19,000kms zig-zagging across the USA and Canada, April/May 2018
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PDX to SEA Train #500
A Shorter Run on Rails
After all the overnighters, this leg was a shortie. Well, two shorties anyway, as my intended destination was the Canadian Vancouver, rather than the Washington State Vancouver located confusingly almost as a suburb of Portland.
That second part of the northwards journey required an Amway bus. It is possible to take a direct train, and that would have been my preference, but its arrival time in the more northerly Vancouver was late at night, not my ideal time for arriving in a new city.
So I returned to Portland’s iconic station just on 0800h, time to take a few pix, and then get my seat allocation.
The check-in official allocated me a window seat, ocean side, so that was a good start. Boarding was quick and efficient, and the departure was on schedule.
Business Class on The Cascades
The business class car was the one located nearest the platform entrance, and so - but for the rear locomotive - was the last car.
The seats looked old-style aircraft business class of th 1990s, tan coloured leather or leatherette, but were comfortable, and in 2-1 formation. They looked more closely packed than the coach seats I’d spotted on the various LD trains I’d taken, but there was still plenty of room. The 2-1 arrangement meant that the seats were wide, and had a central armrest big enough it would not need fighting over.
I had no-one sitting alongside, so that became moot anyway.
Being on the ground floor, rather than in a more lofty perch upstairs, we were towered over by the many goods trains on adjacent tracks. There was no overlooking them as before.
More MOTU in the Carriage
Sitting in front of me was a young man, who soon outed himself as a Master of the Corporate Universe, making an extended business call as we rolled northwards. The friendly Conductor made an announcement over the PA asking passengers to take their mobile phone conversations to between the cars, but the MOTCU continued unabashed, seated.
I was pleased to see the Conductor then make a direct approach, politely but firmly, asking for the conversation to be taken out of the seating area. Thankfully, the MOTCU complied, and we were all spared the finer details of the vital business issues being transacted.
I try to stave off falling into being a grumpy old bloke, so my comment is more of an obervation than a whinge. It is the case, is it not, that we have blurred the line between what is acceptable conduct in a private place and what is acceptable in a public place.
GOB whinge over, we continued, more peacefully, northwards. The track was not so well-suited to high speed travel. It caused the carriage to rock from side to side at our top speed of 128kph, sending up a rhythmic squeak of the fittings, rather in the manner of an inexpensive honeymoon hotel.
Am I Briefly Back in Oz?
I was delighted to see that we would pass through Centralia. But when researching the matter, I sadly discovered there is no connection to the very centre of my country, covering many thousands of square kilometres around Alice Springs and Uluru: our red heart, and the natural habitat of our largest ‘roo species, the iconic Big Red kangaroo. That area is known throughout the country as Centralia, because we don’t like long words.
(BTW - I reckon the naming of that kangaroo species also shows another defining Oz characteristic: we like to keep things simple. When deciding what to call it, we looked at it, saw that it was big and that it was red, so we called it the Big Red.)
Rather, according to my on-train research, Centralia was the renamed place of a settlement initially named Centerville. It was renamed after Centralia in Illinois. Upon checking why that place was called Centralia, I again came up with no Oz connection. The Illinois version was named after the settlement at the crossing point of the two original lines of the Central Illinois Railway.
My puzzle for the day satisfactorily completed before 0930h, I settled in to the ride.
We left the Columbia River at Kelso, where, on the approach to the station, I saw a happy scene. A man, with a toddler tucked safely into his zippered warm jacket, was watching the trains from the safe side of a level crossing. It is never too young to start an appreciation of trains.
Our track now ran along a tributary of the Columbia, wide and deep enough for navigation and trade in the pre-railway days, likely going back to the earliest days of human occupation.
The Cascades’ wifi was keeping me connected enough to not miss my gadgets. It was not long after midnight and into the early hours in my bit of Oz, so I was happily able to concentrate on the view, without needing to keep an eye on inter-continental communications traffic.
The deciduous trees were much more advanced in their emergence from winter hibernation than those I’d seen in other northerly regions farther east. The climate was warming up and maybe there were milder winters here. I know that the Gulf Stream, which washes around western Scotland, keeps that area much warmer than it ought to be given its latitude. I wondered if there were something similar happening here.
When I checked, I saw we were about 46.5 degrees north, which a little bit closer to the north pole than the equator by about 160 kms, so maybe there was.
The forest either side of the tracks contained mostly Siver Birch along with a species of Fir.
I suspected I would see much more Silver Birch once I was in Canada, at least according to my memory of a song I learnt in primary school in Scotland about our Commonwealth cousins which began “Land of the Silver Birch, home of the beaver....”
We were now in Centralia where there was a brief stop. I decided to take out a stick of Big Red chewing gum in recognition. It’s a flavour not available in Oz, most likely because it contains a food additive banned in Australia. I took a liking to its cinnamon flavour on an earlier visit to the USA, and I always preferred to think it was banned in Oz because we didn’t want anyone to think we were selling kangaroo-flavoured chewy.
I’ll post it here when I get a chance.
Water Views Again
We were running a little behind schedule. However, as my connection was assured, I was unconcerned. I saw we were to reach the water again for the last of the run into Seattle, so I took in the view.
We passed under the twin Tacoma Narrows suspension bridges, obviously built in two different eras, but the more deferrring to its elder in its design and decoration. They could easily have done something drastically different and less pleasing to the eye, so it was good to see the youngster, although certainly wider and sturdier, paying homage in this way.
A bald eagle flew calmly alongside us shoreside for a hundred or so metres before we disappeared into a tunnel at Ruston. When we exited, we were back in a more densely occupied landscape for the last few kilometres alongside the busy docks at Tacoma. We were in amongst other rail traffic again.
I remembered hearing about the calamitous derailment of a Cascades train several months before, which I thought was the cause of us remaining on this old alignment along the Puget Sound, so I paid my respects.
The Run Home
The track conditions improved and we stayed in the high 120s for much the first part of the run into Seattle, with just a schedule in prospect to delay our arrival. But we found ourselved behind what was announced to the carriage as “a slow movng freight train” by the Conductor.
He was right. For the next several kilometres, we travelled at between walking pace and 40kph, until we were finally set free at a passing point near Algona.
But our respite was brief. There was much trackwork being done on the line immediately to our west, with many sleeper-laying machines, tamping equipment, and brushes, all gainfully employed in an impressive manner.
The various delayes put us 45 minutes behind, so we got to see a southbound Cascades, Train #517, just as we cme longside the airport, before fnally pulling in to Seattle station.
My Amtrak rails adventure was complete.
I now only had Canadian Customs in front of me, and a short ride on rubber wheels before I would gain access to the land of our northern cousins, and their iconic cross-country train.
Train #500 was pulled by loco #1405, and pushed by loco #465.
A Shorter Run on Rails
After all the overnighters, this leg was a shortie. Well, two shorties anyway, as my intended destination was the Canadian Vancouver, rather than the Washington State Vancouver located confusingly almost as a suburb of Portland.
