Canadians are actually way too polite to talk politics with strangers. Except when it comes to Trump.

It was last night while playing cribbage at our campsite that an older couple from Chilliwack chatted us up. They were intrigued by our license plate (guess that there just aren’t a lot of Americans who make their way up to Quadra Island). It was toward the end of the conversation that they thanked us for coming to Canada and also let it be known that they would not be making their way south anytime soon. We said we understood. That we were embarrassed by our president. They nodded, shook hands with us and walked away.

Quadra Island rests on what looks like a long swim away from Campbell River (which is a good sized town about three hours both of Victoria). It is, in fact, a much safer ten minute car ferry. From Quadra Island we could take another ferry to Cortes Island. We want to take another ferry to Cortes Island. But we simply do not have the time to take that ferry. So we will have to come back. Probably several more times because we also don’t have time on this trip to go down the Sunshine Coast, backpack in Strathcona or do parts of the Juan Fuca Trail. Hopefully, on that return, we will also be treated to more conversations with David, Carmen and their friends. This island is a special place and one I am happy to call home for a few more days.

Crossed the border at Abbotsford. In doing so we traded quiet rural Washington for suburban Vancouver. There we wandered a Costco in search of many small things. Costco though is the worst place to go in search of small things. So really it was me patiently waiting for all the tastings to be prepared while Corey searched out clothes. At checkout we managed to not once, but twice cut-off the same person in line. Each time we lived up to specific stereotypes; we apologized but kept our place in line while she assured us that it was absolutely fine us jumping in front of her. She, Jennifer, was sporting a very cool retro Pearl Jam hat which made me a bit homesick (was thinking of Eddie Vedder singing Take Me Out to The Ballgame at Wrigley). Turns out Jennifer is as cool as her cap (ALL CAPS) and we ended up talking about kids, college and how awesome the 90s were. It was a good welcome back to our second favorite country.

Afterwards we made our way to the ferry terminal at Horseshoe Bay. It’s a beautiful drive. But it was at that time that all the rain promised to us in the North Cascades was finally delivered. The cityscape was a faint grey outline and traffic crawled. At Horseshoe Bay we learned a few things about ourselves but more importantly about our car. Namely that with the cargo box our car stands seven foot two inches which is the perfect height for an NBA center. But it is a bit tall for BC Ferries standards which means I should have booked an oversized berth. And being the busy season, this booking was not available for the time we wanted (4:20). In fact there was only one such booking left for the entire day. It was at 8:20. And the rain was coming down hard. Meanwhile our comfortable Airbnb, with a washer, dryer, full kitchen and comfortable bed, stood waiting, a lonely refuge across the straight.

Eventually the rain stopped, I got a haircut and we had a tasty early dinner at Trolls. We even found a spot on the 6:20 ferry and it was a smooth sail over to Nainamo. The next day local guide, second cousin to Corey, and good friend David Jones took us on the iconic Sea to See hike in Ladysmith (a hike named by David about an hour ago). The route involves an epic climb from David’s house to Heart Lake which is only possible with the assistance of a dedicated golden retriever. This climb is followed by a sharp descent to the local brewery before the final drop to ice-cream at Transfer Beach. It is not for the faint of heart.

Life so far is good on the island. About to head off for another walk in the woods and then celebrate the 4th at a barbecue. We are so far yet so close to home.

It’s a lousy place to get a tan. While it rarely actually rained, most days were like being trapped in a cloud. And it wasn’t until almost a week of camping that we spied a solitary star. So many shades of green though (this by the way is my working title for a 50 Shades spinoff involving Kermit the Frog). Also a lot of really big trees just vomiting moss. To paraphrase Corey, it’s all just so f’ing beautiful (although she doesn’t bother with the ‘). Lousy cell phone reception though. Not a lot of places to charge your phone either. Anyways, here are a few of our favorite pics from the last few days.

We started Mid-West, went Cowboy West, then West West (Idaho) and now find ourselves in the Pacific Northwest. That simple thing, to get in the car and drive in one direction until the scenery changes so much you forgot where it was you started, is the greatest trick I know. We have been doing this now for over twenty-seven summer and I don’t think it will ever get old.

As we walked to breakfast this morning a guy in a pickup truck honked hello to us. We waved back and wondered if it was Ren from the 1313 Saloon. A few seconds later we passed the owner of the Blackboard Cafe. Luckily she found the cool coffee cup I had left behind. At the Tin Snug (Vinyl, eggs, baked goods and coffee) we knew the exact booth to sit. Two days in Wallace and we were local.

What is there to do in Wallace? We recommend the Oasis Brothel. Tiny Wallace, with their even smaller downtown, had dozens of brothels well into the 1970s. The last one, a very open secret that paid taxes and gave a lot to charity, was raided in 1988. The ladies were tipped off and left thinking they would be back in a couple of weeks. The Feds though stayed for years. They arrested the sheriff, padlocked a lot of businesses for illegal gambling, etc. The building changed hands a few times but no one disturbed the working chambers and now it’s a nifty museum/time capsule. What struck us the most were the working girls bedrooms with their sad single beds and trashy 1980s paperback romance novels.

Also did a lot of drinking in Wallace including at the Blackboard Cafe where we sipped espresso drinks while playing chess up in the loft (a birdseye view of the upscale Italian restaurant/book store/coffee shop and sporting goods store). Everything overlaps into one another and offers the customer a multiverse of business experiences.

The 1313 Speakeasy

We also had drinks one night at the 1313 Saloon where we watched Team USA lose to Turkey. The next night it was cocktails at their recently opened speakeasy style bar. Their we met a cool couple and talked a bit about everything. While doing so pretty much every waiter, bartender and other Wallace local drifted by us. Many of them stopped to say hello. A few gave us hugs. It was a magical night and one maybe possible in a place like Wallace.

