Destination

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DESTINATION REVELSTOKE

A small town makes its mark as a skiing mecca

BY LESLIE ANTHONY

W

When you slide off the top of the high-speed Stoke chairlift, you might find yourself pausing for a moment to drink in the scenery. Above and behind looms the serrated peak of Mt.

The on-mountain MacKenzie; across the Columbia River apres in Revelstoke Valley are the Monashee Mountains, is as stunningly with prominent Mt. Begbie and glaciscenic as you’ll find ated Blanket Mountain; to the north, anwhere. guarding the entrance to historic Rogers Pass, stands Mt. Revelstoke, with its popular national park. And once you’ve had your fill of alpine majesty, your second move might be scrambling to the edge of the North Bowl and dropping into a piece of chute-addled terrain whose complexity rivals that of any ski area on the continent. These vignettes

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Heli-skiers descending on a slope near Mica Heliskiing Lodge. offer unexpected wows for skiers but are only two of the numerous draws to Revelstoke Mountain Resort—one of BC’s finest skiing locations since opening in 2007.

The resort boasts 1,263 hectares of skiing on 1,710 metres of vertical— North America’s biggest drop. And though that’s impressive enough, there was a time when these kinds of things were really all there was to talk about in Revelstoke—skiing, skiing and more skiing. Main street was a collection of offices for the many heli-skiing, cat-skiing and backcountry touring operations accessible from Revelstoke in every cardinal direction. Save for the newly erected hotel at the resort’s base, the town’s accommodation were humble—creaking downtown digs and roadside motels punctuated by a few B&Bs. Restaurants were scarce. This arrangement well-served the undemanding snowmobile tourists, flythrough backcountry ski contingent, and Trans-Canada Highway stopover crowd, but it didn’t align with the suddenly world-class hill lighting up the radar of international ski cognoscenti. Flash forward to today and the resort’s presence has transformed everything from the feel of the town accommodation offerings to a maturing food-and-beverage scene. It took a while, but the range of options in eateries, breweries and distilleries is diverse, eclectic and high-quality, while boutique accommodations continue to sprout like crocuses through the snow. After having written much about Revy before this article, I was “stoked” to return last winter to experience some of its newly minted character.

WHILE “FLYING MOOSE” might be a perfect pop-cultural meme for a cartoon superhero, cereal box icon or children’s book, the phrase takes on an

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entirely different meaning with the Flying Moose Chalet, where it becomes a symbol for comfort, convenience and the kind of intimate luxury that’s hard to engineer into large, wood-beam structures.

Hugging the base of the resort, the Moose is the ultimate edifice on a street of similarly 1. Locally crafted grandiose group chalets, yet somehow outdoes them all. There are eight beautifully Monashee Spirits. 2. & 3. The Taco Club. appointed suites with private bathrooms that can accommodate up to 20 guests; a lounge with projector screen; a fitness and massage room with steam shower; an outdoor sauna, large hot tub and infinity pool; a rockclimbing wall; an airy, bistro-style kitchen plus outdoor cooking and dining area; a spacious ski room for storage and gearing up; the largest private helipad in the area; and, most importantly, an enthusiastic team ready to assist with whatever you might need.

We arrive on a sunny day in midFebruary, ready for three days of skiing. It isn’t the mountain or snow that first get our attention, however, but the interior layout and detail as we tour the chalet with manager Erin. Our necks crane upwards, trying to comprehend the exquisite and unique timber work. The style—known as Hammer Beam Truss—figured in large, open-timber roofs thru the Gothic/Medieval era. A legendary example is London’s New Westminster Hall, erected in 1399. To create the feel of soaring, open space, these hammer beams rely on a combination of traditional mortice and 1 tenon, oak pegs and blacksmith-forged tie-rods. The chalet also features woodslab tables made from old, reclaimed timber, a massive version on the deck being particularly inspiring.

Having driven through a snowstorm from the coast and not wanting to leave our newfound cradle, we decide to eat in, ordering sushi from Kawakubo Japanese Restaurant in town. Hailing

3 from Whistler, our sushi standard is sky-high, so we’re pleased to find that Kawakubo went up to that bar and beyond. Their sushi is as fresh as a dockside catch, with exceptional knife-work and art-class presentation.

In the morning, after breakfast around the light-filled kitchen’s marble dining skirt, we gear up to ski. Were we not experiencing an unusual snow drought, heli-skiing might be on the menu utilizing the chalet’s super-sized helipad—the only private landing in the valley large enough to accommodate a 14-person Bell 212. Guest groups can book directly with local heli-ski operators CMH, Selkirk Tangiers and Eagle Pass, or have the chalet’s concierge arrange skiing on their behalf. Today, however, we head to the mountain and the certainty of plush corduroy. Revelstoke Mountain Resort spreads skiers well over its abundant acreage, so we 2 lap wide-open pistes unencumbered by crowds or line-ups, never tiring of the staggering views. After skiing, we go for a stroll through town, tracking bear statues, century buildings, post-war company houses and an occasional art-deco surprise. Located along the navigable Columbia River near where the transcontinental railroad’s famed last spike was pounded in, Revelstoke’s history is mostly that of a transportation hub. But it was also a ski-jumping mecca for over 50 years that saw five world records set. So, adding in its current galaxy of ski options, renowned curling club, Grizzlies hockey team and legion of snowmobile trailers sporting license plates from Nova Scotia to Texas, it is clear that this community has achieved a reputation as an all-star winter destination. Where explorers, builders— and yes, ski jumpers—were once

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Revelstoke’s heroes, today it’s more likely professional alpine skiers. Indeed, the town’s modern-day favourite son may well be ski-mountaineer and climate crusader Greg Hill, who gained international celebrity in 2010 by ascending/descending 2,000,000 vertical feet in a year under his own power and remains a high-profile ambassador for Protect Our Winters Canada. Clearly this rugged outpost—a frontier boomtown since its 19th-century inception—still attracts innovators and trailblazers. And since the opening of Revelstoke Mountain Resort, they’ve come out of the woodwork to overhaul the town.

AFTER AN OUTSTANDING snack at The Taco Club in town centre, we duck into Monashee Spirits on a word-ofmouth whim. The tiny, storefront distillery balances in-house production of vodka, gin and liqueurs

Flying Moose with a quality cocktail service Chalet, a beautiful at cozy wood tables. The drinks and relaxing spot to are superbly creative—from stay while visiting. names like Strange Stolen Wishes and Cadillac Corpse, to their execution with a range of local ingredients. Scanning the menu, the Huck Me Baby One More Time sells me in a second with Huckleberry-infused gin, aperol, cassis, lemon juice, triple bitters and garnish described as “an edible wafer print of a stick figure couple from the Kamasutra… You’ll want your camera for this one.” Indeed, I did. Returning to the chalet we spread out to enjoy some of its comfort features— like the massive double-sided fireplace that hosts a warm and spacious living room on one side and a cozy fireside chat-spot on the other. Lazy again, we grab some IPA from reliable Mt. Begbie Brewery, operating in town since 1996, and pick up food from Old School Eatery, considered by many to be Revy’s best restaurant. Located in a historic elementary school building, it serves thoughtfully crafted dishes whose nouvelle interpretations of classics are best-described as sophisticated comfort food. The next day’s skiing is a carbon-copy

of the first: a groomed, uncrowded paradise followed by a return to the chalet by early afternoon for sauna, steam and whatever people decide they need—a go at the climbing wall, the day spa at the mountain, cross-country skiing at the Revelstoke Nordic Ski Club at Mt. Macpherson, or in my case a nap before dinner.

One of the benefits of a private chalet is being able to choose between doing your own thing food-wise, having it fully catered, or striking a balance. We’ve opted for one private chef-prepared meal, choosing starters, main course and dessert from a menu in advance. When we’d returned from skiing, Chef Jimmy had already been deep into prep for the evening—which we now joyously find includes charcuterie and champagne in the upper lounge. Dinner itself begins on a butternut squash soup with truffle oil, accompanied by sourdough bread so delicious I force myself to stop consuming it in order to accommodate a perfectly cooked beef tenderloin with pommes Anna, broccolini and Béarnaise sauce (Toto, we’re not in 2007 anymore). Pulling in the reins also leaves room for wine pairings from the nearby Okanagan Valley, and a finale of chocolate torte.

The stars are out so an after-dinner jaunt is in order. And there, set under an eave as we file out onto a deck ringed by mountains with the twinkling town below, is the chalet’s resident moose. He’s not flying unless you count the flight of fancy represented in his creation by local artist Zuzanna Riha—a sculptural bricolage of cleverly upcycled objects from shoes to computer keyboards to tennis rackets to mountain-bike parts to cellphones cobbled into a life-size rendition of every Canadian’s favourite cervid. It does, however, cut a cartoonish, thought-provoking figure that offers a counterpoint to our love-hate relationship with stuff, and I think it says this: in the choice between quality and quantity, the former should always prevail.

