A RIDE on the WILD SIDE - February 23, 2018

"It is a breakaway!" Carl and I decided to take advantage of the sunny weather and go off adventuring. There is only so much time one can spend in the congested living conditions of the Lower Mainland before we need space around us. We start off tamely enough with a drive up the Fraser Valley through Hope where Manny and I hike a bit of Forest Service Road in the snow. Then a bit more rugged when we pull out for the night beside a little no-name waterfall that tumbles into Fraser Canyon. On both sides of the river, train tracks cling to the steep walls so we can listen as trains run all through the sleeping hours. Rested and full of the excitement of being out on the road again, we choose a route we have never taken before. Just above Lytton and the confluence of the Thompson and Fraser rivers, a cable reaction ferry hauls vehicles from the east to the west side of the wide(even at low water) Fraser River. While waiting for the ferrymen to return for us, we are treated to the sight of a herd of big horned sheep - ovis canadensis californiana - ewes and half-grown lambs grazing on the sere grass and silver-grey sage brush growing on the bench above the river. Though very similar to the Rocky Mountain big horns - ovis canadensis canadensis - these are not as robust and a bit darker in colour. The rams winter together in bachelor herds, leaving the ewes and lambs the best grazing. The western rim of the gorge is a complete unknown to us and a good thing, too, for had we foreknowledge of what we were getting into, we might have chickened out. Beyond the ferry ramp is a snow-packed road, sanded and in good driving condition, and we set off blithely to find a pretty picnic spot. So began the most hair-raising drive we've made yet. The sides of the Fraser Canyon are heavily eroded and in many places fissured with deep vertical cuts. Our road followed the edge of the canyon closely and navigated these side-crevasses with a steep decent horizontally down one side to a place narrow enough to bridge the stream that had cut away the bank then up the far side on just as steep an ascent. Carl figures the forty kilometre road is twice as long as the crow flies. Often the bank fell away just a yard from our tires straight to the river 300' below - it makes my stomach flutter looking down. On the grassy plateaus, hardy settlers live without the benefit of hydro, smoke curling lazily from stacks on the roofs of weather beaten homes. They raise a few head of cattle, farm an acre or two of garden and cut hay from hilly fields. In the few places where power cables span the gorge, life seems to be a bit more prosperous but not easy by any means. Herds of horses roam freely foraging what they can, not much feed judging by the size of the road apples littering the way and by the ribs showing under their shaggy coats as they swarm round us hoping for a treat. Carl certainly welcomed our return to paved road for the last eight kilometres and the final descent to familiar territory in Lillooet. He joked that the ferrymen would be watching for us and wondering where we'd got to.