That second part of the northwards journey required an Amway bus. It is possible to take a direct train, and that would have been my preference, but its arrival time in the more northerly Vancouver was late at night, not my ideal time for arriving in a new city.
So I returned to Portland’s iconic station just on 0800h, time to take a few pix, and then get my seat allocation.
The check-in official allocated me a window seat, ocean side, so that was a good start. Boarding was quick and efficient, and the departure was on schedule.
Business Class on The Cascades
The business class car was the one located nearest the platform entrance, and so - but for the rear locomotive - was the last car.
The seats looked old-style aircraft business class of th 1990s, tan coloured leather or leatherette, but were comfortable, and in 2-1 formation. They looked more closely packed than the coach seats I’d spotted on the various LD trains I’d taken, but there was still plenty of room. The 2-1 arrangement meant that the seats were wide, and had a central armrest big enough it would not need fighting over.
I had no-one sitting alongside, so that became moot anyway.
Being on the ground floor, rather than in a more lofty perch upstairs, we were towered over by the many goods trains on adjacent tracks. There was no overlooking them as before.
More MOTU in the Carriage
Sitting in front of me was a young man, who soon outed himself as a Master of the Corporate Universe, making an extended business call as we rolled northwards. The friendly Conductor made an announcement over the PA asking passengers to take their mobile phone conversations to between the cars, but the MOTCU continued unabashed, seated.
I was pleased to see the Conductor then make a direct approach, politely but firmly, asking for the conversation to be taken out of the seating area. Thankfully, the MOTCU complied, and we were all spared the finer details of the vital business issues being transacted.
I try to stave off falling into being a grumpy old bloke, so my comment is more of an obervation than a whinge. It is the case, is it not, that we have blurred the line between what is acceptable conduct in a private place and what is acceptable in a public place.
GOB whinge over, we continued, more peacefully, northwards. The track was not so well-suited to high speed travel. It caused the carriage to rock from side to side at our top speed of 128kph, sending up a rhythmic squeak of the fittings, rather in the manner of an inexpensive honeymoon hotel.
Am I Briefly Back in Oz?
I was delighted to see that we would pass through Centralia. But when researching the matter, I sadly discovered there is no connection to the very centre of my country, covering many thousands of square kilometres around Alice Springs and Uluru: our red heart, and the natural habitat of our largest ‘roo species, the iconic Big Red kangaroo. That area is known throughout the country as Centralia, because we don’t like long words.
(BTW - I reckon the naming of that kangaroo species also shows another defining Oz characteristic: we like to keep things simple. When deciding what to call it, we looked at it, saw that it was big and that it was red, so we called it the Big Red.)
Rather, according to my on-train research, Centralia was the renamed place of a settlement initially named Centerville. It was renamed after Centralia in Illinois. Upon checking why that place was called Centralia, I again came up with no Oz connection. The Illinois version was named after the settlement at the crossing point of the two original lines of the Central Illinois Railway.
My puzzle for the day satisfactorily completed before 0930h, I settled in to the ride.
We left the Columbia River at Kelso, where, on the approach to the station, I saw a happy scene. A man, with a toddler tucked safely into his zippered warm jacket, was watching the trains from the safe side of a level crossing. It is never too young to start an appreciation of trains.
Our track now ran along a tributary of the Columbia, wide and deep enough for navigation and trade in the pre-railway days, likely going back to the earliest days of human occupation.
The Cascades’ wifi was keeping me connected enough to not miss my gadgets. It was not long after midnight and into the early hours in my bit of Oz, so I was happily able to concentrate on the view, without needing to keep an eye on inter-continental communications traffic.
The deciduous trees were much more advanced in their emergence from winter hibernation than those I’d seen in other northerly regions farther east. The climate was warming up and maybe there were milder winters here. I know that the Gulf Stream, which washes around western Scotland, keeps that area much warmer than it ought to be given its latitude. I wondered if there were something similar happening here.
When I checked, I saw we were about 46.5 degrees north, which a little bit closer to the north pole than the equator by about 160 kms, so maybe there was.
The forest either side of the tracks contained mostly Siver Birch along with a species of Fir.
I suspected I would see much more Silver Birch once I was in Canada, at least according to my memory of a song I learnt in primary school in Scotland about our Commonwealth cousins which began “Land of the Silver Birch, home of the beaver....”
We were now in Centralia where there was a brief stop. I decided to take out a stick of Big Red chewing gum in recognition. It’s a flavour not available in Oz, most likely because it contains a food additive banned in Australia. I took a liking to its cinnamon flavour on an earlier visit to the USA, and I always preferred to think it was banned in Oz because we didn’t want anyone to think we were selling kangaroo-flavoured chewy.
I’ll post it here when I get a chance.
Water Views Again
We were running a little behind schedule. However, as my connection was assured, I was unconcerned. I saw we were to reach the water again for the last of the run into Seattle, so I took in the view.
We passed under the twin Tacoma Narrows suspension bridges, obviously built in two different eras, but the more deferrring to its elder in its design and decoration. They could easily have done something drastically different and less pleasing to the eye, so it was good to see the youngster, although certainly wider and sturdier, paying homage in this way.
A bald eagle flew calmly alongside us shoreside for a hundred or so metres before we disappeared into a tunnel at Ruston. When we exited, we were back in a more densely occupied landscape for the last few kilometres alongside the busy docks at Tacoma. We were in amongst other rail traffic again.
I remembered hearing about the calamitous derailment of a Cascades train several months before, which I thought was the cause of us remaining on this old alignment along the Puget Sound, so I paid my respects.
The Run Home
The track conditions improved and we stayed in the high 120s for much the first part of the run into Seattle, with just a schedule in prospect to delay our arrival. But we found ourselved behind what was announced to the carriage as “a slow movng freight train” by the Conductor.
He was right. For the next several kilometres, we travelled at between walking pace and 40kph, until we were finally set free at a passing point near Algona.
But our respite was brief. There was much trackwork being done on the line immediately to our west, with many sleeper-laying machines, tamping equipment, and brushes, all gainfully employed in an impressive manner.
The various delayes put us 45 minutes behind, so we got to see a southbound Cascades, Train #517, just as we cme longside the airport, before fnally pulling in to Seattle station.
My Amtrak rails adventure was complete.
I now only had Canadian Customs in front of me, and a short ride on rubber wheels before I would gain access to the land of our northern cousins, and their iconic cross-country train.
Train #500 was pulled by loco #1405, and pushed by loco #465.
Portland Station 
At Seattle Station, a chance look out the window, and I saw planes on a train - there were four of them, and I caught the fourth
The lead loco for Train #500 pictured at Seattle station after the journey ended
The trailing loco for Train #500 pictured at Portland station before the journey started
My Centralia visual joke
At Seattle Station, a chance look out the window, and I saw planes on a train - there were four of them, and I caught the fourth
The lead loco for Train #500 pictured at Seattle station after the journey ended
The trailing loco for Train #500 pictured at Portland station before the journey started
My Centralia visual joke
caravanman
Engineer
The only Canadian song I know starts "I'm a lumberjack and i'm okay..."
