We are surrounded by the deep, abiding greens and pastel russets of a northern forest. The Fraser River is fifty yards away, flowing at its high water mark past our camp site.

After servicing Howie and visiting friends, we feel today that we are finally “on the road”. Even though we are nearly a thousand miles from home, our sense of starting our trip is very keen today. And what a day it has been:

• Good news from home with our son’s projects
• Great news on some medical issues (good test numbers)
• Trouble-free border crossing

We got into BC just east of Abbotsford, around noontime. We spent about 25 minutes at the border and gave away our turkey, chicken, and eggs (avian flu scare). They also wanted our small pepper sprays (pocket size), but let us keep the big bear sprays. Apparently you can’t use something that says “Bear Spray” against humans, but you can the little wimpy ones? They guy who took them also thought it was crazy. Looks like Americans don’t have a monopoly on stupid regulations.

A visitors’ center in Chilliwack provided some maps and last-minute wifi, and we scooted off up the road and into the Fraser River valley, along highway 1. Yes, Canada is a lot like the US but I won’t make any jokes about our “northern territory” because it’s clearly and truly a different sovereignty. We are (quickly?) getting used to different money and kilometers instead of miles, not to mention really friendly people.

Now, sitting in camp, we revel in the joys of the day, the soft peace of the forest, and the power of the un-dammed Fraser flowing by. The river is a big one by our standards, 200 yards across, unknowably deep, and although flat and wave-free, rippled with swirls and whorls of eddies and turbulence that speed by at 10-15mph. Unlike the dumbed-down tame rivers in California, this is one of wild heritage; huge logs, stumps, and even entire 50-foot trees float by, slowly spinning in one of the traveling whirlpools.

On the far side of the river, one of the two railroads in the valley runs by, hidden from view until a train travels along it. We know a train is arriving well before we can see it. A groaning, whirring presence enters our space, growing in intensity until we have the sense that three diesel semi’s are moving into the campsite next door. Along with the powerful sound of the engines comes the rasping call of steel wheels bending their course along twisting, curving steel rails. The scraping, shrieking, galling noise continues for the entire length of the train, undulating with the different weights of the cars being pulled along. Until late in the evening, this little serenade repeats itself every 20 minutes or so. Oddly enough, we find it only charming, not annoying. I suppose after a period of time it might wear on us, but we’re only here for a night. We hear the trains come and go as a part of the Canadian wilderness, a small intrusion by Man in a much grander, wilder space owned and operated by the trees and animals.

We take a late afternoon stroll through the forest, stepping carefully around some of the slower denizens.

In the tropics, the sun goes down with almost an audible snap. Heading vertically into the horizon, sunsets near the equator are scarcely longer than 10-15 minutes from daylight to dark. But here at Latitude 49:30, we are into the long Spring twilight. The sun slants leisurely down to earth, taking far longer to submerge our world in darkness. Combined with the light-diffusing overcast skies, twilight lingers on for perhaps an hour or so. We read and write and talk into the evening, sinking into our comfortable bed with one of those rare feelings: one of the best days ever spent.

Life is good.

• Days out: 12
• Miles driven: 1,297
• Shortest distance home: 1,028