And it seems that Revelstoke, as a burgeoning winter resort, has found its way to exactly that.

IF YOU GO

Breweries Mt. Begbie—Revelstoke’s awardwinning craft brewery is celebrating 25 years of making cool beer—and you should, too. mt-begbie.com Rumpus Beer Co.—With a motto of “brewed for fun in downtown Revelstoke” what more could you ask? rumpusbeerco.com

Distilleries Monashee Spirits—A spirited and inventive micro-distillery in the centre of town, you cannot order anything bad here. monasheespirits.com Jones Distilling—A small-batch gin and vodka specialist located in the historic Mountain View school building. jonesdistilling.com

Coffee Dose Coffee—Aussie ownership, great coffee, maybe even better food. dosecoffee.ca La Baguette—Revelstoke’s longstanding quality café and bakery now has a mini-me outlet at the resort. labaguettecafe.ca

Dining Terra Firma’s Kitchen—A true farm-to-table that runs its own farm to supply the restaurant. terrafirmaskitchen.ca Quartermaster Eatery:—Located in the Explorers Society Hotel, popular with the cat/heli crowd. explorers-society.com/eat-drink/ The Taco Club—Vibrant main-street venue for Latin street food serving seasonal tacos, burritos, enchiladas and tequila drinks. thetacoclub.ca Old School Eatery—Revelstoke’s best to many, located in the historic Mountain View elementary school and serving sophisticated comfort food. oldschooleatery.ca Kawakubo Japanese Restaurant—Inspired sake, steak and sushi as fresh as it comes, with exceptional knife-work and art-class presentation. kawakubo-revelstoke.com Accommodation Sutton Place Hotel—Located at the base of Revelstoke Mountain Resort. suttonplace.com Basecamp—A new property, this condo-style franchise taking over Canada’s intermountain west is building a second venue downtown. basecampresorts.com/revelstokeresorts

Copeland B&B—A pretty unique heritage accommodation right in the heart of town. thecopeland.ca Stoke Hotel—It might be under the SureStay Collection by Best Western, but this funky stay is not your average hotel. stokehotel.ca Flying Moose Chalet—if you’ve got a group keen on heli-skiing from your own luxury chalet whilst having all the conveniences of town and the option of skiing the hill, this is your place. flyingmoosebc.com

Skiing and Mechanized Backcountry Revelstoke Mountain Resort + Selkirk Tangiers Heliskiing: revelstokemountainresort.com Revelstoke Nordic Ski Club: revelstokenordic.org K3 Cat Skiing: k3catski.com Great Northern Snowcat Skiing: greatnorthernsnowcat.com Eagle Pass Heliskiing: eaglepassheliskiing.com CMH Monashees: cmhheli.com/destinations/monashees Mica Heli: micaheli.com

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EXPLORING THE SELKIRKS

A JOURNEY THROUGH TIME

AND FAMILY HISTORY IN THIS

SPECTACULAR MOUNTAIN RANGE

BY

DIANE SELKIRK

From downtown Revelstoke you can see the Selkirk Mountains to the east and the Monashees to the west.

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1. The Revelstoke Railway Museum offers a cool glimpse into the history of BC.

2. The Arrow Lakes were once part of an aquatic highway that ran through the Kootenays—now you can get a free ferry ride across.

3. Sandon is an old silver-mining town in the foothills of the Selkirk Mountains. Stopping in the middle of the street in Revelstoke I scan the horizon. Past the historic buildings and golden foliage I catch sight of a few snowy mountain peaks, but I’m not entirely sure which range is which. “The Selkirks are the mountains to the east of the Columbia River and the Monashees are to the west,” says Kyle, our guide from Revelstoke Local Tours. Orienting myself, I realize we’re headed east. We’re about hike up the lower slope of Mount Revelstoke for the guided Nels Nelson Tour.

As we walk, Kyle tells us about Nels Nelsen, a local ski jumper who set two world records on the hill back in the 1920s. But as I make my way up the steep switchbacks, I miss a bit of the history (something about a car for a prize and new ski-jumping fans coming by train from as far away as Vancouver) because I’m focused on my feet. This is my first time hiking in this part of the Selkirk Mountains and it feels like the kind of momentous experience I should be absorbing.

As much as I like to proclaim them as my own, the Selkirk Mountains are actually named for Thomas Douglas, 5th Earl of Selkirk, not me or my family. Along with the Monashee and Purcell mountains, they’re all a part of the Columbia Range and lie just to the west of the Rocky mountains. They have a number of claims to fame—including the fact they were a major obstacle when building the Canadian Pacific Railway; and remained that way until the discovery of Rogers Pass. Geologically they’re also quite fascinating. Mined for coal, copper, zinc, silver and gold, they’re older than the Rockies and were once a waterfront range. To their west was the Pacific while to the east was the inland sea that separated the mountains from the Canadian

Shield many millennia ago.

The Selkirks (and the entire Kootenay region, actually) also played an outsized role in my family history. So, visiting a mountain range with my name on it seemed like as good an excuse as any for a road trip—especially heading into the second winter of the pandemic. Not only was there the name thing, but the Kootenays are home to a bunch of picturesque little towns I’ve always wanted to visit. Add in a little late-autumn colour, possible early snow and hot springs(!) and my husband Evan and I had the makings for a perfect getaway.

Huffing and puffing, I reach the first viewpoint at the base of the historic ski jump. Eager for a break from the upward climb, I look down at the leafy town and try to recall a few family stories. I tell Evan and Kyle that my dad (a Selkirk) had a bad pickup line that he used as a teen while living here: “I’ll show you my mountains if you show me yours,” he’d say to the girls he dated.

When my hiking companions don’t react (admittedly it’s an awful line), I offer up a less offensive anecdote. My greatgreat grandfather brought his entire family from PEI to BC. After travelling much of the way by train, they boarded a stern-wheeler paddle steamship in Revelstoke and travelled along the Columbia River to Trail. Then they took a wagon to Rossland where g. g. grandpa worked as the local train station manager.

A day after the hike, we explored Revelstoke’s fascinating Railway Museum and popped into a variety of shops in the historic downtown (it was definitely the season for new wool socks and a toque) we set off to catch the ferry across Upper Arrow Lake. The Arrow Lakes (Upper and Lower) are actually just a wide part of the Columbia River, and as we sail our way south, I imagine how it must have been for my ancestors to ply these waters on their way to their new home. They arrived here around 1898—pretty much peak steamship time—only when a dozen or so boats made stops in remote communities from Revelstoke to Fort Colvile, Washington and Nelson to Kaslo.

One place I’m pretty sure my ancestors

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Halcyon Hot Springs Resort

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wouldn’t have stopped on their journey south was Halcyon Hot Springs Resort—which is unfortunate, because after a couple of days of hiking and driving, our first soak in the hot springs feels like a revelation. During our two-day stay we stroll back and forth between the Selkirk Cottage (yup—it’s a theme) and the four pools. At one point I decide we should stop soaking long enough to see more of the region. In the nearby village Nakusp, I comment on how the entire community is oriented to the lakefront, the way port towns often are, a sign that even

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Halcyon Hot Springs Resort.

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though the steamships are long gone, they left their mark.

Driving along the winding road past Goat Range Provincial Park, Valhalla Provincial Park and Kokanee Glacier Provincial Park, I realize I’ve never given any thought to how many mountain ranges run through the province (tourism BC says there are 10 major ranges and 8,476 mountains). But on the road from Nakusp to Ainsworth, as we pass mountain after mountain, I recognize that as much as a mountain range might have a clear definition (a group of mountains bordered by lowlands or passes) distinguishing the difference between a range, sub-range and sub-sub-range is best left to cartographers.

It also becomes clear that exploring theses Selkirk-range parks is best left for warmer months, when a brief stop to see the old mining town of Sandon proves chillier than expected. As a misty frozen rain falls in, hiding the peaks and diming the gold of the larch trees, we limit the time outside the car to a walk through Kaslo to see the steamship S.S. Moyie. The ship is the oldest intact passenger sternwheeler in the world. I try to round out my vision of my family steaming to their new home, imagining a similar vessel.

We arrive at Ainsworth Hot Springs just as it’s growing dark. After checking into our room my first goal is to soak in the hot pools. The big pool seems like a standard outdoor pool, but when we head into the source of the springs, a serpentine cave lined with stalagmites and stalactites, I get a sense of the region’s age and rich history. Long sacred to the Ktunaxa People—the hot springs and resort were recently bought back by the Yaqan Nukiy, the Lower Kootenay Band. And while settlers in the region have been stopping at the pools for a therapeutic soak for almost 200 years, that history is a blink in terms of how long the Ktunaxa have been caretakers of this land.

From Ainsworth we carry on to Nelson. Though we slip out of the Selkirks and into the Purcells, I joke to Evan that this still counts as a stop on the all-about-me road trip, because one of my great grandmothers was a nurse here during the 1918 to 1919 influenza pandemic. Fortunately Nelson’s wide western streets are filled with diverse mom-and-pop shops and restaurants that are well worth checking out. After a hike—we head to see the Touchstones Nelson Museum of Art and History and the informative (and slightly creepy) Cold War bunker located in the basement of the Gray building.

