Over Hill and Dale

"Yes Virginia, there is a Whistler Mountain."

Before we left Nita Lake Lodge this morning the clouds parted just enough to allow us to see the top of the small mountain to the west of the lake.  After we passed over the River of Golden Dreams the summit of Whistler Mountain waved goodbye to us on our way up Highway 99 to Pemberton, 32 kilometers to the north. The Green River in Whistler was left behind, the "Big Muddy" So River lay ahead, followed by the milkshake colored Nairn Falls.

We stopped for gas in Pemberton, then turned east and drove through tiny Mount Curie.  It was clear that we had passed into the territory of the "First Nations" --- instead of new homes and hotels, we saw shacks, trailers, and junked cars.  Neither broncos nor Brahma bulls were bucking at the rodeo grounds. High-shouldered mountains rising above the valley reminded me of Austria.

The mountains were leading us southeast, but just as we reached the shallows of either Birkenhead or Lillooet Lake, the road turned sharply to the north and corkscrewed its way steeply up into the mountains. For next two hours we climbed and descended through alternating landscapes of dense forest and alpine meadows. At Joffre Lakes glaciers drooped down from the peaks.

We pulled off the highway at Duffey Lake to look back in the direction we had come.  Gray Jays flew back and forth low across the road and finally landed on Cindy's hands to beg little morsels of food.

Drier, rockier ranges of mountains lay along on path as he continued east.  We crossed Cayoush Creek on one-lane bridges.  Alders or aspens that had turned pale to bright yellow stood out against the dark green of firs and pines.

In the little town of Lillooet we stopped for lunch at Dina's Place, a Greek-themed restaurant, then
the mighty Fraser River which flows all the way to the sea at Vancouver.  We drove through increasingly arid mountains that slanted down to tilted benchlands of irrigated alfalfa that dropped off into steep, eroded gullies.

At Pavilion and Marble Canyon we re-entered a more alpine landscape, then hit dry, rolling hills again. During a refueling spot at Cache Creek, I spoke with a young black man wearing a Ghana soccer jersey.  He had seen the Oregon license plates on our rental car and asked if we hailed from that state.  As we pulled out of the gas station he walked down the road after seeing off a friend who had boarded one of two Greyhound buses that used the place as a de facto bus stop.

Turning east again put us on track toward Kamloops following the route of the Thompson River. The hills to the south resembled Idaho potatoes piled high above the river. The North and South Thompson Rivers meet at Kamloops, flow west and widen into Kamloops Lake, then narrow again and eventually meet up with the Fraser River. Finally, after seven hours of traveling across this varied landscape we arrived at our B&B.