Canadian Pacific

By David Gourley

Those of us who are of a certain age may well remember the long-running programme Two Way Family Favourites which ran on Radio Two and before that on the Light Programme.   It was a record request programme for families with members serving in the overseas armed forces.  A popular choice was Canadian Pacific by George Hamilton IV.  It tells of a chap who works his way right across Canada, from East to West, thus visiting all ten of the country’s provinces.   He starts in Nova Scotia and finally makes it ‘to British Columbia and heaven’ where his true love awaits.

We too did a rail trip in Canada.  It was a rather more modest venture and we were heading east not west, starting in Toronto.  And the old romance has gone: Canadian Pacific is no more and one travels nowadays with the more prosaically named Via Rail.  Still, it was a great, and great value, trip, involving first-class rail travel and overnight stays in three cities, Toronto, Ottawa and Montreal, in each case staying at a Fairmont Hotel.  These are part of a worldwide chain of luxury hotels.  This trip was of such good value that it is no longer offered!

We had stayed at Fairmont Hotels during our previous trip to Canada, at three locations in the Rockies, including Chateau Lake Louise, one of the most beautifully located hotels in the world.  Closer to home we had also stayed at their hotel in St Andrews, Fife.  Nowadays the chain is owned by a Saudi company but fortunately they don’t impose their country’s draconian laws on alcohol consumption!

We flew out with Air Canada.  Generally Canada is a hospitable country but someone flying with this airline might assume otherwise.  Indifferent food was served to us by poker-faced staff.   Moreover our in-flight entertainment didn’t work.  Everyone else’s seemed to be fine, however.  The fact that I’m paranoid ......

In Toronto we landed at Lester B Pearson Airport, named from a former Prime Minister, and our departure was from Montreal’s Pierre  Elliott Trudeau Airport, also named from a former Prime Minister.  These are by no means the only airports to be named after statesmen.   Thus Washington has Ronald Reagan Airport, Paris has Charles de Gaulle Airport whilst Berlin is soon to have an airport named after Willy Brandt.  But in Britain we eschew having airports so named.  Probably we are right: I wouldn’t actually mind having airports named from Churchill or Attlee but baulk at Heathrow becoming Margaret Thatcher Airport or Gatwick Tony Blair Airport.  Luton Airport I guess would then have to be renamed John Major Airport since it was in that town that he stood on his celebrated soapbox!  We do have a couple of examples of airports being renamed after famous people.  Liverpool’s Airport is now named after John Lennon (‘above us only sky’).  I rather like that.  One of Belfast’s is named after George Best.  I’m not sure that I like that.

Our local guide welcomed us to “Fortress Toronto”.  The G8 had been meeting elsewhere in Ontario and were now heading into the big city to join twelve other leaders for a G20 summit.  This was being held despite the fact that there was a scheduled G20 summit later in the year in Seoul.  The extra meeting had been arranged in the light of the worsening economic crisis.   Our arrangements were affected because some of the summiteers would be staying at our hotel.   As a result our stay there was cut from three nights  to two.  We didn’t feel hard done by for we were instead to have an extra night at the no less splendid sister hotel, the Chateau Laurier, in Ottawa.  We also got a room upgrade and the excellent buffet breakfasts were made complimentary. 

With fears of terrorism, and in anticipation of street protests by anarchists and others which did indeed occur, a large area around our hotel had been barricaded off.  We were still able to come and go as  we pleased – and rather liked the fact that the normally busy road outside our hotel was devoid of traffic!  The Fairmont Royal York is a fine hotel.  We enjoyed looking at its gallery of sepia-tinged photographs which recall the days when it was ‘the largest hotel in the British Empire’.  Like quite a few of the Fairmont hotels it is also a railway hotel, located directly across the road from Union Station.

It was early evening but the CN Tower, located a short walking distance away, stays open late so we headed off to it.  For some 34 years it enjoyed the distinction of being the world’s tallest building.  Now there are several taller buildings, including Shanghai’s World Financial Center, which we’d ascended a few months earlier.  There is a glass platform with a view 1,122 feet straight down.  It can, the visitor is assured, withstand the weight of fourteen large hippos.  Did they actually test this out?   Whilst there we booked dinner for the next evening, to mark my 63^rd birthday, at the revolving 360 Restaurant.

Our first full day included a trip to Niagara Falls, going by coach since the trains don’t go there.  I don’t generally bandy around the word ‘awesome’ but, yes, the Falls are one of the great sights of the world and are truly awesome.  One is here right on the US border and one looks across it to the American Falls.  These are magnificent but still more so are the Canadian, or Horseshoe, Falls.  The surroundings might be splendid but the town of Niagara Falls isn’t.  It seems to see itself as a mini-Las Vegas.  ‘I do not like,’ I remarked to our tour company’s guide Louise, ‘to turn my eyes from this beauty and see the word Casino’. 

Louise, a lady of our vintage, agreed.   She was an excellent tour guide but talking to her I realized that though her job might at first sight seem, to anyone who loves travel, enviable, in practice it is one I wouldn’t touch with a bargepole.  Her last tour had been in South Africa conducting a  party on a tour on the luxury train Pride of Africa, run by Rovos Rail.  Unfortunately South Africa was in the middle of a rail strike and though Rovos’s employees were not taking part, the company couldn’t get the insurance to enable it to run its trains.  So there was the logistical nightmare of organizing the scheduled trips, with people still returning to the train for their evening meals and overnight stays.  But she loved her job.  Her husband, ironically, didn’t like travel so went nowhere very much.

We had some spare time at the Falls and like nearly all in our party went in the small boat Maid of the Mist, which takes one as close to the Horseshoe Falls as it’s safe to go.  We concluded our visit with a buffet lunch at the Sheraton, from where there were fine views of the Falls and of the International Bridge that connects to the USA. 

We carried on to Niagara-on-the-Lake, which is not to be confused with Niagara Falls and  is so named because it is on Lake Ontario, pausing en route to admire the world’s largest floral clock.  Nowadays it is a quiet, rather well-heeled town but it has had an eventful history.  There was fierce fighting here in Britain’s short war with the Americans in 1812; the outcome ensured that, in this part of North America, the Canada/US border is a lot further south than for most of its distance.  It was also the key stopping point on the Underground Railroad for escaped slaves from the Southern States.  Even in the Northern States they were not free from the threat of recapture.  That threat was finally behind them when they crossed the border into Canada.

