The past week in Walkabout news. Part 1
4/9/2002
So, it's 11 o'clock and we're in a motel that's a throwback to the Sixties after a slightly longer-than-sensible driving stint from Manatoulin Island. Gerg's reading the Gideon Bible and being devoured by a hideously green fuzzy armchair.
But I'm getting ahead of myself.
We began our expedition yesterday (being whatever-day-it-is the 3rd of September), later than planned on account of me still running on Dex time. Dex, for those who don't know, works a weird late shift, four or five in the aft ernoon to about eleven or twelve at night. As a result, when he gets back, he's ready for the pub and social stuff, so bedtime has been getting later and later. Tuesday it was sometime around four. One of the benefits of this is that I was able to call ho me and speak to the parentals, which was good, as my credit card had exploded and required the assistance only a parent with my paperwork can give. *smooches the Dad* But, on this morning, being yesterday (have to keep reminding myself that), I slept in r ather late whilst Gerg got his stuff together, and then we spent another couple of hours packing, the end result being we didn't leave until about three, with a trip to the supermarket yet to go. So we finally hit the road proper at about four, just in ti me for - you guessed it - Toronto's rush hour. I figure it took another couple of hours to finally escape the wide-reaching tentacles of Canada's largest city and be properly on our way.
First stop was Tobermory, where we planned to catch the Chi-Cheemau n, the ferry to Manatoulin Island. As it was about eight pm when we did reach our destination, the last ferry had been and gone, so we sought out a camp ground (Land's End, I seem to be working to a theme here), and made our way to the Crow's Nest pub for dinner.
Tobermory is a quaint little seaside town, which is weird because it's nowhere near the sea itself. It's on the shore of Lake Superior, which is practically a small ocean, only it's freshwater. But you have the boats and the port and the seagulls and the nautically-themed cafes and shops and pubs, so the only thing really missing is that distinctive fishy smell of the ocean. It’s also the name of a Womble, a reference I had to explain to Gerg after my initial squeal of delight upon finding out the name of the place.
We passed a relatively comfy night, me sleeping in the car because the ground was solid rock and Gerg's snoring can peel paint (sorry, mate *ducks*), and Gerg in the tent (mind you, we're in a motel room tonight - the small objects are primed). It was a much earlier start, mainly because the ferry left at 8.50 and we had to be there an hour early as we didn't have a reservation, so Gerg set his mobile phone's alarm and I was up and about and enjoying the cool morning air not long after sunrise. Quite the change after the past week at Dex's. Unfortunately when we arrived it was to find that a) there was quite a queue, and b) the ferry was having engine trouble and was delayed. Fortunately there was reading material and plenty of music to occupy us. Or me, at least. Gerg got kind of restless and wandered for a bit, seeking information.
Sidenote: I really hate our governments, past and present - I reached the chapter on the treatment of Aboriginals in my John Pilger book and am filled with ancestral guilt. The statistics are truly frightening.
We finally got loaded onto the ferry at around ten, and took off in fairly choppy conditions. I learned that it is possible to both have your butt kicked in Scrabble and to get seasick - occupations which involve staring at an immobile surface whilst everything around you is in motion aren't the best idea. But I got some really pretty pictures.
On the island, we had one definite plan - to go to Gordon's Camp and Nature Trail, immortalised in song by the Arrogant Worms. Basically it's a home-grown theme park - the Gordons have turned their farm into a tourist attraction. The big difference being the nature trail, which guarantees you'll see native wildlife. Or maybe that should be wilddeath, since the animals aren't actually among the living any more, they're all stuffed and mounted in cases with corny labels. Gerg learned fully the meaning of "daggy" from this experience. But we did see a live turtle in the pond and som e pheasants, which, added to the chipmunk that tried to steal Gerg's granola bar this morning, has made a total of four Canadian animals I have seen (there was also a raccoon at Daryl's house).
Our other adventure of the day was the discovery of a hike a t a place called Cup and Saucer (there's also Teapot Island), thanks to the most wonderful Lonely Planet Guide (or the Guru, as I'm calling it now) we consulted over lunch. It followed the limestone escarpment that stretches all the way to Niagra, and gav e us some wonderful views over the lakes and such, and again, photo opportunities. And Gerg, if you post the Chipmunk Rossi picture, I'll do something horrible to you.
