Day 1 - Castlegar to Tunnel Station 40 km

Baptism of fire

The weather was hot with more of the same predicted for the next few days. We got up at 6 a.m. in order to leave as early as possible. That ended up being 7:45. We still hadn't figured out how to tame a Bob bag. It seemed like an unwieldy large lump which you had to try to stuff into that little trailer. At last we were away.

No sooner had we gone 1000 feet, than we had to stop to adjust M.J.'s seat which was too loose. (So much for my mechanical abilities!). We rode the 8 km of road past the dam and the pulp mill and arrived at the trail head. There is a gate but a path has been worn around it on the left. Down, around and up onto the "trail". Yes indeed, the first 8 km of the trail are challenging. We were not yet used to the feel of our bikes fully loaded. It became a balancing act. M.J. and I both fell in the first few kilometers. We began to wonder about our abilities...

We began to wonder about our abilities...

The trail leaving Castlegar has a lot of large ballast (Interpretation: large gravel 3 to 5 inches in diameter), which makes riding a loaded bike very difficult. We stopped and started often, walked often and laughed a lot. We found that our front handlebar bags made us feel unstable. The large ballast rock would pull the tire to one side and the added weight of the bag accentuated the fluctuation in the front wheel. We did a lot of white knuckling.

We found that with all the stops and starts that we didn't feel in control with our feet in the pedal cages. Leaving our feet out of the cages was the lesser of two evils though, as the dangling cages tended to catch on the ballast. After each rest stop, I would find it hard to get up to speed and get balanced. M.J.'s forearms began to ache. I started a bruise collection. M.J. removed her front bag and strapped it to the Bob.

The trail for the most part was in the woods which restricted your view of the trail ahead. An ideal situation in which to surprise a bear, we carried on a lot of loud one-sided conversations with "Yogi" the bear warning him of our impending arrival.

The trail for the most part was in the woods

Slowly the trail surface started to improve, we had time to look up from the ground and notice the nice view as we climbed the side of the mountain beside the river. I huffed and puffed and made M.J. stop often so that I could take a picture (Interpretation: catch my breath). We were making slow progress and it was getting hotter.

Soon we were rewarded with several trestles and tunnels. The status of this section of the trail (Castlegar to Grandforks, which is not the KVR but the Columbia and Western) is still in development. Negotiations are still taking place (2002) for its incorporation into the Trans Canada Trail. Although there is local trail maintenance, no official work has been done on the trail. The trestles are not planked nor are there railings. They offer an interesting challenge to cyclists that are queasy about heights.

I was quick to explain to M.J. my method of overcoming my fear. Walk your bike slowly, don't look sideways, look in front of you at an angle where you only see the ties and not in-between them. Concentrate on each step. And with those instructions—I made her go first!

Looking back towards Castlegar

At km 31 we came to our first rockfall. We scouted it out and decided to remove the Bob bags from the trailers and "portage" them. We each took a handle on either side of the bag and carried them across the large sharp granite boulders.

In the process, I noticed that M.J.'s bag was heavier than mine. "M.J. your bag feels heavier than mine." M.J. deadpans back, "It's probably because I brought my iron". I look at her, the absurdity of her statement takes a moment to sink-in. We erupt into great peals of laughter. We laugh so hard we are staggering, giddy and hysterical.

As we recover, we realize that we have been so preoccupied with the obstacle on the trail that we haven't noticed the view. Looking back, we see the river widening, snaking through the now distant hills surrounding Castlegar.

We return to the task of negotiating the rockslide. With our bags removed, we are able to walk the bikes over the boulders with the trailers still attached and one of us acting as brakeman at the back, lifting the trailer when necessary.

Marie-Jacques contemplates the "portage"

As the day wore on, my "mothering" began to surface. "M.J.—you haven't had to stop for ages. Remember 'Drink and pee, no I.V.' (intravenous)." But it was very hot, and we really did need to keep hydrated. Besides it was another excuse for me to stop and catch my breath.

Our rest stops have been disturbed by a large quantity of menacing looking bees or wasps swarming around us. We finally realize that they are attracted to our interesting yellow Bob bags, as well as M.J. bright shirt. These insects are sure that they had found the largest yellow flowers in the territory. Each time we rest, we have to distance ourselves from our trailers to avoid being harassed.

By late afternoon we arrived at Bulldog Tunnel. The entrance was pretty with water cascading down the sides of the high, arched opening. It was cool and shady with ferns growing out of the moist surrounding surfaces. It was also full of mosquitos. According to my understanding there would be water on the far side of the tunnel when we exited at the east end. We opted not to stop and replenish our water, which would involve extracting the filter from my Bob bag. We would tackle the task when we made camp on the far side of the tunnel. (Interpretation: we were entering the east end of the tunnel and would exit at the west end. This pretty mosquito infested spot was our water source!) We took a quick picture and headed into the blackness of the tunnel.

Bulldog Tunnel is nearly a kilometer long. It was an unnerving experience. We walked for what seemed like ages, engulfed in the cool damp darkness. I felt like a child suddenly finding himself in a darkroom. Every shadow from my head lamp heightened my uneasiness.

We finally exited the tunnel where I expected to see water cascading down. Except for a few drips and a semi-stagnant puddle on one side, there was no freshwater. I immediately realized my mistake...

It had been a long first day to our backcountry campground and our remaining water would barely get us through the evening. We got a little panicky. We continued around the curve in the trail to the former Tunnel Station. Tons of rock from the tunnel excavation had created a wide, flat clearing on the side of the mountain. Stepping to the edge of the grassy area, we gazed down at the enormous amount of boulders below us. A lone, spindly apple tree clung tenaciously to the edge the man-made embankment. It was a beautiful spot with a view of the mountains.

We assessed the situation. I said I didn't want to walk back through "the black hole" to get water. M.J. agreed. She would assemble all our cups, bowls, etc. and take them to the tunnel to collect water from the drips. I would find a place to hang the bear bag. That done we would put up our tents and get supper ready. We were actually glad that we hadn't arrived at our campsite earlier. The station area was in full sun and it was still hot even though it was early evening. If we had arrived in the hot mid-afternoon sun, there was little shade.

Since anything we had that was concave, was now being used for "water duty" at the tunnel, we cooked our supper and both ate out of the cooking pot. It was the beginning of our "Trailness". Besides it made for less water consumption—only one pot and two forks to wash! We decided over supper that we would not carry as many fresh fruits or vegetables after our supply was eaten. They were just too heavy and required you to pack-out the inedible portions. In future we would eat our fill when we bought supplies.

We returned to the tunnel after supper. Approaching we could hear the small musical concert our efforts were producing. Plink. plonk, plunk, plink. M.J. had actually found a small trickle of water on one side and put the portable folding camp pail under it. We were relieved to see about a liter and a half of water; by morning we should have enough water for the following day. I filtered what had accumulated while M.J. swatted the mosquitos. Although nowhere near as bad as their cohorts on the other end of the tunnel, they did give us a final workout.

We admired the setting sun over the misty hills. Thankful to have survived our "baptism of fire", we crawled into our tents.

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