After Nelson, we head to Rossland. We’re now fully out of the Selkirks, but I feel compelled to follow my ancestors’ journey to its end. I already know part of the story—but still have questions.

Arriving mid gold rush, the family thrives. My great grandmother, Alice grows into a young woman and marries a young miner named David. At the local museum, the exhibits show me how life must have been during the gold rush—at home as well as deep in the mines that run under the pretty town. After the rush, as the town contracts from 7,000 to 2,000 inhabitants, the entire extended family stays and the families grow. By the time she’s 30, Alice and David have five kids under eight, including my grand-

Rossland is one of the most picturesque and charming towns in BC.

mother. When I locate their house in the historic district, it seems like it would have been a comfortable home for their fast growing brood.

Then starting in October 1919, 50 Rossland residents succumb to the flu over five weeks. My great great grandfather, Alice and her younger sister and brother, and Alice’s youngest baby all die. My grandmother is six when she and her siblings end up in an impoverished, overcrowded home with their father David’s elderly sister. Her grandmother is committed to Essondale, a mental institution, where she later dies. David, her father, disappears from her life—and the historic records.

It feels raw to weave together the tragic pieces of this story. At one point I head to the Calvary Cemetery here in Rossland to try to honour them all, but because of the rapid burials, the grave locations were lost. So, I head into the mountains and out along a snowy trail through old growth trees. I wonder if my ancestors were also mesmerized by the mountain peaks and dark lakes, forested valleys and rushing rivers that make up this heartbreakingly beautiful part of the world.

I wonder if they’d find peace in knowing that 100 years later, their family is still here.

IF YOU GO

Revelstoke Stay: Immerse in history at The Explorers Society Hotel. The rooftop guest lounge is a great place to meet other travelers. Eat: Quartermaster Eatery for great food and craft cocktails. Do: Visit the Revelstoke Railway Museum to learn about the CPR as it cut its way through the mountains. Halcyon Stay: Choose between cabins and chalets at Halcyon Hot Springs Resort. Do: If you’re feeling splurgey, book the private pool experience. You and a guest can soak in privacy for an hour in the evening. Ainsworth Stay: Try the lakefront rooms with gorgeous views at Ainsworth Hot Springs Resort. Eat: The Ktunaxa Grill for its Indigenous inspired menu. Do: Check out the J.B. Fletcher Store, the first and largest General Store and mining supply establishment on Kootenay Lake. Nelson Stay: Connect with local history at the Hume Hotel & Spa. Eat: Red Light Ramen for a steamy bowl of fresh ramen. Do: Take the self-guided Mural Tour, walk around Nelson and learn more about the history of the region. Rossland Stay: Immerse in the gold rush era with a stay at The Wild Turkey Inn, a gorgeously renovated heritage home. Eat: The Flying Steamshovel for casual (and delicious) comfort food. Do: Hike or snowshoe through oldgrowth forest to the day-use cabins in the Rossland Range.

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S E A R C H I N G F O R I C E

HIDDEN SKATING GEMS FROM AROUND BC

BY

BLAINE WILLICK

LIKE A LOT of British Columbians, I grew up in cold winters with frozen lakes not far away. While I was never a hardcore hockey player, I still appreciate a nice outdoor rink to skate on with family and friends. The outdoor rink has become a staple of a Canadian winter, so we’ve looked high and low around the province for the most spectacular and unique skating spots for you to check out. So, lace up and hit the ice on these winter wonders.

Lake Windermere Whiteway.

BY

MARIANNE SCOTT

S E A R C H I N G F O R I C E

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Inks Lake

Kamloops

Inks Lake is a beautiful spot for a skate and is just a short 20-minute drive from downtown Kamloops. The lake is nestled off the side of Lac Le June Road with a forest to one side, snow swept grasslands on the other, and a small mountain in the distance. On a clear day (or any day, really), it is a gorgeous spot.

The most magical thing about this location is the sense of community. The Kamloops Outdoor Skating Association works to take care of this ice for a month or two of the year, starting in mid-January to the end of February. Weather dependent, of course. With volunteers they maintain two skating ovals and a couple of rinks. We hear there will be a community festival or two with long track races this winter, check their social media sites for more. There is parking on the side road adjacent to the lake. Inks Lake has some quality ice and is a great spot to learn with younger or older loved ones. If you live in the area, the group is always happy for more volunteers.

Lake Windermere Whiteway

Invermere and Windermere

Are you looking for a skating experience that is renown not only in BC, but worldwide? Look no further than the Whiteway on Lake Windermere. Whiteway was deemed the world’s longest skating trail by Guinness World Records in 2014 with over 30 kilometres of skating. This looping trail connects the towns of Invermere and Windermere by lake and has lanes for both skating, cross-country skiing and walking. If the length sounds daunting, don’t worry. The trail is comprised of short and long segments for every type of skater. Note that the trail length does depend on the weather.

The Whiteway is maintained by Toby Creek Nordic Ski Club. They are a non-profit who make sure the ice is thick enough for the trail and regularly clear the ice. Typically, the trail is run from January to March, but it is all weather-dependent. Check their social media sites for updates. The cost is $5 for a day pass or six days for $20. All profits help maintain this one-of-a-kind trail. The Prince George Outdoor Oval

Prince George

This may be one of the best kept ovals in BC. The Prince George Outdoor Oval is a short drive from anywhere in the city. This 400-metre round track is made with natural ice and the grounds have a heated change room. There is much seasonal delight to be had as you skate late into the evening, illuminated by the rink’s lights. In the past they have had wonderful New Year’s Eve skating nights and fun events like Ice Disco. Keep an eye on their website for more info. It is a relaxing venue to try out speed skating if you’re a newbie and one of the most easily accessible rinks on the list.

A day pass will run you $2, and a family goes for $5. They do have season passes available and if you are visiting, they have skates for rent (speed skates and Nordic blades). The oval is maintained by a group of great volunteers and supported by the city. The sound of metal blades slicing through ice and the laughter of families cruising around the oval make this one joyous and beautiful place to lace up.

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Grouse Mountain

North Vancouver

A mountaintop winter wonderland awaits after a short trip from North Vancouver. Grouse Mountain is a great destination for a daytime adventure away from BC’s largest city. The Skyride gondola provides access to the area and gives a breathtaking view on the way. Once up, to the left of the gondola is the Skating Pond. It is one of the quainter rinks on this list and covers an area of 8,000 square feet, but it makes up for its size with its character. The pond could have come out of an old holiday movie with forest to one side, two small cabin huts and a firepit surround this whimsical spot.

We do recommend mixing in the skating with the other activities at the mountain. Nearby is the Light Walk, a short snowshoe trail that is illuminated with lights and adds even more whimsy to the area. The Sliding Zone will get every kid excited as they cruise down two lanes of snow on sleds. And of course, for the more active types, you could end your day of skiing with a relaxing skate on the pond. This is a great spot for young families or couples out on date nights with some food spots offered at the mountain. Know that this pond is a part of a fully operating ski hill and as such will be the priciest of the bunch. With $69 tickets for adults, $36 for children, and a family deal for $179, with some additional costs for rentals. However, it is worth the price of admission just to skate among the stars at the top of the world.

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Adventure Skating Loop at Apex Mountain Resort

Apex Mountain

A Zamboni cruising through the forest? That’s right, this marvellous one-kilometre loop trail veers through the dense evergreens with no lake in sight. At Apex Mountain, when not hitting the slopes, you can strap on your skates and glide through this magical route known as the Adventure Skating Loop. The loop does have some inclines that are tricky to adjust to at first, but after a few corners you’ll be cruising around with no problem at all. Skate late into the night with lights and branches dangling overhead and have the sound of the world disappear into the calm quiet of the snowy forest. This track is breathtaking and one of the most unique around.

The loop is located just a short walk from the main resort. The rental shop offers skates and at the start of the loop there is a cozy cabin for changing your footwear. Apex also has a regular outdoor rink if you’re looking for a more traditional skate. Daily loop tickets are $5 plus tax and a loop ticket with a rental is $17 plus tax. Open December 10 to around midApril, depending on weather. The Adventure Skating Loop is a definite must-see if you are ever in the area. Gates Lake

Pemberton

Now this is outdoor skating, Gates Lake is around 30 minutes north of Pemberton and the large lake is often windswept. No shoveling needed, but bring one just in case there is a fresh covering. This is mountain country and there are stunning slopes everywhere you look; the lake is surrounded by the towering trio of Mt. Birkenhead, Mt. Marriot, and Mt. Oleg. This is a great spot to set up a legendary hockey game or do some speed skating with a mountainous background.

The Gates Lake Community Park is a good place to set up and park your vehicle, but be cautious. To access the lake, you must cross some train tracks—so look both ways before heading out. This is a great lake for families who want to explore the province and who want to show younger Canadians the beauty of our outdoors.

