Me, My Girl, and a Frost Free February #3: Our British Columbia Interlude – British Columbia, Canada

Our British Columbia Interlude

Okanogan Lake, the beautiful lake that my sister lives near, is reputed to be home to a giant monster called Ogopogo. (Sound familiar? You can almost see the guys in the Chamber of Commerce…”Hey, it worked in Scotland, why not here?”) In Penticton, where Emma lives, Ogopogo has always been represented as a pink dragony-fishy kind of thing � smiling, of course, for the tourists. In the neighbouring city of Kelowna, Ogopogo has always been green. The few photographs that exist of the creature are far too blurry to put an end to the debate…

We looked for Ogopogo while we were cruising on the lake, but no dice. But at least we were on the lake. My sister and her husband Jay (along with their two kids) have been working on their boat for quite a while now. Last summer when Helene and I were in Penticton the boat was parked in the driveway and looked (sorry Jay) like it was headed for the scrap yard. We climbed up inside the rickety thing with a case of beer, because Emma said that if you drank enough and closed your eyes, it was as good as being on the water.

Happily, this year the boat floats, and it looks pretty snazzy too. In fact, Helene and I ended up sleeping on it, down at the marina. This is because Em and Jay have started on their next project and the wall for the guest bedroom in their house is no longer in existence. Apparently it’s been that way for a couple of months � but I’m sure by next year it’ll be back in working order.

When we got bored of eating peaches, cherries and swimming in the lake at Penticton, we drove a couple of hours to my parents’ place in the small (very small) town of Tulameen, where we ate peaches, cherries and swam in the river. There’s no Ogopogo in Tulameen, but my Mum did warn us to look out for the bears (”I was walking with the dogs yesterday, and one crossed the road in front of me”) and the cougars (”There’s one up on top of the property who has a couple of kits, so be careful”). Not five minutes later, and without a trace of irony, she and my dad were asking Helene and I why we weren’t frightened to be traveling in India.

In Tulameen we borrowed a couple of bikes and took a little ride on the Trans-Canada Trail. This is a route for hikers and bikers that stretches the length of the country. We managed a kilometer or two in the heat before deciding to go swimming again. The part of the Trans-Canada trail that goes past my folk’s house is made up of the old Kettle Valley Railway and so you pass over old railway bridges and through tunnels beside the river. Now that the railway is closed the only way to Tulameen from the coast is a four hour drive through the mountains � and yes, I’ve seen a few bears along that highway.

It turned out that the wildest animals we had to watch out for on the way to our private little cabin in the woods in Tulameen (shameless plug for my parent’s B&B) were some psycho-geese-from-hell. These so-called domesticated birds travel in packs and think nothing of attacking a moving car. My parent’s dogs were useless, refusing to move in the heat no matter how much we bribed or threatened them. Instead, we had to resort to carrying broomsticks on our way through the paddock while my four and seven year old nephew and niece laughed at us.

The other interesting piece of wildlife we got up close and personal with was right-wing Canadian Alliance politician (and my sister and parent’s member of parliament) Stockwell Day. He was riding in a convertible at the Peachfest Parade (a two hour parade made up entirely of politicians, “Queens” and “Princesses” from towns you’ve never heard of, and some excellent marching bands). It was a wonderful opportunity for Helene to voice her opinions on national politics, which she did, by yelling:

“Hey Stockwell! I don’t like you!”

Like a true politician, he didn’t bat an eye, but smiled and waved, as the car moved on. After Mr. Day came several more politicians, and a few Queen Shelbys, Ashleys and Brittneys on their floats. There was even a semi-trailer labeled “Visiting Royalty” which carried the few dozen teenage girls unlucky enough to come from towns that couldn’t afford to send floats. And then, at the end of the parade, came the “Celebrate Diversity” float (really the “Celebrate Diversity” pick-up truck) carrying a couple of women in saris, and a few wilted children with balloons tied to their wrists. Riding up on the truck was what I at first mistook for a likeness of Ogopogo. But no, this pink monster was labeled “Homopogo”. Gay and lesbian activism had clearly arrived in Penticton despite (or perhaps because of) Stockwell Day. It wasn’t until a few days later that I learned that Penticton City Council had recently voted to change the official colour of their Ogopogo from pink to green. “Just a coincidence,” claimed the town spokesperson in the newspaper article.

It was about time for us to head down to Vancouver and catch our flight to India, so we wouldn’t be able to watch the political firestorm threatening to erupt on the opinion pages of the Okanogan dailies. I shouldn’t have worried about missing all the excitement though, because, as I would soon find out, Indian newspapers are much more exciting than their Canadian counterparts.

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