Happy travels!
Ed.
Happy travels!
Ed.
Last edited by a moderator:
cpotisch
Engineer
Looks like a Boeing 737 MAX fuselage being taken to/from the Boeing factory in Renton, Washington. That's a rare sight to see a fuselage in transport like that.At Seattle Station, a chance look out the window, and I saw planes on a train - there were four of them, and I caught the fourth4E1A9E37-AAD4-444B-960D-21F2EAAB7A43.jpeg
cpotisch
Engineer
A few Cascades do go to Vancouver, BC. Why didn't you take one of those?
cpotisch
Engineer
Whoops. Well done, me.
Sojourn in Vancouver
I had a few days in Vancouver between trains. After arriving by Amtrak Thruway bus from Seattle in the early evening of Thursday, I was not due to depart on The Canadian Train #2 until Sunday evening.
That gave me three clear days to explore the city. I considered, but discounted, making a day-trip to Whistler, despite how inviting that sounded. I preferred to get to know Vancouver.
My only commiment was that I had a ticket to the football on the Friday evening. Vancouver Whitecaps were to host Houston Dynamo in the combined USA/Canada football league, the MLS.
I had compared the MLS fixtures with my travel plans at an early stage in my planning process, and was disappointed to discover that I was likely only to catch one game, despite many of the cities I was to be in having a team in that competition.
I like to catch a game, where I can, on my travels, and I was looking forward to see how the north American experience compared with more traditional footballing countries. An added attraction would be that I would get chance to see Australian player Bernie Ibini playing for the Whitecaps.
So I had a completely open go as far as my movements were concerned.
I decided the first full day would be a public transport explore day.
Vancouver by Ferry, Bus, and Rail.
I was staying a block or two away from the CBD and the massive transport infrastructure centred on it.
Armed with a $10 all day ticket, I decided I would first cross into North Vancouver by passenger ferry and have a look around there, before returning and checking out what I could find on the rails on my side of town.
The ferry ride was about ten minutes. The ferries run every quarter of an hour, and boarding and exiting is fast and efficient. They are also capacious. Whereas they were possibly chokka in the morning and evening peaks, by the time I got there, strategically arranged to fall after the morning rush was over, things were decidedly relaxed.
The crossing was smooth and the ride comfortable. After disgorgement on the northern side, I jumped onto the nearest bus. It happened to be the #228, and I went wherever it was going to take me. It went on a climb, past the commercial centre, hgh-rise dwellings, and then into more genteel family-home neighbourhoods. I jumped off after a time, walked over the road, and boarded its return partner back to the dock.
There’s an interesting food place next to the ferry terminal I checked out. I bought some Belgian chocolate pralines for my Toronto hosts. There were a number of really interesting fresh food outlets there, as well as other gift shops. Beng on the northern side of the inlet, it was bathed in sun.
On my return to the CBD I found my way to the SkyRail at Waterfront, the city terminal of the three-line intra-city rail service: the Expo, the Millenium, and the Canada lines.
Call me unobservant and a bit silly, but it took me a few rides before I worked out that these trains were being remotely driven, rather than in-train driven. They rattled along at a fair clip, easily outpacing those driving cars below. The area the three lines cover is vast: the Expo line especially.
I spotted than one fork of the Expo line goes over a wide-span bridge built purely for the train, so I immediately switched trains to go over it.
Switching lines is easy. The interconnection stations are well signposted and announced. The frequency is about ten to the hour, half that on lines which come together before or after branching.
With that sort of service, a timetable becomes irrelevant. Miss one, wait three minutes, then catch the next.
Once I discovered the trains were remotely driven, I worked out that the person I saw in the middle window of the first car was not a driver, but a passenger. There’s a rail-fan window not just at the rear of the train, but the front. Any passenger can have a cab-view ride. All three lines run end-to-end, so if you were in the rear window seat on approaching the terminal station, you are now the driver on its return journey.
It was now approaching end of work-day, so I made a final run and prepared to give way to the harried end-of-workday commuters.
The game was a good one, the stadium a short walk away, and Bernie Ibini did well. His side managed a 2-2 draw, coming from behind both times, and with the final equaliser coming well into added time. In those circumstances, you are happy with the draw, so the dispersing crowd was in good humour.
Breakfast with Fellow Tea-Drinkers
At the hotel’s breakfast room I heard a diner at the adjacent table say to his companion that there was no more tea. I could tell he was speaking in a Scottish accent, so I introduced myself.
I met Jim and Christine, both from Kirkintilloch near Glasgow, and about to start a cruise from Vancouver to Alaska. They were seasoned travellers, and had visited Oz a few times, each time exploring a separate area. One of those occasions was in my part of the world when they took to the Geat Ocean Road, a wonderful coastal drive along the southwest coastline of Victoria. That road was an initiative of the Great Depression and was used as a way of employing hundreds of out-of-work men in the 1930s on a piece of public infrastructure which now brings millions of dollars annually to the region.
They had especially been tickled to discover that an inner Melbourne suburb is called St Kilda, the same name as the remote outer Hebridean island abandoned in the 1930s because its population had fallen below sustainability levels, and servicing its residents’ needs depended on sea-transport often unavailable for months because of adverse weather conditions in the North Atlantic. Christine’s grandmother had been one of those who had been moved off the island.
Melbourne’s St Kilda is named after a ship. But the origins of that ship’s name?
Jim and Christine had also travelled throughout parts of Africa where they had earlier worked.
They had seen on the telly the previous evening some of the game I had attended, but were rugby followers themselves, so we discussed the recent contests between the Scots and the Wallabies, the affectionate name of the Oz national rugby side.
Saturday’s Search for the Bookshop
Acting on advice from the well-travelled and libraphile, caravanman, I thought a hunt for the recommended Powell’s bookshop.
Alas, I discovered they were Portland-based, and as much as I have an affinity for that wonderful city, I decided against returning there for a book. I would have to source one more locally.
Stanley Park
I thought I should devote my full-day Saturday to a foot exploration of Vancouver. I had made the short walk to the city commercial shops in an unsuccessful search for an inexpensive polo shirt, and then decided to continue walking up Robson Street because it was heading to Stanley Park.
I’d read that there was a circumnavigation walking track of around nine kilometres there, which I thought was a good distance on a fine Saturday morning, and that it would give me another perspective on the city.
I decided I would walk in an anti-clockwise direction, because, properly observing the keep-right protocol, that might shave a metre or two off the distance.
What a wonderful facility the Vancouverites have at their doorstep! How lucky are they? The walking track is broad and level, easy for all grades of walker. There’s a separate but adjoined track for wheeled traffic - bikes, skateboards, skaters and the like, but that runs only anti-clockwise as it can sometimes become quite narrow. There is a gradient separation between the two, so there is no incursion into the walkers’ space by the wheeled demons.
