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.
September 12, 1999 |
The old steamboat appeared on the horizon, smoke rising from its single red stack to dust the sky. It would take away another batch of families and the leftovers from their summer as "cottagers" here on the Muskoka lakes. From across the water a lone loon called. An answer followed. It was early morning on the lake. The water was flat, a perfect mirror for the blue sky and the trees' fall colors that flashed across the surface like dancing flames, yellow, orange, crimson.
May 21, 2000 |
Dusky rays of sun slipped through the stone corridors of 17th century Vieux (Old) Montreal as our carriage driver welcomed us in a lilting French accent. Speaking over the hollow clop of horseshoes on cobblestones, he asked what brought a family of four from California to this island city where the St. Lawrence and Ottawa rivers meet.
August 19, 2001 |
There's a certain deeply rested, neither-here-nor-there look that people get on a long ferry trip when their sole occupation is gazing at the scenery. I saw it last month on the passengers' faces on every ferry I took along the coast of British Columbia in western Canada. And I took many ferries on this trip from Vancouver to the Queen Charlotte Islands, where I visited the Gwaii Haanas National Park Reserve.