Whistler Olympic Plaza

Whistler

Here is an inspiring spot to skate, right in front of the Olympic rings! Whistler has always been a beacon of winter sports, so it is no surprise that they have one of the coolest skate venues around. Right on the main street of Whistler Village is the Olympic Plaza, a concert venue in summer but in winter the twinkling lights come out and it is transformed into an ice skater paradise. There is an inner and outer ring that are connected by two ice paths at each end. The inner ring has a roof covering and colourful lighting. If you have a new skater in your crew, the Plaza has “walkers” to hold onto, allowing nervous new skaters to cruise with confidence. This venue adds to the Whistler experience. You can stroll down the main avenue, grab a hot chocolate, see the sights, and end the evening by throwing on some skates. It is a blast, and the wonderful, cheerful spirit of Whistler is put on full display.

Admission fees are $2 if you bring your own skates and $9 with rentals. Helmets and other skate assist equipment are available for no additional charge. Open from mid-December to the end of March. Don’t worry about surprise hot days, the rink has cooling pipes underneath. So, there is great ice no matter the weather. If you’re winter plans include a ski trip to Whistler, don’t forget to add skating to your itinerary. You won’t regret it.

BY

LINDA GABRIS

YOU MIGHT NOT THINK WINTER IS

AN IDEAL TIME FOR FORAGING, BUT LOOKING FOR WILD TEAS IS A GREAT

INTRODUCTION TO THE HOBBY

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FORAGING

Rosehip Tea.

Some folks are apt to think winter is not an ideal time to break ground as a forager. This is likely because it’s cold and the fact that there are not as many edible wild plants available in Mother Nature’s winter pantry as there are in spring, summer and fall. But I disagree, for a number of reasons!

For starters, most of us have more free time in the winter to indulge in learning new things, so why not take the opportunity to cuddle up with some good reading material on the topic. It’s a great way to get yourself “hyped-up” for the main foraging seasons and, more importantly, to gain knowledge about your new hobby.

For example, looking up wild strawberries in an edible wild-food handbook may sound silly because we all know these common wild berries closely resemble their cultivated kin. However, finding them in their woodland habitat is a lot more challenging than heading out to the backyard garden or driving to a “U-pick” berry farm to fill a pail.

Studying up, you’ll learn about the preferred habitats of wild strawberries and you’ll start to see the plant in an exciting new light. You’ll discover what family the wild strawberry belongs to, how many species there are in Canada, their common names and so much more. You could even be introduced to a new herbal tea you have never tried before.

Once you whet your appetite on wild strawberries, you’ll be eager to move on to other edible, less-familiar berries as well as an array of wild fruits,

flowers, green plants, shoots and roots, nuts and even mushrooms. I guarantee you’ll have plenty of items on your foraging list for the upcoming seasons.

Learning about a plant’s botanical description, Latin and common names, various species, distribution, season and habitat will help you track it down. These details are also vital for making a positive identification, which is the number-one forager’s rule—never pick or eat a plant you cannot positively identify! So read on, and the more books you accumulate on the topic, the better prepared you’ll be when you enter the field. Fortunately, you don’t need to spend the whole winter just reading about your new hobby. As soon as the thermometer rises a little, you can round up the family, jump into your snowsuits and take off in search of a wilderness pick to “cut your teeth on.” There is nothing more satisfying than bringing home a super-healthy, self-harvested treat from the wilderness to share with your family and, as a bonus deal, it’s free for the picking. But the greatest reward, as grandma often reminded me when I was learning to forage at her side, is spending time in the woodlands, fields and meadow because, she’d wink, “it keeps your body spry and your soul sane.” And since grandma lived to be 102 while still active until her last day, I think she knew what she was talking about!

Novice foragers should get into the habit of taking along a good field guide on their expeditions. I don’t mean your foraging friend, but rather that wellillustrated and finely detailed handbook you’ve been paging through all winter long. Oh, and if that experienced forager wants to join your family outings, don’t pass up the excellent opportunity of learning from a pro.

As always, whether leaving the house on foot or going by vehicle, especially in winter when days are colder and shorter, it’s common sense to file your agenda with a family member or friend. Let them know where you are going and when you expect to return. Sudden snowstorms and blizzards can quickly cover your woodland tracks making it easy to get turned around.

Be sure to have an emergency winter kit in your vehicle. Naturally, your cell phone and charger (which may not be too dependable in remote areas such as where my family frequents), first aid kit, a flashlight with extra batteries and/or candles, matches, portable jump starter or at least booster cables, shovel and blankets or sleeping bags. I find the trunk of the car (or behind the seat) are handy places to store sleeping bags yearround—and they’re there if you ever need them!

Load up your survival kit with nonperishable foods. You know the list— energy bars, dried fruits, nuts, fruit leather, jerky, and, last but not least, water! You can tote bottled water or do as I do and pop a gallon jug of tap water into the vehicle (along with the day’s picnic and hot drinks) to be saved for emergencies. Any medicines your family cannot do without should be taken along, just in case.

WONDERFUL WILD WINTER TEAS

Time to make tracks! What could be better than venturing out into a pristine winter forest in pursuit of a mouthwatering picks destined for the teapot! I mean, really, when your family arrives back home chilled from the nose to the toes, nothing is going to warm them up quicker than a steaming cup of tea—or “tisane” as wild plants for the teapot are rightfully known. Since wild teas are caffeine-free, the kids can enjoy them too, and you will all derive a lot of pride and pleasure from sampling the joys of self-sufficiency!

ROSEHIP TEA Rosehips are the fleshy, appley-tasting red fruits of wild rose plant which ripen in autumn and cling to the bare branches all winter long. Bramble bushes

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FORAGING

Evergreen Tea.

grow in thickets around pasturelands, fences and railings, skirting meadowlands, hemming the sunny open edges of forests and along wilderness trails. After the leaves have shed and the ground is white, the bright red hips are easy to spot on the bare branches against the snowy backdrop. The bushes are thorny so keep your mitts or gloves on for picking.

Rosehips often grow in such profusion you can harvest enough for boiling down into a delightful syrup, just like the commercial product imported from Hungary. When the hips are cooked,

pureed and sweetened with honey, they come out of the food dehydrator as a very tasty fruit leather. I find rosehips make mouth-watering sauces for upland birds, waterfowl, venison as well as domestic meats and poultry.

One of my family’s favourite ways to enjoy rosehips, especially in winter, is in the teapot. The hips are richer in vitamin C than oranges, which is why grandma vouched for rosehip tea as being a good brew for warding off seasonal ailments like cold and flu.

TWO METHODS FOR MAKING ROSEHIP TEA 1. By the cupful—which is a big hit with kids! Give each member a little basket and let them pick their own hips for making tea. All that’s needed is a small handful per cup of water. At home, rinse the hips in cold water. The “tails” (or blossom ends) can be pinched off or left on, it makes no difference to the tea. Put the hips into an infuser, set into a cup and pour boiling water over top. Cover and steep until the desired strength is reached. Sweeten with honey, garnish with lemon and serve with a cinnamon swizzle stick, if desired. The flesh of the hips can be eaten for good measure but instruct your family not to eat the seeds as they contain tiny hairs which can irritate the mouth.

2. By the potful—to make an even more potent immune-booster, gather the hips in a communal container. At home, pinch off the tails, pop open the hips, thumb out the seeds and discard. Put the hips into a preheated teapot (three to four cups of hips per four to six cups water) and cover with boiling water. Steep, swishing a few times with a spoon, for 15 minutes. Pour the tea through a strainer and serve as above. When the pot is empty, divvy up the dregs on saucers, drizzle with honey, spear with toothpicks and eat.

ROSEHIP TEA CHAINS Rosehips can be strung and hung to dry for tea-making. It’s a fun winter activity for kids. All that’s needed are a needle and spool of undyed string or nylon fishing line. Lace the hips up into “beaded” chains and hang in a warm place to dry. Once the moisture is gone, in about two to three weeks, unstring the hips, crush with a pestle and mortar and store in a tea canister. To make tea out of the dried hips, use one to two tablespoons of crushed hips per cup of boiling water, steep, strain and enjoy. By the way, these dangling rosehip chains make beautiful garlands for the Christmas tree and when it’s time to take the tree out, the “edible” decoration can be recycled for the teapot!

Highbush Wild Cranberry Tea.

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EVERGREEN TEA A cup of evergreen tea captures the refreshing, piney-sprucy essence of a winter forest and this pick for the pot is an easy target for novice foragers to set their sights on. Just head to the nearest conifer stand! Spruce, pine, cedar and balsam make fragrant healthful teas, which like rosehips, are loaded with vitamin C.

To harvest, pinch or snip off the tips of boughs about three to four inches from the end. You will not need many, and it’s good practice to harvest from random trees instead of taking all the tips from one donor.

