Memories remade

I don’t think many tourists go to Anahim Lake, BC. I’m sure that even fewer go a second time. There’s not much about the remote community of 360, located 316 km (198 miles) west of Williams Lake, to attract visitors. With its scattered homes and rough unpaved roads, it’s really quite sad looking.

Someone taking the BC Ferries Discovery Coast Passage between Port Hardy on Vancouver Island and Bella Coola on the mainland, might stop there for gas (142.9/litre when we were there). Others might come for the year-round outdoor adventure opportunities in nearby Tweedsmuir Provincial Park and the surrounding area; activities including fishing, canoeing, hiking, horseback riding, and bird watching in the summer or cross-country skiing and snowmobiling in the winter but they wouldn’t find meals or accommodation available at Anahim Lake.

When we decided to leave the trailer in Williams Lake and take a day trip to the west, we didn’t know how far we’d go but as the day progressed Anahim Lake became our destination, our turn around point. I remembered nothing of the community itself from my first visit on a family vacation in the mid 1960s. What I did remember was attending the Anahim Lake rodeo, still an annual event. For a horse mad city girl, a genuine small town rodeo was big excitement! Huge!

Ever since my mother’s diagnosis with Alzheimer’s disease, memory and how it works has fascinated me. Over the years as I’ve thought back on childhood trips through central BC, I remembered the wide open rolling ranchland of the Chilcotin region. As we drove out to Anahim Lake this summer, I was surprised to see much less of that than I expected to. Much of our time was spent driving through forest. Logging trucks with heavy loads lumbered past us all day long but I remembered nothing of that. I suspect that that’s because I was growing up at the coast surrounded by forest and forestry. It wasn’t unusual. It didn’t stand out. Ranching, however, was something brand new and interesting. At that point in my life, I’d never been to the prairies and had never seen vast expanses of wide open land.

I did remember bumping over cattle guards and sharing the road with cows and horses. That hasn’t changed. You definitely know you’re in ranching country when open range livestock have the right of way and you stop beside the highway to wait while a lone cowgirl drives a herd of cattle down the road!

I loved the rustic fences that are still in use throughout the area.

Hell’s Gate

Travelling the gold rush trail included a stop at Hell’s Gate, one of British Columbia’s prime tourist spots. Here, at the narrowest and deepest spot on the Fraser River, towering rock walls plunge toward each other forcing the water through a gorge that’s only 35 metres (110 feet wide).

“We had to travel where no human being should venture for surely we have encountered the gates of hell.”

Today, the river is even narrower at Hell’s Gate than it was in 1808 when the explorer, Simon Fraser, penned those words. During the construction of the Canadian National Railway through the canyon in 1913, blasting triggered a rock slide that partially blocked the river’s path.

We enjoyed breathtaking views as we descended 153 metres (502 feet) into the canyon on the 25-passenger airtram that crosses the river at its narrowest point. Had I not overcome my fear of heights in recent years, I don’t know if I could have done it.

our destination

Though it’s very stable and the side rails are high, I certainly couldn’t have walked across the suspension bridge with it’s open grate floor in my younger days but that’s my shoe, proof that I really did it!

   

  

Hell’s Gate is more than just a tourist attraction. The 1913 rock slide resulted in a dramatic drop in the salmon run up the river at spawning time. It took 30 years of work by dedicated scientists and several years of construction to repair the damage. Now, Hell’s Gate fishways, built by a joint Canadian – United States Commission stands as monument to man’s dedication and ingenuity and once again allows the salmon to migrate upstream to their spawning grounds.

Just upriver from Hell’s Gate, we stopped at the small community of Boston Bar to photograph a different sort of aerial tram. Dangling high above the mighty Fraser River on cables that were 366 metres (1200 feet) long, the North Bend Aerial Ferry transported passengers and vehicles across the river for 45 years. I remember watching my family cross on this contraption in the mid 1960s. I thought they were crazy and refused to go with them. I still remember standing on solid ground convinced that I was about to become an orphan! Fortunately, my family lived to tell the tale and the aerial ferry continued to operate without incident until a bridge was built in 1985.