Here is a link to a video of the plane flight into the lakes:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=HWBlIwnsqFw
05/09/08
Jericho Beach, Vancouver, BC
We arrive at hostel on a beautifully sunny day in Vancouver and meet our guides, Blue and Jess. A quick briefing on the trip is followed by a quick lesson on what and how to pack. Now Ben and I, in our thirties, would consider us to be quite capable of looking after ourselves but,evertheless, spend the next hour unpacking, packing, dumping clothes/kit and repeat seemingly ad infinitum. The maxim "don't need it, don't take it" is the rule of the day closely followed by "in a bag, in a bag..." (to keep everything waterproof)
06/09/08
The trip starts in earnest with a wake up call at 6am but thankfully we are still on UK time (8 hours ahead). We pack up the van and hit the road. This drive alone shows the vast expanse of Canada, it is utterly mind boggling but nothing in comparison to where we end up. We drive east out of the city and suburbs of Vancouver and through the morning working traffic - cars as big as lorries, lorries as big as trains and trains that miles long. We head to a small town called Hope, famous because Rambo was filmed there, and head north along the Fraser Canyon and the original trail set by the 1860 gold rush. The road north is scattered by small settlements that began as outlets for the gold diggers as they travel north and are named by there distance from Vancouver. 70 mile house, 100 mile house and so on. This barren land, cut by the ferocious Fraser River, expands east and west, through forest, desert and farm land (that exists with the help of some crazy irrigation).
After 7 hours driving through spectacular scenery we reach Williams Lake for lunch. Leaving Williams Lake and the last mobile phone signal we drive west across the Chilcoltin plane and there is nothing except for a handful of tiny communities.
We reach our destination at Tweedsmuir Lodge on Nimpo Lake and are treated to a night in a stunning lake side log cabin. We sense we are been led into a false sense of security and that this will be the last of the old homemade comforts. I somehow don't think that the campsites will have wood stoves with the fire ready to go (it lights with one match).
07/09/08
In the morning, we are given a lovely home cooked breakfast in the lodge, surrounded by the bear skin trophies of hunters. This naturally leads to the bear talk. I, coming from the wild, west country of England, have never seen a bear in the wild and would not know what to do. We are told that bears are, by and large, solitary creatures who don't really want to have anything to do with humans - phew! So, by making bears aware that you are in the neighbourhood by making noise they will probably leave you to it. This was all reassuring but we were to remain vigilant! Other animals that live in this part of B.C. are moose, wolves (probably scary), mountain lions (scary) and wolverines - to be honest I thought this one was a myth like Sasquatch (Big Foot). We left the breakfast with a bit of a reality check and make preparations for the flight.
We fly, by float plane, from Nimpo Lake into Turner Lake in Tweedsmuir Provincial Park. We move all our gear to the jetty and await our pilot who emerges dressed like a cowboy. He takes one look at the early morning mist covering the lake and says "we'll be going in a little while" and slowly walks off for coffee. There is no rush whatsoever. Forget about the fast turn around times of the low budget airlines, this is a completely different way of life.
We wait in anticipation as the fog slowly rises and our pilot returns to pack up the plane. Finally, we're all loaded and ready to go into the wild. The journey flies across the forest, scared by the logging roads and patches of logged land, and then into the park itself. We land on a sunny lake and unload the plane and then begin to pack up the canoes.
As there is no point hanging around - it's not like you go on holiday to hang out at the airport - we start to paddle in the direction of Hunlen Falls. Apart from our guides, the group's canoeing experience is minimal and, even to the untrained eye, spectacularly woeful. I am in the back with control of the steering and the power and Ben in the front for ballast. We are shown the basic strokes and slowly make our way to our first camp. We make a little stop on a beach, and see some tracks left by a largish animal.
We make it to our first camp and erect our tents. The campsite is basic: fire pits, marked pits for tents and a toilet 200m away. Having made our base, we hike to Hunlon Falls, a 600m waterfall, and hike to get a good vantage point and, even though we flew across the park, we begin to see the extent and beauty of the untouched landscape. In one view I can see more trees that in all of my life. The forest is dense and you can never really see more than 50 metres but it the quiet
sounds of the forest that gets me: trees creaking in the light breeze, the chirping of birds and screaming of chipmunks warning the forest of its human invaders. Our voices resonate with the trees breaking the sounds of this forested silence.
Out here nature dictates our existence and like sugar-fuelled children refusing to go to sleep, we are left with no choice when the lights are eventually switched off.
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