Beautiful British Columbia*

Hello!

Writing from Victoria, provincial capital. I am on the island for a speedy two days, and wishing it was longer. It's evening, and I've found a cosy brew pub that also has free wireless! Excellent...

My Vancouver stint has passed way too quickly. I did much exploring the local neighbourhoods for the first couple of days, then on Friday Mark and I headed up the Sea-to-Sky highway for Whistler. This journey is spectacular, the broad, calm Howe Sound and islands making way for snow-capped mountains. It was even more spectacular coming home; being on the right-hand side and more immediate to the geographical highs and lows. The evening we arrived in Whistler was clear, with great views to the looming mountains, but the next day was quite cold and rainy. We hiked a little regardless, but by the time we made shelter in a cafe my hands were stiff and clumsy and struggling to count out money for the paper. For some reason, I though the west coast would be a little warmer at this time than it is. My lifelong experience with moderate temperatures (and temperature fluctuations) has set me up for many a fall over here.

Driving home the next day we stopped at Porteau Cove to explore a little. Howe Sound was as still and clear as grey glass and there were great clumps of fog in the mountains. I decided the time was ripe for a little dip, and waded in from the pebbly beach. Despite some energetic strokes, everything started to feel a little numb and I was forced to concede. My body felt like a little heat lamp once I was out, however - the upside of cold water!

We stopped at Lynn Canyon on the way home. The weather had closed in, and the rainforested canyon felt very atmospheric, with mist swirling amongst the huge douglas firs. The canyon is famous for its suspension bridge, which is strung across racing rapids and rocks. My folks have been to Lynn Canyon, and I haven't had confirmation, but I'm pretty sure they crossed over the bridge. After my efforts, clutching at the side of the bridge and mincing step by step ('can't look down!') I'm pretty sure I can now lay claim to being the biggest scaredy-cat of the Buckley clan (Vicki B - did you REALLY  cross over that thing?). I am proud to say I made it over and back - once the raucous Japanese teens who were gleefully jumping up and down had passed, that is. 

I love the green-ness of BC. I remember reading Douglas Copeland in my twenties and feeling he conjured up beautifully this green, rainy place. I feel lucky that while here I've had both sunshine - the preferable travel weather - and rain - the characteristic Vancouver winter weather. Both were present yesterday in Stanley Park - what a fabulous green space. We walked right round the seawall, just under ten k's, watching cruise ships and container ships and all manner of activities occurring. My favourite activity was a cricket match played on a beautifully-manicured oval seemingly straight out of the mother country, but by Indian players who were anything but reserved. There was a bit of controversy when the fielder caught someone out but then stepped back over the boundary - I was excitedly explaining the rules to my Canadian companion, who was kindly persevering, but truth be told looking pretty confused.

No luck on the photo upload - sorry! Aargh. Still trying...(you have to see me smiling/grimacing on that bridge...)

* slogan on BC licence plates. Pretty accurate.

Back near the Pacific

My third day in Vancouver, and I've been (extremely, I understand) fortunate to experience some stunning, late summer weather. Blue skies, temperatures in the high 20's; today's a little cloudy, but still looks great outside.

We were pretty late leaving Jasper, but a positive outcome of this was that morning dawned high up in the Fraser Canyon in BC, as opposed to down in the valley. We were able to see the dry, scrubby hills become greener and more lush, and the Fraser River rush through the canyon walls before widening out in the rich agricultural lands south-east of Vancouver. 

Vancouver's setting really is amazing. On my first full day I walked a rectangle downtown, emerging at English Bay, near the entrance to Stanley Park. Harbour out in front, mountains to the north, Stanley Park a beautiful green garden between the two...it is impressive. Yesterday I took the bus to Kitsilano, a seaside neighbourhood which felt a more earthy version of San Francisco's Pacific Heights, with its chic boutiques, cafes and organic foodstuffs. Beautiful for strolling (and for buying expensive handbags - gulp!). Many of the food scents on the breeze are of korean, chinese or japanese cooking - Vancouver has a solid asian demographic. (Mark, the friend with whom I'm staying, lives in an inner-east nighbourhood and is quite happily in the minority). The city looks shiny and clean - I was very impressed by the scarcity of any trash on the shoreline walking along English Bay - and, after cities like Montreal and Winnipeg, so new.