Rather to our irritation, our local guide insisted on stopping at a winery on our drive back to Toronto.  We were looking at our watches and thinking of our booking for dinner.  Also, the visit was of no great interest.  We have elsewhere enjoyed visits to vineyards accompanied by wine-tasting but this stop was really just to enable one to buy the produce.  The locals like it to be known that, though located so far north, they can produce marketable wine.  A phone call to the 360 Restaurant sorted out that we could arrive later than scheduled and we enjoyed an excellent meal and splendid night-time views over Toronto as we did a complete revolution. 

One might worry that a restaurant in such a location could be something of a tourist trap with mediocre food and high prices because the management think they can get away with it given the fine location.  But that was definitely not our experience here. Nor was it our experience  in two other revolving restaurants where we have dined, the Sky Tower in Auckland (the highest building in the southern hemisphere) and the Space Needle in Seattle – full marks go to both.  We are old enough also to have had dinner in the revolving restaurant in the BT Tower (as it then wasn’t).  A bit incongruously, it might be thought, Butlins had won the contract to run this - but they realized that the clientele might have different expectations to their ‘happy campers’!  Sadly the Tower was closed to the public after an attempted IRA bombing in the seventies.  The contract with Butlins was allowed to run to its conclusion, then the restaurant too was closed to the public, being nowadays used for BT corporate hospitality.  A pity.  

Our included tour of Toronto the next day put to the test our local guide’s creativity given all the fortifications.  He was not found wanting: we had an enjoyable tour.   Along the lakeshore there is the usual cluster of skyscrapers to be found in just about every North American city but pushing inland one comes into low-rise areas as well as to the historic University.  All in all this is a pleasant city.   Bisecting the downtown, and continuing for many miles beyond , is Yonge Street.  There are still occasional references to this being the “longest street in the world” but the basis for this claim was always somewhat dubious and it is no longer acknowledged by the Guiness Book of Records.

In the afternoon we transferred to Ottawa and thus had the first of our train journeys.  As we were travelling first-class, a complimentary meal with wine was included.  For  a while Lake Ontario was in our view then we headed inland.  Years before we had traversed the Yukon whilst travelling between different parts of Alaska and I was struck, like never before or since, by the sheer scale of its emptiness.  It was, well, awesome.  The countryside through which we were travelling is in no way to be compared with the Yukon yet even here, in eastern Ontario, it is apparent how unpopulated so much of Canada is.  After all it is the second largest country in the world yet has a population of approx 33 million, most of them residing within fairly short distance of the southern border. 

For some reason the authorities in Ottawa decided, in the fifties, to banish the railways from the centre of the city.  Until then the Chateau Laurier, our hotel for the next two nights, really was a railway hotel, located just across the road from the station.  Now the station is some distance out and there is no feel of arriving in a capital city.  It felt more like we’d arrived in Stevenage!  But our hotel, located on a hill next to the Parliament, is splendid.  Past guests include the Queen and Prince Phillip, Churchill and de Gaulle.

We had a city tour the next day which showed us how green it is, and also what a large area it covers.  I altogether lost my sense of direction and when we passed the US Embassy it seemed like it was miles from where we’d started.  Yet later in the day it was clearly visible just down the road from our hotel.  It is a squat, rather ugly building and one feels the USA could have done better by its northern neighbour. 

This drive took us, for the first time, into the province of Quebec.  Ottawa, rather like Canberra and Washington DC, was a compromise location between rival aspirants for capital status but unlike those other cities it is not a federal territory; rather it is part of the Province of Ontario.  But across the River Ottawa, Gatineau, in French-speaking Quebec, is part of the wider metropolitan area.  Until quite recently it was known by the rather unFrench name Hull.

The afternoon was free and we spent  a lot of it visiting the Parliament.   For the visitor, it is a welcoming place in a way our own Parliament perhaps isn’t.  I was clutching my wallet as we approached.  ‘You can put that away, sir, there’s nothing to pay.’  So, for free, we had a guided tour, ably conducted by a charming young lady, who showed us inter alia the House of Commons (American and British nomenclature is here combined: the upper house is the Senate) and the Library.  The latter is separated from the rest of the building by a corridor and by iron doors, decided upon by the first librarian who was concerned about the threat of fire.  When there was indeed a fire in the main building in 1916, which destroyed much of the central block, the Library was spared thanks to these iron doors. 

The Senate was in session but, no worries, we went and listened to the debate.   The parliament is bilingual with members speaking in the language of their choice and translation available to those who need it.  Inevitably, or  so it seemed, the debate was about the French language, a perennial hot topic in Canada.  It can arouse strong emotions on both sides.  In Alberta our guide had complained that on federal highways in the province the signage had to be bilingual even though just about no-one there speaks French as their first language.  Quebec has twice held referenda on whether to become an independent country.  In the first there was a large majority in favour of staying in Canada but in the second this shrunk to quite a narrow margin.   Sooner or later there will probably be a further vote for referenda like these tend to go on being held until they produce the right result for those wanting to change the status quo.  So any referendum resulting in Quebec’s independence would, one can be pretty sure, be the last referendum on the subject (likewise any referendum in which the Australians elected to have a republic). 

Without Quebec, Canada would, in geo-political terms, be a rather curious entity with the Maritime Provinces physically separated from the rest of the country. Maybe other centrifugal forces would come to the fore.  But Canada is surely a country that is well worth keeping.  On a scale of decency which might have Iran, North Korea or Syria at or near the bottom, Canada would be close to the other end.  Successive governments have placed much emphasis on humanitarianism and the country plays a major part in peace keeping activities.  It entered World War II well before the USA (though a little after Nova Scotia, which was still a separate colony) and since the War has chosen its interventions carefully: Korea but not Vietnam, Afghanistan but not Iraq.

Whilst Canadians rightly assert their distinctive identity, they might concede that a part of that identity is not being American.  This is North America without the rough edges, where moderation is prized.  Whilst America agonizes over whether there should be ‘socialized medicine’, as some insist on calling it, Canada quietly introduced a national health service, extending nationwide a scheme set up by the Province of Saskatchewan.  During our previous stay our guide warned us that referring to the ‘State of Alberta’ would not go down well: Canada has provinces.  It differentiates itself, too by having a  parliamentary form of government, with the Queen rather than a President as Head of State.  

We concluded our visit to the Parliament by ascending the Peace Tower and looking around its grounds.  Here there is a memorial to the Dutch Royal Family who were exiled in Ottawa after their homeland fell to the Nazis.  Princess Margriet, sister of the present Queen of the Netherlands, was actually born in Ottawa in 1943; to commemorate the occasion the Dutch flag flew over the Peace Tower, the only time a foreign flag has flown over the Parliament Building.  For dinner back at the hotel I enjoyed, as I had done during our visit to the Rockies, a main course dish of bison. 

