Risky Behavior in BC Provincial Parks

Lightning Lake, EC Manning Park, BC

We spent a few weeks tooling around provincial parks in Southern British Columbia. From Washington, we crossed into Abbottsford. The first remarkable difference between the rural US and rural Canada was the latter’s apparent prosperity. Where the US farms sported dilapidated barns and rusty hulks of former vehicles (“it’s not clutter, it’s decor” as I used to tell the children), just across the border farms boasted greenhouses and late-model pickups. Same general climate and soil conditions: WA farmers were growing alfalfa and potatoes. BC farmers were growing cucumbers and tomatoes. Guess who had the most lucrative yield per acre.

First we stayed at Maple Bay in Cultus Lake Provincial Park. It was a beautiful lake, developed for tourism, bobbing with power boats, edged with summer homes. I swam in the lake and JG and Marco walked. I watched light-skinned Canadian speed boaters roast to extra-crispy while drunkenly singing along to Toby Keith’s honky-tonk anthem to graceful aging, “I Ain’t as Good as I Once Was.” It was all I could do to restrain myself from swimming over with the sunblock between my teeth. I hate to watch people get hurt. But I vowed no more trail-momming except in emergencies or for kids. I’m trying to let people have their own experiences with nature, even if nature hurts them.

Then we drove east, roughly paralleling the border, through Chilliwack and Hope, to EC Manning Provincial Park. This was our first ever experience with first come, first served (FCFS) camping. What thrills JG: spontaneity, the adventure of the unknown, has drawbacks if you’re a planner like I am. I worry about uncertainty. Turns out we had no trouble finding a campsite at Manning Park at nearly-empty Hampton Campground. All it took was a posted warning about non-potable water and the crowds stayed away. A little internet sleuthing later revealed arsenic as the culprit. Could it be that giant metals miner Teck, located upstream, discharged contaminants? I did not have the bandwidth, as they say, to research the question, but I’ll cheerfully cast aspersions.

The rolling hills, vineyards, and orchards between Manning Park and our next stop charmed me. It looked like Corralitos 40 years ago. In the 70’s and 80’s the orchards around Aptos were converted to vineyards and housing, for a more lucrative yield per acre. We stopped in Keremios at Orofino winery and found some very good red blends. I noted that winery names come in two basic styles. The names aimed at baby-boomer drinkers reference a family name or a nature-y setting. The names aimed at millennials evoke the emotions the wine will provoke: love, passion, crazy good times. I now expect my millennial readers to chime in, saying they like nature-y names, too. They are mature for their years.

Beaver Creek Provincial Park sprawls next to the Columbia River, close to Trail. We saw moose gamboling across the highway. Moose! Also bicyclists frequent the highway here. I clucked with worry for them: no road shoulders, no bike lanes. But if we never took risks we’d all just stay home and get even more narrow-minded and broad-seated. Meanwhile, we had a few conversations with Canadians. Although I gushed with praise for their beautiful country, the ones I talked to were not very friendly. Think Philip Seymour Hoffman or Kathy Bates in “Misery.” I should have praised the Blue Jays or the Maple Leafs. Then we could have a chat about something that would animate them more than — shrug — trees, animals, rivers, and wetlands. It took about a month before I met a friendly Canadian up for a chat. Tom the Camp Host and I talked about the weather. He said, ” Y’know, you can’t believe them weather reports. Fake weather reports are like fake news, eh? You can’t believe ’em.” I laughed. Neither of us had seen any weather reports, being in an area devoid of cellular service. But he was better at reading the clouds than I was. In Soquel, reading the clouds means gazing at the Capitola fog bank, which recedes around midday. I was glad to be around actual weather and someone who pays attention to clouds before, say, launching a canoe.

Sunset at Kikkomun Provincial Park

From Beaver Creek we continued east with the goal of spotting endangered wildlife. Hidden Lake at Kikkomun hosted many Western spotted turtles. In the photo they look like lumps on a log, but they are much more exciting in real life. The little ones hoist themselves on top of the big ones, who either oblige and make room or not. It reminded me of the sea lion scene below the Santa Cruz wharf. Everyone wants to haul out and rest, and the bigger ones claim the best spots. Then they pretend to sleep so they don’t have to get up for the little ones. Or at least that’s what I used to do.

After Kikkomun we turned north and laid in at Creston, BC. Here JG visited the local museum and I spent an afternoon at the indoor pool. I was surprised to see such potentially dangerous equipment as a jetted hot tub, 12 foot climbing walls and diving boards. Our local pool at Simpkins Swim Center has no diving board and its climbing wall is 4 feet tall. The Creston lifeguards walked up and down and actively paid attention, rather than perch in an elevated chair. The hearty Canadians’ tolerance for risk and, judging by the repeated belly-flops off the diving board, pain, is greater than that of the litigious pansies of California. Interestingly, footwear of any sort is forbidden in the locker rooms and around the pool deck. Those brave souls fear neither slip-and-falls nor foot fungus. Living on the edge, I removed my flip-flops and took a risk.