Trains may or may not turn you on, but they could, depending on where you were born and into what family you grew up in. For some they may be a means of livelihood, for others a means of travel and convenience, or for others a hobby by which to relax, but for some not just a hobby but also a passion that will take them across the country and maybe even around the world.
It was the weekend when the Santa Fe steam locomotive 3751, which had recently been restored by the San Bernardino Railroad Historical Society, was making its first run from Los Angeles through Barstow to Bakersfield and back again. This was a historic event for any train aficionado who could arrange passage.
I was fortunate or otherwise, to be invited to go along on the only train chase of my life. Four of us took off one Saturday afternoon from Highland CA on our way to Bakersfield where we planned to spend the night in preparation for an early departure the following day.
When we arrived at the terminal the next morning, Engine 3751 was already puffing steam and chomping at the bit.
My son in law’s father, Ted, and his friend, had bought expensive tickets as far as Barstow on old 3751’s return trip to Los Angeles, along with several hundred other lucky enthusiasts. In the meantime Teddy, my son in law and his foster brother Preston and I jumped into Preston’s Ford Bronco and took off after Engine 3751 hoping to keep it in sight for the next four or five hours.
Now talk about scary. It seemed that we were not the only ones with the wild passion to end our existence on the sometimes-twisted highway paralleling the train tracks. Many of the train fanatics bend on their own destruction were determined to take as many innocents along with them as possible. One guy passed us standing up and videoing through his sunroof while driving his car. That wouldn’t have been so bad but some were driving two abreast while videoing, and forcing the oncoming cars to hit the shoulder.
It appeared quite soon to me that the intent of the next few hours was to get a view of the train from as many vantage points as possible just to make sure we hadn’t missed something during the previous go around. We would roar down the road as fast as fate would permit, all the while searching for a pull out that gave us a new view of old 3751 as it chugged into view, in the hope of seeing something we had missed the previous time. I will say by the time the morning had worn away I could recognize old 3751 in my sleep. To keep with the spirit however I continued to frantically video until we finally pulled into Barstow later that afternoon just ahead of old 3751.
I must say it was an exciting experience and my last shoot, shows old 3751 huffing and puffing as it chugged into the station where Ted and his friend disembarked.
That was my first train chase and probably the last, but it did give me a bigger view into the world of the train enthusiast and even though I do not have their zeal or passion for the sport, I did find my time spent in their world a fascinating experience.
Bird Cove Looking into Bay
Looking West into the Bay
Sunday, July 31, 2011
Saturday, July 16, 2011
112 “Holy Cow Grandpa, That Sure Stinks!”
Camping is always fun, but some of the best times are when you are with family. The joy of family, especially the grandkids is what really adds to the pleasure of the experience. We had talked our daughter Teri with her husband Teddy and their first child Meagan, to go camping with us. One of the many places that we liked to camp on Vancouver Island was the Bald Eagle Campsite just south of Chemainus on the Chemainus River.
For something to do that weekend we visited the Duncan Forestry Museum. We were having a good time riding the old Shay steam engine and looking at all of the old logging equipment. Meagan who was two at the time was too cute to believe when she came to the raised boardwalks. We were walking along when suddenly she stopped and would not take another step. For some reason it spooked her to step over the cracks between the boards. We all had a good laugh, but there was nothing we could do to get her to step across any space between the boards, no matter how hard we tried.
Meagan even as a baby was where the action was. She was not content to sit by herself, but had come over to watch Grandpa empty the holding tanks on his RV. Things were not going well for Grandpa and for some reason the hose became disconnected when emptying the black water tank. Well the proverbial poop was flying and I mean flying everywhere. Poor little Meagan was out of the way but not out of the smell and all she could say was, “Holy cow Grandpa, that sure stinks.” And I certainly had to agree with her.
Meagan always loved to sing even as baby and I will always remember the Christmas we spent in southern California with Meagan and her mommy and daddy. It was after the service and we were sitting in the large “University Church,” at Loma Linda University, waiting for Teddy to finish his duties as a deacon. Suddenly we head a small child singing. When we looked up there was three years old Meagan on the platform saying, “Hey guys listen to me! Hey guys listen to me!” And off she went singing “Itsy Bitsy Spider.” As if her heart depended upon it. After she had our attention of course.
Meagan loved “Knock Knock” jokes and would carry on endlessly with anyone that loved to humor her, and I happened to be that person. It didn’t matter what the joke was about or how corny it might be as long as it was in the “Knock Knock” format she would laugh effortlessly and immediately come up with one for me to finish. It didn’t matter to her which part she had to play in the scenario, and this would go on, not until she got tired, but until Grandpa finally weakened and quit.
