It is now officially summer. Not that anyone from anywhere remotely warm would notice. We must have acclimatized though. Yesterday, at 6am, we all escaped from the fire alarm that rang out in our Fraser Lake Motel and stood in the cool morning breeze. It was 7C and we only had t-shirts on but none of us were very cold. We didn't even really notice the breeze. If the wind stopped blowing, half the population of Alberta would fall over. So the mild gust coming off the snow covered Rockies was barely noticeable. Utmost in our minds was the fear that our iPods and iPad would be lost in the flames. It was a false alarm and I am writing this on the iPad, on my lap, on the BC ferry, on the way to Vancouver Island.
Out the window, a grey mist veils shadowy mountain ranges that loom out of a silver flat sea. In front of me an elderly Italian man occasionally snores and startles us all awake. The journey through the Rockies to Prince Rupert was spectacular. We saw moose, bears, mountain sheep and a variety of deer. White tail deer, mule deer, red deer, some John Deere and an, 'Oh deer!' The latter was dead on the road. Presumably it had tried to hitch a ride on the front of someone's truck without waiting for them to slow down. There were many hamlets and villages through the mountains and I can't remember all their names. Some striking features that they all shared in common: Legacy Halls were austere but tidy, the churches needed repairs but were tidy, the town libraries looked like post apocalyptic bunkers, and the pubs were all shining beacons of prosperity. From this, we could probably draw a conclusion about the priorities of the Northern BC mountain villagers but I'm not sure what. Logs and refuse lie in the sea. We have heard reports of debris from the Japanese tsunami washing ashore the west coast of Canada. I haven't seen anything glowing. More likely they are remnants of massive mud slides in the mountains. Carried to the sea by the Skeena and Bulkley rivers. The creeks feeding these rivers make the Murrumbidgee look like a piddle. The rivers, themselves are incredible. We encountered huge log jams with trees the size of electricity poles in great tangled heaps. These log jams were at least two to three stories high, 50m wide and 150m long, yet only occupied a small portion of the total width of the river. The trees along the road were massive. Poplars so dense that even those with trunks as thick as my leg soared 50 - 60 feet into the sky and they were just the understory. High up the snow was slicked a dirty brown, white water hurtled from crevices, smashed through the forest, plummeted over cliffs and eventually washed into the Skeena which was more like a moving harbour than a river. One side of a mountain looked like it had simply given up and decided to see the sea. It rained and it rained and it rained. The fishing at prince Rupert is good. As always I wish we had more time. Last night after supper Mary and I talked to some other tourists in the pub. They talked of catching halibut as big as 90 pounds. Apparently they can get as big as 350 pounds. Now that is a good fish. A couple of weeks back I went fishing with Rob Koebel and his son Zack. Believe it or not -most likely the later as no one else does - we caught 172 fish but we only took home two Jack Fish or Pike. I never thought it was possible to get RSI from fishing. I shan't reveal the location - it's top secret and the Koebels may kill me if I let anyone else know. I didn't even mention it last night. Not that I got a chance. Know one wanted to know, they were too full of their own prowess, more importantly, like a dog smells fear - they could sense my envy and just like any boxer, gun slinger or angler can tell you, you're only as good as your last fish. We are just about to enter the Grenville Channel. The temptation to drop a line over the side of the ferry is pretty strong. I just need a rod, some line, a license, bait and tackle and beer...Maybe I could catch a bloody whale - that would shut the smug b@r$!#!ds up. |