Tuesday, May 25th
Ten Thousand Feet
You learn your lessons in the hardest time
Run out of patience, lean on the bold face lie
People never wonder why— Blue Rodeo. Flying.
According to an article in the local newspaper, Prince George started a program to revitalize its downtown eighteen months ago. So, far, there are hardly any visible results. Downtown looks as dormant this morning as it looked last night or seven years ago, when we came here for an overnight stay on a combined train, boat, and aeroplane trip around B.C. in the depths of December 2002. Travel times from Jasper to Prince Rupert are too long for one day. And since the train didn’t feature any sleeper cars, it just put in for the night in Prince George, leaving it to the passengers to figure out accommodation. The next morning, it turned out that a fire outside Prince Rupert blocked the line and VIA, Canada’s version of Amtrak, decided to replace the train by a bus. This way, we not only got another mode of transport added to our trip, we also got breakfast and lunch courtesy of VIA. We would have gotten free dinner too, but the bus was faster than the train and we arrived in Prince Rupert before dinner time.
This morning near the end of May starts out reversed to the previous ones. When I wake up the sky is dull and grey. But as I return from breakfast, most of the clouds have disappeared and the sun has come out.
I leave Prince George eastbound. Beyond First Avenue is a huge railway yard, as this is where the Grand Trunk Railway and the Pacific Great Eastern Railway cross, one going from east to west, the other from south to north. The passenger terminal occupies a grand, albeit too modern building featuring a gigantic VIA Rail sign, despite the fact that there is only six passenger trains each week.
The road I am taking is the northern route of the Trans-Canada Highway, which follows the Grand Trunk Railway from its terminus in Prince Rupert and east, crossing the Rocky Mountains at Yellowhead Pass. It is therefore also the Yellowhead Trail and, ingeniously marked by a sign bearing a yellow silhouette of a head. Its first action after Prince George is to cross the Fraser River. Thereafter, it will follow the river towards its source somewhere in the mountains. The river is named after one Simon Fraser who mapped most of British Columbia for the North West Company.
I follow the advice of a road sign indicating that the next petrol station will be 202 km away and fill up. Here in the east of Prince George the air smells rather foul. I seem to remember a similar smell seven years ago, but am not quite sure. Wikipedia mentions two chemical plants (and a brewery. Why do I find that out now?).
As it is nice and sunny, the bugs are out again and within a few kilometres, the windscreen is speckled again. The highway builders have kindly provided rest stops by the road’s river crossings. Since there are clouds looming in the east, I decide to use the good weather and stop at the Bowden River Rest Area, nicely located by the riverside under large trees. I sit in the grass by the water and write some postcards. After ten minutes or so, I have to abandon the project as I am threatened to be eaten up by mosquitoes. I finish the rest of the postcards in the save confines of the car.
A bit further on on the other side of the river is Purden Lake Resort. Despite the earlier sign, it does feature a petrol station but is still closed. It uses an old fire truck as the holder for its sign, though. Across the street a path leads to the Purden Ski Resort.
At Sugarbowl/Grizzly Den (Yes, that’s what it is called, including the slash) the road dares its first, short charge into the mountains. There is a chain up area, then follows a bit of steep road, and then a chain off area. Ahead tower the snow covered peaks of the Rocky Mountains where we are headed.
The ascend seems to have brought us into the Fraser Valley. Around here it is relatively wide, with the river and the railway at its bottom whereas the road clings to the southern side, quite a fair bit up. Occasionally, the road has to cross the valley of a side-river floating down into the Fraser. The most spectacular of them is Goat River valley which causes another hectic twisting and turning of the road. Once the road returns to a more steady pace, a wolf is standing by the roadside looking watchful at the traffic. Maybe it has been send for guard duty by its pack.
Things change maybe fifteen kilometres outside the town of McBride. The valley widens drastically to maybe five kilometres and develops a rather flat bottom with enough space for river, rail, road and farms, too. On both sides it is encased by high mountains with snowy tops and steep walls. On the north side it is the Rocky Mountains while the south side is formed by the Caribou Mountains.
The first farm, still mostly hidden within forests is Scarecrow Farm, which also operates a B&B. A sign advertises McBride Hotel, claiming that it has ‘great rooms’ and the only bar in town.
McBride started out its existence as Railway Siding 39 of the Grand Trunk Pacific Railway. Once it turned into an actual settlement, it got renamed in honour of BC’s then prime minister. A sketch of the layout of the railway yard back in the heyday has been painted on the wall of the station building and can be compared with the meagre leftovers necessary to modern railways. The town mostly consists of Main Street, starting at the train station and leading up to the highway, maybe five hundred meters away. North of Main Street is a large mobile home park. Beyond that is a pub and it is not the McBride Hotel. So the advertisement was lying. How about that?