I will never forget one of Meagan’s creative bents when she was still a kid, and I must say I was amazed at her ability to make things from nothing. What prompted her to come up with the idea I will never know but I was quite charmed by her friend a Mr. Stickly. Mr. Stickly was quite thin but never the less had all of the necessary body parts to function as her generic friend. He would show up most anytime and always appeared to fit right in with what was going on at the moment. It wasn’t until a number of years went by before he seemed to melt slowly into the background but still carry with dignity the role of the lesser friend that he is today. For a piece of wood 1 inch by 3 inches by 4 feet tall, Mr. Stickly carried it off remarkably well.
For something to do that weekend we visited the Duncan Forestry Museum. We were having a good time riding the old Shay steam engine and looking at all of the old logging equipment. Meagan who was two at the time was too cute to believe when she came to the raised boardwalks. We were walking along when suddenly she stopped and would not take another step. For some reason it spooked her to step over the cracks between the boards. We all had a good laugh, but there was nothing we could do to get her to step across any space between the boards, no matter how hard we tried.
Meagan even as a baby was where the action was. She was not content to sit by herself, but had come over to watch Grandpa empty the holding tanks on his RV. Things were not going well for Grandpa and for some reason the hose became disconnected when emptying the black water tank. Well the proverbial poop was flying and I mean flying everywhere. Poor little Meagan was out of the way but not out of the smell and all she could say was, “Holy cow Grandpa, that sure stinks.” And I certainly had to agree with her.
Meagan always loved to sing even as baby and I will always remember the Christmas we spent in southern California with Meagan and her mommy and daddy. It was after the service and we were sitting in the large “University Church,” at Loma Linda University, waiting for Teddy to finish his duties as a deacon. Suddenly we head a small child singing. When we looked up there was three years old Meagan on the platform saying, “Hey guys listen to me! Hey guys listen to me!” And off she went singing “Itsy Bitsy Spider.” As if her heart depended upon it. After she had our attention of course.
Meagan loved “Knock Knock” jokes and would carry on endlessly with anyone that loved to humor her, and I happened to be that person. It didn’t matter what the joke was about or how corny it might be as long as it was in the “Knock Knock” format she would laugh effortlessly and immediately come up with one for me to finish. It didn’t matter to her which part she had to play in the scenario, and this would go on, not until she got tired, but until Grandpa finally weakened and quit.
I will never forget one of Meagan’s creative bents when she was still a kid, and I must say I was amazed at her ability to make things from nothing. What prompted her to come up with the idea I will never know but I was quite charmed by her friend a Mr. Stickly. Mr. Stickly was quite thin but never the less had all of the necessary body parts to function as her generic friend. He would show up most anytime and always appeared to fit right in with what was going on at the moment. It wasn’t until a number of years went by before he seemed to melt slowly into the background but still carry with dignity the role of the lesser friend that he is today. For a piece of wood 1 inch by 3 inches by 4 feet tall, Mr. Stickly carried it off remarkably well.
Tuesday, July 12, 2011
111 Hornby Island Here We Come
Hornby Island has to be one of the neatest islands in Georgia Straight and one of the greatest places to camp. We and many of our friends used to look forward to the 24th of May. This was the earliest weekend that the weather might cooperate and allow us to get out and cure the winter blues.
I remember out first camping experience with our friends on the island and the great time we had in just getting there. After the hour and a half drive to Buckley Bay the fun really began with a ferry ride to Denman. Once on Denman it was a mad scramble to the Hornby ferry terminal with the hope of maybe moving up in the ferry lineup, by either passing all the cars that you could as you crossed the island to the Hornby terminal or by using the short cut to circumvent the long traffic line.
I will say one thing about the ferry help; they would cram as many cars on the ferry as they could. I remember one time when my little tent trailer hung out over the water on the back end of the ferry, with it’s wheels still on the ramp when the ferry pulled out. I was somewhat relieved that the wheels actually landed on the ferry and not in the water as the ramp slowly pulled out from under its wheels.
Once on the island we headed to the Tribune Bay campsite and even though it was sometimes in disarray we liked the campsites and had a great time with all of our many friends. We used to gather all of our campers around in a grand circle and sit in a huge ring around a large roaring campfire known as the Betts’ fire. Compliment or otherwise it meant that no one was left out in the cold.
After everyone had gathered round we used to sing songs and then someone would present a spiritual lesson and have a prayer and ask God’s blessing and protection over our group. On Sabbath we always had a mini Sabbath School and a lesson study Sabbath morning. After that we would have a huge potluck as everyone hauled out that special dish they had prepared for the occasion.
Sabbath afternoon was a great time to take a nap, but a bunch of us would usually go for a walk along the sands of Tribune Bay. This has to be a great sand beach, especially along the east end of the bay with its sculptured sandstone.
