By Peter Christensen

Op-Ed Commentary

Having got up the nerve to reconstitute our curiously able 1972 17-foot Safeway Trailblazer holiday trailer one more time. I poured a half gallon of “Liquid Gold” roofing liquid into the cracks on the roof and repaired the spare tire and set about running tests to see if its appurtenances still functioned.

I figured out again whether the hard-to-turn dial on the propane heater should be pushed in while turning it to the pilot position or left out while test firing, then mumbling a prayer to the dearly departed that I would not be blown to kingdom-come, I lit the pilot with the click of my wind proof multi-purpose Wand lighter. The appliances endorsed a tiny blue flame that enlightened a larger fire when called upon.

Last year I wired in new taillights and covered the louvered windows at the rear of the trailer to keep the dust out while travelling forestry roads.

I hooked up and dragged the Trailblazer to a place near the house where we loaded her fridge and closet in preparation for our ‘camping’ trip. Satisfied that we were adequately encumbered we headed north from Radium in search of fabled Cartwright Lake.

We crossed the Columbia River at Brisco and pulled over to a siding part way up to the first bench to overlook the trench and take a photo of the sparkling wetlands, what we used to call sloughs.  My phone camera outlined a magnificent scene below of ranch homesteads and tidy fields. A large slough off the main channel on the west side of the river was dotted with hundreds of elegant white Tundra Swans; a gathering taking place before their annual migration to the west slopes of the Rockies.

We sought out and followed the Westside Road in and out of Salmon Creek North. Feeling brave we entered the next set of cuts around the east side of Jubilee Mountain into Salmon Creek South. This single lane road had many blind corners with small outside pullouts with stunning views into the canyon. I had difficulty imagining a loaded logging truck making its way along this route. I say this with some measure of experience having driven logging truck for a winter on steep single lane homemade roads on the islands off the North Coast where I was certain no one else was on the road. Backing down with a trailer was not possible.

With a huge sigh of relief we leveled out on the south side of the canyon, travelled a few kilometres, then parked and walked in to check a side road into Botts Lake. The narrow road had potholes big enough to swallow a bear, though when we reached the lake we were surprised that one engineering outfit made it. They had invented a scissor type rig for the running gear of their trailer that brilliantly jacked up the whole body for crossing streams and wiggling through huge potholes when called into action.

Driving a few kilometres further along the main road we came upon a vacant camping spot overlooking Twin Lakes (pictured). By this time, we had decided the fabled Cartwright Lake was beyond our reach. We positioned the trailer on a level spot beside the dam that created the lakes. There was an outstanding view of the mountain end of the Septet Range. It was an ideal camping area except for the Forestry outdoor toilet that was leaning and was full of sh-t and cobwebs. Honestly, you’d think the ministry could cut one lunch meeting for overfed bureaucrats and hire a few students to make the rounds during the summer to dig holes and move their toilets?

Y transmitted our location to friends near Brisco in the hopes they would read the message and join us later. I’m not sure what was in their go-cups but it must have been potent intelligence-improver as over a stoked evening fire we solved most East Kootenay development and forestry problems, released First Nations, local government and village councils of all responsibility, and rendered absolution for all persons over 65 years of age!

My friend told me there had been a big bush mill at Botts Lake, that there was a giant sawdust pile back in the trees, and as a young ‘cowboy’ he had driven that narrow, steep bit of canyon road above Salmon Creek South drunk, as had many others… on our way out the next morning we idled our way to the bottom of the Salmon Creek South canyon.

Easing our truck and trailer around the last blind corner at the bottom we encountered a parked, late ‘80s rusted out ¾ ton 4×4 Chev pick up, a true bush vehicle, with a ‘pit-lamping’ search light mounted on the hood. Its driver was standing outside the truck looking up toward where we had come from. He had been listening to see if a vehicle was on its way down. Well, thank goodness for that! And thank goodness some things don’t change.

e-KNOW file photo

– Peter Christensen is a Columbia Valley-based writer and poet.

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