We transferred to Montreal the day next day.  I usually bring maps with me when travelling abroad but hadn’t done so for this trip.  I assumed, as soon as we left Ottawa, that we had crossed into Quebec but in fact the boundary follows the Ottawa River which here turns sharply east so we were in Ontario virtually all the way to Montreal.   That city is on an island at the confluence of the Ottawa and St Lawrence Rivers, and is named from  the Mont Réal (or Royal Mountain, though it is actually a hill).

There was a rather unexpected occurrence on our train journey: an earthquake.  Not in the least serious, but it delayed us for an hour.  I was concerned, since this was well into the afternoon, that we’d miss out on some or all of our two-hour city tour.  On our arrival our local guide, a lady whose first language was English (“there are some of us in Montreal”) introduced herself and said that we would be losing an hour off our tour.  But we would still see everything that mattered, apart from the site of the 1976 Olympics and even that would be visible from the Mont Réal.  She was a nice lady and offered in her own time afterwards to take those who wanted on an additional walking tour.

Our tour showed us what a pleasant  city Montreal is, a pleasing blend of French and North American influences.   It is the world’s second largest French-speaking city.  There is a rather laid-back sort of feel.  One suspects that by and large people don’t get as worked up about Québecois nationalism as those in Quebec City, say.  From our vantage point on the Mont we got our distant view of the Olympics site.  We seemed fated to see such sites in the distance: we’d seen the Sydney site, several miles to the west, on our Sydney Bridge Climb and got a glimpse of Beijing’s celebrated Bird’s Nest whilst being transported between different parts of the city.  But in 2012 we actually got to go to the London Olympics thanks to our success in the first ballot (and we don’t as a rule win things!)  Cynicism deserts me: it was a great experience and London, and the entire UK, can be truly proud of  hosting this deservedly acclaimed event.

The others in our party were a nice group of people, all around our age or older, but they could sometimes behave like, well, old dears.  With one exception they were all ‘too tired’ to avail themselves of our guide’s kind offer of a walking tour.  Excuse me, but you’re probably never going to go to Montreal again yet you are ‘too tired’ to go on a gentle walk of an hour or so before dinner.  Unfortunately the exception was  a lady who’d discovered, at the outset of the walk, that she had lost her camera so, understandably, she was a bit preoccupied.  Sadly the camera was not retrieved.  We thoroughly enjoyed our walk and I think our guide was gratified that at least someone had taken up her offer.  There was the bonus that she took us back to our hotel on the metro.  I like to go on overseas metros but don’t always manage to do so.  In the process we got a glimpse of Montreal’s celebrated Underground City.  I cannot really get my head around what this is.  Resorting to Wikipedia I see it is described as ‘the set of interconnected complexes (both above and below ground) in and around Downtown Montreal’. 

Our hotel, the Queen Elizabeth, was not just near the Station.  It was the Station.  The platforms are at subterranean level and a lift takes one straight to the foyer.  It was a perfectly good hotel but there was something of  a feel of corporate bland which was wholly absent from the other two hotels that we stayed in.  We were not as impressed with the dining either.  The fine dining restaurant, for no apparent reason, was closed for the two nights of our stay.  So no chance to find out what the ‘cheese from our own goat Snow White who grazes in the Laurentian Hills’ was like.  We had dinner one night in the other restaurant and waited so long that a couple who had wisely gone across the road for their meal returned whilst we were still between our starter and main course. 

On our last full day we did a trip by rail to Quebec City, returning to Montreal.   This must be one of Canada’s most beautiful, and also most historic, cities.  The main part of the city is on a hill, some distance from the railway station.  Our local guide Olivier took charge.  The tour included a visit to the Citadel, interesting for itself and also because it affords fine views over  the Lawrence River and the surrounding countryside.  This really is where the urban corridor of Canada, which spreads out intermittently all the way to Windsor, immediately across the border from Detroit, comes to an end.  Here again some of our party were old-deary, complaining about having to spend time on this visit.  But if I visit an overseas city, I like to see its historic sites rather than spend time in shops.  And there was going to be free time anyway. 

We also learnt from Louise that some in our party had formed an adverse opinion of Olivier, thinking he was ‘too nationalist’.  One should maybe be not too surprised, if one goes to Quebec City, to find people, even tour guides, who are ‘too nationalist’.  He’s entitled to his opinion.  I won’t say that he oozed charm but he conducted the tour in perfectly polite and competent manner and didn’t talk about politics at all, so in fact we don’t actually know if  he supported the Party Québecois!     But it was maybe a tad patronizing for him to say he didn’t mind if we used the English variant of his name, Oliver.  We can manage to get our tongues around Olivier  which was after all the surname of one of our greatest actors! 

We used some of our spare time to have lunch in the city’s Fairmont Hotel, the imposing Chateau Frontenac, which never has been near a railway station.  The roll call of famous visitors is still more impressive than that of the Chateau Laurier and wartime conferences were held here involving Churchill, Roosevelt and the Canadian Prime Minister Mackenzie King.  Non-residents can book a tour but it’s not a place for those simply wanting to pop in to use the facilities for they have adopted the ruse of making the toilets accessible only by means of inserting  room keys.  Since  we were dining there we could use the facilities with no problem.   Otherwise we would have asserted our claim as residents of the sister hotel in Montreal!

The following morning there was time, but not much, to do a little bit more looking around in Montreal before again putting ourselves in the warm and tender embrace of Air Canada.  To be fair, the staff were nicer, the food better – and the in-flight entertainment worked. 

First published in VISA 107 (February 2013)

Alaska - Beauty and Stillness

by Peter Bolderson 

It's the beauty that thrills me with wonder,
It's the stillness that fills me with peace. (Robert Service)

Worthington Glacier

I am amazed that two lines of poetry can have such an emotional effect on me. Yet, this is Alaska as I have experienced it - beautiful and peaceful. It's a country that always leaves me with an ache to return again and again, to soak up its magnificence and fascination. If I mention where I am going, people look at me as if I am mad. "Why do you want to go and spend your summer holidays in such a cold and inhospitable place?" is the usual question. I start to explain and the penny drops. It's not Siberia. It's a privilege, an experience I find wonderful and invigorating. To my eyes, it is a stark country full of wonder and surprises; a land of great mountain vistas, rolling tundra or stunted spruce, sparse but exciting wildlife and nature. Glaciers are two a penny but each has its own character and a stunning influence on the surrounding landscape. They do have four seasons; called June, July, August and winter. During the summer it is warm and sunny and hardly ever goes dark! Distances do take getting used to but traffic is light and travel is relaxed. The mossies can be an irritation but some Get Off deals with them; at least, south of the North Slope it does. The people are warm and friendly and they make you realize that Alaska is very character building. Everyone seems to be independent, resourceful and very proud to be an Alaskan. Robert Service said it succinctly and I'm hooked.