We never left the island without visiting Helliwell Park and its amazing scenery and wildlife. The three-mile loop through the park was one of the most memorable experiences of the whole weekend. The walk takes a person past the sandstone bluff with their pelagic cormorants and the pungent smell of the guano painted cliffs along Tribune Bay. The wildflowers with their many colors leave you with a most memorable experience. Flores Islet off St. John’s Point, the south tip of the park, is home to sea lions and its waters are where the primitive and rare six-gilled shark lurks. Coming around the backside of the loop and just as you enter a magnificent old growth Douglas fir stand, is where you pass beneath the home of a bald eagle’s nest high in the top of a large Douglas fir tree, with the young eaglets eagerly waiting to be fed. What a treat.
I will always think back on the many May weekends that we enjoyed on Hornby and the great fun we had with our many friends and aquaintenances. All in all a most beautiful experience and one that I will always treasure.
I remember out first camping experience with our friends on the island and the great time we had in just getting there. After the hour and a half drive to Buckley Bay the fun really began with a ferry ride to Denman. Once on Denman it was a mad scramble to the Hornby ferry terminal with the hope of maybe moving up in the ferry lineup, by either passing all the cars that you could as you crossed the island to the Hornby terminal or by using the short cut to circumvent the long traffic line.
I will say one thing about the ferry help; they would cram as many cars on the ferry as they could. I remember one time when my little tent trailer hung out over the water on the back end of the ferry, with it’s wheels still on the ramp when the ferry pulled out. I was somewhat relieved that the wheels actually landed on the ferry and not in the water as the ramp slowly pulled out from under its wheels.
Once on the island we headed to the Tribune Bay campsite and even though it was sometimes in disarray we liked the campsites and had a great time with all of our many friends. We used to gather all of our campers around in a grand circle and sit in a huge ring around a large roaring campfire known as the Betts’ fire. Compliment or otherwise it meant that no one was left out in the cold.
After everyone had gathered round we used to sing songs and then someone would present a spiritual lesson and have a prayer and ask God’s blessing and protection over our group. On Sabbath we always had a mini Sabbath School and a lesson study Sabbath morning. After that we would have a huge potluck as everyone hauled out that special dish they had prepared for the occasion.
Sabbath afternoon was a great time to take a nap, but a bunch of us would usually go for a walk along the sands of Tribune Bay. This has to be a great sand beach, especially along the east end of the bay with its sculptured sandstone.
We never left the island without visiting Helliwell Park and its amazing scenery and wildlife. The three-mile loop through the park was one of the most memorable experiences of the whole weekend. The walk takes a person past the sandstone bluff with their pelagic cormorants and the pungent smell of the guano painted cliffs along Tribune Bay. The wildflowers with their many colors leave you with a most memorable experience. Flores Islet off St. John’s Point, the south tip of the park, is home to sea lions and its waters are where the primitive and rare six-gilled shark lurks. Coming around the backside of the loop and just as you enter a magnificent old growth Douglas fir stand, is where you pass beneath the home of a bald eagle’s nest high in the top of a large Douglas fir tree, with the young eaglets eagerly waiting to be fed. What a treat.
I will always think back on the many May weekends that we enjoyed on Hornby and the great fun we had with our many friends and aquaintenances. All in all a most beautiful experience and one that I will always treasure.
Monday, July 11, 2011
110 Flying High With Dan and Lou
The stress of raising a family, both its joys and heartaches soon turns into, “I can’t believe it happened so fast, and where did they go?” Unless of course the experience wasn’t what you hoped it would be and then it’s, “Whew am I glad its over.” With Sandy and I it was a grand experience and one that we enjoyed, maybe not handled well enough to do over again, but at least well enough to visit the kids far to often, at least from their perspective.
This meant visiting them for whatever excuse seemed reasonable and a birthday of course was a valid enough reason. Our son Bobby’s birthday fell wouldn’t you know it, on February 28 every year. It would have been better if it would have occurred at least occasionally in May or June as the weather was so much better for traveling that time of year.
This particular year we left to visit him in the middle of a big snow storm and even as we turned onto the highway from our house the little red ‘77 Civic couldn’t make the corner it was so slippery and we slid up, on, and over the divider in the middle of the road. Not a good omen for what was ahead.
After picking up our friends Dan and Lou Johnson we headed off into the snowstorm. Getting to the ferry for the trip to the main land was not a problem but it was snowing most of the way to Walla Walla where our kids were attending College.