The track opens up some wonderful vistas - even a beach. As I walked past its end, a woman cyclist coming around a corner the other way espied it, and, such was her surprise, delightedly exclaimed to her cycling companion, “Oooh - la plage!”
It was a little too cool for doing much la plaging that day, but I could imagine this place being a favoured site on a high summer’s afternoon.
Along the way I got into conversation with Karen for a few hundred metres, a North Vancouver resident out for a walk, and who was going the same way as I and at a roughly similar pace. She told me she worked in the city and drove across one of the bridges daily. She had visited New Zealand but not Australia. We each congratulated each other in our choice of countries and cities we lived in.
Eventually I came back to my starting point which is always a possibility when you walk a peninsula, as long as you keep the water to one side of you throughout.
A short distance later I was in the waterfront area and spotted a place which might feed and water me, so I took a short break for this, and to see the float-planes take off directly opposite.
In between both of those activities, I wrote this, and then prepared to head back to my digs to catch up on the morning’s news from Oz.
I had a few days in Vancouver between trains. After arriving by Amtrak Thruway bus from Seattle in the early evening of Thursday, I was not due to depart on The Canadian Train #2 until Sunday evening.
That gave me three clear days to explore the city. I considered, but discounted, making a day-trip to Whistler, despite how inviting that sounded. I preferred to get to know Vancouver.
My only commiment was that I had a ticket to the football on the Friday evening. Vancouver Whitecaps were to host Houston Dynamo in the combined USA/Canada football league, the MLS.
I had compared the MLS fixtures with my travel plans at an early stage in my planning process, and was disappointed to discover that I was likely only to catch one game, despite many of the cities I was to be in having a team in that competition.
I like to catch a game, where I can, on my travels, and I was looking forward to see how the north American experience compared with more traditional footballing countries. An added attraction would be that I would get chance to see Australian player Bernie Ibini playing for the Whitecaps.
So I had a completely open go as far as my movements were concerned.
I decided the first full day would be a public transport explore day.
Vancouver by Ferry, Bus, and Rail.
I was staying a block or two away from the CBD and the massive transport infrastructure centred on it.
Armed with a $10 all day ticket, I decided I would first cross into North Vancouver by passenger ferry and have a look around there, before returning and checking out what I could find on the rails on my side of town.
The ferry ride was about ten minutes. The ferries run every quarter of an hour, and boarding and exiting is fast and efficient. They are also capacious. Whereas they were possibly chokka in the morning and evening peaks, by the time I got there, strategically arranged to fall after the morning rush was over, things were decidedly relaxed.
The crossing was smooth and the ride comfortable. After disgorgement on the northern side, I jumped onto the nearest bus. It happened to be the #228, and I went wherever it was going to take me. It went on a climb, past the commercial centre, hgh-rise dwellings, and then into more genteel family-home neighbourhoods. I jumped off after a time, walked over the road, and boarded its return partner back to the dock.
There’s an interesting food place next to the ferry terminal I checked out. I bought some Belgian chocolate pralines for my Toronto hosts. There were a number of really interesting fresh food outlets there, as well as other gift shops. Beng on the northern side of the inlet, it was bathed in sun.
On my return to the CBD I found my way to the SkyRail at Waterfront, the city terminal of the three-line intra-city rail service: the Expo, the Millenium, and the Canada lines.
Call me unobservant and a bit silly, but it took me a few rides before I worked out that these trains were being remotely driven, rather than in-train driven. They rattled along at a fair clip, easily outpacing those driving cars below. The area the three lines cover is vast: the Expo line especially.
I spotted than one fork of the Expo line goes over a wide-span bridge built purely for the train, so I immediately switched trains to go over it.
Switching lines is easy. The interconnection stations are well signposted and announced. The frequency is about ten to the hour, half that on lines which come together before or after branching.
With that sort of service, a timetable becomes irrelevant. Miss one, wait three minutes, then catch the next.
Once I discovered the trains were remotely driven, I worked out that the person I saw in the middle window of the first car was not a driver, but a passenger. There’s a rail-fan window not just at the rear of the train, but the front. Any passenger can have a cab-view ride. All three lines run end-to-end, so if you were in the rear window seat on approaching the terminal station, you are now the driver on its return journey.
It was now approaching end of work-day, so I made a final run and prepared to give way to the harried end-of-workday commuters.
The game was a good one, the stadium a short walk away, and Bernie Ibini did well. His side managed a 2-2 draw, coming from behind both times, and with the final equaliser coming well into added time. In those circumstances, you are happy with the draw, so the dispersing crowd was in good humour.
Breakfast with Fellow Tea-Drinkers
At the hotel’s breakfast room I heard a diner at the adjacent table say to his companion that there was no more tea. I could tell he was speaking in a Scottish accent, so I introduced myself.
I met Jim and Christine, both from Kirkintilloch near Glasgow, and about to start a cruise from Vancouver to Alaska. They were seasoned travellers, and had visited Oz a few times, each time exploring a separate area. One of those occasions was in my part of the world when they took to the Geat Ocean Road, a wonderful coastal drive along the southwest coastline of Victoria. That road was an initiative of the Great Depression and was used as a way of employing hundreds of out-of-work men in the 1930s on a piece of public infrastructure which now brings millions of dollars annually to the region.
They had especially been tickled to discover that an inner Melbourne suburb is called St Kilda, the same name as the remote outer Hebridean island abandoned in the 1930s because its population had fallen below sustainability levels, and servicing its residents’ needs depended on sea-transport often unavailable for months because of adverse weather conditions in the North Atlantic. Christine’s grandmother had been one of those who had been moved off the island.
Melbourne’s St Kilda is named after a ship. But the origins of that ship’s name?
Jim and Christine had also travelled throughout parts of Africa where they had earlier worked.
They had seen on the telly the previous evening some of the game I had attended, but were rugby followers themselves, so we discussed the recent contests between the Scots and the Wallabies, the affectionate name of the Oz national rugby side.
Saturday’s Search for the Bookshop
Acting on advice from the well-travelled and libraphile, caravanman, I thought a hunt for the recommended Powell’s bookshop.
Alas, I discovered they were Portland-based, and as much as I have an affinity for that wonderful city, I decided against returning there for a book. I would have to source one more locally.
Stanley Park
I thought I should devote my full-day Saturday to a foot exploration of Vancouver. I had made the short walk to the city commercial shops in an unsuccessful search for an inexpensive polo shirt, and then decided to continue walking up Robson Street because it was heading to Stanley Park.
I’d read that there was a circumnavigation walking track of around nine kilometres there, which I thought was a good distance on a fine Saturday morning, and that it would give me another perspective on the city.
I decided I would walk in an anti-clockwise direction, because, properly observing the keep-right protocol, that might shave a metre or two off the distance.
