The Madness of Prince George

Trip Start Oct 15, 2007

Trip End Aug 24, 2008

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Flag of Canada Prince George, Alberta, Canada
Friday, November 9, 2007

En route to Prince George, we noticed the adherence to the Via Rail/Transport Canada rules was a tad more relaxed than on the previous train. The rules regarding booze in particular. The three women on the seats behind ours had (appropriately enough for a bear-rich wilderness, one might say), a wicker pic-er-nick basket, replete with goodies, some of which opened with a familiar popping sound. A popping sound followed by glugging. The perfunctory charade of concealing what they were up to was finally abandoned when Dave the conductor turned up to announce that we were going to be stuck on our little piece of single-track for forty-five minutes while we waited for an oncoming freight train.
"Jesus, you're joking! Well, I'd be really pissed off if we didn't have more booze!"

This wait was pretty much standard, as many Canadian trains are concerned: since the late eighties/early nineties, when the last of the Canadian Pacific and Canadian National passenger trains stopped running, the government subsidised ViaRail have been renting the use of CN's track, and running a minimal passenger service (e.g. three trains a week from Toronto to Vancouver). If there happens to be one of CN's freight trains coming the other way though, the passenger trains have to wait in a siding for it to pass. Sidings are every so often, freight trains can be in excess of two hundred trucks (yes we counted, no there wasn't a right lot else to do), and the minimum speed they need to achieve to be profitable is twelve miles an hour. Do not use Canadian trains as transport, think of them more as long distance sight-seeing tours.

We saw lots of cloudy scenery (unfortunately, Canadian weather was not playing fair). It's very pretty but not really high interest blog material. Sky. Mountains. Forests. Rivers. In that order. You get the picture.

We arrived in Prince George inevitably late, but with the added twist of being in the wrong damn place. Another freight train induced delay had led to the decision that heading straight for the marshalling yard and getting taxis would be quicker than going to the station. If the arrival of the taxis had coincided with the arrival of the train, this would have worked out...and if another taxi from the same firm hadn't coincidentally arrived to collect the mail bags from the train causing us to miss the other taxis, we might have got into the station quicker. As it turned out, waiting for the freight train to pass would have been quicker. Ho hum.

After buggering about with a non-compliant payphone then scrounging the use of the station staff phone, we contacted the folks with whom we were Couch Surfing. Unusually, the girl who had agreed to host us wasn't there, but had squared our stay with her flatmates. We asked them which bus we'd need, and they charitably offered to collect us. A rather squashed Jeep ride later, we arrived at the house. Good God but it was welcome. The two flats in the building were rented out by a bunch of hippy tree-planters who basically treated it as their shared house, and they were sitting out on their balcony, drinking beers (which we very gratefully accepted) and generally having a laugh. They couldn't have been more accomodating. In fact, after a discussion about our plans to go on to Prince Rupert the next day, one of them offered us a lift, despite our needing to be away at seven in the morning.

By the end of the evening, Kirsty wanted to be a tree planter in British Columbia, and Jacob thought he already was.

Final mention must go to their dogs, a labrador called Zoe, and a Spaniel called Jessie. Two more docile, friendly, licky creatures would be hard to imagine. Jessie had a lump. A benign lump, but a lump nonetheless, about palm sized, around the base of her ribcage, which was oddly comforting to fondle. Well, Jacob thought so.