August 2, 1989 |
Another McKenzie boat drifts by and its oarsman hails Barry White, who is guiding two novice fly fishermen down the Bow River this day. "What'd ya do with those buggers?" the oarsman asks. Nothing personal. Translated, the oarsman is asking White how successful his clients have been using woolly buggers--a big, black, furry artificial fly--for lures. "Nothing," White replies. "We're putting the Adams (artificial flies) on now." He lies.
August 22, 1999 |
We're in northern British Columbia, in a scantily populated river valley, on a passenger train bound for the Pacific port of Prince Rupert. On the tracks ahead, a moose is standing in the path of our train. The engineer brakes, blows his whistle, and brakes some more. The moose isn't moving. The train, with 210 passengers aboard, comes to a gentle stop. The moose doesn't budge.
July 7, 1994 |
While an American tourist in Paris these days might find the restaurant tab for le menu de degustation worse for the heart than a double dose of cholesterol, in this French-accented city just north of the U.S. border, the bill could tempt you to indulge in a second dessert. The U.S. dollar may be punchy in Europe and Japan, but it still packs its old wallop in Canada.
January 13, 1994 |
Never mind all those collapsing trade barriers, the hoopla over the North American Free Trade Agreement and the race for global commerce. Seattle and other U.S. port cities are fast aground on the barnacles of a 19th-Century protectionist statute, unable to rise to one of the tantalizing economic booms of the age: the explosion of cruise ship tourism. This year, hundreds of thousands of Americans will arrive at Seattle's Sea-Tac airport, bound for an Alaska cruise.
August 13, 1998 |
Evidence of how Asia's sickly yen, won and other currencies have infected Canada abounds in this postcard-perfect setting in the northern Rockies. The tour buses that once delivered visitors by the hundreds from Tokyo and Seoul, fueling a boom that transformed this village into a resort with visions of rivaling Aspen, are fewer and fewer.
May 17, 1998 |
My daughter and I are sitting in a sidewalk cafe on Robson Street, nursing cups of cappuccino and eating croissants on a sunny, crisp spring morning. I am watching Meera, verging on 16, cast an appreciative glance at an "incredibly fine Canadian man" walking past our table. We are here because of a whim and a Web deal, an air fare so good that I feel I'm saving money even as I spend it: $99 round trip per person, plus taxes, from LAX on Alaska Airlines.
August 31, 1992 |
Bezal Jesudason keeps his table set for 15, here on remote Cornwallis Island high in the Canadian Arctic archipelago. He never knows who may be dropping in for dinner. There were the New Agers from Winnipeg, on their way by sledge to the magnetic North Pole, where they hoped to beget a super-baby. There was the Japanese film crew making a movie called "Antarctica"; because they were at the wrong end of the globe, they had to use stuffed penguins as props.
July 12, 1998 |
I flipped through the High Arctic lodge guest book to find decades of reminiscences by Korean, Swiss, Chinese, Australian and American adventurers setting out by dog sled, helicopter and ultra-light, on foot, by snowmobile, motorcycle and kayak to conquer the North Pole.
December 19, 1999 |
It really was a dark and stormy night. But earlier in the day we had only the promise of a storm as we approached the west coast of British Columbia's Vancouver Island. The marine forecast on our car radio was encouraging: southeast gales, 45 knots to storm force 55, with occasional gusts to hurricane force. Waves 15 to 18 feet and rising. Wicked weather, you might think. Not at all. It is perfect weather for the seriously relaxing spectator sport of storm-watching.