By Brian Lee
In case you need one more reason to move, visit or stay here, can I suggest a road trip through BC? Or, don’t and take it from me that it’s best to stay put.
It had been a few years since I’d spent a week traipsing around BC. I’m a steadfast believer that if you live where we do, there’s no need to battle ferries, trucks and Albertans in search of summer tranquillity. But sometimes you get yanked from your comfort zone by a Calgary wedding during Stampede when flights are really expensive and the only option is to drive.
And, well, if you’re going to do that, you might as well meet some family at a lakeside campground to enjoy the outdoors for a few days.
So, there we were, on a Friday afternoon ferry in mid-July starting a 10-day journey along one of the most scenic highways in the world. My biggest phobia about travelling off-Coast in the summer is usually the ferries, but that was fine. What astounded me from the moment we crossed the Port Mann bridge (and every mile of every highway thereafter) was the volume of traffic. Trucks, trailers, motorhomes and motorcycles — bumper to bumper with frenzied passing at every opportunity. Of course, you can’t road-trip through BC without coming across a few — and often tragic — accidents. You would think the shattered remnants of travel trailers dotting the route would make people ease up, but nope.
So when we arrived at our lakeside campsite, it was a relief. For a moment.
It seems what people now call camping more closely imitates apartment living without walls — with a really busy highway a mere beer cap flick away. I have to say the owners and other campers were great and there’s nothing like a few days sunning your carcass while drinking sangria on a floatie — but I’m not one to dwell on positives.
Instead, I was fascinated to learn just how intimately fifth wheels and motorhomes can be wedged together like Tetris blocks. It seemed I alone appreciated the irony in “camping” at a spot with 700 times less privacy and 850 times more traffic noise than my back deck at home.
But, like I said, sangria. Sunburnt and dehydrated, we carried on with a sublime drive through the Rockies. The Calgary wedding was as nice as it gets and we had a great time. But what really inspired this screed was our attempt to stop at Lake Louise on the way home. I thought I recalled pulling right up to the lake, hopping out and snapping a photo. Not anymore.
The road in was stacked with cars so to avoid the crowds, we turned off into Lake Louise’s less famous sister, Moraine Lake. Things started looking bad about a kilometre or two from the parking lot when cars began stacking up in the shoulderless ditch. By the time the we reached the parking entrance, we had all but stopped moving. It was one way in and one way out with jackknifed trailers and drivers obliviously holding up the line of cars while they waited for a spot. So, to avoid becoming trapped, I hacked a U-turn and we drove the 11 km back out to try Lake Louise. Same thing there:
Too many cars + too little parking + narrow roads = congestive park failure.
After an hour of creeping lines of cars and misanthropic thoughts, we hit the road without a glimpse of either national icon and didn’t stop again until we hit the ferry gates. But do try it — sometimes you have to go away to appreciate coming home.
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