Plans for the rest of my stay include Stanley Park and Lin Canyon, going up to Whistler for the w/e and over to Victoria for a night next week. And I really want to get in a swim! I went sight-seeing for the last two days sans swimmers and waded a little instead, looking longingly out at the (rather chilly!) swell. I stayed on the beach for a long while, unwilling to turn my back, struck by this profound sense of familiarity and well-being. I think it's only when I'm back near the sea that I realise how much I miss it.

Not many more posts to come! A little sad, really. And apologies re the dearth of snaps - all the wireless I find doesn't end up supporting upload of photos! I'm working on it.

The Canadian Rockies

I admit that I am easily seduced by new places. I seem to inevitably digest different sights, sounds and scents in a positive way, even if those sensory elements are not strictly beautiful, as such. I can't imagine that anyone could come to this part of the world, however, and not be affected by the pristine and stunning natural environment.

(An enthusiastic start there! I'll just back up a little though, to where we left off).

OK. Train back to Winnipeg from Churchill, slow (need it be said?), pleasant, calm. I was lucky to be able to stay with my friend's folks in Winnipeg for a few days, who were lovely and generous hosts. Mr H took me sightseeing, and Mrs H ensured I ate enough to see me through another Canadian winter (and a Winnipeg one, at that!). 

The train from the 'Peg westwards passes through Saskatchewan during the night (caught a prairie sunrise and sunset from the glass-topped Dome car), and arrives at Jasper early afternoon the following day. I first saw the mountains around noon, small, jagged snow-topped peaks on our left-hand side which advanced bit by bit until they surrounded the train. Tucked into a valley not far from the BC border, Jasper caters strongly to tourists, without feeling like a strictly tourist town. I was reminded as I walked around of staying with my mum's cousins in a small town in Austria about ten years ago.

This European feel continued when I reached my accommodation in Jasper. Mr Schwarz, thick Swiss accent still intact, walked me with care and Swiss precision through the safety features of the house, insisting I repeat certain procedures such as window and door locking. It was he who gave me the idea of hiring a bike the next day to traverse the many trails that surround the town. It rained in the early morning and I was a little worried that the Big Bike Adventure may not come off...but the skies cleared around mid-morning, so I picked up a solid-looking machine from the shop and off I went.

Though I don't do it very often, I love bike riding. My rides, however, normally fall into the Sunday outing variety, smooth and flat bike track, no obstacles underfoot, gentle-wind-on-the-face kinda thing. It didn't take me long to figure out that the tracks I'd picked were more likely frequented by the local wildlife, and maybe the odd horse and rider. I rode along the Athabasca river for a while, with glorious views over the river and Mt Whistler and Mt Edith Cavell. I was amazed at the ephemeral skies, how I could watch the gentlest dusting of snow on one mountain, then another, and rain falling elsewhere, all the while standing in brilliant warm sunshine down below. The water in some rivers and lakes has that milky aqua colour, the effect of glacial runoff (I think).

Making good ground along the river, I decided to do the Maligne Canyon loop, which looked challenging enough for an amateur biker. I left the Athabasca to follow the swiftly-flowing Maligne, downstream from where it races through a deep, steep-walled canyon. The trail got rockier and more inclined, emerging beside the river with a steep rock path to the left and steps to the right. 'Oh, you won't be able to ride here', a couple of walkers offered, seeing me perched hesitantly on my bike, limbo-esque. 'It's all steps! But there's some sort of horse trail above', they added. Sure enough, I looked at one of the 'you are here' signs, and there on our track was the little icon of the bike rider struck through with a black line! 'What great signposting', I thought grimly. 'Only include the icon ONCE you're in the no-biking zone!' I struggled, bike in hand, up to the trail and gingerly peddled along the narrow track, sliced into the hillside which was descending alarmingly steeply to the valley below. The views were amazing, and fall was clearly apparent in the tiny red plants at ankle level, and the yellow leaves of the birches. I emerged at the top of the canyon, at a car park with road access to the canyon. The contrast between the well-dressed, elegantly-scented European passengers streaming from a tour bus and sweating, mud-splattered, trembly-thighed Emma was striking.

