It’s covered in inches and inches and inches of fluffy white stuff.
And that makes exploring tough.
But it didn’t deter Shep, my trusty co-pilot, and I from jumping in the truck and seeing what Paul Lake Road had to offer my lens.
I recall an ill-prepared camping trip to Paul Lake some time in the late ’90s. I wasn’t a good camper and none of the three girls knew how to build a fire. I’m not even sure if we had an actual tent, it was that long ago. I know I didn’t own a sleeping bag until 2007, so there’s that.
The campground is a provincial park and it’s closed for the winter season, but it appears you can hike in.
While Shep would have gladly leaped through the snow up to his armpits, I was poorly dressed for the occasion. (Note to self: get better hiking boots and gaiters.)
As it was, my feet got soaked anyway.
We drove for a while, looking for any chance to stop and take pictures. But the road is so windy and twisty that there really isn’t a safe place to pull over.
We got to Hyas Lake Road and I spied this little gem sitting in a field:
I was already standing knee-deep in snow, wishing the barbed-wire fence in front of me wasn’t there.
I let it stop me.
But not when I saw this baby on the way back into Kamloops:
I swung my leg over some barbed wire, hoping and praying I didn’t tear a hole in my favourite ‘weekend’ jeans.
When I got closer to the Plymouth, I didn’t care … even as the snow soaked into the denim, my boots and my socks.
And while I love the effect of two feet of snow on the hood, I can’t wait for that stuff to disappear.
I want to go back.
I have to go back.
To get closer.
To this car. And that car. And the little abandoned homes and farms deep into snow-covered lanes that I won’t attempt to drive when I have no reception.