6 Winter 2012 Applegater
BACK IN TIME
To Victoria and return—Part Two
by evelyN byRNe williAMS with jANeeN SAthRe
seems to be several years behind the U.S. lusty toots of the horn, whether it was
Lots of small cars of old vintage and the in salute or derision, we do not know, as
trucks also. They must use a great deal of anything might be thrown at a car bearing
sawdust and coal, as we saw a lot of this a California license. Ahem!
We wound around through a maze of
being transported in sacks loaded on open
trucks. The people are typically English as beautiful homes, flowers, hedges and lawns,
far as we are able to judge, and it seemed as there are a lot of retired and wealthy
off to see so many people of our type. We people in Vancouver. Back in the city we
were told that Victoria was more English took in a show at the Century Theater.
than Vancouver, but we were unable to see When we came out it was 8 pm, and the
sun looked to be still
much difference.
about a half hour above
Drifting around
the horizon. We are far
the city, Harold who
enough north that the
was the brains of the
days are pretty long. We
party this day conceived
The air is heavy
stayed at our same camp
the idea of following one
with
the
odor,
and “500 rummy” was
of the sightseeing busses,
and we could
enjoyed until a late hour.
w h i c h p rove d ve r y
This developed into
satisfactory. Bernard
almost
feel
somewhat of a cutthroat
maneuvered in behind
the thousands
game, and we ourselves
one of the busses leaving
were most always in
at 2 pm, and we followed
of honeybees
the hole. Sometimes
it all the way through
struggling...
from a dead silence the
Stanley Park, making
word “rummy you”
a complete circle. At
would be shouted from
Prospect Point work is
our lusty throats, and
under way to build a
the occupants of the
bridge across Burrard
Inlet to North Vancouver. Looking adjoining cottage would turn over with
northeast across the inlet, one can see a groan, as in some of these cottages, a
North Vancouver and a beautiful array of thin partition separates the two, with a
high mountains, rivers, and inlets—a very garage on each side. Anyway, they were
enticing picture to a hunter or fisherman. Californians, or most of them were, and
These parks are all beautiful, and it is were used to disturbances.
We boarded the “Princess Victoria”
useless to try to describe them.
We traveled east, then north, and and were off for Nanaimo at 11 am. Large
then gradually turned south, where we rafts of logs are in evidence, and one gets
could look out across the channel to a better view of the country above North
Vancouver Island. At this point another Vancouver. The trip across was pleasant,
halt was made at a tea garden. We pulled but uneventful, reaching Nanaimo at
ahead of the bus and waited, viewing a 1:30, a city of 7,000. There was something
monument erected to the memory of peculiar about the name of this city, and
Captain Fraser. We did not know just every time we tried to pronounce it,
where the bus was going next. When the everyone tried, until it became a joke. We
bus pulled out the driver gave us several lunched at Shasta Café at 2 pm, and headed
At Butchart Gardens: (L to R) Aunt Maud, Dad (John Byrne), Uncle Harold, Mom (Pearl Byrne). north over a good paved highway. Passed
through Wellington, a large coal-mining
district.
June 28. The weather warm and clear
again this morning. Headed for Butchart’s
Gardens, located several miles northeast
of the city. Passed a large observatory, but
did not feel like spiraling up to it. After
winding around through some low hills
we made a sharp left hand turn, then went
down into a parking court. We noticed one
officer here, but on our return he was gone.
We were allowed to wander at will about
the gardens without attendant.
To describe these gardens would be
impossible. The sunken part of the garden
is an immense mined out quarry. From an
observation point you look down into a
John and Pearl Byrne have been
traveling north from the Applegate area
to Victoria, Canada. The year is 1937,
and they have been car camping along the
way and enjoying the company of John’s
sister Maud, her husband Harold, and
their son Bernard. We join them again
as they contemplate crossing the border
into Canada.
Dad’s Story, Part Two
One of the Canadian officials was a
little officious, and reprimanded Harold
for not having his papers with him. Said he
might not be able to get back into the U.S.
without them. It made us some uneasy, but
we decided to smuggle Harold back over
the border in some manner regardless of
the cost. On all our trip we were treated
very courteously by everyone.
A short distance north of the line
we encountered several small stands close
to the highway, all selling native honey.
Pint and quart containers stacked up in
pyramids, and it looked very inviting, so
we bought some. The young man selling
said it was of native production, and we
found it to be very nice tasting honey.
We began to sit up and take notice, as
we are now in Canada. Crossed the Fraser
River and reached New Westminster at
4 pm. Another nice little city. Camped
at “Hollywood Auto Court” about eight
miles this side of Vancouver. The cabins
were modern and the prices reasonable,
although they were due for a raise July 1.
Supper over we drove into Vancouver, this
stretch of highway being called the “King’s
Way.” Vancouver claims a population of
246,000. We had intended doing more
cooking on the trip, but the women are
lying down on the job, and the men voted a
sit-down strike, so we dined at the “White
Lunch.”
What one notices most in Vancouver
are the cars and the people. The city
mass of flowers and shrubbery. The erosion
on the rocky sides of the walls has allowed
the flowers to grow in profusion aided by
frequent rains. Strips of green lawn and
masses of flowers of every description. The
air is heavy with the odor, and we could
almost feel the thousands of honeybees
struggling upward to some hives we saw
later. We sure would like to taste some of
that honey.
Up early June 29. The weather is a
bit cloudy. We boarded the S.S. Iroquois
at 9:15 am, and are off for Port Angeles.
Bernard got some more pictures, leaving
the docks, and an aeroplane passing us,
skimming low to the water. This is quite
a little trip, and one gets the swell of the
ocean. We began to feel rather peculiar,
so went inside and sat down as near the
center of the boat as possible and practiced
rhythmic breathing. This helps a lot if you
know how it is done, and one would look
so undignified leaning over the rail. Pearl
had a Calvin Coolidge look on her face,
and Maud sort of a do-or-die. Maud and
Bernard finally made a hasty trip out on
deck, but we did not follow. They probably
were looking at the scenery.
And finally: We are getting back
to the crooked highway (Roseburg and
south), but there is a good deal of historic
interest here in all these placer streams
and mountains. Occasionally you catch
glimpses of the old road, and can visualize
a team and wagon bumping and grinding
around a narrow mountain road. It is
certainly a long step from those days to
our present mode of travel.
Grants Pass seems to be the tourist
city of them all. The whole of Sixth Street
is turned over to the tourists parking, and
you can leave your car parked here all day
if necessary. We lost track of our timetable
here, but it is some time in the afternoon,
and we are headed toward home. The
Applegate country looked very good, and
the outline of the blue Siskiyous looked
inviting. At odd times, for amusement,
we have looked over maps of this country,
of Canada, of Alaska, and we have a great
desire to see them at close range, but we
believe if we ever had the good fortune to
do this, there would come a time when we
would be glad to come home.
Evelyn Byrne Williams
with Janeen Sathre
541-899-1443
Author’s Note: John has been gone for
over 40 years, but this wonderful story of
a cherished trip he took so long ago keeps
him a part of our family—his children,
grandchildren and great-grandchildren.
—Janeen Sathre
Happy
Holidays!
Here’s hoping 2013 brings good fortune to all.
Applegater Newspaper
Staff and
Board of Directors
Get along little dogie, Applegate style, up on Carberry Creek near Steamboat Cemetery.
(Photo courtesy of Bob and Linda Fischer.)