Alaska is called the Last Frontier. The Territory was bought from Russia in 1867 when its value was perceived to be low because the fur trade had hunted the sea otter to near extinction. When the deal was done, it is not known whether it crossed anyone's mind to consult the natives and the consequence has been much time spent straightening out this oversight. It became the 49th State of the USA in 1959.

 The only indigenous Alaskans are various tribes of Indians and two tribes of Eskimo, the Inupik and Inupiat. The Indians live in the Aleutians, the central area and the southeast panhandle, the Eskimo in the west, northwest and far north. All the other inhabitants have chosen to be there, either the next two descendant generations of Pioneers or incomers. Fortunately this mixture of different races has produced a population of friendly and independent people. In fact, they are so insular that when they leave the state it is expressed as "going outside" and a belligerence towards Federal dominance is felt. Alaska will certainly appeal to you if you are looking for an outdoors and challenging holiday.

 The highlight of one of my holidays was a visit to both an Indian village at Fort Yukon and an Eskimo settlement in the Anaktuvuk Pass. They are inaccessible by road in summer so there is no practicable alternative but to fly in. This has certainly built up business for tour companies at Fairbanks who are only too happy to sell you a tour that will take you over the White Mountains to Fort Yukon or through the Brooks Range to the North Slope.

Alaska is not contiguous with the other forty-nine States. Its mainland was formed by the conjunction of tectonic plates. Now, I'm not well up on this, but basically, the upthrust rock produced both the Alaska Range and the Brooks Range of mountains. Both span the State west to east and divide it into three discernable climatic sectors; the coastal, interior and far north. In addition there is the maritime southeast panhandle and the volcanic Aleutian Island chain. I haven't visited either of those. Both have rather more moist and changeable weather than the mainland. The Alaska Range is a continuation of the Rockies and contains North America's highest mountain, Mount McKinley, known to the Indians as Denali, the Great One, and so it is at 20,230 feet with a face range of 18,000 feet. It is a mountaineering challenge on a par with Everest and collects a queue of climbers and its crop of casualties every year. Also, there are other mountains nearly as comparable. The present day Alaska was formed at the end of the last ice age. Rivers formed by glacial melt were enormous torrents that filled the miles wide glaciated valleys. As the ice cap receded, so the flow decreased until today the residual flow forms braided channels through and criss-crossing the old river beds. This phenomenon created gravel bars which, together with glacially formed lakes, provided access for bush planes to fly in prospectors, hunters, naturalists, etc. before prepared airstrips where available. Mining opened the country up and the evidence is frequent. Now airstrips are everywhere but all means are still used. It is also quite common for bush planes to deliver and collect from mountaintops and saddles. A major geographical feature, which divides the State, is the broad Yukon River. Rising in Canada, it meanders across thousands of miles from east to west, emerging eventually on the Bering Sea. The only crossing is on the Dalton Highway (the oil haul road to the North Slope) 100 miles north of Fairbanks. It was a main artery for the gold rushes and still carries by barge some heavy traffic that can't be flown in.

The State spans latitudes 60 degrees to 70 degrees north, roughly the same as Norway, but from the tip of the Aleutians to the maritime panhandle in the southeast, is the equivalent of California to Florida! The far North gets 36 days of continuous daylight in summer and pays for it in winter. Even in Anchorage in early August, it hardly goes dark. The climate then is generally warm and dry, if sometimes overcast. Periodic frontal systems off the north Pacific produce rain, especially in the coastal mountainous areas. Fairbanks though, in the interior, is technically a desert with only 16" of rain a year. Valdez, nestling in Prince William Sound, a fjord, gets 30' of snow routinely in winter and 45' exceptionally. There, on one occasion, I've seen four different weather phenomena simultaneously but had wonderful weather another time. The glaciers produce their own microclimate and the calved bergs float out to sea. None of it bothers the sea lions, sea otters, bald eagles or the puffins. It's a land of great contrasts. Don't forget your bad weather gear but bring your shorts, tee shirts and swimming kit also.

Only the south and central areas have a highway system. There are eight of them and one of those is fragmented. The Alaska Highway from the lower 48 through Canada connects at Tok Junction and Delta. All the main centres of population are connected up except the southeast panhandle which happens to contain the capital, Juneau. Like the Interior and the Aleutian Islands, it is only accessible by boat or plane! Only 600,000 people live in the State altogether; about the current population of Liverpool. Roughly 1/4 million are centred on and around Anchorage and most others on Fairbanks with a few thousand in each of Seward, Homer, Palmer, Delta, Wassilla, Valdez, the southeast and down the Aleutian chain. The remainder is distributed in penny packets around numerous settlements and rural villages in the Interior. Access beyond the highway system is by plane or boat in summer, dog sled, snow machine, tractor or skiplane in winter. It results in self-reliance and some very innovative solutions to problems. For instance, how do the rural villages get their heating oil, diesel and gasoline? At Fairbanks airport there is a company called Evert Flying Fuel Services, which flies converted airliners and delivers by flying filling station. The aircraft's windows have been blanked off and fitted with hose reel and nozzle dispensing kit. When the plane arrives at the local airstrip, out come the pick-up trucks (fitted with 250 gallon tanks in the back as they all are) to meet the aircraft. The choice is yours; just pull up at the correct window. How did the pick-ups get there? By barge or air, usually a DC6.

There are two ways we Europeans can tour Alaska practically. One is by cruise ship out of the Pacific Northwest up the Inside Passage of the southeast panhandle, then, maybe to Seward, Homer or Valdez. An excursion from there will take you either by bus or (slow) train on to Anchorage, Denali Park and Fairbanks. You will see the panhandle but will only scratch the surface of the mainland except Denali Park. These cruises can be pricey. The other way is to fly into Anchorage and tour by road and air. If you are comfortable driving on the wrong side of the road, this can be done independently. I don't rate the former way but then I don't like masses of people on holiday. They say that the real Alaska begins where the road ends. This is true but there are ways around that, as I'll explain later.

