Lilooet

I woke up this morning from a dream about a waterbed, but when I opened my eyes it still felt as if I was sloshing around.  The night before, the rain was light but I had picked a nice hill between the roots of a tree, figuring it would keep most of the rain off.  While I slept the rain kept steady and now the hill I had chosen was the sloped shore of a small lake.  Luckily, I had bought a new and apparently waterproof tent, because my old tent would have had me swimming.  Still, my things were damp and the continued rain made it so that no matter how I tried to pull my tent from the lake, the canvas and tarp stayed soaked.  So I wrapped it all in a towel and threw it in my trunk. 

Frustrated and soaked to the core, I got in my car and drove to Whistler but the rain kept up so I kept driving.  Miles farther, the road began climbing between towering forests of giant trees and mist and rain.  I wound around hairpin turns between mountain peaks and eventually the rain stopped. The sun was out and waterfalls lined the road and as I passed through misty rainbows, water condensed on my windshield and sheeted past my windows.  As I passed higher into the mountains, the trees began to thin and granite cliffs parted as I passed.  Ranches cropped up in dry corners between hills and the mood changed so quickly that I forgot the maelstrom I had emerged from. 

Marble Canyon Lake

It was through this scene that I wound, past sheer drops off loose gravel to rivers hundreds of feet below.  Signs that had just warned for avalanches now posted caution for rockslides.  And then, as I rounded a bend past a hydro plant and dam, I looked into a valley and spotted the small city of Lilooet.  I stopped for gas without planning to stay long, but as I was pulling out of town I noticed signs for a winery.  Curious, I pulled over to ask how they grew grapes in such a cold climate, but the woman at the winery said that the weather was dry and mild.  There was rarely snow in winter and summers were no more than 100 F.  At the suggestion of the winery folks, I decided to make for the free BC Hydro campsite, just beside the BC Hydro Dam.  Looping back through town I crossed the Fraser River, famous for its prehistoric looking sturgeon.  Up to 12 feet and over a ton (according to a sign) these behemoths trolled the bottom of the river and are an exciting sport fish although it’s exclusively catch and release. 

With the late afternoon light, the mountains above the camp glowed red and orange in geologic layers and the warm sun dried my tent in minutes.  A warm wind whispered and howled through rocky valleys and lifted the edges of my tent so that I had to line the inside with large river stones.  Basking in the evening glow, I finally had my chance to dry off.