This is My Jar

Mile 9022. Kokanee Bay Motel & Campground in Lac La Hache, BC. 64 days on the road.

Population density returns the further south we travel. Towns are closer together, traffic is continuous, there are obvious signs of industry – logging, milling, semi trucks transporting goods, and an active railroad. Significant power lines on the road. Little to no observable wildlife, despite traveling a moose and deer corridor. Many campgrounds on our trip have been on highways, but mostly deserted ones making the nights still. On the periphery of sleep the last few nights are the sounds of midnight travelers.

This spot on the shores of lake Lac La Hache pull us back into the heart of the trip ever so gently, a reminder that we’re not quite home yet. The eagle nest across the street has two almost fully fledged babies constantly crying in hunger. The parent is surveying the lake instead of the nest, the babies are that close to leaving. Loons swim in the lake, their eerie calls completing the soundtrack for the day.

The return of cell service and radio stations bring with them the sad news of Toni Morrison’s death and the tragic shootings in Ohio and Texas. Until a few days ago we’ve been mostly insulated from the news of the world. I can see the appeal to staying on the road longer, you’re so far removed from everything its almost like the rest of the world doesn’t exist. But we have to go back and be part of society, be part of a solution.

The towns on these final British Columbia highways, the Yellowhead and Cariboo highways (I love that Canada names its highways), sprung up from railroad construction and have, over time, remade themselves into agriculture, farming, and logging communities. First Nation towns and culture are mixed in with it all. We stopped in one tiny First Nation community known for its large concentration of totem poles, most several hundred years old.

This reminds me of other art along our journey – sculptures and wall murals, beautiful jewelry, carved wood, hand crafts.

There are still mountains, but they are off in the distance. The highways wind through pastoral farms in mountain plateaus and river valleys. Bodies of water continue to abound. Signs notifying drivers of the necessity of appropriate tires in winter remind us that despite traveling south, we are still pretty far north.

The other night I looked at the entire map of British Columbia. I have traveled most of it – a boating trip in the San Juan and Gulf Islands with Mark’s parents before we were married; another ocean voyage through the Great Bear Rainforest (Kitimat to Bella Bella) on a 92-foot sailing ship with my family; an Alaskan cruise with friends (Vancouver to Seward); a trip to Vancouver and Vancouver Island five years ago with my young cousin; a girl’s week last summer to Mission and Whistler; and now this, almost all the interior roads there are to travel between WA and AK. It’s such a beautiful province and I am grateful to have experienced so much of it. What will I miss most about Canada, other than its beauty and the hospitality of its people? Maple Creme cookies and Olympic Krema Vanilla yogurt.

A month ago I was homesick; an email from home made me cry I missed everyone so much. In hindsight I see it was a transition, my mind, realizing after two weeks, the standard vacation duration, that home was not in the near future, started to obsess on everything being missed. The trip was still in its infancy, a routine was still being figured out as was life on the road, constant companionship, and living with little in such a small space. But then I passed through the other side, without even realizing it I’d adjusted to this new way of living.

Now I’m weepy to leave these magical places – Alaska, the Yukon, BC. As I prepare to do so, I think of what I will miss. Not just green, but the spectrum of green. Trees, yes definitely trees. Clear, deep blue skies, which we had quite alot of despite the rain and smoke.

The emptiness and quiet which calmed the mind. I did my best blog composing in these quiet times.

The vastness so overwhelming it brings you to tears.

The brilliant pink of Fireweed. Roads lined with yellow flowers and glacier topped mountains.

The wildlife. The sweetness of youth and the ferocity of taking care of self and kin.

 

Hearing stories of locals and travelers. Heck, it turns out our neighbor here in Lac La Hache also worked at the Granduc mine. This morning he regaled us with stories of grizzly bears.

Fresh fish and baked goods. The wonder of Mother Nature.

I try and store it all in my head, to take it all with me, even the hard parts. I want to lie in bed at home with my eyes closed and visualize standing on the observation deck in Hyder, or walking the beach at low tide in Homer, or looking out on the vastness of Denali, or floating among the icebergs in Valdez, or simply sitting on the shore of a lake as I’m doing now. It’d be easier to store everything in a jar and take it with me, something I could take off a shelf now and again and simply look at. I guess that’s the real purpose of this blog and my camera, to hold my memories in a way that speaks to me.

It’s not been an easy trip, but then most things worth doing aren’t, and that’s okay. Had you asked me a month ago would I do this trip, or this kind of trip again, I’d say heck no. If you ask me now, I’d say yes.