We leave Wallace in a little bit. With it we leave the comfy indoors filled with endless opportunities to charge our various devices. It’s been a fun few days. But we are both excited for the home comforts of our tent.

After ten nights camping it was time to do a little bit of laundry. One crazy science fact is that at some point on any road trip the dirty laundry will exceed the actual amount of clothes packed. Lucky for us our tiny house in Livingston had a washer/dryer and also a projector TV which we used to catch up on Hacks. Two nights there! It was awesome. Last night we did a wash of just a pair of socks, some underwear and a T-shirt. Just living the rock star life.

On our last night in the Tetons we treated ourselves to a scenic dinner cruise. Thank you mom and dad for the generous anniversary gift used for that endeavor. On board we spied several mountain canyons. Completely trailless, they hide countless waterfalls and other such magic. Bears roaming that terrain might never get a glimpse of an out of breath tourist like me. And for that we are both lucky, that there are still wild places even in sight of a thousand camera lenses.

Today was a five moose kind of day. Woke up bright and early (about 8:00 AM which was an hour later than we wanted to) and drove like mad to get a parking spot at Jenny Lake. While not quite in the actual parking lot (that takes getting up at seven), we did manage to find a parking spot at the back end of the turn-off road leading into the lot. Fifteen minutes later and we would have ended up somewhere on the park road, maybe over a mile to the trail head.

We then spent almost an hour eating breakfast (smoked salmon on wasa crackers with leftover campfire potatoes), packing our bags and otherwise getting ready for the day. Afterward it was off the canyon we (and seemingly everyone else in the park) love so dearly. The crowds, the clouds and the elevation gains did not bother us at all.

Yesterday was a different day. Corey slept in and the campground was empty by the time we shuffled off. It was then a short drive followed by a second cup of coffee in the grasslands facing a bison herd.  Afterwards we snapped photos of the Snake River from an overlook before driving down to the river bed for a picnic. Then we wandered Mormon Row a bit before splitting another coffee at Dornan’s. Dinner, for me, was a barbeque steak with grilled potatoes and red peppers (Corey made a very yummy kimchi based salad for herself).

Both of those day are the kind you look back at in the deep of winter. Or maybe they enter the edge of consciousness toward the end of some endless work meeting. You can almost feel the warmth of the sun on the back of your neck while your physical self remains in the day to day grind. Not every day can be like those two. Thankfully though enough of them are.

The mountains are bigger than Trump. No matter how many park passes he defiles with his hideous mug, our National Parks are far greater than the morally corrupt senile fool currently sitting in the Oval Office.

But there have been some changes in the park. And not for the better. International travelers now pay $100 per person for everyone over sixteen to enter the park (or $250 for an annual park pass that covers the entire family). It only cost $35 for a US family to enter the park and $80 for the annual pass. In a little while Corey and I plan on visiting a few parks in Canada where we will pay, and maybe even drink, like the locals. Same in Iceland. Same actually for every international park we have ever visited.

There are fewer rangers too. Across the way from our site a tourist chopped away at the trees for his campfire (I might have said something but he was cutting away dead branches which I guess is actually a good thing). The seven young guys camping nearby (all from the Chicago suburbs) last night loudly regaled each other with stores from their high school football days. Some loud cussing too. It was nothing that we hadn’t heard but there was a family camping next to them. Those loud kids from Chicago, plus Paul Bunyan, desperately needed a ranger to remind them of the rules. All it would take would be a periodic drive by. Just something to let them know they weren’t the only ones camping there.

Much more serious was the hiker who had to be airlifted off a trail. The day after Corey was attacked by a grouse, we half-heartedly hiked to Delta Lake before turning away from a boulder scramble. Delta Lake is off an unofficial trail. Like Fight Club, the official hiking maps don’t talk about Delta Lake. It was at the cut-off to the unmarked trail that we witnessed a man, with some help from his friends, attempt to army crawl his way over boulders and back to the main trail. When we left the group he was trying to limp down the trail with a makeshift walking stick. Later we saw his friends trying to carry him like a large sack, four men to each corner. He was not a small guy. The windy three mile down hill trail must have been a bit too much. Maybe forty-five minutes later a helicopter swept up the mountain. After another ten minutes or so it flew north with a red basket fixed tightly to its underside (which is where we think the hiker rode).

Before the helicopter rescue, a group of rangers passed us going up on the trail with a wheeled stretcher. The stretcher probably was what was hoisted up to the helicopter. They were actually the first rangers we had seen in the park. None previously in the campground, or at the trail head or on any of the trails. Would an informal conversation with that group have made a difference in their decision making? Or would more immediate care have possibly resulted in him having made his way back to the car without helicopter assistance? Maybe not. But we will never know for sure.

Our tattoos were by Bethanie Hart at Paintbrush Tattoo. Highly recommend her services. She was incredibly patient (with me) and had a lot of great ideas.

We completed a challenging hike today. 1800 foot elevation gain over about four miles (and then a much easier four mile return). My phone is almost 100% charged. And I am equally proud of both facts.

For our first trip together, some twenty-eight years ago, our parents gave us prepaid calling cards. And then every few days either Corey would call her mom or I would call my mom. And then that mom would call the other mom to let her know we were OK.

This is usually the point where Corey or Henna will answer my reverie with an “Old Man Noel.” They do it every time. But honestly I can’t help myself. In fact I seek out. Like at work when I ask an intern if they know what a dial tone is (the answer is usually no). Or I pour over my road atlas, intent to see an even better way out west.

Old Man Noel can still get himself into some pretty cool spots. He just does so more slowly (and doesn’t mind being passed on the hiking trail). Noel also still likes to hang out by the fire (but usually calls it a night around ten). His wife though is still young and beautiful. Some things will never change.