To support Canadian tourism, I spent my summer holiday exploring a remote
part of my own province. My travelling companion was my daughter-in-law,
Kara. Day one involved reaching Port Hardy on the northern tip of Vancouver
Island. The next day, we navigated a lengthy logging road to a secluded
wilderness beach. Along that route, we encountered a message that became
the theme of our week-long adventure. An immense log lying atop a crushed
car displayed a sign: “Be Prepared for the Unexpected.”
From then on, everything that happened was unexpected. Back in cell phone
range in Port Hardy, we discovered a memo from B.C. Ferries. Due to
anticipated strong winds, our boat would leave at 5 a.m. instead of the
scheduled 7:30. We had to be at the terminal by 3 a.m. At the motel I slept in
my clothes, so when Kara’s alarm went off at 2:30, all I did was stumble to the
car.
As we entered the ferry’s car deck, we were told: “If you have any Gravol,
take it now. It’s going to be rough.”
Kara parked in the allotted spot, then looked at me in groggy shock. Finally, I
shrugged. “I don’t have any Gravol. I’ve never taken Gravol in my life.”
So began the 10-hour journey to the village of Bella Coola. We weathered the
choppy seas by napping in sleeping bags stretched across several seats in
the passenger lounge until we reached the protected channel leading to our
destination.
Why Bella Coola? For years, I have yearned to view the rock where explorer
and fur trader Alexander Mackenzie ended his epic cross-continent journey in 1793. He never reached the open Pacific, but he tasted saltwater and saw the
tides change. It was close enough and his Indigenous guides pressed him to
return to familiar territory where they would be safe from enemy tribes.
I had already booked a small boat to shuttle us 65 km down the Dean
Channel to the B.C. Historical Site, where a monument commemorates
Mackenzie’s achievement. Lying in my sleeping bag, I dreamt of tomorrow
when my goal would finally be accomplished.
I should have known better. After all, the sign warned us to prepare for the
unexpected. Because the rough seas lasted for two days, our tour boat
couldn’t run us down the fjord where storm-roiled waters from the Burke
Channel swept into the Dean Channel.
Instead, our Indigenous touring company suggested visiting the site of an
ancient cedar tree. While Captain Jason stayed aboard, his deckhand Henry
led us through the dense forest ground cover. He located the path only
because someone had dangled blue ribbons from overhanging trees. We
finally reached a humongous old cedar that soared into the sky. Henry
drummed traditional Nuxalk songs of gratitude for the many ways cedar trees
support their culture.
Although we never saw the memorial rock, we encountered many traces of
Mackenzie in Bella Coola. Our hotel was on Mackenzie Street. We drove past
Sir Alexander Mackenzie Secondary School. In the log cabin museum, we
found the brass plaque that commemorated Mackenzie’s trip until it was
replaced by a bilingual one attached to the rock I didn’t get to see.
The road continued past Bella Coola for 44 km until the valley came to an
abrupt end. Driving up-valley, as it is known locally, we discovered a craft
store selling hand-blended spices with the brand name ‘Stupendous’. That
word cropped up all over the place, including Mount Stupendous. Mackenzie
had originally used it in his journal and the name stuck: “Before us appeared a
stupendous mountain, whose snow-clad summit was lost in the clouds.” We started
using ‘stupendous’ to describe our discoveries, too.
While aboard the ferry, we heard about “the Hill,” a series of precipices and
steep slopes that Mackenzie had described in his journal. His guides escorted
him down a perilous path 3,000 feet to the valley below. That route remained
only a footpath until the 1950s, when local residents decided to blast a road
up the cliff. Now part of the provincial highway from Bella Coola to Williams
Lake, it is on the list of the scariest roads in the world.
Kara was determined to drive this road and, of course, I didn’t want to miss
out on a new adventure…until we started up the narrow, twisting gravel road
with sheer drops into the abyss. Alternating between clenching my teeth and
pleading to abort the mission, I endured hairpin turns and 15 percent grades
until Kara realized I was going to die of asphyxiation if I held my breath any
longer.
She found a passing place long before we reached the top, where she turned
around inch by inch. While we crawled downhill, a local truck zoomed past us.
Luckily, he was on the cliff side. When Kara reached the valley floor, I finally
found breath to speak. “Well, that was a stupendous ride!”
Boarding the ferry early the next morning, I encountered the chief steward,
who asked if I had seen Mackenzie’s Rock. When I shook my head, she
suggested, “Come back next year and take the milk run to Bella Bella and
Ocean Falls. That ferry goes up the Dean Channel, and if anyone asks, the
captain will divert the ferry close to Mackenzie’s Rock.”
I didn’t accomplish my intended mission, but I enjoyed a week of unexpected
pleasures. Now, I even have next summer’s holiday planned. No doubt, it will
not unfold as expected, and that will be stupendous.