BEAVER

Woke up this a.m. in Toad River, B.C.; a few hours north of Fort Nelson - sure, I know you know exactly where that is. It was just a tiny dot on a big map until I pulled over yesterday. The dot doesn’t do justice. Saw Rock Sheep (big horns) on the road just a few miles before the camp. Leaned against a cottonwood next to my campsite in the evening, watching three beaver going about beaver business. All the cottonwoods in camp have a heavy plastic wrap from the ground up 3 or 4 feet: armor against unauthorized logging. They did tail slaps (just to impress me, I think) but the others didn’t take it serious. 

Played leap frog with a couple on a motorcycle yesterday; must have passed each other a dozen times. They tent camped right where I was watching the beaver. From Palmer, AK; they are on their way home from a tour of Washington and Montana. I fantasized the freedom of the motorcycle while he was taken with my little white truck and most of all, the teardrop camper. You know, you meet the coolest people. If I were religious, I’d say I must be blessed, but am inclined to think it has to do with Karma. 

The story on Toad River goes back to 1942, when I was just 3: they were building the Alaskan Highway and conditions were extreme. They had problems building a bridge here and everything had to be “towed” across the river. When it came time to give the place a name . . . you get the picture. The local historian was kind; didn’t want to insult anyone’s intelligence or be rude so they chalked it up to a northern sense of humor. 

The restaurant, camp office, fuel stop, and post office are as picturesque as the name. They have a baseball cap collection that started back in the 70’s. A man went to the washroom (they don’t have rest rooms here: if you want to rest, sit on a chair with a full seat.) When he came back, someone had tacked his hat to the ceiling. Now there are thousands of hats, wall to wall in every room. Everything is getting pricey; breakfast was $200 but it is what it is and you knew that coming in. (I’ve exaggerated, sorry!) I’ll get a T-shirt here, probably another $200.

Something about the physical, material trappings of the frontier: necessities are covered but spoiled, picky consumers will be alienated. They wipe tables clean and wash dishes between customers but last week’s dust is still in the game and yesterday’s finger prints are still on the salt shaker. There is probably a piece of cardboard folded up and shimmed under one of the table legs to keep it steady and it’s understood that you don’t wait for the waitress to warm your coffee: you get up and do it yourself. I’ve done black tie affairs, even been at the head table, delivered a keynote or two and graciously accepted applause: but sipping coffee in this dusty, earthy place is where my ego is satisfied.

So if I disappear with all the money, you know where not to look for me: and it’s time for me to disappear from Toad River. I’ll leave it to the beaver and the sheep I hope to see a little farther up the road. Gasoline is a little over $6 a gallon and I’m just happy it’s not $10. I left my hat in the truck so I don’t have to worry about it ending up, lost in the crowd on the ceiling however, they probably need a U of M hat to give it a fine, articulate, plain spoken balance.