Teatime. Put about eight, more or less, fresh boughs into a preheated teapot, cover with four to six cups of boiling water and steep until desired strength is reached, keeping in mind: the longer, the stronger. It may take a little tweaking to find a balance that suits your taste to a tee, pardon the pun! Strain into cups, sweeten with honey and add orange zest or a slice, if desired.

HIGHBUSH WILD CRANBERRY TEA Juicy, tart, fragrant wild cranberries are good immune boosters and also make an amazing cup of cold weather tea. They, like rosehips, cling to the bare branches long after the leaves have shed and the hanging clusters of lustrous red berries stand out brilliantly against the winter snow.

You’ll find highbush cranberries growing on small trees, seldom reaching over 12 to 15 feet in height, in shady, moist woodlands. Often at the edges of deciduous forests, along riverbanks and stream sides, near bogs and marshes, and along backcountry roads. Sometimes they look as though they were deliberately planted to enhance the scenery.

Chaga Tea.

For a satisfying, family-sized pot of tea, gather about four to six cups of the berries. Harvest the berries by picking off the clusters into a container that will keep them cool. Don’t use a basket as they will become juicy as soon as they get warmed up in the vehicle on the ride home.

Rinse the berries and put them into a saucepan along with a couple whole cloves, a one–inch piece of cinnamon stick and the juice and grated zest of an orange. Add six cups of water and bring to a boil. Reduce the heat, cover and simmer until the berries burst open, which takes about eight to 10 minutes. Strain, and return to the pan, discarding the dregs. Reheat and add enough honey or sugar to sweeten to your liking. Transfer to a preheated teapot, let settle a few minutes and pour.

Winter is the best time to harvest chaga because the black fungus stands out well against the white snow and birch bark.

CHAGA TEA Chaga mushrooms are the latest craze in the natural medicine world, sold in health food stores at hefty prices. But it’s more fun foraging your own and they’re free. Chaga mushrooms do not look like traditional “umbrella-shaped” mushrooms. They are irregular-shaped bumps resembling large black warts on the white bark of birch—thus I think “fungus” describes them more accurately.

This fungus can grow to enormous sizes but most common ones my family have found are about the size of a grapefruit. Even though they can be located growing on other types of deciduous trees, only the chaga from birch trees is reputed as being a powerful antioxidant and anti-inflammatory, thus considered a natural remedy for arthritis, high blood pressure and lowering blood sugar. Fascinating claims, indeed, but please do not start doctoring yourself! Just enjoy the tea, which resembles the taste and aroma of imported Assam black tea, and let the healthy benefits do their thing.

Winter, after the trees have shed their leaves, is the best time to forage for chaga because they are easier to spot against the white bark and snowy backdrop. A small compact camp saw can be used for cutting the chaga off the tree and a roll of strong tape comes in handy for taping the saw to a long pole in order to retrieve growths which are higher up than you can reach. Removing chaga from a tree does not harm or shorten the tree’s lifespan. I visit the same birch woods often and the same trees I have harvested from years ago are still standing, tall and proud.

When home, rinse the chaga under cold running water to remove dirt. Using a mallet, break the mushroom up into chunks, which will speed the drying process. The chaga must be dried before using so spread the pieces on a baking sheet lined with waxed paper and sit in a warm place for four or five weeks, or until moisture is gone. Grind in a coffee grinder or pestle and mortar to the consistency of coffee grounds.

To make the tea, put one to two teaspoons of ground chaga into a disposable paper tea bag, place in a cup and cover with boiling water. Steep 10 to 15 minutes. A touch of honey and squirt of lemon adds to the enjoyment of this tea.

NOW THAT YOU’VE sampled the pleasures of winter foraging, just wait until you see what wonderful, wilderness treats await you in Mother Nature’s bountiful, ever-changing pantry.

Starting with spring, which could be around the corner sooner than you think.

This excerpt is from the anthology Tales of B.C., by Daniel Wood, which is now in its second edition and available from the BC Magazinebookstore.

A HARROWING TALE OF MISADVENTURE IN A HOT AIR BALLOON

BY DANIEL WOOD

he pain is mostly gone now. But the flashbacks continue. I see them with a vividness that still causes me to wince and avert my head. It’s as if, by turning, I can hide from the images—replayed hundreds of times—of the series of crashes, the propane exploding, the wail of approaching ambulances.

In my imagination, I hadn’t considered the prospect of a hot air balloon ride as dangerous. Whitewater rafting: perhaps. Ultralight flying: possibly. Ocean kayaking: on occasion. But, it was an uppercrust recreation like croquet or polo. Trips ended with champagne.

I could remember the film Around the World in 80 Days and envisioned David Niven and friends soaring over the Alps in their balloon. I’d seen photos of the annual Albuquerque Festival with hundreds of balloons rising above the desert in a colourful airborne armada. What, I asked myself, is more ethereal, more transcendent than a balloon? It floats, it hangs, it drifts, suspended in space like an intangible idea.

I brought Belgian chocolates along to celebrate.

Because I was a journalist, there to write about the excursion, I was given a guided tour within the horizontal, halfinflated nylon canopy as it lay on the grass at the Langley airport, 50 kilometres east of Vancouver. The early evening sun shone through the balloon’s geometric red, orange, and yellow panels, suffusing the interior as if it were a translucent Mondrian cathedral. Our pilot, who had 27 years of experience, explained that he could not steer his craft at all; it went with the wind. The only aspects he could control were the propanepropelled ascent and—using a system of ropes and parachute-like louvers in the canopy—the gravity-pulled descent. He pointedly checked that these control ropes weren’t snagged.

A 30-second burst of propane-fire and the 12-story-high balloon rose vertically, still held in place by ground crew as the eight passengers clambered into the wicker basket. Another ear-shattering burst, a shout from our pilot, and the voyagers lifted slowly away from the terra firma and upturned faces and receding smiles.

The mid-summer sun was heading toward the Coast Mountains behind Vancouver. I watched our shadow gradually shrink to nothingness—like a message written in disappearing ink. We climbed to 750 metres and the patterns that humans have imposed upon the Fraser Valley stood out in crisp contrast: the neurons of suburban cul-de-sacs, cornfields plowed in ovals like braided rugs, blue-eyed swimming pool, cars shrunk to Lilliputian size scurrying along the Trans-Canada.

We joked about the hair-curling heat that issued at times from the twin propane jets that the pilot triggered above us. There were morbid comments about who would be designated excess ballast and jettisoned from the basket were the balloon to crash. Mostly, we oohed and aahed and stared down, drifting northwest, caught in the aerial reverie. Life, it seemed, was good; the moment blessed. It felt like a dream.

But then something changed—almost imperceptibly at first. After an hour and a half and 12 kilometres of flying, our pilot stopped firing the propane burners and the balloon sank toward the farmland and forests near the Fraser River. Dogs craned their heads upward and barked our sudden appearance. Cows ran after us, mooing as if seeking deliverance

THE CONTROL ROPES, USED ON LANDINGS TO RELEASE THE BALLOON’S HOT AIR, WERE SNARLED IN A DENSE, GREEN CAT’S-CRADLE OF BROKEN BRANCHES. from an airborne bovine god. The pilot searched for a farm field to land in and kept repeating in an unworried tone that he was surprised by the strength of the unprecedented, lowlevel wind. It drove us over the first landing site. He burned propane, a prolonged deafening blast, lifting us above an approaching roadside powerline. That’s when I had the first eerie feeling that—maybe, just maybe—things might be going wrong. Just beyond the wires the balloon’s open gondola sailed into the tops of 20-metre-high maples,

tipped partially sidewards, and all of us, ducking with each new impact, clung silently to the wicker framework as branches flailed at our exposed hands and heads.

I asked myself whether he had done this purposely to mark our otherwise peaceful ride with a final exclamation point.

Then I looked up.

The control ropes, used on landings to release the balloon’s hot air, were snarled in a dense, green cat’s-cradle of broken branches. The pilot fired the propane and we rose from the treetops. But I knew from my introductory tour we were in deep, deep trouble: If he could not open the louvers high in the canopy, he could not deflate the balloon. Gravity and friction—not our pilot—would decide exactly when we hit the ground and where we’d stop. I offered to climb up the balloon’s rigging to try to free the tangle, but he dismissed the suggestion.

As we sank again toward the farmland—just clearing the roof of a greenhouse—a grim silence gripped the passengers. The ground rushed up, the basket slammed into the earth and halftipped. I’d never felt such an impact. My knees buckled. The nine of us were hurled to the gondola’s floor in a tangle of limbs.

But the balloon couldn’t be deflated and the wind, blowing at an estimated 30 to 40 kilometres per hour, dragged us across the field in a ricocheting series of crashes as the basket would rise a few metres then fall, pulled across the land by the huge, spinnaker-like canopy.

“Stay in the basket!” the pilot

shouted. He then fired the propane. We lifted above some trees and the passengers struggled to their feet. Next to me, the face of a man celebrating his birthday was covered with blood.

