Day 9. Monday 19th

Cache Creek to Princeton, Thompson Canyon and Fraser Canyon

If I ever thought the Rockies just had snow capped mountain ranges and nothing else, I now know better. As I mentioned before there are several north-south running ranges, starting from the West, which are all very different, as well as the valleys separating them. Thompson Canyon in fact cuts into a very dry desert, of yellow non consolidated sandstone. The mountains are bare. Surprisingly every now and then there are green fields used for fruit trees, grapevines and vegetables. They are down along the river, and irrigated.  Apparently the soil is extremely fertile and does not need fertiliser, as long as it is watered. On those bare hills sage and tumbleweed grow in clusters. All the plants are tough and low growing shrubs, with prickly twigs and leathery leaves. Hidden among the pebbles and gravel are tiny cacti, hardly visible among the yellow and grey vegetation. There tiny thorns are very sharp and painful, and difficult to get out as I experienced yesterday when I put my hand on them without noticing them.

Setting out from Cache Creek the first stop is in Ashcroft. A local man dressed as a cowboy, in hat, checked shirt and jeans, starts talking to us in front of a bakery. The smells from the shop are mouth-watering and apparently we have come to the best known address in town, famous for its cinnamon buns which are huge, sticky, sweet and spicy at the same time. The tiny café in front of the counter is packed with locals who come to exchange the news while enjoying a coffee and a bun. We join them and they all want to know where we come from and where we are heading to. The “cowboy” knows a lot about the area, and points out the remains of some irrigation flumes to us. He tells us about the history of the place, why the flanks of the mountains have such peculiar folds, reminding me of the folded skin of a huge spaniel. He also tells us a lot about the valleys and towns we visited yesterday. And a Canadian, German by birth and an immigrant, tells my companions everything they want to know about the RV he has rented, one of the hundreds of motor homes we have seen so far, crossing through Canada.

Portuguese fruit farm

Along the Thompson Canyon we buy fruit and tomatoes from a Portuguese woman who built up a life here with her young husband, emigrating from Portugal in the fifties. Her existence seems rather lonely. The peaches and plums look lovely and ripe and we buy tomatoes too for our picnic lunch. Her husband has written a book about their lives and we buy a copy. Her orchard has been sized down to just a few trees, as they are getting older and no one is there to help them tend it. It seems sad that the life they have built for their family and enjoyed, may disappear when they can no longer cope. But she seems content and happy on her narrow strip of land along the river.

We drive on through the Thompson Canyon, going down towards the Fraser River, the scenery and vegetation slowly changing. At places the road is cut out of sheer rocks, and covered with netting at one point. A remembrance plaque tells us this was done after rocks fell down killing a truck driver. The text is rather moving.

At Lytton the two rivers merge, the different streams clearly visible where the rivers meet, the Fraser a milky white, the Thompson clear.

The Fraser Canyon is deep, the steep mountain sides covered with spruce and pine. The rocks are different and made of a darker stone than along the Thompson Canyon, and the canyon is very narrow in places. Along both sides of the canyon are railway tracks. It is amazing how many freight trains we see, some very long indeed. We also see the well-known and expensive tourist train slowly going through the canyon making its way towards Kamloops.

Rocky Mountaineer

We have a picnic on a small secluded strip of land near a bridge across the Fraser River. Where the river is at it narrowest, at Hell’s Gate, we take a cable car down and walk across the suspension bridge to see the roaring water below us and appreciate the steepness of the canyon walls, and read how these waters were conquered by Indians and early adventurers.

Eventually we reach Hope where we turn East on route 3 leaving the canyon. After a coffee stop, we drive through Manning Provincial Park – rather green and not very spectacular after what we have seen so far, at east not from the road – to Princeton, a pleasant little town where we find a motel for the night. As this one has a fully equipped kitchen, we buy pizzas and tomatoes, enjoying a meal in our own apartment.