Week 1

The first week we make trips from our base at Pemberton, hidden in a very green and quiet valley. The valley looks prosperous, the fields are green and pleasant. The Lilloeth River runs through the valley. Although close to Whistler which is a long way up from Vancouver, Pemberton is much lower situated. Snow-capped mountains are towering around the valley. We are a bit late in the year, and autumn has started. Aspen trees are turning a golden yellow which contrasts beautifully with the dark pine trees. The weather is variable, warm during the day and rather cold during the night.

Lilloeth Valley

The sun slanting through the clouds lends a fairytale quality to the scenery around us. We slowly drive through the valley, admiring the views and enjoying the serenity. At the end of the valley, where nature encroaches on cultivated fields and takes over, there is a Dutch potato farmer. At one time there were three Dutch farmers here, but he is the only one left.

Evening light in the Lilloeth Valley

We leave the tarred road and try to get high up into the mountains to get to a former mining town. But the gravel road is full of potholes and rocks, caused by huge logging trucks. Our car is too low and we have to return to the valley, after admiring the wonderful view from high up. So we venture further into the valley where we spot our first bear, hiding in the tall vegetation along the road and quickly making off when one of us spots him. We have no time to take pictures. The scenery is very beautiful, the river gurgling next to us, full of dead wood, trees and stones. There are boggy areas as the subsoil is impenetrable. Small waterfalls splash down the rocks on the other side and wild flowers are still in bloom. This is also part of the mountainous area between the Coastal Mountains in the West and the Rocky Mountains in the East.

Bogs in the Lilloeth Valley

Living in Pemberton as my host does, must be a very special experience. It is a small town, which has all one needs: a real post office, two big supermarkets, restaurants, and very important: a liquor store. My host has been a teacher here for 30 years, and knows literally everybody in town. When we go shopping, we make small progress as we seem to stop constantly to talk to everybody we meet, who is a pupil, a former pupil or a parent. They even know his car, and when he lends it to me for the day, people immediately notice that a strange woman is driving this car. Could it have been stolen? Has he got a girlfriend? Gossip starts and spreads like wildfire. The postmistress also chats with me because this is not a tourist town and I stick out like a sore thumb.

Pemberton, like most other towns, is built along the railway line, or perhaps it is the other way round. Some 15 or 20 years ago this was still a passenger train. Now only freight trains stop here and rumble through the town, announcing their arrival by loud whistling because there are often no gates to close off the tracks. The former station is now the stop for the Greyhound bus which has replaced the trains as a means of public transport. We see one of our friends off at the bus station to go back to Vancouver along the stunningly beautiful coastal road which I came in on from the airport. Then the sky was clear and I could see the mountain tops. But no pictures. As it was late and the sun was setting.

It is a joy to stay and travel with people who live in an area or country – with locals. It is a different way of travelling, as they are knowledgeable about the area, know the interesting spots, can tell things about the history of places and guide you off the beaten track to spots which may be far more interesting historically or otherwise, than the places tourist agencies select. One gets a real feel of the place, and insight information, which means that the impression one gets is totally different and hopefully more realistic. It is not just travelling through a picture postcard, but meeting people who actually know what it is to live in such a place. What travel agencies tell you about the Doukhobors and their communes? About the many Ukrainian churches? About the grotto of Mary, which attracts many pilgrims in August, in a remote and tiny town on the prairies - a town with three churches and hardly any inhabitants, no shop, no café, just nothing? About the different types of prairie, the badlands, the grasslands, the parklands and the grain lands? Through locals one meets other locals. That is one of the many things I enjoy about this trip.