The Great Wilderness RV Trip From Vancouver, B.C. Northward and Back

Our technological ineptitude is unrivaled. So, this is what the video—describing our upcoming CanaDream RV rental’s technical systems—sounded like to us: Attach the Schadenfreude circuit breakers to the Heffalump condenser. Honk the Flugelhorn. Then, unbraid the high-voltage Litz wires and connect them inversely to their counterparts. Failure to invert the connection will start the RV nuclear self-destruct sequence. In which case, see Ejection Seat Operation, pp. 412-452 manual. Viel Glück und beste Wünsche! We gulped. How could we possibly work this techno-beast?

We brooded on this as we approached CanaDream’s RV rental facility near Vancouver’s airport. Kinesthetic learners, our fears were dispelled instantly by a short, explanatory tour of our factory-fresh machine. Larger than some starter apartments, it had a plush queen-size bed, a bathroom and shower, a sink, a propane stove, a microwave-convection oven, a refrigerator-freezer, AC/Furnace (godsends), a dining table (that slid outward from the main body by electric motor for extra space when parked) and hectares of storage.

This was no nimble quarter horse. It was more of a Clydesdale, inclined to slow acceleration and leisurely turns, more to be pointed than steered.

After we broke free of the city’s scrum, traffic mainly dissipated, and we headed north. Our plan was to drive to the town of Terrace—located far north within British Columbia’s “Great Wilderness”—and back over ten days. Omnivorous, we would snuffle up the scenery and all good stuff along the way.

The Fraser River runs hard, milky green from rock flour milled by its glacier parents. We ribboned the sides of its deep chasm which stretched up and up in rocky jumbles. Fantastically long freight trains ran parallel on the river’s opposite bank. We passed scented meadows, florist-fires of blazing purple, yellow, orange and white wildflowers. We passed 1950s-style motels, pioneer-era log barns, steepled pioneer churches surrendering to gravity, a vape shop, a sign that read, “Respect the Cow Moose,” and another, “World Class Chicken Racing” claiming that plucky birds with names like Pegasus and Nuggets race for the finish!

Author John Steinbeck was one of America’s first RVers, crisscrossing America in 1960 in a GMC pickup truck with a customized shell. He described this in his classic, “Travels with Charley: In Search of America.” Charley, his beloved standard poodle, would wake him every morning or ask to go out by staring at him intently and saying, “pftt,” consonants he was capable of pronouncing because of a crooked front tooth. To honor the great Steinbeck and Charley, we too uttered “pftt” each morning. His book helped to popularize road trips like ours.

The land began to flatten, with lakes, streams, marshes. There were vast fields dotted by enormous cylindrical hay bales, Shredded Wheat biscuits for giants. We stopped at 108 Mile Heritage Site, a compound of pioneer era buildings including a schoolhouse and a home. In the home was Farmer Matt Judson’s wooden leg. Life is a miracle and we hoped his wooden leg helped him ride it well. There was a treadle sewing machine exactly the same as the ones owned by our grandmas.

We first-time camped in an RV campground. Each RV had a slot assigned with water and electrical hookup (some later hookups had only electric and so we learned to keep our onboard water-tank full). Tethered to power and water we supped (on pasta with pancetta, asparagus with parmesan and rocket salad) and slept much as we would have at home. Our RV bathroom worked surprisingly well. We fell asleep to the comforting sound of rain pattering on our roof. Upon waking, we sat outdoors in lawn chairs (that came with our rental), drank coffee we made in a Nespresso machine (that came with our rental), and ate a Canadian cereal that tasted just like Saturday morning cartoons. We nestled into morning’s whispers, birdsong and the scent of sun-warmed pine trees. Many campground inhabitants were couples like us. But there were merry friend-groups, family gatherings and class reunions, as well.

Cottonwood Island Nature Park lies inside the elbow of the Fraser and Nechako rivers. Within the thickly grooved bark of a black cottonwood tree, an exquisite carving of a face startled us. In another tree, another face, and then a dragon, then a collection of houses, each fine art. Self-taught prodigy, Elmer Gunderson, carved these, sponsored by the City of Prince George.

As dolphins feel kinship with whales (we presume), surely our RV felt kinship with the historic train engines, massive metal rhinoceros, gathered in the adjoining Central B.C. Railway and Forestry Museum. We climbed into an engine’s cab and were overwhelmed by its mass and mechanical complexity that included (engineers think of everything) a built-in ashtray. A major indicator of Canada’s soul, we learned that Via Rail’s trains traveling the isolated run between Jasper and Prince Rupert actually stop to pick up hitch-hikers.

