Stewart, British Columbia, Canada
(Stewart is at sea level, and located at the head of the Portland Canal on the Alaska-British Columbia border)
August 18, 2001

I just came back across the border from Hyder, Alaska. For some reason, I feel calmer in Canada, though it's only a bridge that defines the border between these two neighboring towns.

I'm sitting at my campsite in the Rainey Creek Municipal Campground. From what I've been told, because of the local wolves there are no more cats left in Stewart. As I was driving along the river in Hyder a half hour ago, a wolf started across the road in front of me. It stood there, watching me.

Then it ran back the way it had come into the brush. I rolled my window down as I drove, slowing but not stopping where I'd seen the wolf. There was an opening in the bushes that I assumed had been its escape. I wondered if it was watching me even as I crawled past.

Signs around the campground warn of bear activity. One notice posted in the office suggested carrying pepper spray at all times. Interesting because pepper spray, or mace, is illegal in Canada. However, bear spray, with certain restrictions, is not. Though the canister I have says Bear Spray, it's apparently not strong enough to be considered as such in Canada. It's the one thing I have to hide from Customs as I cross over the border.

But I'm now wearing this thing on my belt, which makes me feel slightly ridiculous. I keep wondering if I should also have a Phaser to keep the Klingons away.

Last night when I was looking for this campground that's tucked away behind some residential streets, I missed the turn altogether and suddenly found myself crossing the border into Alaska. There was a steady, misty rain falling and I was eager to stop for the night.

At the bar of the Sealaska Inn, I registered for a tent site. (I had never paid a bartender to stay for the night, so it was interesting.) Though it's supposed to be Alaska, you pay for everything in town using Canadian currency.

After I registered for a campsite and found a spot, I walked back to the bar. Taking a seat at the very end, closest to the television, I was content to sip a beer and watch the last few minutes of a pre-season game between Tennessee and St. Louis. I was exhausted but content to be watching football again and drinking a beer. That's when it truly felt that I was back in the States.

When I'd finished my beer I called my dad. It was the first time we'd spoken since he'd scattered his father's ashes into the Gulf of Mexico. We talked for a while and then I went back to my campsite.

Right now the mountains around Stewart and Hyder are streaked with snow and shrouded in mists that part infrequently and without duration. At the water's edge, the salmon are spawning and bears are taking full advantage of the slowly moving, dying fish. Soon, the bears will be in hibernation and they have to stock up on food reserves or they won't survive the winter.

Dusk was turning to nightfall and the rainy mist had lessened to something like a dusting of fine rain. In moments I couldn't tell if it was raining at all. I quickly got a campfire going, burning discarded bits of 2x4's that I'd found tossed in a heap nearby.

While I waited for the fire to burn down to evenly heated embers, I prepared the arctic char that Bill had given me. The fish had bled some since I'd gutted it, so I wiped it clean. Mindful of the bears, I immediately tossed the towel into the fire. I also added the fish head to be sure it had time to burn completely.

Laying the fish on a sheet of aluminum foil, I then rubbed olive oil onto both sides. After adding some salt and fresh ground pepper, I stuffed it with chunks of butter and sliced onion. I dribbled some fresh lemon juice over it before folding over the aluminum foil, placing the package directly onto the embers.

As it cooked I scrubbed the cooking items clean, repacking what I could. By now it was dark. The Coleman battery-powered lamp was turned low and my plate was waiting for supper. Before I sat down to eat, I ran to the Pathfinder and got the one essential non-camper's item I'd bought in Smither's; the latest issue of People magazine. But even that was not as enjoyable as the first bite of char I'd ever had. It tasted so good I swore I must have caught it myself.

Later...

I'm back at my campsite in Stewart, sitting beside the fire. One of my very favorite things is the scent of a campfire and how it seeps into my clothes so that I carry it with me wherever I go. At the end of my last trip north, it had gotten cold and I started wearing my ski jacket. With time, it became thick with the scent of pine-burning campfires. After I was home I loved to smell that coat because it brought back so many memories.

And now I've returned to the north, sitting beside the campfire once again. Across from me are trees silhouetted in the light of the flames. Behind them are hills shrouded in mist that's rolled in from the ocean. The sky is not very dark yet, and I suspect that as I move north, true darkness will come later and later. Earlier this evening, I returned to the Bear River in Hyder, Alaska. From the elevated walkway I watched several bears plunge into the water, trapping the spawning salmon in their massive paws. Sometimes they missed and as angler who also misses now and then, I was secretly relieved when at times they weren't successful. But unlike me, they always strolled off with a big fish. Because the bears were anywhere from 30-100 feet away, I took several shots of them with my old Canon AE-1. When I return home, if any of the pictures come out, I'll put them on the web site. I took one shot with the digital camera and if it's presentable enough, I'll include it for the meantime.

I can hear seagulls at the mouth of the Portland Canal. I didn't know that they were so active this late at night.