What a wonderful facility the Vancouverites have at their doorstep! How lucky are they? The walking track is broad and level, easy for all grades of walker. There’s a separate but adjoined track for wheeled traffic - bikes, skateboards, skaters and the like, but that runs only anti-clockwise as it can sometimes become quite narrow. There is a gradient separation between the two, so there is no incursion into the walkers’ space by the wheeled demons.
The track opens up some wonderful vistas - even a beach. As I walked past its end, a woman cyclist coming around a corner the other way espied it, and, such was her surprise, delightedly exclaimed to her cycling companion, “Oooh - la plage!”
It was a little too cool for doing much la plaging that day, but I could imagine this place being a favoured site on a high summer’s afternoon.
Along the way I got into conversation with Karen for a few hundred metres, a North Vancouver resident out for a walk, and who was going the same way as I and at a roughly similar pace. She told me she worked in the city and drove across one of the bridges daily. She had visited New Zealand but not Australia. We each congratulated each other in our choice of countries and cities we lived in.
Eventually I came back to my starting point which is always a possibility when you walk a peninsula, as long as you keep the water to one side of you throughout.
A short distance later I was in the waterfront area and spotted a place which might feed and water me, so I took a short break for this, and to see the float-planes take off directly opposite.
In between both of those activities, I wrote this, and then prepared to head back to my digs to catch up on the morning’s news from Oz.
Wiggly bit of SkyRail track 
Half-time entertainment at the football: Two Vancouver Whitecaps players v 100 Vancouver kids
Canadian Goose on sentry duty on top of Siwash Rock
Takeaway meal
Under Lions Gate bridge
Lions Gate Bridge more traditionally
Totems
A ferry making its way to North Vancouver
Half-time entertainment at the football: Two Vancouver Whitecaps players v 100 Vancouver kids
Canadian Goose on sentry duty on top of Siwash Rock
Takeaway meal
Under Lions Gate bridge
Lions Gate Bridge more traditionally
Totems
A ferry making its way to North Vancouver
Wonderful report and pics of my favorite North American City, and briefly my home, before Beautiful Vancouver was "discovered" and became so chic and expensive!
Nothing better than hanging out in Stanley Park on a Sunny Day and eating Fish and Chips from one of the Kiosks in the park.
Nothing better than hanging out in Stanley Park on a Sunny Day and eating Fish and Chips from one of the Kiosks in the park.
cpotisch
Engineer
Just change it to say "redacted" and report the post to the moderators for deletion.
Ahh - but now there’ll still be evidence because of your helpful post in reply
Boarding Day Dawns - Via Rail Train #2 Vancouver to Toronto
I had another full day in Vancouver before the scheduled 2030h departure of The Canadian, Via Rail’s iconic service between Vancouver and Toronto, a distance of almost 4,500 kilometres.
The day before, I had an email from Via Rail letting me know that the scheduled departure time would now be delayed by three hours because of the late arrival from Toronto of the turn-around Train #1.
By the scheduled day of departure, I’d been sent another, saying the delay woud now be five hours; and boarding unlikely much before midnight.
Staying around in Vancouver would not be onerous, beautiful and accessible city that it is, even if the delayed departure would mean I’d leave Vancouver in the dark, rather than at dusk.
Time for Fine Arts
I had passed by the Vancouver Art Gallery the previous morning on my walk to Stanley Park. Outside it stood a score or more of religious people in a prayer vigil of some sort. I thought if it were aimed in opposition to what the Gallery was showing, I wanted to go there. It would have to be good.
I saw there was a special exhibition on the A-Bomb, and further, there was the possibility of joining a guided tour of the gallery’s expressionist collection.
It’s a fine gallery, and the guide was knowledgeable and enthusiastic. What was scheduled to be 45 minutes, went for slightly over an hour, such was the breadth of what was covered. The gallery has a Monet and an Egon Scheile amongst its collection, as well as works from countless other I had been ignorant of.
On the upper floors was a special exhibition around the theme of the Atomic Bomb. It included propaganda of the time, as well as actual USA War Department footage of some of the tests. It also included pictures and stories from Hiroshima and Nagasaki, as well as stories of those USA citizens involved in and adversely affected by the production and testing processes.
It was a very cleverly curated exhibition. If you get a chance to see it, I recommend it.
After I’d gone back to the main part of the gallery collection to have a more detailed look, I bumped into the guide and asked if she had any Oz artists’ work in the gallery. She thought for a moment and concluded she did not, and did not know much about the expressionist painters of Australia.
I mentioned a few and we had a productive back-and-forth on our respective country’s various collections, and what caused this new radical art movement around the globe. She took me to see another piece of work she had omitted from her earlier tour. It was a strong highly textured piece arising from the built-up the layers of the paint, and some added molten lead. The artist had then burnt the paint with a blow-torch, making it varous shades of dark grey and black.
I made her a bit jealous when I told her that the Australian National Gallery has Jackson *******’s Blue Poles, which had been an anchor of the collection since its purchase in the mid-1970s, earning its cost price many times over since then beause of attendance and licensing revenues.
Gastown
I went for an explore after the high culture of the gallery, and decided to have a look around the Chinatown part of the city. I was in search of an inexpensive pair of slip-on shoes or slippers to wear on the train.
I found a suitable pair in the Army and Navy Stores shop, and flushed with my quick success, decided to continue down the road a bit into Gastown. I’d heard it was a bit grungy, a bit hip, and a bit raffish, so that sounded the type of place I’d find a good place to sample at least a beer and maybe some food.
Right behind the statue of “Gassy Jack”, John Deighton, after whom the neighbourhood is named, I found my place.
Melbourne is full of funky areas like this, and good eating places within them, in neighbourhoods just like this where many of the residents have seen better days. There is no judgement on either side, and an easy tolerance exists between the tribes. If you wanted a place where those who have fallen on tough times are separated from you, you will not find it here. It is an inner-city area with real life all around.
I was right at home. My adult life was mostly spent in an equivalent area of Melbourne. It can be confronting and scarey to some who don’t much encounter this side of life.
I caught up with the news from home as I found a wifi signal from an adjacent restaurant/bar, and ate and drank in the late afternoon warm sunshine.
On my way back to the hotel for a shower and change, I bought the inexpensive bus ticket which would later take me to the station.
All that now awaited was the departure.
I was unlikely to have much connectivity once aboard, so I’e sent this from what passes as the Vancouver Business Lounge. Its good aspect is that the essential overflow area is right by the platforms, so the loading and train crew preparation performance is right on view.
I had another full day in Vancouver before the scheduled 2030h departure of The Canadian, Via Rail’s iconic service between Vancouver and Toronto, a distance of almost 4,500 kilometres.
The day before, I had an email from Via Rail letting me know that the scheduled departure time would now be delayed by three hours because of the late arrival from Toronto of the turn-around Train #1.
By the scheduled day of departure, I’d been sent another, saying the delay woud now be five hours; and boarding unlikely much before midnight.
Staying around in Vancouver would not be onerous, beautiful and accessible city that it is, even if the delayed departure would mean I’d leave Vancouver in the dark, rather than at dusk.