Dan did not seem too worried until we had climbed up the west side of Snoqualmie Pass and were flying along on the hard packed snow after the summit. It was soon after this that I noticed that he had slowly moved his hands up until they were both white from grabbing the back of my seat and his face had the determined look of survival. Trying to assure Dan that by driving fast made it easier to stay on the snow packed road only seemed to increase his terror. What added more to the drama and Dan’s panic were the forty cars that we flew by in the ditch. Some were still spinning their wheels trying to get back on the road and one car had slid onto the guardrail and was waiting for a tow truck to lift it off. In the meantime Lou had dosed off into a sound sleep while waiting for our arrival in Walla Walla.
Just for the record, we had a lovely time visiting our children, at least from my perspective and I’m happy to say that our trip home turned out well with no accident or problems of any kind, but I will never know if that was because of, or in spite of Dan’s terror. The bible does say that, “the prayers of a righteous man availed much,” and I’m not going to comment on how righteous Dan may or may not be but I’m sure Dan was praying most of the way. I think we all were.
This meant visiting them for whatever excuse seemed reasonable and a birthday of course was a valid enough reason. Our son Bobby’s birthday fell wouldn’t you know it, on February 28 every year. It would have been better if it would have occurred at least occasionally in May or June as the weather was so much better for traveling that time of year.
This particular year we left to visit him in the middle of a big snow storm and even as we turned onto the highway from our house the little red ‘77 Civic couldn’t make the corner it was so slippery and we slid up, on, and over the divider in the middle of the road. Not a good omen for what was ahead.
After picking up our friends Dan and Lou Johnson we headed off into the snowstorm. Getting to the ferry for the trip to the main land was not a problem but it was snowing most of the way to Walla Walla where our kids were attending College.
Dan did not seem too worried until we had climbed up the west side of Snoqualmie Pass and were flying along on the hard packed snow after the summit. It was soon after this that I noticed that he had slowly moved his hands up until they were both white from grabbing the back of my seat and his face had the determined look of survival. Trying to assure Dan that by driving fast made it easier to stay on the snow packed road only seemed to increase his terror. What added more to the drama and Dan’s panic were the forty cars that we flew by in the ditch. Some were still spinning their wheels trying to get back on the road and one car had slid onto the guardrail and was waiting for a tow truck to lift it off. In the meantime Lou had dosed off into a sound sleep while waiting for our arrival in Walla Walla.
Just for the record, we had a lovely time visiting our children, at least from my perspective and I’m happy to say that our trip home turned out well with no accident or problems of any kind, but I will never know if that was because of, or in spite of Dan’s terror. The bible does say that, “the prayers of a righteous man availed much,” and I’m not going to comment on how righteous Dan may or may not be but I’m sure Dan was praying most of the way. I think we all were.
Friday, July 8, 2011
109 Yellowstone, Land of Mud pots and Maybe a Geyser or Two
My memories of Yellowstone go way back to the ‘50s when I was just a kid and my dad took our family into that magical land of sulphur pots and geysers. And where else could you get to see buffalo and elk or maybe even a grizzle close up.
The fond memories of that first trip never left me and it was with great anticipation that as soon as we were able, I set off with my wife and three kids to relive those childhood adventures. We took off in our ’74 Ford Super Cab, with all three kids jammed into the back seat, and away we flew towing our little Parklane tent trailer.
Our trip took us along the southern route, over Crows Nest Pass and by the historic Frank Slide. This was an amazing natural disaster and it was quite a sight to see those tons of limestone boulders scattered over the dark soils of the prairie floor. We passed by with a sense of awe as we realized except for the minors working the mine, the whole community lays buried under millions of tons of pure white limestone rubble.
After passing through the Canadian part of Glacier National Park known as Waterton we crossed the US border and on into Glacier National Park, traveling west on the Road to the Sun and over the amazing Logan Pass. This took us to Kalispell on the western side of the Rockies and enabled us to enter Yellowstone through its western entrance.
The kids had a great time traveling the trails to the various geysers but thought the mud pots burping away like giant pots of pudding, were the coolest thing imaginable. What really turned them on was the heavy odor of sulphur that made the surrounding area stink to high heaven of rotten eggs.
Bobby had just gotten his right leg broken while playing soccer at school and I can still see him with his permed hairdo, the latest fashion for a thirteen year old, whipping along on crutches. He wasn’t about to let that slow him down as we went from one deep azure hot spring to the next and saw some of the most spectacular colors of blue contrasted with the bright orange clays lining their bacteria laden depths.
During our five days in the park we were warned to watch out for grizzle bears, and in fact not allowed to camp in certain campsites as we only had a soft-sided tent trailer. However, we never even saw the backside of one. That was probably a good thing as we now have the anticipation of seeing our first one the next time we visit the park. What we did see, and I am sure no visitor would leave without seeing, was Old Faithful do her stuff. It was quite exciting to go through the count down and see Old Faithful come through as she has been doing for countless millennia.