Bed and breakfast accommodations (slipping into the vernacular) are plentiful and usually of high standard if not particularly cheap. Campgrounds abound and camping is easy but perhaps not for everyone. Renting an RV (motor home) is still something of an American preserve. Most are bigger than the norm in Europe. I have rented a car and relied on B & Bs and motels and not come unstuck yet. You also meet interesting people. The car, I book in England with the office of one of the majors, to be collected at Anchorage. Sometimes you need to plan your refuelling, such are the distances. Gasoline was $1.55 to $1.90 a US gallon in 2000 depending on where you where. The cars have been C grade 2 to 3 litre automatic saloons and done about 30 mpg (25mpUSg). It is easy to do 2 to 3000 miles a fortnight at a fuel cost of $100-$150. That's about 30p/litre, Mr Blair! There have been no direct flights to Anchorage since 1992 when increased range and the opening of some Russian airspace no longer required a stopover on the way to Japan. You have to route through Seattle, Chicago or Minneapolis/St. Paul. There are alternatives such as Amsterdam, Copenhagen or Düsseldorf. From there, it is only 8½ hours over the Pole. You arrive before you take off! It's simple.

Long Stay Airplane Park

A first visit raises excitement at visiting a new and raw country. Returning can bring tears to your eyes; the magic rekindled. Not that Anchorage itself is particularly pretty. It has a frontier atmosphere and the airport is typically unusual. About the size of Gatwick but it has three runways and about the same traffic level - for a city of less than 250,000 people don't forget. It is the only place where I've seen a long stay airplane park. Provided so that bush residents can fly themselves in and then fly on by jet to the lower 48. In addition to the bush plane strip there are lakes Hood and Spenard full of hundreds of moored and hauled-out floatplanes. These lakes are joined together by two canals, one for taxiing, the other a water runway. The traffic to and from them is constant. One control tower covers the lot. The bush out there is full of lakes and lodges. The backdrop to all this is the magnificent Chugach Mountains in the east. To the west is Cook Inlet, a somewhat sullen stretch of water, named by him after his exploration there. The city itself started life as a railroad terminal for mining activity, conforms to a grid pattern and is not inspiring but the shops are useful. Most of it was rebuilt after the 1964 earthquake. Downtown, the parking meters have power points (hook-ups) and local vehicles have a flying lead from their sump heater sticking out the front for connection in winter. Alaskans get value for money then. The suburbs now sprawl amidst woodland right up to the base of the mountains.

It is tempting to make Anchorage an initial base for exploring the Kenai peninsular, being nine hours behind and so on. This is a mistake. Although distances are usually considerable and travelling needs to be minimized, there is plenty to see and places to stay in the vicinity, whilst acclimatizing. About fifty miles to the southeast, on scenic Turnagain Arm (Capt. Cook frustrated again in his search for a Northwest Passage) there is Alyeska resort for skiing and backcountry hiking and Portage Glacier and lake for viewing. Seward and Homer are ports on picturesque fiords offering big game fishing, halibut that hang as tall as you stand and big salmon. We saw a superpod of Orcas at Seward in Resurrection Bay. That is when several pods get together to give the lads and lasses from different pods a chance and the species generally to mix its genetic inheritance. The Russian legacy can be seen at Kenai itself where there is an original wooden church with onion dome.

Starting about fifty miles north of Anchorage is the Matanuska-Susitna valley. Two decades ago this was still considered The Frontier. Nowadays that must be north of Fairbanks. Mat-su is a fertile agricultural area, settled in the '30s with FDR and Federal help by depression hit farmers. Surprised? Because of the long and warm days, all temperate crops are possible in the short season. The vegetables grow to be enormous.

Halfway towards Denali Park, on a spur from the George Parks Highway, is Talkeetna. Once it was only a stop on the Alaska Railroad for mining activities in the Peters Hills. From here climbing expeditions depart for Mount McKinley (Denali) and a glacier landing at base camp. "Fly an hour or walk a week" is still valid. Flightseeing is abundant from four operators. I'm seasoned but flying up the Ruth glacier for a landing that wasn't possible owing to whiteout conditions gave me a thrill. "Beautiful" downtown Talkeetna is a typical rural village, worth a look before it is turned into an activity resort. Rafting and kayaking is on the up. Fly-in hunting and fishing has long been available.

The land is fragile, recovers slowly, and large areas are needed to support wildlife. You need to get off the highway and away from civilization to see the wildlife with any certainty. Denali National Park and Preserve is the place and is carefully controlled. Vehicles are banned 15 miles in for most of the season. The Park Ranger Service runs shuttle buses into the Park on trips lasting all day, at least. The Eielson Visitor Centre is 66 miles in; Kantishna and Wonder Lake, 91 miles in. You can get off anywhere and then flag another bus. Prior booking with the Visitor Centre at the Park entrance is essential. You may see grizzly and black bear, porcupine, caribou, wolf, Dall sheep, ptarmigan, fox. The shout then is, "Stop the bus!" Camping and backpacking are permitted, even encouraged in limited numbers. To the southwest, Denali, the Great One, which creates its own weather, might even unveil itself.

Between Denali and Fairbanks is the small town of Nenana; (Ne-nar-naw not banana) on the south bank of the Tanana River (Ta-nar-naw). It was a terminus of the AK RR before the railroad was pushed through to Fairbanks. The RR has an interesting museum at the old depôt (station). Large tugs are hauled out onto massive slipways each freeze-up. Each spring a lottery is run on the time of break-up. A steel structure is placed on the frozen river with a rope connected to a bell tower ashore. We found the best ever Mississippi mud pie on sale there.

Fairbanks is rapidly developing a cosmopolitan look. When we first went there, it looked decidedly frontier. Downtown shacks are now being replaced by modern buildings to make a typical city centre; consequently it's loosing its frontier feel. Various tourist traps have sprung up; Alaskaland etc. The University has an intriguing museum up on the campus covering all the native cultures. It's worth half a day. Gold dredges can be visited and gold panning is a thing. You get to keep any gold you find. There are four places to visit north of Fairbanks, Manley Hot Springs on the Tanana River, The Dalton Highway to the north slope, Circle and Circle Hot Springs and Chena Hot Springs up in the hills. No shortage of warm swimming you see. The road to the north opened all the way for tourists in 1999. It's a thousand-mile round trip, mostly dirt. You still can't get to the Arctic Ocean without joining a tour at Deadhorse because the oil companies block free access over the last seven miles through Prudoe Bay oilfield. I've driven to Circle, an untouched Athabascan village on the banks of the Yukon River with a genuine Trading Post and to Circle Hot Springs for the sulphurous dip and the sight. It's a 330 mile one day outing from Fairbanks. One Disneyesque trip worth doing nevertheless is the Steamboat Discovery on the Chena (Sheena) and Tanana Rivers from Fairbanks. This is a resurrected shallow draught paddle steamer and gives you a good look at outback life, fish camps, dog sledding and the river's geology. The trip includes a landing at an Athabascan village with talks and demonstrations by Indians and Eskimo of their culture. Don't forget, fur garments are PC in this country. It's all very popular with the Tours.