Time for Fine Arts
I had passed by the Vancouver Art Gallery the previous morning on my walk to Stanley Park. Outside it stood a score or more of religious people in a prayer vigil of some sort. I thought if it were aimed in opposition to what the Gallery was showing, I wanted to go there. It would have to be good.
I saw there was a special exhibition on the A-Bomb, and further, there was the possibility of joining a guided tour of the gallery’s expressionist collection.
It’s a fine gallery, and the guide was knowledgeable and enthusiastic. What was scheduled to be 45 minutes, went for slightly over an hour, such was the breadth of what was covered. The gallery has a Monet and an Egon Scheile amongst its collection, as well as works from countless other I had been ignorant of.
On the upper floors was a special exhibition around the theme of the Atomic Bomb. It included propaganda of the time, as well as actual USA War Department footage of some of the tests. It also included pictures and stories from Hiroshima and Nagasaki, as well as stories of those USA citizens involved in and adversely affected by the production and testing processes.
It was a very cleverly curated exhibition. If you get a chance to see it, I recommend it.
After I’d gone back to the main part of the gallery collection to have a more detailed look, I bumped into the guide and asked if she had any Oz artists’ work in the gallery. She thought for a moment and concluded she did not, and did not know much about the expressionist painters of Australia.
I mentioned a few and we had a productive back-and-forth on our respective country’s various collections, and what caused this new radical art movement around the globe. She took me to see another piece of work she had omitted from her earlier tour. It was a strong highly textured piece arising from the built-up the layers of the paint, and some added molten lead. The artist had then burnt the paint with a blow-torch, making it varous shades of dark grey and black.
I made her a bit jealous when I told her that the Australian National Gallery has Jackson *******’s Blue Poles, which had been an anchor of the collection since its purchase in the mid-1970s, earning its cost price many times over since then beause of attendance and licensing revenues.
Gastown
I went for an explore after the high culture of the gallery, and decided to have a look around the Chinatown part of the city. I was in search of an inexpensive pair of slip-on shoes or slippers to wear on the train.
I found a suitable pair in the Army and Navy Stores shop, and flushed with my quick success, decided to continue down the road a bit into Gastown. I’d heard it was a bit grungy, a bit hip, and a bit raffish, so that sounded the type of place I’d find a good place to sample at least a beer and maybe some food.
Right behind the statue of “Gassy Jack”, John Deighton, after whom the neighbourhood is named, I found my place.
Melbourne is full of funky areas like this, and good eating places within them, in neighbourhoods just like this where many of the residents have seen better days. There is no judgement on either side, and an easy tolerance exists between the tribes. If you wanted a place where those who have fallen on tough times are separated from you, you will not find it here. It is an inner-city area with real life all around.
I was right at home. My adult life was mostly spent in an equivalent area of Melbourne. It can be confronting and scarey to some who don’t much encounter this side of life.
I caught up with the news from home as I found a wifi signal from an adjacent restaurant/bar, and ate and drank in the late afternoon warm sunshine.
On my way back to the hotel for a shower and change, I bought the inexpensive bus ticket which would later take me to the station.
All that now awaited was the departure.
I was unlikely to have much connectivity once aboard, so I’e sent this from what passes as the Vancouver Business Lounge. Its good aspect is that the essential overflow area is right by the platforms, so the loading and train crew preparation performance is right on view.
cpotisch
Engineer
Is the Canadian still due 5 hours late? Looking forward to your take on it!
I find it interesting what your idea of a "scary inner-city" neighborhood likes like....it looks rather gentrified, and touristy to me...at least what your photo's show.
You should see what a real ghetto "hood" looks like, in comparison...
Still enjoying your commentary and photo's!
You should see what a real ghetto "hood" looks like, in comparison...
Still enjoying your commentary and photo's!
Vancouver to Toronto Train #2 (Part One) 13/14 May
Off at Last
After a delay of five hours, Train #2 set off from Vancouver a few minutes before 0130h on Monday 14 May. We were boarded well before then, so most were safely settled in, and perhaps already horizontal.
I slept well, and awoke before 0600h. When I checked my gadgets, I saw we were soon to pass by Yale. I went to the dome car to await the breakfast call and see how the landscape looked from that vantage point.
Two Spies on a Train
A few other passengers were of a similar mind to explore the dome car, but there were enough vacant seats for me to find a suitable spot. The car slowly filled up. After a time, I was joined by Percy, who asked if he could take the empty seat alongside me.
Percy had just visited family in Vancouver. It was the city of his early years, but he had since moved away as a consequence of joining the Canadian Army. He told me he was in Signals. I knew what that meant. The reason we had migrated to Australia from Scotland was because my father had been asked to join Australia’s then Defence Signals Directorate - effectively a spy agency, obtaining its intelligence from listening in to whatever radio transmissions they could find.
I mentioned my connection with the Australian equivalent and so we had an interesting discussion about how things worked across the allied nations. Percy had spent time with NATO forces in Europe, but was mostly posted to home soil.
We agreed that we’d try to meet up at the breakfast table and when the diner opened we did so. We were seated at a table already occupied by an Oz couple from Rockhampton - a coastal Queensland city on the Tropic of Capricorn.
We met Ray and Noeleen, elderly and retired, and travelling, as was I. Ray had worked for Queensland Rail as a stationmaster, and was now active in local community affairs. So too was Noelene. She was a JP, an honourary officer of the law who assists manage some of the state’s legal issues.
I did not out myself as a Aussie, nor did Percy blow my cover, and neither Ray nor Noeleen enquired. I suspect they thought Percy and I were an old gay couple, and that it would be rude and uncomfortable to ask too many questions. Perhaps it was when I fibbed I’d been travelling with Percy for a few years which put them off the scent.
Ray and Noeleen had just finished a cruise of Alaska, and a train ride on The Rocky Mountaineer. I think they went as part of a well-known Oz-owned travel company which specialises in putting together these sorts of high-quality fully-catered and arranged international tours. They were now riding to Toronto, to join another tour which would take them to see Niagara Falls.
They finished their breakfasts and Percy and I continued discussing spying issues for a little longer.
Along the Rivers
Our track took us firstly along the Fraser River, then the Thompson River when that joined, then the North Thompson River in turn.
We were ddefinitely headed north, quickly crossing the fiftieth, then the fifty-first parallel.
The landscape was vast. Huge scree-fields spilt towards the tracks, sometimes directed over them by a protective roof. The river was in full force, turbulent and overflowing into floodplains either side, and carving into the banks on the outside arc of its eroding course.
If you were designing the scenic portion of a model railway, and produced such a tableau, it would be thought overly-dramatic and fanciful: an figment of an overwrought imagination. But here it was, outside my window exactly as nature, with a little interference from the railway surveyors, had intended.
I was surprised to see we were still at an altitude either side of 250 metres. The rugged landscape felt as if we should be much higher. Our pace was a steady, if sedate, 50kph.
