very own valley which, naturally is a lot more impressive. Where the highway crosses it, it widens into Buffalo Pound Lake, presumably a favourite haunt for people from Moose Jaw just a few kilometres south.
Which, incidentally, is the destination for today. The Trans-Canada passes by north of the town centre by and that’s where all the motels are. I settle into one of them. Moose Jaw has a bit of a reputation as a tourist trap. Since it also serves as a stop along a rather busy road, motel prizes are a bit steep.
The reason for all the tourists is a slight difference between Canadian and American prohibition. In Canada, production of alcohol was still legal, only its distribution was forbidden. Moose Jaw’s location rather close to the US border, maybe a hundred miles north, turned it into a very important bootlegging centre. Legend has it that even Al Capone himself was here. There also is a legend that most buildings very connected by a wide network of underground tunnels. You can now visit an attraction called The Tunnels of Moose Jaw, which appears to be a recreation of these alleged tunnels based more on imagination than fact. It does, however, explain the horde of teenagers plaguing the motel.
Central Moose Jaw appears to have gone downhill since its heyday during prohibition. It appears positively rotten. Along Main Street, there are lots of potentially beautiful buildings which seem to be having a competition which could look most decayed. At the end of Main Street lies the old train station, unused since the disappearance of passenger service along the CP line. The passenger terminal now serves as Canada’s most impressive liquor store.
Beer of the day: Molson’s Canadian (possibly the most mainstream Canadian beer you can get, advertised on the can as ‘the best this land has to offer.’ Thankfully for Canada, this is utterly wrong. Canada certainly isn’t a rather bland, streamlined country. Why I bought it, you ask? Me too. I am getting rather annoyed with North American retail practice. Why is everyone assuming you want to buy beer in bulk?)