Our exercise taken, we then returned to the car - which is packed to the gills, really. Wait until I get my photos developed! - and drove the rest of the length of the island to the bridge at Little Current (gotta love these names!) and along to Espanola, a name which means "Spanish". According to the Guru, a Spanish woman was captured by the native peoples in a raid on the States, and she taught her children her language. This really confused the French who later 'discovered' the place.
At Espanola, we made further battle plans over Timothy Hortons soup and chilli. We were already a day short, with the ferry delay, and we weren't going to be making Thunder Bay any time soon. So we decided to get to Sault Ste Marie, which is about half way and two hundred kilometres from Espanola. Since it was about seven in the evening by this stage, caf fiene and loud music were required, and Gerg took the driving (as he has done so far - my turn tomorrow, I think). Night driving isn't my forte, especially in a strange country on what is to me the wrong side of the road, and with my contact lenses blurri ng all lights.
There was probably great scenery along the way, but it was a bit hard to tell, being pitch black and all. No more native fauna, which was a good thing, considering the danger of collecting a deer with the car. What we did see, however, wer e the stars, more than I have ever seen in this part of the world. We pulled over for a few minutes' star gazing, with the music still going strong. It was the kind of sky you feel you could fall up into.
The Soo (as Saulte Ste Marie is known as for th e French-ically challenged such as myself), arrived much sooner than expected, which was good, since we were both getting tired *pauses to thump Gerg as he starts snoring* and on that note I'll close. More next time, and hopefully I'll get this posted alo ng the way. :)
***
7/9/2002
Greetings from Thunder Bay! I'm typing this from Gerg's friend Greg's couch (which has been my bed for the past two nights) as various people do various things around me. *grins* Gerg is once again unsuccessfully trying to t ickle my feet, which are propped up on the coffee table so my back doesn't do horrible things.
Thunder Bay reminds me, a lot, of Woolongong. It's primary production seems to be the paper mill, and there's something of a port happening, Lake Superior agai n being rather large. The scenery is a little different - mountains and birch/pine forests - but it's not a bad place. Greg, Gerg's mate, is here for school.
We left the Soo around nineish on the fifth, and hit Highway 11/17 which leads all the way to Th under Bay and beyond. Highway 11 is, in fact, Younge Street, which originates in Toronto. There's a place in Toronto which shows just how far this one street goes, which is a nifty thought. Basically the fifth was a day of driving. Greg had instructed u s to stop in Wawa, on account of the giant goose - or geese, rather, there's three of them - so that's what we did. I also learned about the inukshuk, the little roughly human-shaped piles of stones I'd been seeing along the roads. It's an Inuit tr adition, intended to give other travellers along the route reassurance that they are not alone, that there are other people ahead. It's a reminder that the Canadian wilderness, even still in Ontario, is a harsh and unforgiving place, and being alone can h ave fatal consequences.
We passed through White River, known as the coldest place in Canada, where the temperature has been recorded at minus 50 Celsius. Lunch was at Marathon - I have discovered the joys of poutin as a vegetarian option in small town d iners, which is basically fries with melted cheese and gravy (cheese curds, if you're a purist or a Quebecois). It's probably not that good for me, but dammit, what's the point of being a mostly-vegetarian and extreme sports practitioner if I can't afford to eat crap once in a while? Also, grilled tuna and cheese sandwiches, known as tuna melts. To die for.
We finally hit Thunder Bay at around six-thirty. We paused at the Terry Fox Memorial to see if we could find a pay phone to call Greg since Gerg's ce ll phone wasn't working in the area. Thunder Bay, it turns out, has its own phone company, independent of the rest of the country. Terry Fox was a cancer sufferer who decided to run across Canada to raise money for research. He started in Newfoundland, i n the east, and got as far as Thunder Bay before succumbing to the disease. And all this on only one leg. So there's this memorial to him on the outskirts of Thunder Bay.
The information centre was closed, so we headed into town and tried a couple of ga s stations before finally resorting to a Robin's Donuts with a pay phone, coffee, and a bathroom. All good things. :) With Gerg periodically trying the phone and trying to think of other ways to find out where Greg lived, I sat and wrote all the postcards I'd been collecting, including the ones from Savannah. Most of them start: "So I'm in a donut shop in Thunder Bay". Sometime round seven-thirty Greg answered and we headed over there, to be greeted by Greg, his girlfriend Eva, and a can of beer each.