I had returned to my cabin and lowered the bed in anticipation of fallng asleep when the zeds hit. That happened a bit earlier than I expected, and I awoke an hour or so later to see a large-eared deer in a well-grassed meadow by the Lac du Bois looking back at me. If Australia had native deer, I could safely bet on its common name being the Large Eared Deer, but this was a different place, and I resolved to find out what it might have been once I could fire up the internet.
Anther research project was to find out the name of the bird I saw perched on a fence. It was shaped like a macaw, and only a little smaller. It had a blue-grey coloured tail, a darker body, and patches of white on its wings. I had never before seen such a bird.
We had climbed another 100 metres alongside the river.
The 2003 Fires
A train announcement was made to draw our attention to the scarring of the countryside due to the 2003 British Columbia wildfires, which had burnt large tracts, unchecked, for many weeks.
What had been thick pine forest stretching across the horizon was now charred sticks. There was regrowth, but it was still a long way from replacing what had been lost.
I remember that my state of Victoria sent fire-fighters experienced in forest wildfires in remote country to assist our Canadian friends in their battle for control. Not long after, in our summer of early 2005, it was our turn to request Canadian and USA assistance as a huge wildfire devastated our alpine forests and the communities which lived in them.
I like living in a cooperative world.
Multi-Lingual Dining
After a brief stop at Kamloops North, we were off again. Shortly after, came the call for my midday meal sitting.
I was third to a table occupied by Steve, from Chicago, and a Francophone couple from near Montreal: Suzanne and Chris. We introduced ourselves.
Steve was a retired Amtrak employee who had worked at Chicago’s Union Station for more than two decades as a telephone operator and station announcer. He was happy to discover I had covered so much ground in the USA on Amtrak, and that I had spent a productive day on Chicago’s many-hued L lines.
Steve was detraining at Jasper, taking his time with a few other stops to cross to Toronto, and thence back to Chicago.
Suzanne and Chris had boarded at Kamloops and were headed back home. Suzanne mentioned she had worked in aged-care, but was now retired. I got the sense that Chris was in academia, but couldn’t be sure as he spoke softly, and seemed content to remain silent.
When the waiter came around, I saw a disapproving look on their faces when he said he could not speak French. Another was beckoned to the table, and their orders were taken. I understand and sympathise with those who live in twin-culture nations who feel theirs is not being properly considered. I know that often there is a political issue at stake, and so insisting in relation to a language issue is also insisting on a political one.
Perhaps it was Chris who was the more militant of the duo, because after he left the table, Suzanne was more forthcoming.
Goods Trains and More Goods Trains
As we continued to ascend to Blue River we encountered mutiple goods trains. We were held in a siding for two to pass by in the opposite direction, but we were waved through on many other occasions as they were sidelined. Then it was us awaiting another two, and so on it went.
We were now at 650 metres, and when moving, steadily rolling along at 70kph.
Jasper, the crossing point from the western to the eastern side of the country was still 210kms distant. We were already 52 degrees north of the equator, and there was a fair chance we would get beyond 53 north along the way before moving south again.
A Lively Table
I lucked in for my evening dining companions. Cousins Ann and Mary, together with Ann’s partner Bob, were making their way to Jasper. Their intention once there was to drive to Calgary, just because they wanted to go there.
I figured they were in their late 20s and early 30s.
Ann was once of Texas, and Mary still is. Ann and Bob now live in Pittsburg. They had flown from Pittsburg to Vancouver to join the train. They had also enjoyed Stanley Park during their brief stay there.
Ann was in IT, and Mary’s work put her in close connection with many secret and important aeroplanes.
They were interesting conversationalists. Both women liked the Oz TV show Miss Fisher’s Murder Mysteries, as they loved the principal character, Miss Phryne Fisher. My only claim to that show is a highly incidental one - for a time in the mid-1980s, I worked with the spouse of the author who brought Miss Fisher to life.
Mary had a relative who she thought lived in Melbourne, but couldn’t recall where. None of the trio had visited Oz, but Ann expressed a desire to live and work in our neighbours New Zealand. She thought this would not come to fruition as she has three small dogs, and knows that both Oz and EnZed have very strict animal quarantine procedures.
The train’s delay meant that their scheduled 1600h deboarding was now not likely to be before midnight, a terrible time to have to get off a train when you’d planned for it being late afternoon.
But I figured they were resilient and flexible and would cope regardless. I wished them well as I left the table.
We had been halted at a siding, awaiting another passing movement, for quite some time. I went to the dome car and saw Percy, so I sat with him for a while. Ray occuplpied the seat in front and he told us Noeleen had been taken ill with the richness of the food.
After a while, as the evening drew in, some passengers on the lower deck were sure they had seen a bear alongside in the trees. We all scanned the area but could not confirm the sighting.
As there was still no sign of us moving off, I decided a stationary train provides an ideal opportunity to have a shower. I did so and called it a day.
Once we got moving again, we were above 800 metres, still headed north-west towards the Yellow Horse Pass, at which point we would turn east, and we had not yet made Valemount. We were more than nine hours behind schedule.
(Posted at Edmonton 15 May)
Off at Last
After a delay of five hours, Train #2 set off from Vancouver a few minutes before 0130h on Monday 14 May. We were boarded well before then, so most were safely settled in, and perhaps already horizontal.
I slept well, and awoke before 0600h. When I checked my gadgets, I saw we were soon to pass by Yale. I went to the dome car to await the breakfast call and see how the landscape looked from that vantage point.
Two Spies on a Train
A few other passengers were of a similar mind to explore the dome car, but there were enough vacant seats for me to find a suitable spot. The car slowly filled up. After a time, I was joined by Percy, who asked if he could take the empty seat alongside me.
Percy had just visited family in Vancouver. It was the city of his early years, but he had since moved away as a consequence of joining the Canadian Army. He told me he was in Signals. I knew what that meant. The reason we had migrated to Australia from Scotland was because my father had been asked to join Australia’s then Defence Signals Directorate - effectively a spy agency, obtaining its intelligence from listening in to whatever radio transmissions they could find.
I mentioned my connection with the Australian equivalent and so we had an interesting discussion about how things worked across the allied nations. Percy had spent time with NATO forces in Europe, but was mostly posted to home soil.
We agreed that we’d try to meet up at the breakfast table and when the diner opened we did so. We were seated at a table already occupied by an Oz couple from Rockhampton - a coastal Queensland city on the Tropic of Capricorn.
We met Ray and Noeleen, elderly and retired, and travelling, as was I. Ray had worked for Queensland Rail as a stationmaster, and was now active in local community affairs. So too was Noelene. She was a JP, an honourary officer of the law who assists manage some of the state’s legal issues.
I did not out myself as a Aussie, nor did Percy blow my cover, and neither Ray nor Noeleen enquired. I suspect they thought Percy and I were an old gay couple, and that it would be rude and uncomfortable to ask too many questions. Perhaps it was when I fibbed I’d been travelling with Percy for a few years which put them off the scent.
