Day 16 - Othello Tunnels and Hope

Rain is still falling when I awaken in the morning. I lie in my tent, listening to the same sounds that lulled me to sleep the previous evening. Blue Jays chatter above the distant whirl of vehicles on the highway. As yesterday morning, I'm reluctant to leave the warmth of my sleeping bag. Again I escape into reverie about the Coquihalla.

Before we left I had arranged a tentative rendezvous point at the Quintette Tunnels at Othello. Built by the ingenious KVR engineer Andrew McCulloch, the famous tunnels are often described as one of the highlights of the trail. Under McCulloch's direction, the Coldwater River's winding path through the deep, narrow canyon was bridged by a series of tunnels and trestles. Part of the Coquihalla Canyon Provincial Recreation Area, the tunnels are now a popular tourist attraction.

We have forty-five kilometers to travel today to our rendezvous point at Othello. There are two choices for our route: Simply follow the highway to Othello, or follow the pipeline road for 25 km then detour onto the highway for the last 20 km. Use of the pipeline road is questionable. If we are able to climb the fence, it is quite possible that with all this rain we will encounter washouts. The Coquihalla Lakes is pretty much at the summit of the Coquihalla Pass. Whichever route we chose by the time we reach Othello we will have lost 1000 meters in elevation.

Yesterday's rainy, uphill ride along the highway was nerve racking enough. Today's ride will be on steep downhill grades. In my mind I can picture the "runaway lanes" that are located every so often on the side of the Coquihalla Highway. Due to the continuous downhill grade special emergency escape lanes have been built in case stressed vehicles suffer brake failure. I visualize us speeding down the side of the highway, trailers in tow, a heavy volume of spray enveloping us with every passing vehicle. I feel agitated already.

Exploring the remnants of the KVR through this picturesque portion of the Coquihalla would no doubt be an exciting conclusion to our journey but the development of this section of trail is still in flux, our information too limited. As I listen to the rain, I come to the conclusion that to continue any further is too risky. Just as railway men would at times be forced to abandon the Coquihalla line due to inclement weather and dangerous conditions—we should probably abandon our quest to follow the old railbed down the Coquihalla Pass.

By the time I hear M.J. stirring, I have made my decision. I tell her that when I get in touch with my uncle, I will ask him if he would mind driving up to the summit to pick us up instead of the rendezvous at Othello. M.J. is a little reluctant to give in after we have come this far. After some discussion, we agree to take the safer option. We linger in our tents, not wanting to venture out, the Blue Jays becoming more curious, flitting around outside our tents. They are obviously waiting for a handout.

The rain changes to a drizzle and we are able to cook breakfast in relative comfort. We are lucky that the weather seems to be in our favor—we are happy not to have to ask to use the porch again. Our fuel canister, as if on cue, gives out as we finish breakfast. When I get in contact with my uncle, he assures me that he doesn't mind driving the extra kilometers to the summit. I suggest that he meet us on the south side of the toll plaza on the highway, a few kilometers from the campground, thus avoiding the toll. We are to be picked up in a couple of hours. I feel relieved when I return to our campsite after arranging our new rendezvous.

While we are packing up, the woman cyclist that had appeared in the dark last evening comes by to chat. She and her husband are visiting from Germany. They had traveled all the way from Tulameen yesterday. They hadn't been caught in the thunderstorm, only the rain last evening. Ah… another example of the variable weather along the KVR…

They had found the detours very difficult, and had made the decision to continue along the trail by fording the river near the animal gate. Taking that route had involved three river crossings: twice the trail crossed the Coldwater River and later they had had to cross Mine Creek. Hum… So that's how they ended up in their city shoes... In the cool of the evening they had had to change out of their wet cycling attire. Without tenting equipment they had been in a precarious position as their day extended into the darkness of the evening. They were glad to reach the comfort of a cabin at the Coquihalla Lakes.

The woman asks us if we are headed to Hope. I feel rather awkward when I say yes, but that we have arranged for a ride from the toll plaza. We can only offer her the little information that we have about the remainder of the trail. We wish her luck and she heads back in the direction of their cabin. Guiltily, I busy myself dismantling my soggy tent.

Yesterday, concerned with our plight of crossing the busy highway, we hadn't thought to take a picture of our comical rain outfits. With a little bit of time on our hands before our rendezvous, I suggest that we recapture the missed opportunity. We giggle as we don our own particular versions of rain gear for the second time. Luckily there are no other campers to witness the silly spectacle. Again we erupt into hysterical giddiness; the Blue Jays hopping about with excitement at our peals of laughter.