We rose to 50 metres, high enough to see in the near distance more powerlines and in the middle distance the snaking sliver of the Fraser River. I knew contact with the wires would be fatal: We were riding a propane bomb. I suspected landing in the swift flowing Fraser would be only slightly less dangerous.

What was really strange was this: No

one spoke. We merely clung to the basket’s wicker, studying the runaway balloon’s trajectory, trying to judge where fate would next deposit us.

The ground came up again—a stumpfilled clearcut.

Our second crash was even worse. Momentum pitched us into a twisted, groaning mass of arms and legs. The balloon dragged the half-tipped basket through 100 metres of fallen logs and fireweed. We’d rise a mere metre or two, then fall, in a second series of crashes. I fought to regain my footing. Over the edge of the wicker, I saw the big stump coming. My partner—half pinned beneath the birthday celebrant’s wife—didn’t.

The corner of the stump smashed through the wicker. I flew. The stump caught my friend in the shoulder, and she screamed in pain as her collarbone shattered. I took the hit directly to my chest, fracturing two ribs. Still the balloon didn’t stop. The pilot fired the propane burners again and we lifted skyward, high enough to see the Fraser River ahead.

In truth, I didn’t once think of my past. My life did not flash before my eyes. I fought desperately to pull my moaning friend from beneath the tumble of bodies on the basket’s floor. (Weeks later, I could still see the distinctive pattern of five bruises, from my grip, on her arm.) I kept looking up, trying to anticipate where the next crash might occur.

I didn’t have to wait long.

The third major crash threw those who’d regained their feet to the floor once again. We were dragged and battered more. But this time the canopy of the runaway balloon impaled itself on a row of tall cottonwoods and slowly deflated—like a dangerous idea that had lost its force.

Then, just as I began to assure myself that the nightmare was over, there was a terrifying poof sound and a brilliant

orange flash directly above our heads. Leaking propane had found the pilot light and exploded. Oh, my God! I thought. This is it.

I saw the pilot’s hand reach up and flick a red emergency toggle switch. We lay in silence for a few seconds before slowly, painfully extricating ourselves from the wreckage. Soon, from far away at first, I could hear the wail of approaching sirens.

In the weeks that followed, people often asked me whether I’d go up in a balloon again. I heard the old saying about climbing back on a horse after a spill. I like the idea—essential for a journalist—of living on the edge. Real danger is often a prerequisite for real thrill. But the horror of the balloon crash has made me face my mortality. And the pain and vivid flashbacks are a daily antidote to an urge toward risk.

Adventure travel isn’t without hazard. The very day after my accident, wrapped in a Demerol-induced haze, I read in the newspaper that a woman on the rafting trip had just drowned in Class III rapids near Whistler.

In the ocean of Tofino, two people drowned earlier this year when their whale-watching boat flipped over.

Two others died while tandem ultralight flying near Vancouver.

A pair of Whistler skiers also met their maker—as Sonny Bono did—by crashing into obstacles.

A parachutist died recently near the site of my balloon crash.

A dozen others have died in the Rockies over the past year, buried under avalanches while ski-touring or snowmobiling in the rugged backcountry. Several more have died this year heliskiing.

Death, it seems, is sometimes adventure’s companion.

I don’t want to be a sissy. Life is meant to be lived. But the balloon crash has been a reminder that if you want to smell the roses you do have to be alive.

THE BALLOON DRAGGED THE HALFTIPPED BASKET THROUGH 100 METRES OF FALLEN LOGS AND FIREWEED.

GET THE BOOK

With a career spanning five decades, award-winning writer Daniel Wood has inspired, informed, and entertained generations of readers. Whether he’s exploring human nature, scientific discoveries, oddities, or environmental wonders, at the centre of these stories are people, their ideas, and their dreams.

This one-of-a-kind anthology features 28 of Wood’s best magazine articles including a near-death hot air balloon ride, BC’s pot-growing pioneers, Elvis impersonators in the Okanagan, the province’s first dino-dig, and its last free-range cowboys. Get this compelling collection of BC tales at a bookstore near you or order online at bcmag.ca/talesofbc.

From left to right: The marina, The Ways, the downtown area and ferry dock, the bridge to the old mill site which is now a fish nursery, and behind it all, the Link Lake Dam.

FALLING FOR OCEAN FALLS

GETTING TO KNOW THIS MEMORABLE TOWN

ON BC’S CENTRAL COAST, BY BOAT

BY

RICK HUDSON

COME IN OUT OF THE RAIN. SURE,

IT’S A GENTLE RAIN THAT DRIFTS

DOWN FROM THE LOW CLOUDS

OVERHEAD—YOU CAN TURN YOUR FACE

UP TO IT WITHOUT BEING PUMMELED.

In the bay the mirror calm of the inlet’s surface is broken by a million stipples. It’s beautiful and mesmerizing.

But come in out of the rain anyway. It rains a lot here in Ocean Falls, with its back against the Coast Range. Pacific clouds, full of moisture from their slow transit across the world’s largest ocean, arrive at these steep slopes, rise and dump staggering amounts of precipitation on the inlet and the occupants below. The annual rainfall is 169 inches or 4.3 metres. Do the math—that’s almost half an inch per day. It’s more than four times what North Vancouver gets. And yet, for all that amount, it falls gently in the summer. The locals like to joke about how you can tell it’s summer—the clouds are still there, but the rain is warm.

It’s early August and it’s been raining on the mid-coast, without a break, for almost a week. We have been travelling along the coast on our powerboat for weeks. We are getting tired of watching it run down windowpanes and we’re tired of watching the pipes on the upper deck jet it overboard. What to do?

We head to Ocean Falls, a place we’ve frequently heard about but have never visited. It’s out of the way, and not easy to combine with anything else. But those who have visited say it’s well worth the detour, and so here we are, tied to the dock in the little marina. There are benefits to being off the main routes.

OCEAN FALLS IS only accessible by BC Ferry or floatplane via Bella Coola or Port Hardy, or by private boat. No matter what method you use to get there, approaching along Cousins Inlet is a treat. If the clouds aren’t blocking was ferry service, and even air service at times, but to compensate for the remoteness, they paid above average wages and sponsored anything that helped to build a community—churches, societies and sports teams (see sidebar).

In 1954 ownership shifted to Crown Zellerbach (Canada) Ltd. The town was still on the move. A few years earlier, the Martin Inn had been built with 264 rooms. Five years later they added another 105 rooms. Imagine that—it was the biggest hotel on the coast, including Vancouver! A ski resort was built. The baseball fields were expanded. It is estimated there were about 3,500 people living in Ocean Falls at the time.

Sadly, like many isolated communities, when conditions change, sometimes half a world away, the ripples wash up on one-industry towns. In the early ’70s, Crown Zellerbach closed the mill. Under pressure, the BC Government took it on, but by 1980 they too had to call it quits. Workers and their families left. Plant and equipment were sold off. The hydro station was privatized to Boralex, a Quebec company. Homes with waterfront views sold for as little as $2,000.

Later, the government sent in machines to flatten much of the place. The remaining residents resisted vigorously. After a standoff, much of the town’s centre was spared—but it was a false hope. Slowly, inevitably, the forests encroached, despite the best efforts of those who stayed.

Ocean Falls needed a new economy, as the permanent population shrank to about 50 souls. For a while it looked like the conversion of the old mill site by Norwegian fish food giant Mowi into a hatchery raising Atlantic salmon fry for fish farms might be the answer, but the staff lived in their own accommodation and came and went on company transport, with minimal benefit to the town.

the view, the soaring peaks above the town are dramatic. At the head of the bay is the wall of the Link Lake Dam— almost 700 feet across and 70 feet high. The recent rain has meant the spillway is in full flood. You can see white water plunging down the wall and churning along the raceway. It’s worth the effort to walk up to the overlook. It’s about a 20-minute amble through town, where the roads are cracked and grass pokes through, up the hill to where the paving turns to gravel, the bush encroaches from either side, and then you’re there.

The lake behind the dam is almost 30-kilometres long and is the result of the first dam, built in 1910, being raised during the First World War to provide more power to run an ever-expanding pulp mill. Today, there are two penstocks driving turbines. Unlike most places in the world, Ocean Falls has a surplus of power that can’t find a market. As you travel up Cousins Inlet you’ll notice the power poles on the west side. They supply the communities of Shearwater and Bella Bella.

PERHAPS WE SHOULD start at the beginning. First there was a sawmill in 1909, and so it wasn’t long before they built a dam to power it. A pulp mill quickly followed. In 1921 the dam was raised for the second time. More power. More pulp. And before the end of that decade a 550-foot tunnel had been bored through a mountain to expand the catchment. Ocean Falls was on a roll, as the mill grew and people streamed into the growing community.

Pacific Mills knew they had to be special to attract people to a place that was effectively the end of the line. Sure, there

WHAT DID OCEAN FALLS OFFER? It was a small, hardy community. It had magnificent scenery. And 13 MW of mostly surplus electricity. That last feature attracted an unlikely customer. In 2010, crypto-currencies were just

The once beautifully cared for town is being retaken by the forest after the mill closed in 1980.

gaining traction. To ‘mine’ Bitcoin, you needed a lot of computing power. And computers guzzled a lot of electricity.