Ray and Noeleen had just finished a cruise of Alaska, and a train ride on The Rocky Mountaineer. I think they went as part of a well-known Oz-owned travel company which specialises in putting together these sorts of high-quality fully-catered and arranged international tours. They were now riding to Toronto, to join another tour which would take them to see Niagara Falls.
They finished their breakfasts and Percy and I continued discussing spying issues for a little longer.
Along the Rivers
Our track took us firstly along the Fraser River, then the Thompson River when that joined, then the North Thompson River in turn.
We were ddefinitely headed north, quickly crossing the fiftieth, then the fifty-first parallel.
The landscape was vast. Huge scree-fields spilt towards the tracks, sometimes directed over them by a protective roof. The river was in full force, turbulent and overflowing into floodplains either side, and carving into the banks on the outside arc of its eroding course.
If you were designing the scenic portion of a model railway, and produced such a tableau, it would be thought overly-dramatic and fanciful: an figment of an overwrought imagination. But here it was, outside my window exactly as nature, with a little interference from the railway surveyors, had intended.
I was surprised to see we were still at an altitude either side of 250 metres. The rugged landscape felt as if we should be much higher. Our pace was a steady, if sedate, 50kph.
I had returned to my cabin and lowered the bed in anticipation of fallng asleep when the zeds hit. That happened a bit earlier than I expected, and I awoke an hour or so later to see a large-eared deer in a well-grassed meadow by the Lac du Bois looking back at me. If Australia had native deer, I could safely bet on its common name being the Large Eared Deer, but this was a different place, and I resolved to find out what it might have been once I could fire up the internet.
Anther research project was to find out the name of the bird I saw perched on a fence. It was shaped like a macaw, and only a little smaller. It had a blue-grey coloured tail, a darker body, and patches of white on its wings. I had never before seen such a bird.
We had climbed another 100 metres alongside the river.
The 2003 Fires
A train announcement was made to draw our attention to the scarring of the countryside due to the 2003 British Columbia wildfires, which had burnt large tracts, unchecked, for many weeks.
What had been thick pine forest stretching across the horizon was now charred sticks. There was regrowth, but it was still a long way from replacing what had been lost.
I remember that my state of Victoria sent fire-fighters experienced in forest wildfires in remote country to assist our Canadian friends in their battle for control. Not long after, in our summer of early 2005, it was our turn to request Canadian and USA assistance as a huge wildfire devastated our alpine forests and the communities which lived in them.
I like living in a cooperative world.
Multi-Lingual Dining
After a brief stop at Kamloops North, we were off again. Shortly after, came the call for my midday meal sitting.
I was third to a table occupied by Steve, from Chicago, and a Francophone couple from near Montreal: Suzanne and Chris. We introduced ourselves.
Steve was a retired Amtrak employee who had worked at Chicago’s Union Station for more than two decades as a telephone operator and station announcer. He was happy to discover I had covered so much ground in the USA on Amtrak, and that I had spent a productive day on Chicago’s many-hued L lines.
Steve was detraining at Jasper, taking his time with a few other stops to cross to Toronto, and thence back to Chicago.
Suzanne and Chris had boarded at Kamloops and were headed back home. Suzanne mentioned she had worked in aged-care, but was now retired. I got the sense that Chris was in academia, but couldn’t be sure as he spoke softly, and seemed content to remain silent.
When the waiter came around, I saw a disapproving look on their faces when he said he could not speak French. Another was beckoned to the table, and their orders were taken. I understand and sympathise with those who live in twin-culture nations who feel theirs is not being properly considered. I know that often there is a political issue at stake, and so insisting in relation to a language issue is also insisting on a political one.
Perhaps it was Chris who was the more militant of the duo, because after he left the table, Suzanne was more forthcoming.
Goods Trains and More Goods Trains
As we continued to ascend to Blue River we encountered mutiple goods trains. We were held in a siding for two to pass by in the opposite direction, but we were waved through on many other occasions as they were sidelined. Then it was us awaiting another two, and so on it went.
We were now at 650 metres, and when moving, steadily rolling along at 70kph.
Jasper, the crossing point from the western to the eastern side of the country was still 210kms distant. We were already 52 degrees north of the equator, and there was a fair chance we would get beyond 53 north along the way before moving south again.
A Lively Table
I lucked in for my evening dining companions. Cousins Ann and Mary, together with Ann’s partner Bob, were making their way to Jasper. Their intention once there was to drive to Calgary, just because they wanted to go there.
I figured they were in their late 20s and early 30s.
Ann was once of Texas, and Mary still is. Ann and Bob now live in Pittsburg. They had flown from Pittsburg to Vancouver to join the train. They had also enjoyed Stanley Park during their brief stay there.
Ann was in IT, and Mary’s work put her in close connection with many secret and important aeroplanes.
They were interesting conversationalists. Both women liked the Oz TV show Miss Fisher’s Murder Mysteries, as they loved the principal character, Miss Phryne Fisher. My only claim to that show is a highly incidental one - for a time in the mid-1980s, I worked with the spouse of the author who brought Miss Fisher to life.
Mary had a relative who she thought lived in Melbourne, but couldn’t recall where. None of the trio had visited Oz, but Ann expressed a desire to live and work in our neighbours New Zealand. She thought this would not come to fruition as she has three small dogs, and knows that both Oz and EnZed have very strict animal quarantine procedures.
The train’s delay meant that their scheduled 1600h deboarding was now not likely to be before midnight, a terrible time to have to get off a train when you’d planned for it being late afternoon.
But I figured they were resilient and flexible and would cope regardless. I wished them well as I left the table.
We had been halted at a siding, awaiting another passing movement, for quite some time. I went to the dome car and saw Percy, so I sat with him for a while. Ray occuplpied the seat in front and he told us Noeleen had been taken ill with the richness of the food.
After a while, as the evening drew in, some passengers on the lower deck were sure they had seen a bear alongside in the trees. We all scanned the area but could not confirm the sighting.
As there was still no sign of us moving off, I decided a stationary train provides an ideal opportunity to have a shower. I did so and called it a day.
Once we got moving again, we were above 800 metres, still headed north-west towards the Yellow Horse Pass, at which point we would turn east, and we had not yet made Valemount. We were more than nine hours behind schedule.
(Posted at Edmonton 15 May)
I am with you. Gastown has an underserved reputation as the scungy end of town. There are many street people around, and this oasis of yuppiedom, was in contrast.I find it interesting what your idea of a "scary inner-city" neighborhood likes like....it looks rather gentrified, and touristy to me...at least what your photo's show.
You should see what a real ghetto "hood" looks like, in comparison...
Still enjoying your commentary and photo's!
It does not compare with some of the ghetto areas of larger cities, but I have been around people who would be scared to venture n to places like Gastown.
Their loss, IMHO
cpotisch
Engineer
You in a Cabin for one?
I is. Although I’m currently outside it, watching some cars being removed from the consist and the locos being re-attached.
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