We were drawn out of town for an extra long weekend, lured by the grand opening of the wonderful distillery of an old friend of ours. Eventually he’ll be making whisky, but for now the Dubh Glas Distillery is dealing in gin – delightfully tasty award winning gin.
The only drawback to this grand and magical mystery tour, apart from the lack of mystery, was the fact that the distillery is over in the Okanagan. And the Okanagan is warm. Dry and warm. And hot. Really hot. We had a series of 40oC plus days to deal with, followed up by lovely 25oC nights. We spent the nights sprawled out in the enormous Taj Mahal-style tent we had borrowed, covered in damp towels. But the days? My skin recoiled in horror, my freckles multiplied like Canmore bunnies, and I spent much of my time huddling in patches of shade.
The boy had fun playing with the other kids that were around, and we partook in the Canadian tradition of swarming around a lake, and alternately frolicking and lazing all day long.
A few days later, with the grand opening over and lots of lake frolicking under our belts, we started to get itchy feet. We had another nights reservation for camping at Gallagher Lake, but tossed our heads into the air, packed the car and hit the road. We had no idea where we were going, but we’d had enough of relaxing next to lakes.
Exploring unknown territory, we headed south, then east along the road that skirts near the US border. The drive went smoothly except for the part where we realized that the car was making a funny noise.
We stopped and investigated, and it turned out that two of the bolts holding the wheels to the car had shorn off. Alex assured me that both wheels were still 80% attached, so what could possibly go wrong? Anyway, it was Sunday, so what were we going to do?
So we kept driving to Nelson, where I remembered how much the hippy mountain lifestyle seduced me first time round, and how the main reason we didn’t end up moving here was the fact we’d have so much more trouble finding work, not because it wasn’t a great town. We wandered around, and I admired elements of urban design, drank a margarita, and lamented how conservative Canmore is.
After an expensive repair of bolts ensured that our wheels would probably remain attached to the car, we continued. With no exact plan in mind, we ended up at Whiteswan Provincial Park for the night. Past the lakeside campgrounds full of rampant lake-lovers, we tucked ourselves away in the far corner of the park, finding peace and solitude.
There we cobbled together a dinner from the remnants of our esky/cooler, took photos of ourselves wearing a unicorn mask, drank some London Fog-esque drinks, then retreated to the dry tent for the nights as a massive thunderstorm rolled in and hammered us with rain.
A morning jaunt to the hot springs was undertaken sans-unicorn mask, before the completion of the drive back to Canmore for Canada Day. Adventure!
