Glacier NP - Canada

Outback Canada can be scarey. On the drive from Golden to Revelstoke, and then Revelstoke through Glacier National Park on the way to Penticton it is probably best to lock yourself in the car, forget about toilet stops, and keep the wheels rolling. Driving itself is a nightmare as the highway is full of semi-trailers carrying logs piled so high that the logs on top roll around precariously, tape unravelling as they struggle up the hills and scream down them. And if the semis aren't pulling along forests on their backs, they are rattling around with oil tankers. Even a big van, like Jimmy (our van) is dwarfed next to these machines.

Then, finding a safe place to park for the night is like looking for for lost keys... they turn up, but only after searching for hours in ever despairing hope... maybe here... ah no... then maybe here.... oh no... (repeat at will). All the stops we found outside the national park were next to the highway; far to noisy and dangerous. I didin’t want to be sleeping on the wrong side of the road when a log toppled down off a semi, or a tanker spilled its fill. So, it was that we decided to drive into Glacier National Park to find a spot to stay. But whereas Banff NP and Lake Louise had been crawling with tourists, in Glacier NP there was a deadly silence. We drove into the first campground which was deserted, desolated and far too close to the highway for comfort. Defeated, we drove on.

The second stop looked more promising, and we began to cook dinner, but became more and more unnerved about spending the whole night. I went to the toilet block where I found posted a Missing sign on the door – Missing, in Glacier NP, male, 17 years old, brown hair, brown eyes, last seen, here ....and an awkward smiling picture of a teenager in school uniform. Soon later a semi pulled over and a burly redneck rolled out. No coincidence it seemed. With a long grey beard, gruff face, bloodshot eyes, skin black with tattoos, wrinkled with scars and fading ripped black shirt he was unapproachable at best; kidnapper at worst. No doubt he had seen the inside of more than a few Canadian jails.

We then watched as an old lady pulled over in her bomb, behind the redneck's semi and got out to talk with him; to finalise their kidnapping plans. He soon got back in the semi and drove on. She let her Saint Bernard out of the car – her lollipop lure – sat down at the picnic table and waited. She waited and waited, fishing for unsuspecting, naive tourists. And it worked! Some Japanese girls came out of no where and within no time where gawking, patting, and loving the Saint Bernard. Who would blame them!? He was beautiful, and his nature so loving and serene. His father used to rescue mountaineers in the mountains, but now, Baby Bernard was being used as a temptress.

I was relieved to see the Japanese girls make their due escape, but that meant we were their next targets. Wary of getting into any trouble we quickly finished our dinner, jumped in the van and were off... but the old lady stayed determined. If the Saint Bernard lure wouldnt work, she would just follow us in her bomb. Baby B was shoved in the back and her tires squealed as she pulled out onto the highway after us... Quick Nic! I said, but she kept following. We were tired and needed to sleep somewhere... so eventually we turned off at the third possible stop for the night, hoping for our lives that she would keep going. My stomach turned in knots. Stop being silly! said Nic, but l knew we weren’t meant to be there.

We pulled over and she drove on, to my utter relief, although I started to worry that later that night we may still have a visit. Together we began reading the sign.... silence..... I turned to look at Nic and his eyes grew wider, wider and wider. "Look!" he said... "bulletholes!!", he said. And sure enough bulletholes were scattered all over the sign. Not little bulletholes, but big deadly bulletholes from a powerful shotgun. Lets get out of here! he said .... and we did.