Early miners were based in western China where power was cheap, but it came from coal-fired plants, which was a no-no. After numerous false starts, Vancouver-based entrepreneur Kevin Day convinced Boralex that his company was solid and, after a bit of back and forth, it agreed to sell Day up to six MW of power (at an undisclosed rate). Day set up his data centre in one of the least crumbly buildings in the old pulp mill. In 2017, Ocean Falls Blockchain began operations. His timing was good—the cryptocurrency went from $200 to almost $20,000 that year. But that was followed by some serious price hiccups in 2018 and 2019.

None of which has really benefitted the town. Computers don’t need a lot of attention or employees. Toni Ziganash and Les LeMarston own the Old Bank Inn and Little Licker Ice Cream Store—pretty much the only businesses in town. They aren’t sure about Blockchain, but they like that there’s someone else looking to Ocean Falls’ future. The average age in town is 70-plus, so there’s little energy for anything new.

Sure, there’s a town hall, a post office, a first aid clinic and an RCMP post, but all of it is part-time. (The RCMP keep a vehicle on charge outside their building, but they rarely come to town.) Which is a problem. LeMarston worries that every time someone does a ‘ghost town’ story on Ocean Falls, it attracts odd people who arrive to squat in the deserted buildings. “People don’t realize that these properties are owned. They may be neglected, but they aren’t up for grabs.”

Right 1. Despite having a small resident population, BC Ferries services the town bi-weekly from Port Hardy and Bella Coola. 2. The Ways are over a century old. Now owned by local Les LeMarston, who also runs the Old Bank Inn and the ice cream shop, it’s worth a visit, if Les is available. Ask at the inn. 3. Initially built to provide power for the growing pulp mill, the Link Lake Dam is a short walk out of town, and was spilling hard after a week of steady rain.

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THE OCEAN FALLS SWIM CLUB

IN 1928, USING local beer parlour profits, the residents of Ocean Falls built a swimming pool. The logic seemed to be that if you were going to spend your time being wet, it might as well be indoors doing it for a good cause. The pool was just 20-yards long, and four lanes wide—less than a quarter of the international standard (50 metres by eight lanes). Little did those early instigators realize the splash that pool would make around the world.

It turned out the locals had the talent. They lived in a company town, and the company prohibited private vehicles, so everyone walked everywhere. And the houses were up and down endless stairs. The youth of Ocean Falls were fit before they even started swim training. The only thing missing was a coach. In 1950, George Gate started as the pool manager, but that quickly changed to inspired swim instructor.

In the 1950s and 1960s the club produced many exceptional swimmers out of all proportion to the size of the community. In total, they won a remarkable 26 national swimming events. At their peak, they accounted for a quarter of male placements on Canadian international swim teams, and those athletes took a third of all swimming medals won by Canadian men in major international competitions.

It’s one of the great underdog stories in Canadian sport history. Over a 14-year period, one or more Ocean Falls swimmer was on every Canadian Olympic, Commonwealth or Pan American Games team. Under Gate’s direction the team won 26 national competitions. Half the Olympic team in 1964 was from this club.

The pinnacle came in 1965, when the team of four men, two women and one coach travelled to the National Swimming Championships in Red Deer, Alberta, and won the Speedo Trophy as combined team aggregate champions.

The men dominated the meet, adjusting to the larger size of the outdoor Red Deer pool. Sandy Gilchrist, on scholarship at the University of Southern California, won three gold and three silver medals. At the University of Denver on a swimming scholarship, Jack Kelso took silver in the 100- and 200-metre breaststroke. The events that Gilchrist didn’t win, soon-to-be three-time Canadian Olympian Ralph Hutton did, as he captured two gold, four silver, and one bronze.

Six years later, Crown Zellerbach closed the town.

All the abandonment doesn’t help those left behind. Your house might be well cared for, but when the ones on either side are being swallowed by BC bush, it doesn’t look good. The other problem is that much of the downtown is owned by a small group of businessmen on Vancouver Island who have shown little interest in renovating or repairing.

ZIGANASH AND LEMARSTON would like to see more young people. With the imminent arrival of fibre-optic cable, this might happen. If Covid has taught us anything, it’s that a lot of people can telecommute. In the interim, they are busy. Their inn provides accommodain them, make for an impressive sight. Older visitors will remember Herb and Lena Carpenter, who previously owned The Ways. They have retired to Keremeos where Herb said he had ‘one final house in him’ to build.

Others may remember bearded ‘Nearly Normal’ Norm Brown, a local character who had a museum of memorabilia, salvaged from the town’s slow demise. An inveterate collector, his accumulation was housed in the co-op building until 2008, and then moved to the upper floor of The Ways. It too is worth a visit—green toy frog collections, notice boards from the sides of buildings, ladies’ face cream jars, Walt Disney LP records, dream-catchers and Christmas in Ocean Falls. Until Covid, Eva, a European-trained chef, ran one that delivered elegant cuisine quite out of the normal fare. No longer. There’s also no fuel and no garbage collection.

For exercise, there’s the dam overlook—about a 20-minute walk through town—or you can hike the two kilometres to Martin Valley, named for Archie Martin, the mill’s first manager. The road follows the shoreline and brings you into a residential community which is better cared for than the downtown area. Using the Merlin bird app on our phones, we identified 11 bird species on that walk, although we saw only one—a violet-green swallow. A short distance along the road is the

With 370 rooms the Martin Inn was the biggest hotel on the coast. It closed in 1988 and fell into a state of disrepair. Right: The Martin Inn still stands today, but is far from its former glory.

tion to visitors who arrive by ferry from Bella Coola or Port Hardy. You can also fly in from Port Hardy on Wilderness Seaplanes.

LeMarston has taken over The Ways, a magnificent old marine structure built at the end of the First World War. A century later, there’s a slight list to landward, but the pilings are sound and Les is jacking the base beams back to level. He has the original engineering drawings of the place. In the short term, there’s no plan to provide commercial haul-outs, but the building is worth a visit. He is often found there and if not busy will give you a tour of the place. Massive timbers, clear first-growth beams without a knot diorama cutouts crowd other unrelated objects in the large loft, which in past times was the paper testing lab for the mill. Norm Brown died of cancer in early 2022. The collection is now lightly managed by LeMarston.

EVA BRINE IS the harbourmaster at the marina. Her husband was born there and she’s lived in Martin Valley for more than two decades. There’s 1,500 feet of dock space, 20 and 30-amp electricity and potable water. There’s also “The Shack” where you can hang out and use the free wifi; there are tables and chairs, lights and a book exchange.

There are no longer any restaurants Fairy Rock, a remarkable place for little people, with a variety of fairies about, and even coins lying around to be collected. (Please advise the harbourmaster if you have found treasure, so she can ensure it is replaced later.)

THE BAROMETER WAS rising, the gale warning on the outer coast had been downgraded, and the rain had eased. It hadn’t exactly stopped, mind you, but it looked encouraging for the first time in days. We let the lines go with a feeling of genuine sadness, leaving Ocean Falls in our wake. Our stay had been unexpectedly upbeat despite the grey days, and we were sorry to be going.

CORMORANTS

AN IN-DEPTH LOOK AT AN AQUATIC BIRD

THAT IS BOTH REVERED AND DESPISED

BY

MARIANNE SCOTT

The ubiquitous pelagic cormorant has a green sheen during the mating season.

A Brandt’s cormorant showing its breeding season colours while sitting on its nest.

ormorants are

Ca family of about 40 species of aquatic birds within the genus Phalacrocoracidae and they live all over the world. In Britain and some of its former colonies, they are often also called “shags.” Controversy reigns about their exact classifications and the number of species—some sources state there are 30 species, for example, and that’s only one of many controversies surrounding this ubiquitous bird.

Resembling a small goose, their sizes range from 45 to 100 centimetres and they weigh between 340 grams and five kilos. Cormorants, or birds closely resembling them, have been around for tens of millions of years. Scientists say they have a very ancient body plan, with similar birds reaching back to the time of the dinosaurs.

British Columbia’s three most common species include: pelagic cormorants, the smallest and most ubiquitous type, with a thin, snakelike neck and mostly black feathers, although they may develop a green or purplish sheen during mating season; the Brandt’s cormorant, a larger version with a heavier neck and bill; and the double-crested cormorant, the largest of the three and the most common in North America, with black feathers and a yellow/orange face. All three have relatively short wings, stiff tail feathers, a hooked beak and inhabit both salt and freshwater territories. Pelagic cormorants belie their name, as they, along with the other species, are coastal rather than venturing far out into the ocean. On other continents, cormorants have evolved to display a host of other markings, including red legs and white breasts.