Our peculiar versions of rain gear

After we have recovered our composure, I decide that since only a glimpse of water is visible from our campsite that I can't leave without actually seeing the "Coquihalla Lakes." I take a quick walk down to the water's edge in front of the office. The morning is misty with a light rain still falling. The tiny "lake" hollowed out of the forest is ringed by reeds and lily pads. On the far side of the "pond", a couple of fishermen sit patiently in their boat, their shoulders hunched under green rain suits. Well, I chuckle to myself, I guess if there are fish in the water it qualifies as a lake…

As we cycle through the tall trees and leave the Coquihalla "Ponds" behind, the chatter of the Blue Jays follows us down the laneway. Passing the last of the cabins, I wonder how the German couple will fare on the trail today. The rain is only a light mist, as we ride along the shoulder of the highway. I'm relieved that the traffic has to slow as it approaches the toll plaza. I question whether cyclists are also required to pay a toll. I scan the signs as we approach the wicket. There doesn't seem to be a fee for cyclists that brave the Coquihalla. We glide past with a cheery wave from the attendant and pull over to the busy rest stop.

It is cool and people exclaim about the cold air as they scurry from their cars to use the facilities. Although the sky is dark and grey, the misty rain has stopped. Low clouds hang over the surrounding mountains. I had opted not to burden myself with the sauna-like effect of full raingear and I find the morning air refreshing, not cold. It is a very pleasant temperature compared to some mornings on the KVR.

We scan the passing vehicles for my uncle's red pickup truck while we prepare our gear for his arrival. Soon my uncle appears. A fit and energetic retiree, he adeptly starts to place what looks like a large volume of equipment into the back of the small pickup. While we are working, a gentleman in his late sixties approaches me and asks if we are part of the group of seniors that he had seen on the road earlier. I'm a little flustered that he should think that we are part of a seniors group. I can feel mid-life crisis hackles prickling on my neck.

We are trail riders, not "roadies". We have just ridden more than 500 adventurous kilometers along a wilderness trail through bear and rattle snake country. We've escaped unknown gnawing creatures and scaled mountainous detour trails. I somehow expect people to recognize my "Trailness". Is it not evident? My bruise collection—my "trail badges", have they faded already? I can feel myself shudder—seniors group... seniors?! Although I have a few more wrinkles than I did a few years ago... and M.J.'s thick mane of hair is prematurely grey... He thinks—that we're part of some seniors group!

The "older" gentleman is very sweet and is eager to talk. While we work, I explain that we have ridden from Castlegar along the Kettle Valley Railway Trail. He has never heard of it. He tells me excitedly that his wife will be very interested in the fact that he has met some cyclists. Our conversation is interrupted as I try to make sure all my gear is properly stowed in the truck. The gentleman disappears in the confusion. As we get into the pickup and drive off, my neck is still itching—I sure hope the gentleman tells his wife that he met some "trail riders" and not that he met some "seniors" who were cycling!

A grey mist hangs over the Coquihalla Summit as we head down the highway. The cab of the pickup feels warm, cozy and dry but the gentleman's good-natured inquiries have resulted in some feelings of misgiving—perhaps I have been a little hasty in my suggestion to be picked up at the summit. The word "senior" still rings in my ears. Perhaps the title "senior cyclist" was palatable. I had acquired enough "trail badges" to earn that one.

The highway winds its way down the Coquihalla Pass through the Cascade Mountains. As we descend the weather starts to clear a little revealing the area's scenic beauty. Wisps of clouds hover among the peaks. Snow is still cradled in some of the ravines where impressive rock faces rise up the sides of the mountains. I'm enthralled by the rugged beauty of Coquihalla. We travel through a snow shed and past several runaway lanes. It is evident that these mountains are masters of those who travel through their territory and will never relinquish their power over man's intrusion. The trail is somewhere below us in the depths of the pass. I wonder if one day I will be able to return to enjoy this beauty from the perspective of the trail.

At Othello there is no cycling permitted in the park area that surrounds the tunnels. My uncle graciously agrees to stay with the vehicle and our equipment so that M.J. and I can visit the Quintette Tunnels. We leave the parking lot and enter a quiet stretch of trail set back a little ways from the Coldwater River. The trees have grown thick and tall, arching into a canopy of greenery over the damp earthen trail. It is quiet except for the sound of the river. The surrounding trees grow increasingly thick. Moss and ferns edge the trail. The coastal weather and the proximity to the river have created a microclimate different than any we have seen during our journey. The sun starts to shine. Dappled sunshine dots the trail. I'm enthralled by the damp, scented scene.