Before leaving Prince George, we stopped at Slaughterhouse Craft Mead & Cider. Their Modern Semi Sweet made with Macintosh apples was a toast to summer.

The view of the glacier from close above looked similar to the gill structure of a stingray from close below. We flew at around 8,000 feet in a Cessna 185 Seaplane from Alpine Lakes Air, piloted by Erin Oosterhoff, on a 75-minute Bush Pilot Tour threading the peaks and glaciers of the Howson Range. Alas, the glaciers are melting. All the extreme places exhausting and perilous to reach bipedally were almost within reach: high enticing plateaus, luminous lakes, braided glacial streams, not a human or habitation visible. A small step, it seemed, would set us on picnic-perfect mountaintops. Taking off and landing bore similarity to water-skiing with a strong vertical component. We landed at Burnie Lake, bereft of humans, but, judging by the scat, not bears. The air was elderflower liqueur and the water opaque with rock flour.

We swam in Tyhee Lake Provincial Park’s lovely lake, cold but doable. Dinner: oyster mushroom risotto, broccoli. Surrounding us, second-growth Aspens with flashing leaves.

Driving north on Hwy 16 we came to the village of Witset (so obscure it was in none of our three GPS devices) and saw a small shack with a hand-lettered sign, Salmon for Sale. We pulled over, looked down at the Bulkley River and saw untold Pink Salmon swimming, thrashing, leaping upstream to spawn, almost more salmon than water. Wet’suwet’en First Nation men, precariously perched on rocks with long-handled nets, netted them as in ancient days, partially to eat, partially to sell, but mainly to radio-tag in order to better manage them for sustainability. The fish and fishermen had much in common. Tapping their fighting spirit, the salmon struggled against the river’s fierce current in order to sustain their species. Tapping their fighting spirit, the fishermen struggled against history’s fierce current in order to sustain their culture. All of us are salmon, are we not, struggling upstream? And who will manage us for sustainability?

Not far off we came upon the Usk Pioneer Chapel ringed by thimbleberries and wild roses. It was almost small enough to fit on a wedding cake. Never locked, it held six small pews. It’s an exact replica of the chapel once located within a nearby town destroyed by flood. Among the wreckage, within the chapel, on a listing tabletop, lay an unscathed bible.

The town of Gitanyow contains 20 towering totem poles, some possibly dating to the late 1700s. Several were topped by carved birds, several by crouching wolves. Most had highly stylized carvings of adults and children. One carving was of an adult holding a war club. Beaks protruded. Each pole represented a different clan. In the adjoining parking lot sat a bookmobile with open doors. A sign nearby read: “Culture Heals, Stigma Harms.”

At Vanderhoof Tourism and Cultural Centre we saw an enormous bas-relief, by woodcarver Peter Rodseth, worthy of long contemplation, depicting “the bountiful landscape of British Columbia, its environment, its rivers, its rich Indigenous and pioneer history…” (It reminded us of Achilles Shield, as described in the Iliad, depicting all of humankind.) Words are paltry compared to its genius.

We had a tasting and dinner at the riparian Northern Lights Winery, maker of fruit wines. Their strawberry-rhubarb wine is the most popular fruit wine in Canada. We particularly liked their Nova Frizzante wine from strawberry, rhubarb and apple. Their salmon and schnitzel were ideal of their kind.

The road was mainly two-lane. Traffic was remarkably light the entire trip. There were many caution signs for moose, but we saw none. However, we saw a creature cross the highway before us wearing, of all things, a perfectly-tailored mink coat. What was it? A mink.

We beheld enormous forces in play, we saw beauty we’d never seen before let alone contemplated, we saw the world from perches that brought new perspectives, we felt history’s tremors. We are richer for this trip as will be those who follow.

Our good Clydesdale restabled—having traveled ten days, 1,925 miles total—we feel emboldened to proffer two pieces of advice for prospective RVers and those seeking general wisdom: 1) Keep your tank full, 2) Pftt!

When you go

Northern B.C. Tourism: travelnbc.com

Northwest B.C. Tourism: visitnorthwestbc.ca

Northeast B.C. Tourism: visitnortheastbc.ca

Go North RV: gonorthrv.com

CanaDream RV Rentals: canadream.com