Day 19: Kamloops BC - Squamish BC

A day comparatively short on distance but long on jaw-dropping scenery.  And bridges.  Lots of bridges, oh yes.  This one was within a short distance of the night's resting place:

BRIDGE!!1!

and had nearby a chap originally from Hull, walking his dog.  He has, however, gone native to the extent of wanting to chat about everything.  At length.

Followed BC-97 west parallel to the Thompson River as far as Cache Creek, where the river goes south and the road north.  West of Kamloops the Thompson does this:

Kamloops Lake

I also go north for a bit before heading west again on BC-99, which disappears into the mountains in a pleasingly three-dimensional sort of way.

The horizontal line on the right, above the river, is a railway line, built by a madman.

About some of the way along BC-99, which ultimately goes to Vancouver, is Lillooet, which you reach across the intriguingly-named Bridge of the 23 Camels.

Camels not inclluded

It seems that some Victorian chump thought that bactrian camels might make excellent beasts of burden for the wilds of BRITISH Columbia so he imported a bunch from the distant steppes of, er, Arizona.  This was not a success as the rocky terrain was unkind to their little camelly feet while they also scared horses, cattle and, occasionally, people.  They were ultimately turned loose to fend for themselves but, unlike the dromedaries now thriving in the centre of Captain Cook's Mistake, they all died off by 1905.  Some authorities believe camel sightings may have helped fuel the stories of the Sasquatch, a.k.a. Bigfoot, in this part of the world.

There's also Stuffs like this:

and this:

and even this:

Logjam.  Canada.  Wednesday.

After a lot of This Sort of Thing it goes downhill quite rapidly, to the extent that Emily thinks tonight's lodgings are five meters below sea level which, I can assure you, they are not.  The reason for the downhill-ness is that we've crossed the coastal mountains.  Everything is a lot greener over here, because it rains.  A lot.  When I popped out earlier this evening I could see the tops of the mountains, but their middles were firmly wrapped in clouds, and it was raining with a determination clearly borne of long and intensive practice.

The rain may at least wash some of the desert muck off the motor-car andit did a sterling job of hiding the ski resort of Whistler.  Ski resorts are usually horrible when there's no SNO around but you can drive right through Whistler and scarcely even notice that you've done so which, in my book at least, qualifies as a Good Thing.

Bear with me a second

I would have thought the BEAR would have been holed up somewhere warm and dry rather than hanging around a parking lot sandwiched between a main road and a railway line, but who am I to fathom the ursine mind?

Decision time for tomorrow: cop the ferry to Vancouver Island or go back over the mountains to where it isn't raining?