We are greeted by a canopy of greenery along the trail

The sound of rushing water grows louder as we leave the woods and arrive at the first of the famous tunnels. Small trees and moss cling to the steep, grey walls of the Coquihalla Canyon. The blue-green water of the river flows swiftly along its winding course past the rock walls below us. We follow the old railbed, straight through the rock, tunneling past each bend in the river. We see the water rushing past on the left then further along, we see it on the right. Looking down the old railbed through the tunnels to the tiny dot of light that marks the last tunnel, we stop to admire McCulloch's feat of engineering.

We gaze down the long straight length of trail that passes through the canyon

To wander through this beautiful canyon is a fitting end to our journey, our "pilgrimage." The sound of the water rushing in the canyon is all around us. The soul of the KVR whistles through each tunnel. This beautiful park will remain a tribute to those that persevered to cross the Cascade Mountains although some said it could not be done. Yes, the whole of the trail is a tribute to the men of the KVR: the surveyors who tramped the many valleys looking for the route to the coast; the engineers who brought the rails across the many rivers and the mountains; the hundreds of men who toiled laying the steel across the vast distances of rough grade and the many men who dedicated their lives to keeping the railway running. Their railway era may have ended but they have left us the lasting legacy of this wonderful trail.

The canyon trail is a fitting tribute to the KVR

We exit the last of the tunnels and gaze into another heavy canopy of trees that surrounds the old railbed. Hope is a few kilometers further along the trail. I'm saddened at the realization that our journey is truly over. Slowly we turn and walk back through the tunnels. My uncle is patiently waiting. Over the roar of the water, M.J. and I discuss our favorite sections of the trail. We realize that there have been many. Every day has brought unique memories.

As we exit the shadow of the last tunnel, I'm startled by a little boy of about five that zips past me on a tiny bike. Blinded by the bright sunlight, we nearly collide. No wonder they don't allow cycling in the park. With the noise of the rushing water, one can't hear the quiet approach of a cyclist. His sudden appearance reminds me that "Super Gamma" will soon return to being Gamma. I'm sure my family is hopeful that I will no longer have the urge to cycle around the neighbourhood with bags of dog kibble in tow. Yes, they are probably hopeful that my journey has brought about a cure for my mid-life crisis.

We wander back along the earthy trail under the heavy canopy of trees, each of us silent with our own thoughts. The sound of the river diminishes. I realize that I'm happy that my mid-life crisis has brought me to this place. Yes, I'm happy with the thought that age is but another perspective of life. Mid-life is not that bad after all.

As we emerge from the trail, the sun glints off our bikes hanging on the back of the truck. We giggle at the indignity that we have thrust upon our faithful steeds. Our laughter has flowed so easily with each new challenge of the trail. Yes, we have survived our eventful adventure with giddy camaraderie. It has truly been a wonderful journey.

Epilogue:

I would later find out more about the condition of the trail below the Coquihalla Summit from three cyclists who had negotiated the pipeline route. They had gone through the Coquihalla about ten days before we did. The scenery was impressive with views of weathered trestles high above the pipeline road, collapsed tunnels and evidence of old snow sheds but they had had to scale not only the pipeline gate but also heft their bikes over several more gates along this route. (I wonder if these gates were similar to the three meter high gate that we had encountered near the washouts.) They had also negotiated a 150 meter long slide which had left the trail deep with mud and overturned trees. I was thankful that we had made the decision not to attempt the pipeline route in the rain.

In late August 2002, the Trans Canada Trail Association came to an agreement for use of the Terasen Pipeline road. The license to operate in the Coquihalla Summit corridor will become official in mid July 2003. Although some type of alteration will be made to make access to the pipeline road easier, the unstable Coquihalla corridor will continue to be a challenge to cyclists.

Summer 2003 update on trail conditions:

Sadly most of the Myra Canyon Trestles were destroyed by the wildfires that ravaged the Okanagan Valley and other parts of the interior of British Columbia in the summer of 2003. Many agencies have rallied to work on the reconstruction of this vital historic portion of the KVR. Hopefully cyclists will be able to cycle through Myra Canyon on the new trestles in the not too distant future.

If you are planning to cycle the KVR, I will be happy to reply to any questions.

Happy - Trailness!

cycler@trailness.com

Intro | KVR Map