23/6/11
Now we're somewhere (we're not entirely sure where) on the shores of Great Central Lake. How we got here is also something of a mystery, because we didn't know where we were for a lot of the bushwacking that we had to undertake to get here. We had to take it in two turns, and were very surprised when we actually popped out where we'd intended.
But let's start at the beginning, shall we?
We left our overpriced campsite at the popular Rathtrevor Provincial Park on the morning of the 21st after a bittersweet goodbye to Gabriola. We had gotten directions to a free campsite in a "backroads map" book, and, having been burned by Rathtrevor's exorbitant fees, we were willing to go the distance for free accomodation.
It would appear that Google/Google Maps/the Internet in general have never heard of Scout Beach Recreation Site. This is no surprise, because not many of the locals in surrounding towns have, either. This should have given us some idea of the extreme journeying we were about to embark on. It didn't. On we went.
We drove through Port Alberni, then peeled off the highway onto a beautiful country road. Then we peeled off the beautiful country road onto a beautiful gravel road. Then we peeled off the gravel road onto Ash River Main Logging Route, Branch 83 (unmarked. Also, the map book had dyslexically directed us to Branch 38). Convinced we were going the wrong way (although, incredibly, we were not), and concerned about the lack of gas in our tank, we doubled back to the highway and the petrol station, then turned around and did it all again. This time we persisted down Branch 83; it forked in two, and we took the high road. Confused, discouraged, and ready to kill each other, we took a left at the next fork and came out of the forest into a clearing on the shores of Great Central Lake: Scout Beach Recreation Site. From where we sit now in our campsite, we overlook a breathtakingly clear blue body of water, surrounded by snow-capped peaks with a fine dusting of pines along the water's edge.
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Grand Central Lake is incredibly vast. Standing on the shore, whether it is sunny or shrouded in fog, the view is staggeringly mystical. |
Looking back at the road when we arrived, we made an executive ruling to stay here a while.
In spite of the water's stunning clarity, we haven't had the intestinal fortitude to get in yet. In our defense, although it's almost July, today's peak temperature couldn't have exceeded 14 degrees Celsius (57 F).
But we haven't been bored, oh no. For a start, we've challenged ourselves to see how many ways one can make a meal out of a salmon on a two-burner number in a van. Without a pantry.
Along Highway 4, we made an abrupt decision to stop for fresh salmon, being tempted by signs for it everywhere. Our salesman was a young guy, maybe 18. We asked him about prices.
"Oh, let's say $12," he told us.
"For a fillet?" we asked.
He laughed and beckoned us to his cooler. "For this."
And he held up a whole, fresh salmon of, oh, five kilos. We Kiwis are accustomed to paying $30-40 per kilo in New Zealand for salmon!
"Done! And throw in some of the home-smoked stuff as well!"
And so, on our third day at the campsite, we woke up, looked at each other, and said, in unison, "I can't eat one more salmon fillet."
Which is how we met Sylvia, our neighbour. On the day we arrived (and blinking, stepped into the sun), Steff filleted the salmon--and felt pretty gung-ho about it (Thanks, Nancy's dad, for the filleting lessons!). We looked at our three full Gladware containers and estimated, rightly, that we couldn't eat that much. We took one container as an offering to the woman in the RV labeled "Betty Beastie" in the site next to ours. She accepted, and we fell into conversation, learning that had been a mechanic in the army in her youth (which came in handy when the hose for our sink disconnected and began to leech oily, fragrant water into the floor and carpet of the van). We also learned that she now plays the fiddle for fun. Hearing this, we went back to the van, grabbed the guitars, and had a fiddle-jam. Sylvia, a fiery redhead, played with great gusto, and we followed along as best we could. Then we did a few Cat Stevens and Neil Young numbers. We didn't believe we'd find any other people down here, let alone a friend. We learned that it's amazing what you can make out of a $12 salmon.
So yes, we're keeping busy at this humble campsite of ours. In terms of facilities, it has a long drop*. And really, what more does one need?
*North Americans find this name hilariously literal. They call them "outhouses" and laugh long and hard when they find out what we've christened them "down under".
29/6/11
We spent another half-week or so at the campsite, and had a wonderful time:
-We finally built up the courage to swim in the lake. We didn't actually get so far as swimming, but we walked in up to our calves. By this point, our bodies had exhausted most of their energy in keeping warm, and we only had enough energy left to dunk our heads in the water and give them a wash. Steff got severe brainfreeze, but there comes a point when one's interest in stinking a bit less supersedes one's interest in survival and self-preservation. Nancy had to spend an hour in bed before the feeling returned to her toes.
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| Pre-hypothermia. Note the snow on the mountains behind Steff. |
-Steff found herself a boyfriend. He describes her as a "beautiful, tall, blonde woman". "Tall?!" you may be asking yourself, incredulously. To be fair, he is seven. And he's in love! He visited us on his mini-BMX as often as his relentlessly teasing brother would allow. He brought Steff tokens of his affection, like a Budweiser taken from his camp's cooler, or a trout he caught on the lake (meant to be dinner for his family that night). Be still, Steff's heart!
-We made a nightly ritual of hanging out with Steff's new in-laws and their family friends. They'd build a campfire, we'd play guitar and sing, and they would reward us with fire-roasted steak and wieners (tee-hee!). Then we'd solve the world's problems until late in the night. By the end of the week, we had added to our ever-growing extended family. Many thanks to our camp-neighbours for their generosity (we may have cleaned out their supply of marshmallows and hot dogs) and kindness (Wayne walked us back to the van in the dark every night to make sure we got back safe and sound).
And although the site was crashed by a group of teenagers who built up a huge bonfire, got completely inebriated, then drove drunkenly off into the night, we tried not to let their thunderous music disrupt our little sanctuary.
What happened next, you ask? Naturally, we drove to Tofino. We couldn't not, after having twenty or thirty Vancouver Islanders and Gabriolans urge us to go!
The Quest Quotient by
Nancy Howie and Steff Werman is licensed under a
Creative Commons Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivs 3.0 Unported License.
Based on a work at
thequestquotient2011.blogspot.com.