'Yes,' I thought, 'These are my kind of people.'
It's orientation week at the Lakehead University, so after a quick change of clothes and a bite, we wandered over to the campus for a free movie. It was supposed to be Attack of the Clones, wh ich, to everyone's amazement, I still haven't seen, but due to a last minute change of plans - "We couldn't get that DVD out" - we watched Insomnia instead. Robin Williams playing a bad guy, Al Pacino in a brilliant role, and lots of Alaskan scener y. We even got free soft drinks. :)
The campus pub had a queue a mile long outside, so we returned to Greg's apartment and talked and drank gin and tonic and tormented the cat, Fritz. Fritz is actually a panther - big, black, and predatory, at least when it comes to Mouse on a Spring - and in spite of his habit of yowling at intervals during the night, I have designs on catnapping him.
Having annoyed Greg's landlady upstairs sufficiently for one evening, we turned in. Next morning I displayed my uncann y ability to sleep long and soundly, and to ignore most of what goes on around me. The plan for the Friday was to do the tourist thing at Sleeping Giant, which is a mountain about fourty km away with one of those native inhabitant legends attached. We ma de it down to Lake St Marie, and during the course of the inevitable rock skimming exercise that accompanies any group of people and a flat body of water, we discovered Gerg has strong Rock-Fu. He can skim anything, including fist-sized rocks with all the aerodynamics of a brick.
After enjoying the outdoors for a while, we headed further down to Sleeping Giant proper, only to discover two things. It's nine dollars for parking, and there's no food available. Considering it was late afternoon (sometime around four) and we haven't eaten since breakfast many hours before and I was starting to get the shakes and dizzy spells that did not bode well, it was decided to go back to Pass Lake and the restaurant recommended by the girl at the info centre, then head back for sunset over the Giant.
The restaurant, Karen's Kountry Kitchen (and I think some further thought should have gone into those initials), was one of those wonderfully quaint little places, right on the lake, with various home crafts for sale and f ood you wouldn't find out of place in a up-market five star restaurant. And the view! Absolutely fabulous. And since they weren't in any hurry, neither were we, so we had a long meal, lots of talk, and decided to let Sleeping Giants lie. We went back to t own and stopped for supplies - cheese, wine, angelfood cake, olives - before initiating Greg and Eva into the cult that is becoming Chez Geek (for the uninitiated, it's a card game. Lots of fun).
Chez Geek went over well, and our padawan apprentices lear ned well, kicking my butt several times ("It was only one burglar, Greg! Ages ago!"). We rolled into bed slightly earlier but more inebriated, and got up roughly the same time - mid-morning. This time we were destined for the Kakabeka Falls, after a visit to the Salvation Army store to purchase cheap crockery-type items we had neglected to pack. And that's with every possible conceivable item already in the car, or so we'd thought. Eva and I bonded over second hand clothes, and in the course of spending s ixteen dollars, I managed to acquire two shirts, a skirt, a dress that makes men's eyes pop, and a pair of white pants for that Halloween costume. A jacket for the same costume proved more elusive, but it's only a matter of time. Considering I haven't bou ght clothes in almost a year, I thought I'd done rather well.
Eventually we got out to the falls, and while they're nowhere near as big as Niagra, they are rather picturesque. As soon as Gerg gets access to a high speed connection, they'll be posted on his site. I also introduced Eva to the goodness that is tuna and cheese onna sandwich, and we made our wending way down to the river and paddled and watched the Grand Master of Rock Fu do his thing again. Lots of fresh air and sun and all that good stuff. I've also decided that should it be necessary in my destiny to become lost in the woods, I want it to be in North America. They have strawberries and raspberries and such growing wild.
Our last night - which is tonight, if you've gotten as mixed up as me - was spent teaching me Euchre (I think that's the spelling), and drinking the rest of the beer and painting nails. Gerg and I both have lovely shiny blue-purple fingernails. Only Gerg has white racing stripes.
We're heading off tomorrow for somewhere in the vicinity of either Winnepeg or Brandon. We had thought to get to Moose Jaw in one day, but that's apparently crazy person talk. So we're taking a couple of days to get to somewhere around Banff and the provincial parks for some hiking and other nat ure stuff, then up north to Jasper and the Queen Charlotte Islands. Again, it could be a few days, maybe more, before you hear from me again.