There are villages all over the bush like this one. Travellers determined to see the Indians or the Eskimo in the real should take one of the tour flights from Fairbanks mentioned earlier. However, it's not cheap. We visited Fort Yukon one evening, on the Arctic Circle about 150 miles northeast of Fairbanks, flying by Piper Navajo over the White Mountains. The evenings remain light. Four aircraft went together. This is no longer a wooden walled fort of Hudson's Bay trading days but a collection of houses on stilts. Our guide was very open, friendly and self-assured as he drove us about the village in their recently acquired refurbished bus. It had been barged up the Yukon that summer. He took us to the landing place to gaze into the vastness of the Yukon. His brother arrived from a down river fish camp. We inspected his fish wheel and listened to details of the salmon disaster that year. Driving past the cemetery, he told us that all his recent ancestors where there, good as the day they died, seven foot down in the permafrost, just like a deep freeze. They didn't bother burying their dead until the missionaries came, leaving them out on the tundra or cremating them. These people are at home in their own environment and I detected some impatience with whitefaces' ways that I was to hear again. Still, some things were good and their firemen were away in the lower 48 fighting rampaging forest fires where they couldn't get used to the dark evenings!

Another day and another flight by Beech 1900 turboprop took us breathtakingly through the John River valley, below cloud enshrouded peaks, to land at Anaktuvuk Pass. This is an Eskimo settlement on the north side of the Brooks Range, well north of the Arctic Circle. It was a nomadic encampment astride one of the main caribou migratory routes until 1947. Then the Inupiat were persuaded by the whitefaces to make it permanent, so they could trade for their furs. The Eskimo still rely on the caribou herds for subsistence living but are a little bothered by the PhDs from the Fish and Game Commission. They come and tell them to unlearn 2500 years of experience of managing the herd and try it their way. The Eskimo are cautious and frugal in their taking of the caribou. Everything found to be healthy is used. Meat, skins, bones, even the antlers are sliced to make good buttons. An interesting and smart village museum depicts the previous way of life for these now settled nomads.  The curator, Vera Weber, an Inupiat, can point to her nomadic grandfather in the exhibited photographs. Now the men can have only one wife. Some women prefer the bright lights and the cash economy whilst the men prefer hunting and fishing in the settlements. This is leading to a new phenomenon, divorce! Anaktuvuk with a population of only 350 sustains two small airline flights a day from Fairbanks, 250 miles to the south, as well as numerous air taxis. Explain that to me, please. The Eskimo have a delightful outlook, very much in harmony with their land but are rather careless of their material possessions.

Dawson City

When you have exhausted Fairbanks and the Interior, you can think about Dawson City, in Canada, for a totally different experience. But don't do this if you are relying on a visa waiver for entry to the US. It won't do. A proper US visa is a good idea if you wish to return to Alaska. US customs have no sense of humour. Depart down the Richardson Highway in the direction of Delta Junction, only a hundred miles away. Here is the start of the Alcan, or rather the end - mile 1422 of the Alaska Highway. Delta doesn't offer much; mainly an agricultural settlement, stopover, tourist office and a military presence. One hundred and fifty miles down the Alcan is Tok, a junction town with the Taylor Highway. This is part of the original Klondikers' trail from Valdez to Dawson City via Eagle and the Yukon River. Known as the All-American route because it avoided the Chilkoot Pass and the Canadian Authorities. Tok became a construction camp on the Alcan and hasn't changed much since. Twelve miles further south, at Tetlin Junction, we turn off the Alaska Highway for the Taylor. A few miles up this road and the tarmac ends. From here to the Yukon is 170 miles of graded gravel. The original trail to Eagle parallels the road until it joins halfway at a place called Chicken and then branches again. Refer to Anne Dearle's Alaskan Adventure in the VISA website archive for a good description of Chicken. It doesn't change. From Chicken onwards it's called The Top of the World Road and you find out why. Altogether, there are about four broad passes up to 5000 feet high but you don't notice unless you check your map. Next, you encounter Boundary. US customs don't bother you. The Canadian customs call it Poker Creek and welcome you, ask you to declare your guns, give you a three-month visa and wave you on.

Arrival at the Yukon changes the mood. The summer ferry is free - so is the ice road in winter but then the road to Alaska is shut. During freeze-up and break-up there is nothing. Now, we are in the middle of the continent. In August, the days are warm, the evenings cool, but the nights are chilly. Dawson, on the bank of the Yukon hasn't changed much since the gold rush. Dirt streets are retained. The pavements are boardwalks. The buildings are clapboard. It's brash. The 1898 honky-tonk lives on at Diamond Gertie's Gambling Hall or The Gaslight Follies in the Palace Grand Theatre. Jack London and Robert Service both lived here. Readings are held in their cabins twice a day. The Visitor Reception Centre is very helpful in finding accommodations. 2000 feet above Dawson is the midnight dome up which you can drive. The landscape revealed raises a lump in my throat. Below, the town sits on an alluvial shelf at the confluence of the Klondike and Yukon Rivers. The puce of the Klondike and the buff of the Yukon avoid intermixing as they stream past the town. An historic paddle steamer sits, high and dry, on the river's bank. The occasional canoeist paddles by going downstream. The ferry plies back and forth. The mining companies want to move and later reinstate the town. Sacrilege. To the south, in the distance, is Bonanza Creek, where it all started. When the stampeders depart, the mining companies move in, buy up the claims and put in large dredges. These power hungry barges sit in a pond of their own making. They need a small hydroelectric plant and enough water for a small town to satisfy them. Steam is injected into the ground to thaw out the permafrost. A large chain of dredge buckets extracts the earth, which is riddled and washed to recover the gold. Wastewater is sluiced out the back into the pond and the tailings are dumped behind via a conveyor to form a characteristic landscape. A lot of these workings are played out and the dredges are either abandoned to dry out, or set up for visitors. Dredge #4 sits beached in Bonanza Creek awaiting you.

