Day 7 - Beaverdell to McCulloch Lake 54 km

Trailside treats

Leaving Beaverdell the trail is nice, compacted and slightly rolling as it continues north. There is a fair amount of newer tree growth on either side of the trail. We deduce that the area was logged quite heavily. Our day will be spent surrounded by wooded greenery.

At Wilkinson Creek we find a new bridge. I'm both disappointed and happy at the site of the bright yellow steel structure. My alter ego was looking forward to fording the creek, but in reality I'm quite content to stop on the bridge and imagine us portaging bikes, trailers and bags across the knee deep water and uneven creek bed.

We encounter quite a few slides of various sizes and composition. Some are small and have become only bumps in the trail, while others are rocky and require maneuvering our bikes around large rocks. Only one with large boulder size rocks requires us to dismount to negotiate. There are lots of raspberry bushes. We can't resist stopping to eat the ripe red fruit.

Marie-Jacques enjoys a raspberry break

Along Hall Creek, we ride through an area where the creek has washed over the trail. A large tree stump sits ominously in a swath of lumpy, bumpy dried mud, its gnarled grey form deposited by the innocent looking creek. A wide, muddy puddle remains. Rising water from a heavy rain could possibly make this section of the trail treacherous.

We stop at Arlington Lakes Forest Service campground for lunch. There are camping spots and picnic tables along the edge of the water. The tables are impressively sturdy structures made from large logs that have been split in two along their length. We pick a table on a slight hill close to the water. When I sit on my side of the table, the bench is so high that my feet dangle above the ground. It is a strange feeling for a tall adult. In a kid-like fashion, I sit swinging my legs and munch hungrily on my ration of our food groups.

It is the first day that it is overcast and it is even a bit chilly at times. Slim M.J. feels the coolness of the change in the weather more than I do. She has been feeling chilly at night and she worries that the cooler day will mean an even cooler night. We discuss the possibility that we may have to share a tent for warmth if it gets too cold. Neither of us is too enthusiastic about the idea.

There is increasing evidence of logging in the area. The trail becomes sandier as the day wears on. At the deep ravine of Cooksen Creek, we come to a washout. We have to duck under a fallen tree to get a good view of what is ahead. Over the years the fill that had crossed the creek has been washed away. It has been repaired but this too is taking its toll from the creek. The remaining fill is loose, sandy and narrow. We dismount and push our bikes along the narrow path.

After we cross, we stop and peer over the edge. A large section of the trail surrounding the ravine looks precarious. I quickly retreat and sit further back where I feel more comfortable.

The trail over Cooksen Creek has eroded into a narrow path

While we are sitting having a break, two heavily accented couples in their sixties arrive from the direction we are headed. They live in Kelowna and they are taking some day trips along the trail. They decide that this is a good spot for lunch. As we chat, they ply us with homemade "sweeties" which we can't refuse. They also insist that we take a cucumber "picked fresh from zie garden ziss morning."

As we get ready to leave, one of the gentlemen asks if we have a tire pump. We pass our pump over to him and notice that his tire is nearly flat. He says he forgot "to pump zie tire ziss morning" and he's grateful that he's able to pump it before they continue.

The gentlemen start over the loose fill, the ladies following gingerly behind. I remark to M.J. that it is nearly mid-afternoon, the weather is cooling and that they seem unconcerned that they may have a long walk back if the tire doesn't hold. As I watch them pick their way along the path across the ravine, I can't help but think that being ill-prepared for this kind of an outing is rather foolish.

After we leave Cooksen Creek, the trail gets softer and sandier. There is a lot of evidence of logging. As the trail turns northwest, we get our first scenic view of the day. We can see far into a valley to the north. At Summit Lake there is a small washout that requires detouring off and around the trail. It is a wet gully with stepping stones along the side. We are thankful that the weather has been dry and that the gully has only a couple of inches of water in it.

The day is cooling down and getting cloudier as we arrive at McCulloch Lake Resort. Although we have enjoyed the change from the hot weather, we are anxious to get set up and take a shower before it gets too cool.

The view at "McCulloch Lake Resort"

The "Resort" is a collection of new newer buildings, some older cabins and some camping spots. The unisex shower and toilet facilities are housed in an old construction-type trailer. When we arrive at the shower trailer, the door is locked. We can hear that there is someone in the showers. We chat with a blond girl in her thirties who is standing there. She has just arrived at the resort and she's staying in one of the older cabins. She's not quite sure why the door is locked. She has been waiting for five minutes.

We continue chatting. She's spending a couple of days cycling the trail with her husband. They're leaving the resort tomorrow headed to Chute Lake and then to Penticton the following day. While we describe some of the trail that we have seen in the last week, we try the door several times. No response from inside. We continue our conversation. It is now been twenty minutes since we arrived for a shower. The door is still locked. I offer to inquire at the office.

I'm told that since the shower trailer is unisex, the guests are allowed to lock the door for privacy. I return and explain to the others. It is now cooling off quickly and we are getting impatient. Finally, the door opens and a girl pops her head out and says, "I guess you want to get in here, we're nearly finished." It is the athletic girl that I opened the gate for the other day on the trail. After another five minutes she and her boyfriend finally emerge.

The three of us go into the shower trailer, lock the door. Very aware of how unpleasant it is to wait outside, we shower quickly and unlock the door.

When we arrive in the dining room, the brave swimmers are already seated. We hadn't seen them on the trail. Perhaps they had passed us when we were eating lunch. We have a pleasant meal. We can't see the lake from our table so we wander down after dinner. It is cool and there is a strong breeze. We stay only long enough to admire the pretty view.

We decide that we are not ready to give up the privacy that our own tents provide us. We each like to retreat to our small personal space and have some time to relax. I lend M.J. another layer of clothes from my limited wardrobe. She doesn't seem to mind that they aren't quite as fresh as one might like. We fall asleep to the sounds of the loons on the lake.

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