Canada is indeed really big. It's also really beautiful.
I
So, it's 11 o'clock and we're in a motel that's a throwback to the Sixties after a slightly longer-than-sensible driving stint from Manatoulin Island. Gerg's reading the Gideon Bible and being devoured by a hideously green fuzzy armchair.
But I'm getting ahead of myself.
We began our expedition yesterday (being whatever-day-it-is the 3rd of September), later than planned on account of me still running on Dex time. Dex, for those who don't know, works a weird late shift, four or five in the aft ernoon to about eleven or twelve at night. As a result, when he gets back, he's ready for the pub and social stuff, so bedtime has been getting later and later. Tuesday it was sometime around four. One of the benefits of this is that I was able to call ho me and speak to the parentals, which was good, as my credit card had exploded and required the assistance only a parent with my paperwork can give. *smooches the Dad* But, on this morning, being yesterday (have to keep reminding myself that), I slept in r ather late whilst Gerg got his stuff together, and then we spent another couple of hours packing, the end result being we didn't leave until about three, with a trip to the supermarket yet to go. So we finally hit the road proper at about four, just in ti me for - you guessed it - Toronto's rush hour. I figure it took another couple of hours to finally escape the wide-reaching tentacles of Canada's largest city and be properly on our way.
First stop was Tobermory, where we planned to catch the Chi-Cheemau n, the ferry to Manatoulin Island. As it was about eight pm when we did reach our destination, the last ferry had been and gone, so we sought out a camp ground (Land's End, I seem to be working to a theme here), and made our way to the Crow's Nest pub for dinner.
Tobermory is a quaint little seaside town, which is weird because it's nowhere near the sea itself. It's on the shore of Lake Superior, which is practically a small ocean, only it's freshwater. But you have the boats and the port and the seagulls and the nautically-themed cafes and shops and pubs, so the only thing really missing is that distinctive fishy smell of the ocean. It’s also the name of a Womble, a reference I had to explain to Gerg after my initial squeal of delight upon finding out the name of the place.
We passed a relatively comfy night, me sleeping in the car because the ground was solid rock and Gerg's snoring can peel paint (sorry, mate *ducks*), and Gerg in the tent (mind you, we're in a motel room tonight - the small objects are primed). It was a much earlier start, mainly because the ferry left at 8.50 and we had to be there an hour early as we didn't have a reservation, so Gerg set his mobile phone's alarm and I was up and about and enjoying the cool morning air not long after sunrise. Quite the change after the past week at Dex's. Unfortunately when we arrived it was to find that a) there was quite a queue, and b) the ferry was having engine trouble and was delayed. Fortunately there was reading material and plenty of music to occupy us. Or me, at least. Gerg got kind of restless and wandered for a bit, seeking information.
Sidenote: I really hate our governments, past and present - I reached the chapter on the treatment of Aboriginals in my John Pilger book and am filled with ancestral guilt. The statistics are truly frightening.
We finally got loaded onto the ferry at around ten, and took off in fairly choppy conditions. I learned that it is possible to both have your butt kicked in Scrabble and to get seasick - occupations which involve staring at an immobile surface whilst everything around you is in motion aren't the best idea. But I got some really pretty pictures.
On the island, we had one definite plan - to go to Gordon's Camp and Nature Trail, immortalised in song by the Arrogant Worms. Basically it's a home-grown theme park - the Gordons have turned their farm into a tourist attraction. The big difference being the nature trail, which guarantees you'll see native wildlife. Or maybe that should be wilddeath, since the animals aren't actually among the living any more, they're all stuffed and mounted in cases with corny labels. Gerg learned fully the meaning of "daggy" from this experience. But we did see a live turtle in the pond and som e pheasants, which, added to the chipmunk that tried to steal Gerg's granola bar this morning, has made a total of four Canadian animals I have seen (there was also a raccoon at Daryl's house).
Our other adventure of the day was the discovery of a hike a t a place called Cup and Saucer (there's also Teapot Island), thanks to the most wonderful Lonely Planet Guide (or the Guru, as I'm calling it now) we consulted over lunch. It followed the limestone escarpment that stretches all the way to Niagra, and gav e us some wonderful views over the lakes and such, and again, photo opportunities. And Gerg, if you post the Chipmunk Rossi picture, I'll do something horrible to you.