The highway crosses Fraser River yet again. Several signs warn of moose, but there are only cows forlornly grazing in the sun. The valley, Robson Valley, goes on for another half an hour or so. At its end, the highway splits. Straight on you can travel up into the mountains and over into Alberta. If you turn right, the Southern Yellowhead Highway takes you to Kamloops and eventually Vancouver.
For now, I turn right. While I do want to travel up into the mountains once I am here, the map shows a very long thin lake, Kinbasket Lake to the south and I thought I want to have a look at it. It begins just after the town of Valemount which seems to be rather tourism-oriented town. There are plenty of motels to choose from. Main Street has been converted into a pedestrian friendly street with speed barriers and is lined with restaurants, coffee shops and souvenir stores.
According to the map, I have to follow a small road to get to the lake. After one false start that just takes me back to the highway, I finally find the right road. Unfortunately, it is mainly a forest access road and used for logging operations. A radio controlled access scheme is in place and the surface is bumpy to the extremes. I decide that I don’t need to see the lake that desperately and turn around again. At the beginning of the town, a deer wanders across the road.
While driving north again, I stop at the rest stop marking the beginning of the Terry Fox Trail, a nine kilometre hiking trail to the top of Mount Terry Fox. The mountain was named in honour of Terry Fox in 1981 and a provincial park was created. Unfortunately, there is still snow up on top of the 2650 m high mountain, so climbing it is out.
I return to the intersection and now turn north. Since this is a rather busy junction, it has been improved by a flyover. However, there is only little space between the river and the walls, so the whole thing feels a bit tight. Speed has been restricted to 60 km/h and ‘no hitchhiking’ signs have been installed. Right after the intersection is kilometre post 1000 which also marks the beginning of the proper mountain road, including a barrier that can be used to close the highway in case of avalanches or similar rigour.
The road climbs up to the gates of Mount Robson Provincial Park. It starts with a visitor centre and a lookout with a terrific view of Mount Robson. With 3954 metres (or 12,972 feet if you have not yet arrived in the metric age) it is the highest peak in the Canadian Rockies. The highest peak in Canada, meanwhile, is Mount Logan in sout-hwestern Yukon with 5959 metres. And once we are at it, the highest peak of North America is 6194 metres high Mount McKinley in Alaska. (There might be a pop quiz later.)
Today’s weather makes for an almost unobstructed view of the mountain, which has only a small cloud hat on. The visitor centre is very well placed indeed, framing the mountain nicely as if placed on a stage.
After this short break, the road climbs further on. It only levels out at Moose Lake, a twelve kilometre long lake filling the valley and leaving barely enough space for the road and the railway. Another lake further on, Lucerne Lake, bears no similarity to its namesake. Finally, at 1110 metres altitude we reach Yellowhead Pass. This marks the Great Divide, the border between British Columbia and Alberta, the switch from Pacific to Mountain Time, and from Mount Robson Provincial Park to Jasper National Park. The latter introduces itself a couple of hundred metres further by way of toll booths collecting the park entrance fee.
I pay my dues and continue to Jasper. Seven years ago, we changed trains here and had a few hours to explore the town. Since it was December and there hadn’t been snow yet, it was rather deserted. Now, on the other hand, tourism is in full swing. Thanks to its location within a national park, Jasper doesn’t have a designated commercial area. All shopping is in the town centre, even though it consists mostly of souvenir shops. Architecture is kitch-y instead of shoebox-y.
Everyone seems to agree, that the best accommodation is outside of town. I drive the seven or so kilometres to Patricia Lake, a small mountain lake at the shores of which sits a site with a number of bungalows. You can have a motel style room rather cheap, or you shell out a bit more and get your very own little bungalow complete with kitchen and bedroom. Because of the season, this is still cheaper than some of the hotels I have stayed at. And a hole lot more lovely. Heating is done by means of a gas fire place. The lake shore with a little dock is maybe twenty metres away.
I spend most of the evening reading there, until the wind makes it a bit uncomfortable. Then I start writing these notes on a bench outside of my cabin until ze Germans next door drive me inside. There is way too many of them here in Jasper. (This is Norway all over again. Except that they can’t bring their RVs and have to rent them here. I understand how you can have an RV holiday in Norway, what with Allemannsretten, but here? Can’t be that much cheaper than renting a regular car and staying at motels. Certainly can’t be more fun.)
Beer of the day: Tree Brewing’s Kelowna Pilsner (Well, I do need to drink up all the multi-packs I bought).