During our five days in the park we were warned to watch out for grizzle bears, and in fact not allowed to camp in certain campsites as we only had a soft-sided tent trailer. However, we never even saw the backside of one. That was probably a good thing as we now have the anticipation of seeing our first one the next time we visit the park. What we did see, and I am sure no visitor would leave without seeing, was Old Faithful do her stuff. It was quite exciting to go through the count down and see Old Faithful come through as she has been doing for countless millennia.
What most people don’t realize is that Idaho has some neat stuff too. It was more by accident then planning that we went through the Crater’s of the Moon Preserve on our way home. This was an amazing area of 618 square miles of flooded basalt one of the best in the continental US. We had an amazing time exploring the lava tubes and climbing the cinder cones. Some of the lava tubes went for close to one thousand feet and many still had ice in the bottom do to the great insulation properties of the lava, even though it was the middle of July and in the 90’s.
The road home took us not far from Camas Prairie and the little town of Fairfield where I had spent the summer of ’65 falling trees with Richard Williams. This gave us the opportunity to say, “Hi!” to Joe Baker and his wife. It was fortunate that we stopped when we did as Joe had some serious health problems and I was happy that I was able to wish him and his wife well. He had in his own way befriended us during my days as a poor student, and I knew I would never see him again.
It was just a summer trip with the family, but it is times like these and the connections that we make that give life it’s meaning. I will never forget that summer holiday and the fun we had as a family.
Wednesday, July 6, 2011
108 Disneyland Here We Come
Is there a family that has not made the trip to the kingdom of which all children dream of, the place where dreams come true and all of your fantasies can be realized, Disneyland? Believe it or not I have a good friend, at least he was, who even though he took his family to vacation in southern California, convinced his wife and kids that Disneyland was no place for them. What strategy he used I am not sure but it worked and they never entered it gates. He did however save a bunch of money. Was he wrong in doing so, did his kids truly miss out on something? Would it have enriched their lives, would they have been better for it, or could it have led to their downward spiral into a life of hedonism and debauchery? Maybe not, but who knows?
It was not until years later and many a sojourn to that hedonistic heaven with family and friends that I found this out by talking to him.
I on the other hand have taken my family there many times and we have thoroughly enjoyed it. I will never forget our first trip to southern California; we towed an old Apache tent trailer and stayed in a RV Park not far from Disneyland so we could save money. I still remember the anticipation I felt the first time we entered through the gates into that kingdom of supreme fantasy and how my pulse quickened just a little. I can only believe that my kids and wife felt the same way.
The Jungle Cruise was the first thing we tried after entering the doors into that land of fantasy and it is still one of my favorite rides even after all these years. I can still feel the suspense as we rounded each corner of the waterway, wondering what jungle beast was next going to put upon us.
Even with all of the new things they have added over the years I still have fond memories of the Haunted House, Pirates of the Caribbean, Thunder Mountain, Space Mountain, and the Star Wars Tour with R2D2 and C3PO and the many other rides, an amazing experience for the child in each of us.
But I suppose the real charm of Disneyland is the fact that you are just doing things with your family. But even in all of its harmlessness however, we have to remember that it is still just fantasy and should be viewed in its proper perspective.
It was not until years later and many a sojourn to that hedonistic heaven with family and friends that I found this out by talking to him.
I on the other hand have taken my family there many times and we have thoroughly enjoyed it. I will never forget our first trip to southern California; we towed an old Apache tent trailer and stayed in a RV Park not far from Disneyland so we could save money. I still remember the anticipation I felt the first time we entered through the gates into that kingdom of supreme fantasy and how my pulse quickened just a little. I can only believe that my kids and wife felt the same way.
The Jungle Cruise was the first thing we tried after entering the doors into that land of fantasy and it is still one of my favorite rides even after all these years. I can still feel the suspense as we rounded each corner of the waterway, wondering what jungle beast was next going to put upon us.
Even with all of the new things they have added over the years I still have fond memories of the Haunted House, Pirates of the Caribbean, Thunder Mountain, Space Mountain, and the Star Wars Tour with R2D2 and C3PO and the many other rides, an amazing experience for the child in each of us.
But I suppose the real charm of Disneyland is the fact that you are just doing things with your family. But even in all of its harmlessness however, we have to remember that it is still just fantasy and should be viewed in its proper perspective.
Tuesday, July 5, 2011
107 Watch those Hailstones Geneene and Don’t Trip
Of all my summer students I suppose Geneene Russo was the one with the fieriest temperament, which no doubt resulted from her Italian descent. Putting that aside she was a good summer student and a great help as we continued our work on mountain pine beetle over in the East Kootenays.
It was a typical warm and sunny weekend in Cranbrook and as I did not work on Saturdays, Geneene and I decided to take a tour of Fort Steele. This seemed like a good way to make the best of a weekend away from home since the choice to be in the East Kootenays was not ours.