Our exercise taken, we then returned to the car - which is packed to the gills, really. Wait until I get my photos developed! - and drove the rest of the length of the island to the bridge at Little Current (gotta love these names!) and along to Espanola, a name which means "Spanish". According to the Guru, a Spanish woman was captured by the native peoples in a raid on the States, and she taught her children her language. This really confused the French who later 'discovered' the place.
At Espanola, we made further battle plans over Timothy Hortons soup and chilli. We were already a day short, with the ferry delay, and we weren't going to be making Thunder Bay any time soon. So we decided to get to Sault Ste Marie, which is about half way and two hundred kilometres from Espanola. Since it was about seven in the evening by this stage, caf fiene and loud music were required, and Gerg took the driving (as he has done so far - my turn tomorrow, I think). Night driving isn't my forte, especially in a strange country on what is to me the wrong side of the road, and with my contact lenses blurri ng all lights.
There was probably great scenery along the way, but it was a bit hard to tell, being pitch black and all. No more native fauna, which was a good thing, considering the danger of collecting a deer with the car. What we did see, however, wer e the stars, more than I have ever seen in this part of the world. We pulled over for a few minutes' star gazing, with the music still going strong. It was the kind of sky you feel you could fall up into.
The Soo (as Saulte Ste Marie is known as for th e French-ically challenged such as myself), arrived much sooner than expected, which was good, since we were both getting tired *pauses to thump Gerg as he starts snoring* and on that note I'll close. More next time, and hopefully I'll get this posted alo ng the way. :)
***
7/9/2002
Greetings from Thunder Bay! I'm typing this from Gerg's friend Greg's couch (which has been my bed for the past two nights) as various people do various things around me. *grins* Gerg is once again unsuccessfully trying to t ickle my feet, which are propped up on the coffee table so my back doesn't do horrible things.
Thunder Bay reminds me, a lot, of Woolongong. It's primary production seems to be the paper mill, and there's something of a port happening, Lake Superior agai n being rather large. The scenery is a little different - mountains and birch/pine forests - but it's not a bad place. Greg, Gerg's mate, is here for school.
We left the Soo around nineish on the fifth, and hit Highway 11/17 which leads all the way to Th under Bay and beyond. Highway 11 is, in fact, Younge Street, which originates in Toronto. There's a place in Toronto which shows just how far this one street goes, which is a nifty thought. Basically the fifth was a day of driving. Greg had instructed u s to stop in Wawa, on account of the giant goose - or geese, rather, there's three of them - so that's what we did. I also learned about the inukshuk, the little roughly human-shaped piles of stones I'd been seeing along the roads. It's an Inuit tr adition, intended to give other travellers along the route reassurance that they are not alone, that there are other people ahead. It's a reminder that the Canadian wilderness, even still in Ontario, is a harsh and unforgiving place, and being alone can h ave fatal consequences.
We passed through White River, known as the coldest place in Canada, where the temperature has been recorded at minus 50 Celsius. Lunch was at Marathon - I have discovered the joys of poutin as a vegetarian option in small town d iners, which is basically fries with melted cheese and gravy (cheese curds, if you're a purist or a Quebecois). It's probably not that good for me, but dammit, what's the point of being a mostly-vegetarian and extreme sports practitioner if I can't afford to eat crap once in a while? Also, grilled tuna and cheese sandwiches, known as tuna melts. To die for.
We finally hit Thunder Bay at around six-thirty. We paused at the Terry Fox Memorial to see if we could find a pay phone to call Greg since Gerg's ce ll phone wasn't working in the area. Thunder Bay, it turns out, has its own phone company, independent of the rest of the country. Terry Fox was a cancer sufferer who decided to run across Canada to raise money for research. He started in Newfoundland, i n the east, and got as far as Thunder Bay before succumbing to the disease. And all this on only one leg. So there's this memorial to him on the outskirts of Thunder Bay.
The information centre was closed, so we headed into town and tried a couple of ga s stations before finally resorting to a Robin's Donuts with a pay phone, coffee, and a bathroom. All good things. :) With Gerg periodically trying the phone and trying to think of other ways to find out where Greg lived, I sat and wrote all the postcards I'd been collecting, including the ones from Savannah. Most of them start: "So I'm in a donut shop in Thunder Bay". Sometime round seven-thirty Greg answered and we headed over there, to be greeted by Greg, his girlfriend Eva, and a can of beer each.
