i've kept a journal of everything in life ever since i dropped out of college and decided to start hitching and hopping trains, but for whatever reason, last summer & fall i became lazy and didn't write anything, so today i set out to fill the gaps from memory but got tired of writing by hand and decided to try sharing the story for once, because i love reading other folks' hopping and hitching stories.
anyway...last summer i was working as a tree planter in northern bc. our season ended in late july and after leaving our bush camp all the company trucks began the long trip from prince george down to vancouver, where the company headquarters are located. i had nowhere to stay in vancouver and didn't want to spend money on a hostel so when we stopped for gas in the town of Hope i decided to grab my stuff and part ways with everyone. i bought a pack of cigarettes and found a nice picnic bench looking out over the fraser river and made some peanut butter sandwiches while the sun set. right away i began to question my decision - when i've been stuck in a remote bush-camp with a bunch of people i crave solitude, but my alone-ness hit me HARD there, having gone from being in a nice truck with friends & music to suddenly being alone at dusk in a town that reminds me of twin peaks, and in need of a place to sleep. well, there was no going back, it was too dark to hitch at that point anyway, and i reminded myself that if i spent time in vancouver i'd end up spending too much money and regretting it later.
i walked north on the highway to the edge of town and made my way down to the edge of the beautiful & gigantic fraser river, under the highway bridge. there's a rocky beach there that seemed secluded enough so i laid out my cardboard and sleeping bag and tried to sleep, but before long i began to hear scurrying and strange chirping noises in the low-hanging trees above me - raccoons! suddenly they started to hiss and growl at me, it was fucked, they were clearly not stoked on me being there. i've never been scared of a raccoon before, but what if i were to wake up to one of these bastards gnawing at my face and giving me rabies? i threw some bread into the bushes, a small sacrifice to appease them, and slept badly with my buckknife in hand. the thought of having to fend off an attacking raccoon with a buckknife was hilarious enough to calm me down enough to rest. (once i had to fend off an attacking GOOSE with a good drop-kick and a sharp stick, that was hilarious too...)
i woke up to a hot sun and sat up to admire the scenery before me, the giant green mountains downriver looking like some ancient chinese painting. i found a good place to stash my backpack inside the iron underbelly of the bridge and walked in to town to buy coffee and food and dig the vibe of Hope. turns out the town consists mostly of harmless, ancient seniors, and i was probably wrong equating it with twin peaks. in a grocery store i poured a bottle of fondue fuel into my coffee cup - fuel for my pop-can stove. i walked back to the beach under the bridge and took a good dip in the river. i cooked a mulligan stew of canned beans & canned corn for breakfast, and brewed some more coffee. when i finally hiked back up to the highway and crossed the river and began hitching it was around 2pm and very hot. after an hour i caught a ride with a nice lady who runs a farm a few hours hours northeast of there. she dropped me off at a gas station in the lanky little town where i'd try to catch an eastbound freight. i charged my phone for a bit and then started to hike to the catch out, a remote forested spot across the river. before reaching the bridge a haggard matte-black pickup truck with a big confederate flag sticker on the back window pulled over, and the fella inside, a guy with long scraggly gray hair and bad teeth who reminded me of bob from twin peaks, introduced himself as Butch and offered a lift to the other side of the river. i accepted despite my misgivings - i hate to assume that any person has bad intentions, but when you're travelling alone i think it's prudent to do this sometimes, because you never know...anyway i caught a strange vibe from old Butch, maybe the confederate flag triggered it. he convinced me to come to his house for a drink.
it was a ramshackle country place with brown dry grass and spindly plants in the front yard, and a few apple trees. he had a huge backyard with a high fence and a horse in it. he suggested i go around back and feed the horse while he fixed the drinks, and handed me a pail of feed. i walked back around the house half expecting somebody to ambush me from the back door - for some reason my instincts were on high alert. i left the bucket on the ground for the horse and hurried back to the front yard. i sat on a lawn chair and waited. butch was gone for a while, finally he came out with two cups of red liquid and handed me one. well, i rudely decided not to accept, saying that it was too hot and i had a headache and better not, etc. he seemed a bit offended understandably but we shot the shit for a while, and one mixed freight went by while we were talking, and it made me anxious watching it and hearing it, knowing i'd feel safe & comfortable on a train. i've mostly travelled alone in the past but it was because i was so down on life that i didn't know what else to do, and trains have a way of taking loneliness and turning it in to something special, something to be cherished. but during this trip i was not feeling it, and would have felt way better chilling with Butch and maybe even sleeping in his yard if i had a friend with me. so i told him i'd best be on my way, and he gave me some beef jerky and let me fill my bag with apples. i said thanks and so long and took off walking down the pretty country road, back towards the old jungle spot. i followed the road for a long ways past the yard office, then hopped the small barbwire fence and found a small grove of alder trees halfway down the hill overlooking the tracks. i waited there for a while but decided i was not enjoying the steep incline and the prickly bushes, so i set out to find the jungle spot that a friend had shown me a few years prior.
the tracks there are bordered by the mostly-open hillside on one side, and a steep forested incline down to the river on the other. but somewhere along this narrow trackside strip of woods above the river there is a clearing of even ground where hoboes of old have built benches and a fire pit and strung up rope between the trees, perfect for setting up a tarp shelter. the problem with finding it is that while you're walking along looking for it, you're exposed to any freight that should suddenly round the bend. luckily i found the spot fairly easily and settled in to waiting, reading and eating trail mix. as it grew darker outside i started to think of bears: there is always bear shit around here, and this was the one time i had forgotten to pack bear spray. but luckily an IM line pulled up at twilight, with a few good 48's not too far down the line. when the train had cleared the town i stood to admire the mountains above and the wild canyon below, drinking cheap red wine and smoking cigarettes. when it was dark and the stars had come out i laid down on my bed of cardboard and thought about what my next move would be...