After a little picnic lunch (food tastes so good at times like these!), I finally found the path (after a process of check map, choose trail, abandon trail, check map again), and biked on. The path descended for a couple of kilometres, but was choked with rocks and tree roots. My faithful wheeled companion maintained a high-pitched squeal of protest as I squeezed between and bounced over rocks, bottom aching. The wind picked up, and blew pine needles and some welcome cooling rain down on me for a short while. At the bottom of the descent I took a break by a beautiful small lake, while my battle-scarred bike, haunted by memories of the hills, emitted impromptu mournful squeaks, much like a nervous tic.

The final parts of the ride, on flat trails under swaying birch groves, and along hillsides with striking views back to Jasper, passed in a dreamy, endorphin-laced haze. I saw grazing what I think was an elk, but which may have just been a large male deer. Later that evening walking (gingerly) around town, I saw the most amazing suspension of sunset colour in the evening sky, a heavenly glow unlike anything I've ever seen before. My travelling heart belongs to so many places, but part of it now belongs to the Rockies.

Churchill, Manitoba

The train clunks heroically into Churchill and we get our first glimpses of the town: a big grain elevator and various port structures, a huddle of small homes and connected apartments, and some businesses, built shipping-container style (one can't be too particular when dealing with arctic temperatures, I suppose. Even now, late summer, the days have been around 8'). The town is located where the Churchill River meets Hudson Bay, in northern Manitoba. It's been twenty-four hours since we saw people or buildings along the rail line, seems longer.

This place feels frontier-like to me. The few trees are short and straggly (near to the bay, the wind and ice have shorn all trees of one side of their foliage), the uncurbed streets are lined with dirt patches of similar width, where snow accumulates during winter. The locals get around on four-wheelers, or raised utility trucks. Across from my inn I witness a disturbance in the street, where an amped-up fellow is throwing rocks at a home and challenging the inhabitant to come out and fight (*insert colourful language*). A young RCMP officer is there in a flash and dispatches him, with admirable composure, into the back of the truck.

You also exist in astate of semi-vigilance due to the presence of polar bears. The peak tourism season here is October and November, when the bears return from the land and make their way out onto the frozen bay. Tourists pay premium prices to ride in huge trucks out over the rock and tundra and see the bears. All coastal areas outside of the town have signs warning not to proceed any further, and townspeople generally keep their doors unlocked, should anyone need to make a quick entrance. 

Thus, my first afternoon in Churchill found me wandering around hesitantly (would the river road be safer than the coast? what about the port?), when local tour operator Fred picked me up. 'There's some bears around, want to catch one?' he grinned. Fred was Inuit/Scots ('last name McGilvray'), a fairly common mix due to all the Scottish fur-trappers who made their way to Manitoba. Fred showed me some of the interesting (and peculiar) local attractions: 'Miss Piggy', a C46 plane that crash-landed in the 70's, a looming shipwreck off the coast, bits of rocket poking out of the bogland (Churchill was a site for rocket research and other atmospheric studies), and an eskimo dog farm, where around seventy furry creatures live outdoors. Earlier today, a bear had scratched a worker on a ladder up at

 the Research Centre, and a helicopter was whizzing around, trying to find the culprit. I gather that the bears are more curious than aggressive (the scratcher had two cubs with her and was no doubt protecting her young), but the Parks and Wildlife sensibly promote a strict stay-away policy. Bears that come too close to town are tranquilised from a helicopter, taken to the polar bear 'jail' to sleep it off,  and then air-lifted far away in the hope they'll keep away. We didn't see the elusive mama bear, but on the way back to town, Fred took a dirt road leading along the bay for a while, then gently eased off on the accelerator as a white spot in the rock grew larger. We kept our distance, but seen through the binoculars the bear was a fine fellow, around 900 lbs, snowy white and perched elegantly on a ledge. He watched us calmly, then blinked and looked away. I certainly didn't expect to be so lucky!

