Sunday, June 9th

Up at the crack of 9 we had a quick breakfast, tucked up our RV life lines (water hose, power cord), turned off the propane heater and stove, checked the lockers, secured the doors and set off for Fort Steele, just outside Cranbrook.

My family visited Fr. Steele in about 1964 when there were only run down, old wooden buildings. It was pretty cool but nothing like the restored town itself. For $10 it is one of the best attractions I've seen in a long time. The historical society there has restored an impressive Opera House, jails in the government building, stables, private residences, three churches, Anglican, Catholic and Presbyterian, inns, hotels, a brewery and the police barracks used to garrison Superintendent Steele's NWMP . Ft. Steele (originally called Galbraith's Ferry) was founded in 1864, by John Galbraith, funnily enough, owner and operator of a ferry cross the Kootenay River. It was renamed Fort Steele in 1888 after Steele himself quelled a dispute between First Nations and the town.  It was however, never a 'fort'. 

The old barber shop where we urged Sven to go for a haircut - she offered to 'let blood' or use a leech

After a quick bite at their cafe, we trundled down the road intending to make Head Smashed In Buffalo Jump by about 2:30.  Larry's great beast of an RV (30') needed refueling. Near Jaffray, we stopped for fuel and some bags of salted peanuts for the road.  Alas, The Ceilidh refused to start. Up goes the hood and a quick look determines nothing. Lights work - battery good. Dash lights up when key turned to run, but nothing when sprung to 'start'.  Starter solenoid? Ignition switch?  Grrrrrr.
Walk around the vehicle. Sven and Larry confer. I get back in, turn key to start, wiggle, wiggle, wiggle - bravo, she starts.

We're off. Back down to Highway 3, Fernie, Sparwood, Michel (no more), Natal (no more), Corbin (no more) and into the Crowsnest Pass itself. Through the Pass, great huge sentinel - Crowsnest Mountain to the north.

Just coming in to Blairmore and we hear a 'boom' behind us.  It might be something falling from one of our overhead lockers but no, Larry's rig has blown it's front left tire! A fellow from a nearby garage heard it and came out to investigate. We limp onto the road into Blairmore proper and pull off on a wide verge. A quick look shows the sidewall blown out.  Hmmm....BCAA? We phone.  Not much luck on a Sunday afternoon even though there is an answer there is reluctance. A young man stops and says he's a tire mechanic and offers to help.  We struggle at the task for about an hour and get it done. Luckily the sun was shining, no one was hurt and we got back on the road.

 We stop at Frank and stare in wonder at the millions of tons of limestone rock that crashed down and obliterated the town in 1903.  There are still hectares of jumbled giant boulders without a tree or twig.  It's somewhat like a lunar landscape that's been shaken and broken.

By this time it's too late for Head Smashed In Buffalo Jump. Tomorrow we'll search for tires for Larry's rig and a new ignition switch for The Ceilidh.