Day 10 – Tuesday, July 10, 2018
Fraser Canyon, FVDRA campsite
When we got up at Arrowhead the lake was placid, as all good lakes are in the morning. It wasn’t too long after that the wind started whipping things up again.
The family with all the girls packed up their tents and left before we were even up, and we didn’t even sleep in—honest! But really, camping with a baby is probably not something you want to push the envelope on, time-wise. They don’t understand mosquitoes like adults do. Or hate them like I do.
We decided to head off because while Green Lake is theoretically a nice place, there isn’t much to do if you don’t have a boat or aren’t there to swim, and my swimming skills are only slightly better than my flying skills. I tucked a thank you note (ed.–autocorrect originally had this as “I tucked a thank you horse”) into the locked suggestion box at the campground entrance along with a $20 bill, as we did not see any friendly park rangers to give our money to. The camping fee is $18, so I suggested the extra two dollars was for leaving us alone.
We didn’t have a specific destination in mind, other than south and hopefully somewhere warm—it was about 14ºC when we left camp at 11 a.m.
Our journey took us to Cache Creek again, but instead of getting gas, we just drove though—with one dramatic change. We fought an army of zombie Vikings. No, we didn’t. We diverted to Highway 1 to continue to our next major stopping point outside Hope, taking the old Fraser Canyon route. The Coquihalla Highway is more direct, wider, safer and more modern, while the Fraser Canyon route is narrow, winding, has occasional potholes that have swallowed up entire subcompacts never to be seen again, has numerous steep grades, BUT none of the grades are as long and steep as some on the Coquihalla, making it preferable for driving in Jeff’s mind. In my mind I was white-knuckling the wheel most of the way and I wasn’t even driving.
Jeff began getting tired, because driving through the Fraser Canyon requires the same level of concentration as brain surgery, so we started looking for a rest area to, well, rest. But for some reason nearly every pull-off on this stretch of Highway 1 is unmarked, so you don’t see them until it’s too late to pull over. One official rest area did have a sign posted 100 m in advance, which is the equivalent of a two nanosecond warning when in a motor vehicle.
We eventually parked in front of a motel in Boston Bar that offered breakfast all day. We did not have breakfast, all day or otherwise. Instead we had good old camping staples: hot dogs and my favorite soup of all time, Bean with Bacon. I can’t even explain why I like it so much, but I do. Even as I type this I regret we have already used the one can we had.
Onward we went, past Hell’s Gate, which I’ve been to as a child, but I was too young and don’t really remember more than what you see on a post card. I would probably pee my pants taking the tram across the canyon to the other side. I don’t do well with heights in certain situations. Such as when I am very high above the ground.
Jeff normally stows the trailer at the home of a dirt-biking cohort and it turns out he lives just on the other side of Hope, so Jeff suggested we go to the FVDRA site where he rides dirt bikes with other people who like to get dirty on bikes. It’s about 5 km away from his friend’s place. The trick is to get to the site you have to drive up a 5 km mountain road that requires four wheel drive. With a trailer. Not that the four wheel drive requires a trailer, but it’s what we had to pull with the truck, as all our stuff is in it.
We made the slow, winding trek up the mountain to camp after a convoy of construction vehicles went by first. They’re cleaning up a nearby railings a pond. Jeff used the radio to confirm they had all passed, just like they did in Smokey and the Bandit. I could almost hear Jerry Reed singing in the background.
We set up camp, fired up the generator—here the generator hours are “Until you run out of gas.” I walked around to look at the site and Jeff immediately gouged his hand setting up his radio antenna. Take note, kids—radio is dangerous!
We aired out the bedding, strolled a few trails, walked to the magic spot where you can get one bar of cell coverage—I suggested a sign for the spot with ALL YOUR WORRIES BEGIN HERE.
Later, Jeff chopped some of the local wood for our fire. Local wood is easy peasy to chop compared to the alpine wood up north. The northern wood is 60% concrete. But lo, he cut into a piece and found signs of pine beetle shenanigans. These little pests can fell entire forests because it no longer gets cold enough in the winter to kill them off. When global warming leads to the next ice age, that’ll show ‘em.
Here’s a pic showing how the beetle burrowed into the wood and then made cozy little burrows for all of its eggs, so they could grown up and continue devastating the countryside. Why can’t these things just breed in the nice warm dirt?
We are having chicken for dinner tonight and I am curious to see how a fire will burn when it doesn’t have 130 km/h winds to help it.
UPDATE AT 9:52 P.M.
This is the darkest it’s been since we’ve been traveling. I know that sounds a bit lame to people who stay up till 1 a.m. and chart half of the entire night sky, but for us it’s impressive.
It’s also cloudy, so we can’t actually chart any stars.
Dinner was yummy and for dessert we again had S’mores. Jeff used both of his marshmallows to do an impression of Burning Man. I made mine toasty golden brown in a way that would have done Martha Stewart proud. Not prison-era Martha, the one before (or after).
The fire burned very nicely.
The forecast for tomorrow is mainly sunny with a high of 28ºC. I will believe this when I experience it. And maybe not even then.