Day two I wake feeling a little more adapted to surroundings. I'm staying near the railway, and the nightly soundtrack consists only of the soft hum and clank of freight trains and the sweet honking of Canada geese. They are everywhere, and I watch them in flight constantly, the up-angled bodies and dark, beating wings. I visit the Eskimo museum, which tells stories of local life predominantly through Inuit sculptures. The museum also has great cultural objects and specimens - more taxidermy: excellent! - including a huge walrus and muskox. I drop into the Library and try my luck with a paper - 'sometimes we get five days worth in one go', warns the lady at the pharmacy. I meet some folks in my wanderings - kind-eyed Greg, who's squatting down near the river and looking after a huge raven he saved from cruel kids, the local priest Father Albert, Walter, an artist from The Pas who is exhibiting in Churchill. Each night I eat Arctic Char, a local fish which similar to salmon in appearance and taste.

And now it's almost time to be back on the train. I'm happy to be moving on, but a little melancholy too, nostalgic already for the brisk northerly blowing straight off Hudson's Bay which makes my nose red, and the Bay's distinct mood changes.

Doing (lots of) time on the 'Hudson Bay'

My second attempt to catch the 'Hudson Bay' - the railway operating between Winnipeg and Churchill - was much more successful. This train is much smaller than the Toronto - Vancouver 'Canadian'; with one sleeper car, a dining car, a couple of seating cars and a baggage car. And I now have an idea what it's like to be the only passenger on your own private train. Well, that's not entirely true, there were a handful of other passengers, but I was the only one in the sleeper car, and I didn't see anyone other than the three staff hanging out in the dining car for the first twenty-four hours. On day two I went to lunch and was surprised by other signs of life - passengers playing cards, chatting. Most of those onboard at this time were locals travelling from their communities to buy goods at Thompson. The operation of the train is more political than profitable - it is the only method of transport linking a number of communities and is considered a neccessity. I don't think much money is being made off the route, that's for sure.

The train moves through at least three strikingly different landscapes - farmland and gently rolling hills as it ducks into Saskatchewan during the first evening, vast forests of spruce and larch and glossy lakes in central Manitoba on the second day, and the barren transition zone leading into tundra up at Churchill. I wake to this landscape on the third day; rock carpeted with tiny red and mint-green plants, boggy ponds and emaciated, straggly pines. I was unprepared for how strange this landscape felt, how exposed and vulnerable we seemed, rattling oh-so-slowly over worn rails (really, I think that for the last couple of hours most able-bodied folk could've matched the train for pace). 

The VIA crew put me into my own little room, and on the last night I was watching a show on my computer when light from outside my window startled me. Realising with a jolt just what it was,  I hastily shut off the lights, computer and closed the door, then opened my blind to see great plumes of palest green and white burning and twisting across the sky. Aurora borealis, the wild and magical northern lights! I watched them intently until they faded away, not long after.

That night I dreamed of icebergs floating past a bay, and snow-capped mountains. The next day at breakfast we saw three caribou grazing near nearby, breaking into a trot as we passed.

Soon to leave Winnnipeg...I think.

At my new fave haunt, Union Station. (Hey - at least there's wireless connection!). Apparently my train is set to leave for Churchill a couple of hours late, which i've come to understand on this northern run is actually pretty good. (The one coming in yesterday was about ten hours late). The trip takes two full days and ends beyond the treeline on Hudson Bay. I visited the Manitoba Museum yesterday and was reading about the laying of the rails - a huge feat that involved thousands of men negotiating such difficulties as the permafrost and boglands, the ancient rock of the Canadian shield, the climate and a wrong-headed plan to conclude the rail at a site other than the present one. We've had some heavy rain here, and I noticed just now on Wikipedia that rains in northern Manitoba in 2005 washed out the tracks for about a week. Let's hope there's no repeat of that!

Really, I feel so excited to be a part of such different landscapes. I've loved learning about the ecosystems up this way in local museums; the mixed forests, the boreal forests, the tundra, the grasslands, and the plants and animals inhabiting each. What sticks in my mind is the fragility, the delicate balance in each and the interconnectedness of it all. That, and I'm fascinated by taxidermy.