[Text: Tomas Borsa. Photo: Jean-Philippe Marquis.]
Jean-Philippe and I have rendezvoused for the second leg of our journey in Williams Lake, where the smell of saw dust seems to be a permanent fixture. As we drive past Mackenzie, the crisp air and burgundy leaves serve as a reminder that yes, fall truly is upon us, and we are a far cry from the bright skies and warm sun that greeted us when we last drove through this pass. The snow-capped mountains and thin layer of snow along the highway drive the point home. I call ahead to one of our contacts in Dawson Creek, a colourful character with a propensity for high-profile protest. The call is answered by someone else, who tells me that “He doesn’t have an opinion on pipelines, and you’re best to not call again.” I try another contact, whose occupation as a pipeline welder we had presumed would offer a unique perspective; “Sorry, I’m not authorized to speak to that matter.” Duly noted.
A short time later, night falls. “Let’s just camp here”, I said, in an exasperated sigh, to Jean-Philippe. “It looks pretty isolated. I’m sure we’ll be fine.” And fine we were, until morning, when we are awoken to the sound of a two-stroke and an angry farmer, whose field we’ve unknowingly occupied as our base for the evening. Whatever warm welcomes we might have been accustomed to on the Coast, our return to the Peace River region gets off to an altogether frostier footing. But at least it’s picturesque!