'Yes,' I thought, 'These are my kind of people.'
It's orientation week at the Lakehead University, so after a quick change of clothes and a bite, we wandered over to the campus for a free movie. It was supposed to be Attack of the Clones, wh ich, to everyone's amazement, I still haven't seen, but due to a last minute change of plans - "We couldn't get that DVD out" - we watched Insomnia instead. Robin Williams playing a bad guy, Al Pacino in a brilliant role, and lots of Alaskan scener y. We even got free soft drinks. :)
The campus pub had a queue a mile long outside, so we returned to Greg's apartment and talked and drank gin and tonic and tormented the cat, Fritz. Fritz is actually a panther - big, black, and predatory, at least when it comes to Mouse on a Spring - and in spite of his habit of yowling at intervals during the night, I have designs on catnapping him.
Having annoyed Greg's landlady upstairs sufficiently for one evening, we turned in. Next morning I displayed my uncann y ability to sleep long and soundly, and to ignore most of what goes on around me. The plan for the Friday was to do the tourist thing at Sleeping Giant, which is a mountain about fourty km away with one of those native inhabitant legends attached. We ma de it down to Lake St Marie, and during the course of the inevitable rock skimming exercise that accompanies any group of people and a flat body of water, we discovered Gerg has strong Rock-Fu. He can skim anything, including fist-sized rocks with all the aerodynamics of a brick.
After enjoying the outdoors for a while, we headed further down to Sleeping Giant proper, only to discover two things. It's nine dollars for parking, and there's no food available. Considering it was late afternoon (sometime around four) and we haven't eaten since breakfast many hours before and I was starting to get the shakes and dizzy spells that did not bode well, it was decided to go back to Pass Lake and the restaurant recommended by the girl at the info centre, then head back for sunset over the Giant.
The restaurant, Karen's Kountry Kitchen (and I think some further thought should have gone into those initials), was one of those wonderfully quaint little places, right on the lake, with various home crafts for sale and f ood you wouldn't find out of place in a up-market five star restaurant. And the view! Absolutely fabulous. And since they weren't in any hurry, neither were we, so we had a long meal, lots of talk, and decided to let Sleeping Giants lie. We went back to t own and stopped for supplies - cheese, wine, angelfood cake, olives - before initiating Greg and Eva into the cult that is becoming Chez Geek (for the uninitiated, it's a card game. Lots of fun).
Chez Geek went over well, and our padawan apprentices lear ned well, kicking my butt several times ("It was only one burglar, Greg! Ages ago!"). We rolled into bed slightly earlier but more inebriated, and got up roughly the same time - mid-morning. This time we were destined for the Kakabeka Falls, after a visit to the Salvation Army store to purchase cheap crockery-type items we had neglected to pack. And that's with every possible conceivable item already in the car, or so we'd thought. Eva and I bonded over second hand clothes, and in the course of spending s ixteen dollars, I managed to acquire two shirts, a skirt, a dress that makes men's eyes pop, and a pair of white pants for that Halloween costume. A jacket for the same costume proved more elusive, but it's only a matter of time. Considering I haven't bou ght clothes in almost a year, I thought I'd done rather well.
Eventually we got out to the falls, and while they're nowhere near as big as Niagra, they are rather picturesque. As soon as Gerg gets access to a high speed connection, they'll be posted on his site. I also introduced Eva to the goodness that is tuna and cheese onna sandwich, and we made our wending way down to the river and paddled and watched the Grand Master of Rock Fu do his thing again. Lots of fresh air and sun and all that good stuff. I've also decided that should it be necessary in my destiny to become lost in the woods, I want it to be in North America. They have strawberries and raspberries and such growing wild.
Our last night - which is tonight, if you've gotten as mixed up as me - was spent teaching me Euchre (I think that's the spelling), and drinking the rest of the beer and painting nails. Gerg and I both have lovely shiny blue-purple fingernails. Only Gerg has white racing stripes.
We're heading off tomorrow for somewhere in the vicinity of either Winnepeg or Brandon. We had thought to get to Moose Jaw in one day, but that's apparently crazy person talk. So we're taking a couple of days to get to somewhere around Banff and the provincial parks for some hiking and other nat ure stuff, then up north to Jasper and the Queen Charlotte Islands. Again, it could be a few days, maybe more, before you hear from me again.
Canada is indeed really big. It's also really beautiful.
I