From Dawson, you can either continue to Whitehorse, about 340 miles down the Klondike Highway, or you can retrace your steps. We chose the latter. At 450 miles, it was one of the longest drives of the trip. Reaching Boundary, the consequences of leaving the US without a full visa may overtake you - or you may be simply let off. I have a full visa; my wife doesn't; the car had an Alaskan plate. It was just enough to avoid prison. We didn't know it until we tried the tourist office at Glenallen, but our next destination turned out to be Copper Centre, on the Copper River. Here the Klondikers coming over the Klutina (Klut'na) Glacier from Valdez first encountered the Athabascan Indians, who turned them back. There was no stopping the stampeders however, and Copper Centre became established as a stopover en-route to the Klondike and mining centre it its own right. The historic roadhouse is sited at the junction of the Klutina River with the Copper River. Both flow past furiously carrying their glacial silt, which gives them that characteristic luminescent colouring. A log cabin contains a local museum.

Whilst in Fairbanks, we had heard about an abandoned copper mine called Kennicott, its adjacent town called McCarthy in the Wrangell-St.Elias mountains and its only access by an aerial ropeway. This was too interesting. We decided to include a visit. Chitina (Chit'na) is 25 paved miles from the Richardson Highway. Here the Athabascans traditionally set up their summer fish camps. Their fish wheels can be seen along the Copper River. McCarthy lies 60 unpaved miles beyond Chitina. The road in, is part of the old railroad bed to the mine, abandoned since 1938. This railroad was an incredible piece of engineering. Built to service the mine only, it ran from Cordova on the coast, 196 miles to Kennicott, along the banks of the Copper and Chitina Rivers. Half of it was built on timber trestles, most of it now collapsing. The rails, dated 1905, lay tossed to one side of the road but still useful. The final railroad bridge has long been washed out by the sudden torrent from an ice-dammed lake, which bursts out every summer. So you got access by a "tram" suspended over the river and then by a wobbly plank bridge over a tributary. The "tram" was, in fact, a small open cable car with two bench seats facing each other. You propelled yourself by pulling on a suspended rope unless the next users were willing to help out. Looking down was giddying as the glacial waters rushed under at close quarters. Unfortunately, by 2000, a long steel footbridge replaced this experience and the visitor count had increased correspondingly. In fact this whole wilderness area is a climbing and backpackers' paradise. The options are many. The scenery is awesome. (But not like the American, ooresome.)

McCarthy is better than a film prop for a western. It's utterly turn-of-the-century genuine. You can stay at Ma Johnson's Lodge or up at Kennicott Lodge. Otherwise it's B&B cabins or camping. At the airstrip, as almost everywhere, two outfits offer flightseeing, fly-in hunting, fishing or walking/climbing trips. Shuttle buses run up to Kennicott. Here, at the turn of the century, a massive copper lode was "discovered". The Indians pointed it out. London financed winning it and the railroad was necessary. Something like $200 million at historic values was removed until a pre-war slump in copper prices hit and the mine was shut overnight. It was left just as it was when activity finished. Even the tools are lying around. Snow weight has damaged the buildings over the years but they are now being "preserved". As with Talkeetna, this area can't last as it is. It's too good. We've been there twice, seven years apart, and the difference in every aspect was marked. It is still very much "the bush" but also a future outdoor playground.

After that, what is left? Well, Valdez beckons and is no anti-climax. Three hours drive from McCarthy and you reach the Richardson Highway again and civilization! Turn left for Valdez. En-route take in the Worthington Glacier as you pass by. It's in full view of the Highway. At Thompson Pass is a view not to be missed. It is also where the World Extreme Skiing Championships are held. From here to Valdez, the winter's snowfall is extreme. Mountains of the luvverly fluffy stuff, so you can ski vertically with a moderate chance of getting away with it. After that the road passes through a gorge, which was only discovered in 1900, by Klondikers looking for a way of avoiding the Klutina Glacier. It was the scene of a shoot-out between rival gangs of railroad builders. The Valdez to Copper Centre railway never got built but its vestigial tunnel remains. In the gorge the road is carried along and over the river for a short distance on stilts. Looking left and right you see several exquisite waterfalls, the bride's veil, the mare's tail and so on, some not named. Dall sheep inhabit the mountainside. These are really big brutes with equally big curly horns; looking more like mountain goats.

Arriving in Valdez, first you pass by the site of the old town, flattened by the 1964 earthquake. It was a Tsunami really. People are creeping back as though nothing ever happened. The new town is sited strategically behind a hill, which will take the brunt of any future "tidal" wave. Valdez is at the head of Prince William Sound. An ice free port and so chosen as the marine terminal for the Alyeska pipeline that carries crude oil 800 miles from the North Slope for shipping to the Lower 48 and abroad. Otherwise, it's sport fishing, fish canning and tourism. You will never see so many salmon in one place in all your life as around the hatchery. Billions return to their birthplace to spawn and die. They are everywhere. Boat trips down the Sound are all-day affairs with catering. The Columbia Glacier is a main attraction although you cannot get close now because (like many others) this one is receding, but you do get amongst the calved bergs, growlers and brash. Take your anorak! Whales, sea otter and wildlife abound. Seemingly every second tree has its resident sea eagle. It's a long time since the Exxon Valdez went aground but the effects linger, especially in conversation. A stop off for dinner at Growler Island allows you to stroll on the beach amid stranded bergy bits. You can camp or cabin overnight there also. Real wilderness stuff.

From here, we returned to Anchorage. Our time was up. The short way is via the Alaska Marine Highway; a euphemism for the ferries which link up towns when the highway doesn't. Unfortunately, in summer, they are all booked up weeks in advance and are expensive. Only $20 of gas and you can drive the 350 miles easily in a day. The journey by the Richardson Highway to Glenallen and then along the Glen Highway to Palmer, is another scenic wonder. We've not had time to explore off the main road but I'm sure there is plenty to find.

By Palmer, you are back in the breadbasket. Life speeds up. Traffic on the final fifty miles into Anchorage is like the M1 in the 1960s. The Americans seem to build these roads before they need them. Everyone drives steadily; well separated; stick to their lane; no tailgating. The Chugach Mountains to your left form a permanent backdrop. It must be a surreptitious drug.

 Anchorage is a slight shock. A different breed staffs the motels. Nothing to do with the spirit of the Last Frontier. The hotels are relatively expensive and expansive. But nothing spoils the aura and the ache for another visit. We will be back.

First published in VISA issues 39-40 (winter 2000 / spring 2001)

By Land, Sea and Air

by Rosie Jefferson

28 May: Woke at 5.00am to the sound of vehicles sloshing through watery roads. A wet start to the day but I brought my waterproof jacket - and a rain hat! I didn't need them today though as the rain stopped and the sun even shone for a time late afternoon. (Although not the wettest city in Canada, Vancouver is known for its rain. There is a local saying that if those driving over Lions Gate Bridge can see Vancouver Island, it’s going to rain; if they can’t see it, it’s raining.)

