As a responsible adult I called Katie yesterday morning to let her know that Jeff and I were heading up the sea-to-sky highway to check out a provincial campground and park north of Squamish, to be back in the afternoon; I’d call her when we were home. In other words we drove all the way from Kikayt (New Westminster) southeast of K’emk’emeláy (‘place of maple trees’, aka Vancouver) all the way to Skwxwú7mesh Temíxw (Squamish Territory). The number seven or the special question mark is a glottal stop.
I had one job.
Only one job.
That was to tell Jeff when to turn off for Alice Lake. Could I? Did I? No. I didn’t see the sign until we were on it. Jeff turned around. There was a sign saying turnoff in one kilometre and we didn’t see the turn off. Going back north again from Squamish we saw TWO SIGNS for Alice Lake and finally managed the turn off. The campground itself is lovely, heavily treed and with two little beaches. Anyway, I marked the damned turnoff on the map with the kilometres and paid for Jeff’s gas (I hardly ever pay for gas, so I was due anyway).
It was a gorgeous trip, however brief, and if someone ever transcribed our joint running commentary from the dash cam we’d probably have to flee the province.
Jeff got us McDonald’s afterwards – I got my fries with no salt and they’re surprisingly good.
And I wrote a thousand words yesterday, 17865 is the count.
It was a good day.
