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Above Mica Dam at the Big Bend of the Columbia River in northern BC the river always was wide and active. Canoe River and others added their drainage to the Columbia, too. At the right in this photo is Lake Kinbasket, always a natural lake that received the melt water from the huge Columbia Icefields that lie between the Columbia and Jasper AB. Kinbasket was known as one of the most beautiful lakes in the world, and still is, just even larger than its original lake and very remote. Its only access, essentially, is from the south end of the lake or, as shown here, above Mica Dam. At a point at upper right in this photo was Boat Encampment on the original river, to which David Thompson and his exploring crew came originally to escape attacking First Nation warriors on the flats above.
Yes, research can sometimes be dangerous or, at least, adventurous. When I was at the point shown, a dam employee agreed to take me out on the above body of water. I soon asked to return. The water was rough and filled with many loose logs, any one of which could have collided with our small rowboat only about 15 feet long. However, in explorer days well before dams, this particular junction of rivers was really a suicide trip.. It led (to the left of photo) through a narrow gorge and rapids that upset explorers' early boats and drowned not a few persons. Most detoured around it.
I am a lifetime writer for diverse magazine articles, as well as books. One of my adventures was in the North Cascades Mountains of Washington. A group of Texas prospectors was exploring for gold on the face of a very steep peak called Church Mountain near Mount Baker. Seeking publicity for the work, which was the first time anyone had moved a gold drill by helicopter from one site to another on a mountain, the company sent its helicopter to pick me up to photograph this event. Fine... I left my kitchen (as I was more housewife and mother and less roving writer at the time) and climbed in. Within a half hour's flight the pilot set down the helicopter on a platform barely larger than itself that was attached to the mountainside. Another such platform served as a kitchen and eating site, and a third was for the six crew members for their sleeping bags.
With little delay I followed the directions of the pilot and gold crew and climbed with my big camera (not a point-and-shoot type) up a slope to position myself where I could photograph the helicopter as it hovered over a prospect hole to pull out the drill and move it elsewhere. I was well aware of the slope's danger, as it must have been about a 60-70 degree rocky site. I positioned myself up-slope from a small tree. If I lost my balance, I thought I would be able to stop rolling by grabbing it. OK, the helicopter hovered. I clicked away at the drill gradually arising from the hole. What none of us had considered was that the helicopter's blades stirred up a torrent of snow and mud that landed all over me and the camera!
The photos completed, I started across a landslide of old rocks bisected by a foot trail maybe two feet wide to the other side of the slope about 300 feet across. Halfway there (with my bulky camera, mud and all) I noticed the dense cloud of fog rising up toward me from the canyon below. I was supposed to get across the rockslide, then ascend about 600 feet on the mountain to take photos of the drill being lowered into a new hole. However, I had been hiking in mountains forever and recognized that I must return or I would be unable to see anything on this dangerous foot trail. This was verified by the crew member that I met coming to get me off the mountain after I had turned back voluntarily. He said, "You have to get on the helicopter pad right away and get off the mountain or you will have to stay here overnight with the crew." The pilot tucked me into the copter and we rotated down again. He immediately left and returned uphill, and I was left alone to find my way back the short way to a small coffee shack and arrange to get back to my home, 50 miles away. I sat and drank coffee for a long time first, reviewing this adventure and asking myself, "What am I doing, anyway!"
True, not all a journalist's life is that exciting, but every now and then....well.... The story and photos, mud spots and all (film not digital), was published in an aviation magazine.
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