Mary stayed with me at Little Elbow below the Nahahi Ridge.

We stopped for lunch on the Trans Canada Highway west at the summit of Roger's Pass.

It is one of my favourite places but, it was still winter season at that altitude. The primitive campgrounds and hiking trails were closed. I was told they would be open on June 23. We planned to lay over for a few nights on our return journey.

There was water of melting snow overflowing onto picnic park pavement.

Little gregarious Picas had come out of their burrows and were practicing their full force cuteness for schools out tourist season when they will earn their short summer livelihood and long underground winter stash.

I was thrilled chilled in the lean cool air. I hadn't been that far west in decades.

I was looking forward to the Californian warmth of the Okanogan Valley, the destination of many expeditions hitch-hiking, auto-riding, and motor-cycling to Shangri-La west of the Great Divide.

In 1965-67 I would have dropped into CBC AM affiliate radio station where Trevor Graham, the classically trained teenage baritone tessilura, would be doing his rock music show beaming famously around The Interior. He would have announced my arrival and I would have hung around until he finished his show.

I got a chance to play a few harmonica gigs with Trev's band, The Chandelles, then as popular as The Guess Who out in Winnipeg. We played in venues that would not allow us in the front door because we were too young. The secret life of a Calgary high school reject in paradise valley.

That was all over. Trev is dead. The official line is he killed himself. Some don't believe it.

I miss him, riding his 10 speed racing bike around in high gear most of the time. Infuriating and titillating audiences like Mick Jagger. Getting us into fights with his hyper directed passionate love songs to women already spoken for.

Most of the old gang had moved down to the coast. There isn't enough work for everyone in The Valley.

By sunset supper we were set up at Ellison Park, the Old Stone Quarry, ancient Okanogan band winter camp, deep water home of monstrous Ogopogo where we, my old valley people swam, dove off cliffs, snorkeled, hunted carp, partied with cold beer kept kokanee cool down two thermal planes.

Camped out. Warm sun, first since Wheatley Provincial Park, Ontario; 14 days before.

Suspended bare foot in zero gravity chairs.