anyway...last summer i was working as a tree planter in northern bc. our season ended in late july and after leaving our bush camp all the company trucks began the long trip from prince george down to vancouver, where the company headquarters are located. i had nowhere to stay in vancouver and didn't want to spend money on a hostel so when we stopped for gas in the town of Hope i decided to grab my stuff and part ways with everyone. i bought a pack of cigarettes and found a nice picnic bench looking out over the fraser river and made some peanut butter sandwiches while the sun set. right away i began to question my decision - when i've been stuck in a remote bush-camp with a bunch of people i crave solitude, but my alone-ness hit me HARD there, having gone from being in a nice truck with friends & music to suddenly being alone at dusk in a town that reminds me of twin peaks, and in need of a place to sleep. well, there was no going back, it was too dark to hitch at that point anyway, and i reminded myself that if i spent time in vancouver i'd end up spending too much money and regretting it later.
i walked north on the highway to the edge of town and made my way down to the edge of the beautiful & gigantic fraser river, under the highway bridge. there's a rocky beach there that seemed secluded enough so i laid out my cardboard and sleeping bag and tried to sleep, but before long i began to hear scurrying and strange chirping noises in the low-hanging trees above me - raccoons! suddenly they started to hiss and growl at me, it was fucked, they were clearly not stoked on me being there. i've never been scared of a raccoon before, but what if i were to wake up to one of these bastards gnawing at my face and giving me rabies? i threw some bread into the bushes, a small sacrifice to appease them, and slept badly with my buckknife in hand. the thought of having to fend off an attacking raccoon with a buckknife was hilarious enough to calm me down enough to rest. (once i had to fend off an attacking GOOSE with a good drop-kick and a sharp stick, that was hilarious too...)
i woke up to a hot sun and sat up to admire the scenery before me, the giant green mountains downriver looking like some ancient chinese painting. i found a good place to stash my backpack inside the iron underbelly of the bridge and walked in to town to buy coffee and food and dig the vibe of Hope. turns out the town consists mostly of harmless, ancient seniors, and i was probably wrong equating it with twin peaks. in a grocery store i poured a bottle of fondue fuel into my coffee cup - fuel for my pop-can stove. i walked back to the beach under the bridge and took a good dip in the river. i cooked a mulligan stew of canned beans & canned corn for breakfast, and brewed some more coffee. when i finally hiked back up to the highway and crossed the river and began hitching it was around 2pm and very hot. after an hour i caught a ride with a nice lady who runs a farm a few hours hours northeast of there. she dropped me off at a gas station in the lanky little town where i'd try to catch an eastbound freight. i charged my phone for a bit and then started to hike to the catch out, a remote forested spot across the river. before reaching the bridge a haggard matte-black pickup truck with a big confederate flag sticker on the back window pulled over, and the fella inside, a guy with long scraggly gray hair and bad teeth who reminded me of bob from twin peaks, introduced himself as Butch and offered a lift to the other side of the river. i accepted despite my misgivings - i hate to assume that any person has bad intentions, but when you're travelling alone i think it's prudent to do this sometimes, because you never know...anyway i caught a strange vibe from old Butch, maybe the confederate flag triggered it. he convinced me to come to his house for a drink.
it was a ramshackle country place with brown dry grass and spindly plants in the front yard, and a few apple trees. he had a huge backyard with a high fence and a horse in it. he suggested i go around back and feed the horse while he fixed the drinks, and handed me a pail of feed. i walked back around the house half expecting somebody to ambush me from the back door - for some reason my instincts were on high alert. i left the bucket on the ground for the horse and hurried back to the front yard. i sat on a lawn chair and waited. butch was gone for a while, finally he came out with two cups of red liquid and handed me one. well, i rudely decided not to accept, saying that it was too hot and i had a headache and better not, etc. he seemed a bit offended understandably but we shot the shit for a while, and one mixed freight went by while we were talking, and it made me anxious watching it and hearing it, knowing i'd feel safe & comfortable on a train. i've mostly travelled alone in the past but it was because i was so down on life that i didn't know what else to do, and trains have a way of taking loneliness and turning it in to something special, something to be cherished. but during this trip i was not feeling it, and would have felt way better chilling with Butch and maybe even sleeping in his yard if i had a friend with me. so i told him i'd best be on my way, and he gave me some beef jerky and let me fill my bag with apples. i said thanks and so long and took off walking down the pretty country road, back towards the old jungle spot. i followed the road for a long ways past the yard office, then hopped the small barbwire fence and found a small grove of alder trees halfway down the hill overlooking the tracks. i waited there for a while but decided i was not enjoying the steep incline and the prickly bushes, so i set out to find the jungle spot that a friend had shown me a few years prior.
the tracks there are bordered by the mostly-open hillside on one side, and a steep forested incline down to the river on the other. but somewhere along this narrow trackside strip of woods above the river there is a clearing of even ground where hoboes of old have built benches and a fire pit and strung up rope between the trees, perfect for setting up a tarp shelter. the problem with finding it is that while you're walking along looking for it, you're exposed to any freight that should suddenly round the bend. luckily i found the spot fairly easily and settled in to waiting, reading and eating trail mix. as it grew darker outside i started to think of bears: there is always bear shit around here, and this was the one time i had forgotten to pack bear spray. but luckily an IM line pulled up at twilight, with a few good 48's not too far down the line. when the train had cleared the town i stood to admire the mountains above and the wild canyon below, drinking cheap red wine and smoking cigarettes. when it was dark and the stars had come out i laid down on my bed of cardboard and thought about what my next move would be...