Fort Steele was once an important out post in that area, but except for the blackmail and bribery of Colonel James Baker in having the railway go by his sawmill instead of Fort Steele it may have still been that today.
The resulting skullduggery relegated the out post to slowly turn into the ghost town that tourist love to visit today. This may actually be a good thing in its own way as it still provides a point of interest for the region and a historical adventure for anyone that chooses to spend time visiting the Cranbrook area.
Geneene and I enjoyed poking around the various shops and reading about the early days of the settlement. At certain times of the year they put on shows in the Wild Horse Theatre and there are any number of things you can do such as taking a wagon or train ride, or eating in one of the many restaurants.
While doing our tour I noticed out of the corner of my eye a large thunderhead that was slowly drifting our way. Suddenly with little warning it started to hail and I mean hail.
Geneene and I headed into the nearest doorway post haste, to escape from getting a severe bruising. The heavens let loose with hailstones the size of flattened golf balls. They were pinging of the boardwalk and flying everywhere. Quite an amazing site and one that I have not seen since.
I realize there is a time to be cautious and even a time to fear but I must say I was somewhat amazed a few days later when Geneene and I were checking out an area on a narrow dirt road. The road went up the side of a mountain where you could look over the edge forever. The challenge was how to drive around a huge boulder that had slid down from above and blocked the road. The answer was either to turn back or proceed by creeping around the cliff side with the outside wheels of the Suburban driving slightly over the edge. I chose to carry on but this was too much for Geneene and she begged to get out. I granted her request but for fear of sounding a bit chauvinistic I must say I thought she was a bit of a wuss.
As with all things you have to do what you have to do and sometimes the decision of the moment may come back to haunt you but then again it may have been what saved your life. Time has a great way of putting things into their proper prospective.
Fort Steele was once an important out post in that area, but except for the blackmail and bribery of Colonel James Baker in having the railway go by his sawmill instead of Fort Steele it may have still been that today.
The resulting skullduggery relegated the out post to slowly turn into the ghost town that tourist love to visit today. This may actually be a good thing in its own way as it still provides a point of interest for the region and a historical adventure for anyone that chooses to spend time visiting the Cranbrook area.
Geneene and I enjoyed poking around the various shops and reading about the early days of the settlement. At certain times of the year they put on shows in the Wild Horse Theatre and there are any number of things you can do such as taking a wagon or train ride, or eating in one of the many restaurants.
While doing our tour I noticed out of the corner of my eye a large thunderhead that was slowly drifting our way. Suddenly with little warning it started to hail and I mean hail.
Geneene and I headed into the nearest doorway post haste, to escape from getting a severe bruising. The heavens let loose with hailstones the size of flattened golf balls. They were pinging of the boardwalk and flying everywhere. Quite an amazing site and one that I have not seen since.
I realize there is a time to be cautious and even a time to fear but I must say I was somewhat amazed a few days later when Geneene and I were checking out an area on a narrow dirt road. The road went up the side of a mountain where you could look over the edge forever. The challenge was how to drive around a huge boulder that had slid down from above and blocked the road. The answer was either to turn back or proceed by creeping around the cliff side with the outside wheels of the Suburban driving slightly over the edge. I chose to carry on but this was too much for Geneene and she begged to get out. I granted her request but for fear of sounding a bit chauvinistic I must say I thought she was a bit of a wuss.
As with all things you have to do what you have to do and sometimes the decision of the moment may come back to haunt you but then again it may have been what saved your life. Time has a great way of putting things into their proper prospective.
Monday, July 4, 2011
106 Chilko Lake
One of the most unique adventures of my thirty years working at the Pacific Forestry Centre was the week I spent at Chilko Lake with my boss Terry Shore and a couple other guys from the lab. We flew out to Chilko Lake to spend an entire week surveying the south side of the western arm for bark beetles.
Chilko Lake is a very beautiful blue green glacier fed lake snuggled along the eastside of the Coastal Mountains. The only way to get to the western arm of the lake, which poked right into the backside of the mountains, was to travel up the lake by boat or to take a plane. We chose to fly from Williams Lake, where we chartered an old Beaver bush plane. I was not certain the plane could really take off by the time it was fully loaded with our gear as the cargo area filled up fast and what wouldn’t fit in had to be jammed under our feet and any other place it would fit. Charlie the pilot didn’t seem to worry and after taxiing a short ways from shore headed out into the wind to give her full throttle and it was only seconds later that we were above the lake and heading west.
An hour later we landed at an old miners shack on the lakeshore just up from the end of the western arm of the lake. An easterly breeze off the meadow at the end of the arm brought the pungent smell of elk and deer dung as they probably used the meadow for more then just feeding but also as a gathering place during high snows.