CORMORANTS ARE PRODIGIOUS fishers, able to dive up to 37 metres or more to catch their prey. They can hold their breath for up to 70 seconds. Most cormorants, including those in BC, have fewer oil glands than other aquatic birds and when diving, their feathers become water-logged. They then take their characteristic pose with spread-out wings on islets, rocks, pilings and navigation buoys thereby allowing the air to dry their feathers. The advantage to this low oil gland production is that cormorant buoyancy is reduced and they can use their webbed feet and stiff tail as a “rudder” to become streamlined torpedoes when chasing their lunch. The lack of buoyancy also causes them to sit low in the water, making them easier to identify from similar-sized loons who float higher.

To take flight, cormorants seem to struggle and use their feet to “walk” on water. But after that ungainly takeoff, they fly well and fast, and can make use of thermal updrafts.

Cormorants live a complex life and build strong social relationships. Remaining in BC year-round, they congregate in colonies, sometimes numbering in the hundreds. Depending

on location, they nest in trees, although in BC, the crevices and crannies in the abundant coastal cliffs are also favourite nesting locations—the white guano coating the cliff faces reveals cormorant habitat. They also fancy small, bare, rocky islands, although in some areas, cormorants may build a nest on the ground. The latter method makes them more vulnerable to egg and chick hunters, both human and animal. Some try to build nests under urban bridges in Vancouver. Having built a nest, couples, who usually remain paired, will often return to it for years. The female lays about four light-blue eggs and both parents incubate them for a month or so. The hatchlings are born with dark, leathery skin, later covered by down and transforming into feathers within one-to-two months when they are taught to fly. Both parents feed the chicks by carrying captured fish in their gullets which the fledglings retrieve. The chicks, with a life expectancy of up to 25 years, will start reproducing between the ages of two and three years.

CORMORANTS ARE OFTEN disliked for their smell and for their destruction of trees. I once saw a small island in Quebec’s St. Lawrence River completely denuded of live vegetation and wildlife. It stood out starkly among a group of small islands covered by trees. The second such island I spotted lay in the Baltic Sea. The bare branches of trees stuck up above luxurious, green undergrowth, but no birds were visible. In my mind, I called them (unscientifically) “cormorant islands.” Later I discovered that cormorants’ guano is highly acidic and kills the trees they nest in. Once the island is barren, the birds abandon it. Later, when weather and time have reduced the soil’s acidity, new plant life resumes.

In the 1950s and ’60s, the numbers of cormorants decreased drastically along with many other bird species. Unchecked pollution and especially the toxic insecticide/pesticide DDT, which weakens birds’ eggshells, took a marked toll on cormorant populations,

A double-crested cormorant drying its wings.

The double-crested cormorant has black feathers and a yellowish orange face, and is the largest cormorant found in BC.

although the poisoning was less severe in BC. After DDT was phased out in the mid-1970s, the numbers began to grow again.

Non-native animals—those introduced by humans—aren’t protected by Canadian federal law. Cormorants are included in “introduced species,” and thus provinces control their numbers (other sources say that cormorants are native birds). In BC, the Hunting & Trapping Regulations don’t include cormorants as a species to be hunted, likely because the BC Conservation Data Centre has flagged Brandt’s cormorants as being at risk, double-crested cormorants as an ecological community at risk, and only pelagic cormorants as secure.

CORMORANTS ARE OFTEN seen as too prolific and a species that needs to be controlled. In some parts of Canada, notably Ontario and Newfoundland, the provincial governments have allowed culls of their omnipresent Brandt’s cormorants for several years. They are seen as conflicting with human economic interests, competing with fishermen for fish, with other birds for habitat, and for being habitat destroyers. Although multiple sources report they don’t eat fish of commercial value, this view of cormorant destructiveness has elicited enough ink that since 2020, Ontario regulations allow a hunter to shoot 15 cormorants per day during the fall hunting season. Environmentalists strongly object to these killings, observing that the hunts lack underlying scientific evidence of cormorant overpopulation and are fostered by hunting and fishing organizations looking to lower the birds’ fish consumption, which is estimated to be a pound of fish per day for adult birds.

In a podcast interview, Carleton University professor Steven J. Cooke revealed he’d posted to Facebook asking for comments on the Ontario cormorant hunt. “I received three responses opposing the cull, a few neutrals and the rest were loudly supportive,” he said. “I was perplexed by the hatred expressed. A few writers wanted to exterminate them altogether. One claimed their poop literally dissolves islands. I propose that their ecological change may add to biodiversity… by creating localized niches for other organisms.” Cooke also thinks the cull is a province-wide overly severe response to a few, localized cormorant impacts. And he added that when it comes to habitat destruction, humans far outpace other species by continually expanding cities and gobbling up prime agricultural lands.

ARE CORMORANTS EDIBLE? That depends on whom you ask. Some have claimed they were a tasty protein choice in wartime Britain, but the most common view is that their meat is fishy tasting, tough and stringy. Unlike ducks, pheasants and partridges, they’re not included under game birds. They are also difficult birds to pluck.

Yet when I googled “cormorant recipes” several popped up, including instructions for cormorant breasts with lentils, Scottish cormorant pot stew, and cormorant in cream sauce. Tenderizing the breasts requires 48 hours of marination and about three hours of oven baking, longer than other birds of this size. Others spoofed cormorant recipes by creating an elaborate, time-consuming cooking process and then tossing the final product into the trash.

In their book, Traditional Animal Foods of Indigenous Peoples of Northern North America, McGill professors Harriet V. Kuhnlein and Murray M. Humphries write that cormorants constituted part of the diet of the Coast Salish, Kwakiutl (Kwakwaka’wakw), Nuxalk, Haida, Tlingit and Red Earth Cree, among others—although some avoided the bird for its meat’s toughness. “The Coast Salish called them diving ducks and owned colonies of them,” the authors state, and “to lure them closer hunters would imitate their call.” Eggs were also collected during the birds’ breeding season.

The authors describe how some cultures used nets to capture cormorants; others employed whalebone snares, or spears made of a wooden shaft and pointed four-pronged barbs of yew or deer/whale bone. Coast Salish hunters boarded their canoes at night, lit a fire and while making noise, captured the confused waterfowl. Once caught, the birds were plucked and roasted, or hung to dry near a fire for later winter consumption. Cormorant skin was used in making parkas.

CORMORANTS HAVE LONG had a checkered reputation, with many cultures having portrayed this diving bird as ominous, ugly and sinister, even the bearer of evil. In Ireland, for example, a cormorant perched on a church steeple is a warning that bad luck is imminent. But in the northern part of Norway, a gathering of cormorants is a harbinger of good luck. Much of the prejudice against this coastal waterfowl is associated with its blackness, a colour the Greeks assigned to the underworld, while the Judeo-Christian devil is usually draped in black skin or cloth.

The bird has been described in myths and poems dating back as far Homer’s Odyssey. Cormorants are mentioned in the Bible—they are among the unclean animals not to be eaten by the Israelites. John Milton, in Paradise Lost, portrays Satan seated “like a cormorant” atop the Tree of Life bearing the forbidden fruit in the Garden of Eden.

One explanation for the bird’s name, “cormorant,” is that it’s a contraction of the Latin corvus marinus, or sea raven. It was long thought that cormorants and ravens were related. Raven is another black bird associated with both good luck and misfortune. In West Coast Indigenous lore, for instance, the raven is portrayed either as a guardian spirit or as a super trickster, a selfish glutton, and a scheming deceiver.

In Japan and China, fishermen have used the cormorants’ excellent ability to dive and catch fish by placing a snare around their necks to prevent them from swallowing larger prey. Upon the cormorants’ return, the fishermen removed the fish and keep it. More modern fishing methods are now popular, but some still follow this 1,300-year-old tradition. One YouTube video shows a fisherman in a small, motorized boat following a group of cormorants who dive regularly. When a bird emerges with a fish in its gullet, the fisherman hauls it in with a stick and then makes it regurgitate the catch.

Cormorants have left their legacy in BC nomenclature. Cormorant Island, which lies east of Port McNeil in Queen Charlotte Strait, was named after HMS Cormorant, the first Royal naval ship powered by steam on our coast during the 1840s. The vessel, of course, was named after the ubiquitous bird (at least 10 other vessels carried the name HMS Cormorant). Boaters can find a series of undeveloped islands in the Cormorant Channel Marine Provincial Park between Hanson Island and Cormorant Island.

WILL CORMORANTS EVER become popular birds? Considering the long history of disdain for this avian, it’s not likely. When humans and cormorants compete for the same resource, the birds are unlikely to win the battle. They’re not cuddly like some of the deer overpopulating our neighbourhoods. Their hue has been associated with darkness and malign omens for millennia. And when we feel no affection or respect for an animal, it’s unlikely we will see their positive environmental contributions, such as their consumption of invasive species. Nor do we pay much attention to their virtues: the ability to live in communities, their spousal fidelity and parental sharing of raising their offspring. It may not be fair, but as the cliché goes, it is what it is.

Cormorants have been used for fishing in Japan and China for more than 1,300 years.