Victoria Day Long Weekend Special

FORT NELSON, BRITISH COLUMBIA--After a restful night's sleep in Whitecourt, Alberta, I parted the curtains for a look out the window at what the day offered. I don't know why, after the previous day's rain and cold, I didn't expect overnight snow. After all, Whitecourt sits at 2,297 feet above sea level and at 54 degrees N. Lat. Hotel staff informed me that it's neither special nor secret that Victoria Day Long Weekend (aka May Long) is always snowed upon. And there it was, coating every car in the Super 8's lot.

However, the temperature was above freezing, the roads were only wet--not snow-covered, and road trips are about adventure, not about changing plans to wait out the weather. So I set out. Not far out of town, I found enchantment. Where it had fallen lightly in the forest, snow looked like siftings of confectioner's sugar; farther along, a heavier band coated the spruce tips with dollops of meringue. The snow falling on copses of birch acted like a scrim--the new green of Spring leaves seen as if through a length of organdy. More than one cheeky raven stood at the side of the road, head cocked to watch my car pass.

Farther along the road dipped to cross Chickadee Creek and then Rainbow Creek followed by Fox Creek. Later still Smoky River. Place names fascinate me. Why is it named Smoky River? When did that place become known as Sasquatch Crossing? And is there any more isolated settlement than Prophet River?

When you drive long distances for days on end, you can tell at exactly which moment during the day you get punchy--as in loopy, not emphatic. Those two Canada geese, standing ankle deep in snow, just standing there looking at each other. You make up goose conversations! Now where the heck did that stuff come from? Then a few miles down the road a sign points off to the left where, apparently, one finds the Training Forest. How do you train a forest? Can you train a forest? Then I laugh out loud in Dawson Creek. There, just beneath the garden supply store sign flashing 33 degrees F. is the smaller notice saying "Hanging baskets available."

But then the rain stops, the road dries out, sun appears, and if God ever made a better day, I haven't seen it. Every blocky peak in the northern Rockies displays every ravine and outcropping, spruce trees stand crisply tall, clouds float above. I tried taking a picture, but the view is just too big. So it stays in my memory, true to size and appearance for now. I know it will shrink in time, but that's the beauty of road trips. There can always be another to refresh the memory.