I watched with some misgivings as the Beaver took off, realizing that it would not be back for nearly a week. The pilot had dropped us off at an old prospector’s shack just up from the beach. The shack had seen much better days, and even thought the roof was full of leaks it was still a good place to stow our gear. We decided it was a good place to do our cooking as well as to spread our sleeping bags, as there were a number of old wooden bunks that had not yet rotted into the floor.
I usually am a sound sleeper but this sure was no Hilton, and miles even from the luxury of a Motel 6. It was the pesky rats though, that kept me awake, they played games all night long running up and down back and forth over my sleeping bag until I finally had to resign myself and just let it happen.
I finally got used to the rats, sort of that is, but I really was put out the night it rained. It is no fun trying to sleep when the places where the roof is not dripping is not big enough to huddle in and you know that some part of your body is still getting dripped on. Well, I made it through that night too and was sure glad most of the week was without any serious rain.
For the most part the weather cooperated for the entire week, except for the day when the westerly howled up the arm. John, one of the guys from the BC Forest Service had met us at our camp with a small kicker, which we used to travel up and down the arm of the inlet. This was a great help except for the day that my summer student George and I had been dropped off miles down the west arm near the main part of the lake. Would you know it, as the day wore on the lake got so rough George and I had to walk miles along the shore to get back to the shack.
To add to the excitement, I had not brought my raingear that day and it poured for a while, George and I had to hole up under a big tree until it slacked off, before we could continue the several miles back to camp. We were fortunate that the sun sets late in the summer, as we would have been stuck out under a tree all night. Boy was I glad when we finally rounded the last corner and saw the shack in the distance.
The week had not gone to bad in spite of the rough living conditions and I was completely awed by the pristine beauty of the area. The awe factor was really pushed to the extreme as the eastern side of the coastal mountains towered overhead and added to the incredible blue of Chilko Lake.
It was with some disappointment that we saw very little wild life during our week’s adventure but I suppose that was a good thing as we were in the heart of grizzly bear country and I would not have wanted an encounter, at least with one of them.
It was with a sense of relief but also some sadness as the Beaver came circling in and landed late Friday afternoon and we said good-by to one of the most beautiful spots I have had the privilege of working in.
Chilko Lake is a very beautiful blue green glacier fed lake snuggled along the eastside of the Coastal Mountains. The only way to get to the western arm of the lake, which poked right into the backside of the mountains, was to travel up the lake by boat or to take a plane. We chose to fly from Williams Lake, where we chartered an old Beaver bush plane. I was not certain the plane could really take off by the time it was fully loaded with our gear as the cargo area filled up fast and what wouldn’t fit in had to be jammed under our feet and any other place it would fit. Charlie the pilot didn’t seem to worry and after taxiing a short ways from shore headed out into the wind to give her full throttle and it was only seconds later that we were above the lake and heading west.
An hour later we landed at an old miners shack on the lakeshore just up from the end of the western arm of the lake. An easterly breeze off the meadow at the end of the arm brought the pungent smell of elk and deer dung as they probably used the meadow for more then just feeding but also as a gathering place during high snows.
I watched with some misgivings as the Beaver took off, realizing that it would not be back for nearly a week. The pilot had dropped us off at an old prospector’s shack just up from the beach. The shack had seen much better days, and even thought the roof was full of leaks it was still a good place to stow our gear. We decided it was a good place to do our cooking as well as to spread our sleeping bags, as there were a number of old wooden bunks that had not yet rotted into the floor.
I usually am a sound sleeper but this sure was no Hilton, and miles even from the luxury of a Motel 6. It was the pesky rats though, that kept me awake, they played games all night long running up and down back and forth over my sleeping bag until I finally had to resign myself and just let it happen.
I finally got used to the rats, sort of that is, but I really was put out the night it rained. It is no fun trying to sleep when the places where the roof is not dripping is not big enough to huddle in and you know that some part of your body is still getting dripped on. Well, I made it through that night too and was sure glad most of the week was without any serious rain.
For the most part the weather cooperated for the entire week, except for the day when the westerly howled up the arm. John, one of the guys from the BC Forest Service had met us at our camp with a small kicker, which we used to travel up and down the arm of the inlet. This was a great help except for the day that my summer student George and I had been dropped off miles down the west arm near the main part of the lake. Would you know it, as the day wore on the lake got so rough George and I had to walk miles along the shore to get back to the shack.
To add to the excitement, I had not brought my raingear that day and it poured for a while, George and I had to hole up under a big tree until it slacked off, before we could continue the several miles back to camp. We were fortunate that the sun sets late in the summer, as we would have been stuck out under a tree all night. Boy was I glad when we finally rounded the last corner and saw the shack in the distance.
