Recreation

 

Life, the Universe and Everything

by Trent Ernst

Near my house the Fraser River
flows by, it’s brown toxic waters
sluggishly crawling the last few
kilometres on a 1200 kilometre
journey to the Pacific Ocean. This
is the Fraser I’m used to. This is
the Fraser I see every day. It is
with much anticipation that I look
forward to a trip that will take me
within 50 kilometres of the Fraser
headwaters.

It weaves in and out of the trip
like a dream, sometimes it is close
and intimate, sometimes it is
distant and invisible. But always
the river flows on through the BC
landscape.

The journey up the river takes us
through a cross-section of BC’s
diverse regions, from the coastal
rainforests to the arid interior and
into the formidable Rockies. The
weather reflects this diversity as
well. On our way to Mt. Robson
Provincial Park we pass through
sun, wind and an audacious
mountain rain storm that threatens
to wash us off the road.

An observation

If you think gas prices in
Vancouver are outrageous, you’re
right. Gas was 2¢/litre cheaper at
Hope and by the time you reached
Kelowna it was down 4¢/litre.

Even in Nowheresville, Northern
BC, petrol was still a few pennies
cheaper than Vancouver.

Another observation

It’s easy to spot the wild animals
in the BC wilderness. Just look for
the crowds of tourists.

A final observation

You know you’re getting up into
redneck country when the dirty
magazines move out from behind
the counter and onto the magazine
racks. At the gas station in
Valemont nearly half the titles are
girlie mags. Valemont is the last
stop before Mt. Robson.

We arrive at Mt. Robson late in
the evening, at the cusp of near-
dark and completely dark. We
round a corner and there’s nothing
but a wall of rock, towering up
into the sky. My companion looks
up from the map and swears softly
at the size of it. Then the
headlights go out and we are
plunged into panic. (I love my car,
but Lord, does it have some major
character flaws.)

It is completely dark by the time
we find a camping spot and we set
up our tent, eat supper and crash as
quickly as we can.

The next day brings clouds and a
little bit of rain. We spend the
morning reorganizing our
campsite. $14.50 seems a little
steep, for a campsite, but the price
includes firewood, showers and a
really nice tent pad. The afternoon
is spent hiking around, including a
short (90 minute) hike to Overland
Falls, a three metre cascade that
makes up for it’s lack of height in
volume.

Overlander Falls wouldn’t be
that impressive if it weren’t on the
Fraser River. Here it is
unrecognizable from the lethargic
sludge that flows through
Vancouver. Here the river is young
and strong and powerful. The
water flows clean and green and
white, surging with an angry
intensity.

The falls were names for a group
of adventurers who set out across
Canada by land, bound for
Klondike gold fields. In the days
before rail, the trip was long and
arduous; and by the time these
explorers reached the BC interior
they weren’t interested in gold.
They were so uninterested, in fact,
that many turned around and went
back home.

Now that’s irony!

The hike to Berg Lake is a

monumental day hike around the
base of Robson, 22 km one way.
Better to split the difference and
take a day or two to explore the
area. (The first intrepid explorer
we passed said he had been out for
a week.)

Camping on the trail is $3/
personr/night, but, unfortunately,
we did not bring an overnight
pack. Unfortunately, too, that it
was raining. By the time we
reached the halfway point we were
soaked. Fortunately the Mt.
Robson wilderess is not totally
wild and there was a small chalet
and a roaring fire awaiting us. By
the time we had dried out, it was
too late in the day to continue
safely, so we set out for home.

This is not to imply that the hike
was not worthwhile. Far from it!
Berg Lake is the icing (literally; it
is so named because of the
icebergs that are constantly
breaking off Berg Glacier) on an
already spectacular trip. Besides
the many vistas of Robson
(admittedly obscured on this day
by rainclouds), our hike took us
along the raging Robson River (a
major tributary of the Fraser; all
rivers, it seems, lead to home) past
the spectacular Kiney Lake (no
icebergs, but clear, cold water and

  
    
   
  
   
  
    
     
   
    
   
   
 
   
    
    
     
  
   
   
    
   
  
   
   
   
  

enough photo opportunities and
angles to fill many a travel
brochure) across an alluvial fan
(not overly pretty, but
scientifically fascinating) and into
the valley of a thousand falls, the
crowning glory of which is
Emperor Falls.

Out in the Robson back country
I witness hundreds of coming of
age rituals and rites of passage.
Fathers and sons, mothers and
daughters, parents and children,
husbands and wives and even
lovers, out communing with
nature, with each other and with
themselves. I feel a moment of
jealousy and regret when I see
father and‘son setting up camp
together when I never had. My
father was absent most of my
childhood. My mother tried, God
bless her, but her idea of roughing
itis KOA and a trailer.

But then when you look at it, I
suppose this was a sort of personal
rite of passage, a moment to get in
touch with myself and my
surroundings. It’s so easy to get
caught up in the back and forth of
the day to day that life begins to
seem two-dimensional. There, in
the shadow of Robson I
remembered the third.

 

 

 

 

 

 

16 August 1996 The Other Press