Early breakfast and took taxi to the campus of the University of British Columbia to visit the Museum of Anthropology, arriving before opening time. UBC is sited on the Point Grey cliffs so, to pass time, followed a steeply stepped trail down to Tower Beach through lush greenery. Peaceful sand and pebble beach with seals playing just off-shore. It was a delightful start to the day.

Museum of Anthropology, UBC

Returned to the cliff top and the Museum of Anthropology, which included a fascinating collection of First Nations art in a very modern building. Wonderful totem poles displayed in large hall, its glass walls looking out at Haida houses and more poles. (Poles are carved from red cedar with stylized human and animal forms. The figures on the pole represent the ancestry of a particular individual or family, and usually each image has a story connected to it. Different poles are created for different reasons. When the Chief of any family dies his heir is responsible for erecting a memorial pole which displays the crests and important events in the deceased's family. In older Haida villages it was common to have house portal poles which were built right into the front of the house, often with an oval doorway cut into the pole itself which acted as special entrance for certain ceremonies.

The centrepiece of the contemporary collection is a sculpture by Bill Reid, ‘The Raven and the First Men’. (According to Haida legend, the first Haida people came from a clamshell. At the beach one day, the Raven saw an unusual clamshell with people sticking out of it. He persuaded them to leave the clamshell and join him in the world. These people became the first Haida.)

Nitobe Memorial Gardens

Walked from the museum to the Nitobe Memorial Gardens, recognised as one of the best Japanese gardens outside of Japan. Very few other people there and I found the gardens wonderfully relaxing to walk around. (“I am in Japan,” was the reaction of the Crown Prince (now Emperor) of Japan as he walked through UBC’s renowned Nitobe Memorial Garden. Each tree, stone and shrub has been deliberately placed and is carefully maintained to reflect an idealized conception and symbolic representation of nature. There is harmony among natural forms - waterfalls, rivers, forests, islands and seas - and a balance of masculine and feminine forces traditionally attributed to natural elements. Trolley-bus back as far as Granville Island, where I stopped for lunch alongside the yachts and under the outside heaters of Sammy Pepper’s before exploring the undercover market. It assailed my senses with its colourful displays of shiny fruit and regimented vegetables, the buzz of shoppers and the lovely smells. I wandered around, enjoying it all. Outside again, I sat listening to a street entertainer in DJ playing foot-tapping jazz before catching the small cartoon ferry boat (chunky and painted bright blue and white, looked as if it should have big eyes and a cheeky grin) across the creek to downtown Vancouver.

Caught the sky-train (a fully-automated mini-metro linking Vancouver city with Burnaby and New Westminster. Apart from a 1.6km city centre section in a tunnel, Sky Train is largely on elevated sections to minimise conflict with roads) part way to Dr Sun Yat-Sen’s Chinese Garden. Spent a long time just sitting, enjoying its tranquillity. Busier site than the Japanese garden though, both in visitors and vistas. Lots of water, bridges, holey limestone rocks, bat motifs on roof drip tiles, beautifully carved wooden teak windows, all different. (The first full-sized classical Chinese garden outside China and, though it was built in 1985-86, it employed the ancient techniques of the original Ming dynasty gardens. Originally designed by Taoist poets, classical gardens were meant to create an atmosphere of tranquillity for contemplation and inspiration. The Chinese calligraphic inscription above the entrance to the Garden means “Garden of Ease”. There are four major elements in the Garden: water, rock, plants and architecture. The relationship of these four elements reflects the Taoist belief in Yin and Yang - opposites that must be in balance to create harmony. Serenity is only the first of infinite layers that reveal themselves. The object of the garden is to capture all the elements of the natural landscape - mountains, rivers, lakes, trees, valleys, hills - and, by bringing them together in a small space, to concentrate the life force, the qi that animates them. More information can be found at www.vancouverchinesegarden.com.)

Walked back to the hotel via the large Chinese supermarket - first amazed by the variety of fish, shrimps, crabs, lobsters swimming in holding tanks waiting to be bought, then by the choice of other foods for sale, many things I’d not seen before.

Dinner at the hotel. If I include walking, used 5 different forms of transport today. Saw a lot too, and this is only Day 1. What a great start to the holiday!

First published in VISA issue 69 (October 2006)

Bears on the Left, Ducks on the Train

by Anne Rothwell

‘Bears on the left,’ boomed through the loudspeakers from the train driver’s cab. Everyone rushed to the left and, sure enough, quite close, there were two black bears mooching around on the edge of the forest. We were on the Skeena train, which runs from Jasper to Prince Rupert in British Columbia. This runs westwards, further north than the expensive ‘Rocky Mountaineer’, but with scenery just as impressive.

Halfway through the journey, the train makes an overnight stop at Prince George, where everyone finds their own accommodation before returning to continue the journey the next day. A lovely couple from the B&B we’d booked met the train and took us back in the morning, armed with bananas and delicious scones the lady had got up at 5 o’clock to make for us before our early train.

We were staying in Prince Rupert for two nights before taking a ferry down the Inside Passage to Vancouver Island, so had a day to fill in this small town, allegedly the wettest in Canada. It certainly set out to prove this to us as torrents streamed down steadily all day. We ended up taking a 30 minute bus ride out to the Cannery, which seemed to be the only place of interest. When we arrived, we discovered that it was only due to open for the summer the following day. However, we managed to get inside out of the rain and found it to be bitterly cold and the next bus to town not due for four hours! One can only be philosophical about these things, which do occasionally happen to the unwary traveller.

The place seemed to be full of teenage school groups having seminars, so we sat in on a group discussing social values, trying to disguise our rumbling tummies when they had a break to eat the sandwiches they’d brought with them.

The following day, we had a pleasant 15 hour voyage south on the ferry. The rain had stopped, but it was very misty and overcast. I wondered where were all the whales and dolphins that the Inside Passage is said to be teeming with. There were no helpful announcements if any were sighted as we’d had on the train.

The next stage of the journey was to travel down the island by bus, then train, getting off a couple of times to explore and spend the night. On the train I noticed a strange squeaking noise, as though something needed oiling. I finally pinpointed it to a large cardboard box, so I went over to investigate.

It turned out to be nine ducklings, whose mother had been killed by the train. As we were getting off at Chemainus, the guard asked if we’d take them as his wife would be there to pick them up.

She wasn’t there and there were a few moments of panic as we sat on a bench, nursing the box and wondering how we’d look after them if she didn’t turn up. Fortunately this situation didn’t arise as she soon arrived to collect them. Another good deed done!

First published in VISA 97 (June 2011)