The week had not gone to bad in spite of the rough living conditions and I was completely awed by the pristine beauty of the area. The awe factor was really pushed to the extreme as the eastern side of the coastal mountains towered overhead and added to the incredible blue of Chilko Lake.
It was with some disappointment that we saw very little wild life during our week’s adventure but I suppose that was a good thing as we were in the heart of grizzly bear country and I would not have wanted an encounter, at least with one of them.
It was with a sense of relief but also some sadness as the Beaver came circling in and landed late Friday afternoon and we said good-by to one of the most beautiful spots I have had the privilege of working in.
Friday, July 1, 2011
105 Martin Valiere and Me
The summer of ’91 proved to be one of my most enjoyable summers in the Chilcotin. This was the last time that I was to work in that part of what I considered to be one of the most beautiful pieces of BC east of the coastal mountains.
This particular summer I was blessed with one of the neatest summer students, a young French Canadian from the Province of Quebec. He and two of his French-speaking friends had come out to BC from Quebec in the hope of improving their English language skills by attending the University of British Columbia. In the middle of the school year Martin had moved out of the apartment that he shared with his buddies to get away from always speaking French when with them. And now it was mutually agreed that my job for the summer would be to help him in his continuing attempt to speak the King’s English. It was the only time that I can remember that I was thanked for being rude by continually interrupting and correcting someone while they were speaking and yet being thanked for it.
The summer seemed to pass quickly even though Martin and I would be stuck out in the bush three weeks at a time. For most of that summer Martin and I rented a cabin right beside Puntzi Lake. This was a beautiful lake with plenty of fish to be caught, but Martin who had a passion for fly-fishing never fished it, as he seemed to prefer the rivers of the Chilcotin.
Martin, great fly fisherman that he was, would never pass up a chance to fish. I can still see him standing up to his waist in the Chilcotin River as happy as a clam catching one fish after another. In fact he caught so many trout that he got so sick of them that he quit eating them, he couldn’t stand the sight of them, at least in the fry pan.
That summer I started using a new electronic data-collecting device called a Poly-chorder. Marin used to sit back and watch me in my frustrated efforts to program it so it could do what it was supposed to do, and that was to make my work easier, this of course at the time was quite debatable. I can still see Martin shaking his head while saying “Poli-cordur” in his heavy French accent and then laughing uncontrollable.
As far as respect goes I guess that is why I appreciated Martin as a summer student as he would sit and listen to my philosophizing at great length and never appeared rude or indifferent. I suppose I missed the sarcasm if there was any as he used to call me father in a tongue and check sort of way.
The summer ended too soon but I will always remember his good nature and we parted as good friend when the summer was over. A testimony to our connection was that we continued to correspond for some time after that summer and I still have an invitation, which I will take him up on, if I ever visit Quebec.
This particular summer I was blessed with one of the neatest summer students, a young French Canadian from the Province of Quebec. He and two of his French-speaking friends had come out to BC from Quebec in the hope of improving their English language skills by attending the University of British Columbia. In the middle of the school year Martin had moved out of the apartment that he shared with his buddies to get away from always speaking French when with them. And now it was mutually agreed that my job for the summer would be to help him in his continuing attempt to speak the King’s English. It was the only time that I can remember that I was thanked for being rude by continually interrupting and correcting someone while they were speaking and yet being thanked for it.
The summer seemed to pass quickly even though Martin and I would be stuck out in the bush three weeks at a time. For most of that summer Martin and I rented a cabin right beside Puntzi Lake. This was a beautiful lake with plenty of fish to be caught, but Martin who had a passion for fly-fishing never fished it, as he seemed to prefer the rivers of the Chilcotin.
Martin, great fly fisherman that he was, would never pass up a chance to fish. I can still see him standing up to his waist in the Chilcotin River as happy as a clam catching one fish after another. In fact he caught so many trout that he got so sick of them that he quit eating them, he couldn’t stand the sight of them, at least in the fry pan.
That summer I started using a new electronic data-collecting device called a Poly-chorder. Marin used to sit back and watch me in my frustrated efforts to program it so it could do what it was supposed to do, and that was to make my work easier, this of course at the time was quite debatable. I can still see Martin shaking his head while saying “Poli-cordur” in his heavy French accent and then laughing uncontrollable.
As far as respect goes I guess that is why I appreciated Martin as a summer student as he would sit and listen to my philosophizing at great length and never appeared rude or indifferent. I suppose I missed the sarcasm if there was any as he used to call me father in a tongue and check sort of way.
The summer ended too soon but I will always remember his good nature and we parted as good friend when the summer was over. A testimony to our connection was that we continued to correspond for some time after that summer and I still have an invitation, which I will take him up on, if I ever visit Quebec.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
Bird Cove
Looking East from House