Day 4 - June 29 - Bella Coola to Clinton - part B

We could have taken the ferry from Bella Coola to Port Hardy and driven down island, but we know the island well and besides, on a roadtrip, that would be cheating. So we turned around and retraced our steps after breakfast, which was eaten outside looking at waterfalls crashing down rock faces and listening to the cold, glacier-green Bella Coola river rushing past behind the trees.

Dad drove the hill in reverse which indeed proved easier. More spectacular too as it was a clear view. Context is always a necesary and oft missing element in photos of an exciting experience - this will have to do: We made few stops on the 6 hour drive back along highway 20. One was to see Anahim Lake, birthplace of Montreal Canadiens' hotshot goalie Carey Price, whose mom is the chief of the town. Seeing this place makes you realize what it takes for some people to rise above, let alone succeed in life. Kick butt next year Carey!

Another stop was to see the native cemetery at Redstone, a higgeldy-piggeldy collection of wooden and metal grave enclosures watched over by a bright blue and white statue of Mary. Heartbreaking to read of so many who didn't live to even 10 years.

We went through a hail storm along the way and I was glad yet again to have added more clothes than I would usually take on such a short trip. Lunch in Alexis Creek was in a charming old building-turned-restaurant and run by a hardworking and friendly Anja who hails from Hamburg. To honour her hard work we had hamburgers - buffalo hamburgers. Also the heartiest beef noodle soup we've ever had and a slice of her home-made lemon cream-filled cake. We always try to avoid restaurant chains and eat at local places. Sometimes it works and sometimes it doesn't. This time it did. Although it was a little offputting to eat with the eyes of so many stuffed, wild animals staring at us, looking over our shoulders as if they were saying "You gonna eat that?" Taxidermy is big in these parts, either by accident or design.

A big ice cream cone, because we obviously hadn't had enough to eat yet (that was sarcasm by the way) at Lee's Corner Gas, and a top up of very pricey gas. But in a few hours we were very glad we'd topped up!

The lesser driven road that runs parallel to highway 97 is so lesser driven it has no name let alone a number. Although we knew it was gravel, it didn't look too long on the map, and those same maps indicated it went through Dog Creek, the Gang Ranch and Jesmond. Along the way it skirts the Junction Sheep Range, which houses 20% of the world's Californiz big horned sheep and the world's largest herd of them.

The Gang Ranch was a particular attraction. Jerome and Thaddeus (now there's a name you don't hear much of these days) Harper, two West Virginia outlaws, decided to retire in 1960s, but the law looked dubiously at retirees in their particular field of endeavour, so they escaped to find the remotesat and wildest ranch location they could find. They found it and we did too. At one time it was the largest ranch in the entire continent, and it is still in operation.

However....

The maps did not show how rugged and long the road really was. For the most part it hugged the steep slope of a grassy, craggy hill that fell away, a long way, down to the Fraser River, the opposite shore rising as dramatically and providing a beautiful vista. "Meadowlark country", Dad said, "They like open land. Their song sounds a bit like 'mum mum tiddly goat'. Whereas the Swainson's thrush's is a rising 'diddly, diddly , diddly, diddly , dee.'"

Long and tight hairpin turns meant few photo stops. There was virtually no signage and we had to trust our sense of direction to ensure we continued along the right road. There were quite a few other vehicles too so we had to keep sharp. Locals of course. All looking at us with surprise and wonderment. I imagine no one that doesn't have to use this isolated road does.

Dog Creek was only a 2km detour, so we saw a reserve that was completely empty of life - not even the usual sight of dogs rolling in the road. The Gang ranch was an 8km detour across a tiny, old, rusty bridge, and time was starting to run on, so we said 'howdy' in its general direction and carried on. We never did find out if Jesmond was anywhere near where the map said it was because we (at last) found a sign that indicated Clinton (our destination) was 62 km one way (the Jesmond road) and 53 km the other. As the road which we thought would take 2 hours was now looking like it would take 4, we took the shorter route.

There are gravel roads and there are gravel roads. This was both. What I mean is some of it was decent hard pan with little dust kick up, but some of it (which felt like most of it) was washboarded and slippery with loose scree so that everything in and on the car juddered.

The landscape changed as frequently as the road's quality, but it was all beautiful. The high dry valley that followed the Fraser turned away from the river to become rolling green fields with shallow blue pools, then forests with trembling aspen and undergrowth, then conifers huddled around dark, swampy water that cried out "Moose", but not loud enough evidently as we didn't see any, although a few deer misheard and allowed us a glance at their white tails bounding away into the trees. There were virtually no houses, just the odd ranch sign and outbuilding (this one not a successful venture I guess) and there were absolutely no services of any kind. It was a lonely, stunningly beautiful landscape that few get a chance to see.

We were never so happy to see a highway again. After driving that road for so long, turning onto a paved road was like hearing an angel choir sing Hallelujah with the heavens bursting open in a light of blessing. We rolled into Clinton and booked into the Cariboo Lodge, hardly able to move after a good 10 hours of sitting in a car, clenching for half of it in anxiety.

One of my brothers used to say "you'll never forget it - no matter how hard you try". This day will be a memorable day, and I don't want to forget it.