The morning was warm and sunny as we sat chatting about our day’s plans at the Elks Pancake Breakfast. “I would like to go for a drive,” I said, causing my husband to look askance at me. His “To-Do” list is many pre-winter items long. “I’ve heard you can drive from Blackpool up and over to LeMieux Creek Road.”
We went anyway, driving south from Clearwater, map book in hand, to our gravel road. Upwards we climbed, beneath the powerlines and a soaring eagle, then zigzagged and bumped through a “tunnel” of green and yellow leaves. One corner took two tries, but eventually we were under the powerlines once more. Way below us was our starting point and the North Thompson River, flowing placidly through productive farmlands.
The surface was now smoother. “There’s another vehicle!” I said, surprised. “Mann Lake is right below us,” John announced simultaneously. We walked down to the tiny campsite and dock where we could see the fly-fishers at the far end of this green, rather murky lake. Closer to us, a fish jumped. A frog, mimicking the children’s song, vacated its lily pad. As I stood still, dragonflies came so close I felt their wings whirring. Damsel flies, smaller and phosphorescent blue, cavorted further away.
Leaving this peaceful scene, we continued downwards, John commenting on the lack of wildlife. “I saw a mouse!” I told him. Soon we came to a T-junction with a “real” gravel road. Now seeking Taweel Lake, John turned north, then right again. This road took us through the prettiest part of our whole drive. On logged hillsides newly planted trees thrived, and fireweed foliage was every shade of red, orange and purple. Raft Peak, the Trophies, Clearwater and Grizzly Peaks stood out clearly against the rich blue sky. Camp 2 Road was across the valley, logging roads above and below, but no roads would connect us to it. When a logging landing stopped us, Taweel Lake, blue and equally inaccessible, was below us in its provincial park.
Back we went, enjoying the bright colours again, now looking across the North Thompson River Valley to Dunn Peak and Vavenby Mountain. Our front windows were wide open; a steady breeze felt friendly and refreshing. The air was filled wirh the scent of the bush and white fluff from the fireweed’s earlier pinkish-purple flowers. Bear scat were everywhere – but no big furry critters. The vole I saw was only slightly rounder than the mouse.
Back at the “main” road, we turned right, still seeking Taweel Lake. Crossing LeMieux Creek our nice road wanted to take us south. A narrow one going north soon subdivided. “Let’s go up,” said my intrepid driver. A truck was pulled off, small trailer empty. Four wheelers would be a much better option. This road was rocky and so narrow that trees scraped the car. We were relieved to find a place to turn round. Ahead a huge puddle looked muddy and disturbed, evidence of the “bikers”. The other branch wasn’t any better, soon becoming deeply rutted and full of puddles. Flickers, wings flashing in the sun, obviously liked it here, but we called a halt to our explorations. Apparently roads access Taweel Lake, but a plane is better!
As we drove south towards Little Fort, we saw the powerlines again, and soon, another smaller powerline was right beside us as we passed some pleasant homes and farms on this LeMieux Creek Road. Its surface was smooth, and it is a bus route, but winter driving would be a still be challenge with the many S-bends. Driving home on cushy black top was easy; resisting other roads leading off it was harder. They, and LeMieux Lake, will be there for a future gallivant.
