By Maryanna Gabriel
I am noticing that there are no points to pull off and no
means to access water. I stop at a provincial park and they ask what kind of
pass I would like. I said I just need some water for my dog thinking this would
be easy. No. I had to go down and purchase water at a nearby town. As I turn
around their booth I see an outside tap. I really hate that. I drive further. I see a campground with a
lake and then notice the road to it is completely under water. Good thing I
looked. There is no sign or barricade and I could have easily driven into it. I
decide to head for Spruce Hills Provincial Park, well past Brandon, thinking
this was far enough inland from the flooding. The highway sign says “Campground
Open” so I drive the 30 km to it. Right before the park entrance there is a road
barricade. The Assinaboine River is swollen dangerously. I hear that campers
are being evacuated. I turn around and wonder that there is no stop for water
in this park either.
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| No Parking In "The Park" - Pelicans At Spruce Hills |
Can those be pelicans I am seeing… how very odd. I am, according
to the signage, not permitted to stop in any of the byways unless I have a
“Vehicle Permit” which the sign continues to say is available at local stores.
Great. I am in a park but I am not supposed to access it. The policy defies the definition. Isn`t this a bit of
dyslexic misnomer? I travel back to the highway and feeling tired and a bit
disgruntled I take the next campground exit as the sign has the same format and
colouring as the provincial park sign. It`s a trick. I find myself in a private
campground, the kind I loathe where one is cheek by jowl. I tell the owner that
the Spruce Hills camp site has an open sign on the highway and that I am
puzzled because I am not permitted to enjoy the park unless I go out to a store
for a permit. She grins. "Welcome to Manitoba," she says. "They did that in
the flood of 2010 too." Indeed. I park next to about 10 people in a 12` x 12`
space. Men stand. This isn`t the first time. I am pretty sure it is not my
stunning beauty that is causing it as it never happens when I am not in the
camper. What are they thinking? I back in with an audience at which point they
seem to all look up into the trees as if suddenly noticing something terribly interesting there. I
manage with alacrity, getting out frequently to check my position. I digress. I make for the tap, a little wild-eyed. Women back away while children stop playing to stare. I look into the full containers and try not to scream. The water is the colour of urine. I make a mental note to give it to Lexie. I make a second mental note I now have no potable water at all. I
have a whole new set of problems given the generous diversity of god-given
creation. Large flies with narrow bodies buzz bomb the van and quick and
painful deer flies are also to be negotiated. The last two days I have pulled
several tics off of Lexie and I just about drove off the road seeing one on my
arm. I cannot tell if there are tics everywhere or if I just hit one bad patch. Going
out on natural forays seems to be an act of peril. Scrubby trees replace the
landscape as I drive. I pass a sign that tells me I am at the exact longitude and
latitude that is central Canada. I see we are in perogie country. I hear the
sound of insects pounding against the windows like something out of a science
fiction movie and the heat and humidity rival a tropical country. The inside of
the van is smeared with mosquito carcasses and the outside is covered in bug
splatters and streaks of silt. How did Lewis and Clark do it? Meanwhile Lexie
chews on a map. Fortunately it is Saskatoon and not the bit I need. I wish to leave the floods and pestilence. Eastward, ho. You might say I
am on the fly.
