Final days in Canada

That cursed gate with the skulls forced us into a full retreat. We retraced our tire tracks all the way back to Yoho National Park, onto the main highway, down into Golden, and then south again — basically driving parallel to the dirt road we should’ve been on. A hundred miles later, we climbed back up the western slopes of the Canadian Rockies and finally reconnected with it. Detour complete. No harm done. Just an extra $50 is fuel and some choice words.

Once reunited with our preferred terrain — dirt and gravel — we followed the Kootenay River south toward Montana. Marcel chugged along while Kerri and I rubbernecked at every branching trail. We weren’t in any hurry; the river would lead us home. After a few dead ends and scouting missions, we stumbled on Horseshoe Rapids Recreation Site — split right down the middle by the roaring teal river.

At first, we parked near a lonely picnic table by the water. Kerri spent a few minutes doing her usual dance with the leveling blocks and a few choice rocks until Marcel was reasonably straight, only for us to look at each other and say, “Nah, closer to the water.” So down to the riverbank we went — no picnic table, no problem. The rapids filled our windows, Starlink beamed happily into space, and it felt like the perfect last chapter of our Canadian story.

I tried skipping rocks across the river, which went about as well as you’d expect. My throws fell a few feet short every time, and by the end my elbow was sending out protest signals. Apparently, the human arm isn’t designed for competitive stone tossing. Lesson learned.

We stayed a few days, savoring the quiet — mostly.  A local hunter pulled in across the river on day-1. He unloaded enough gear to outfit a small expedition: generator, floodlights, speakers, the works. The man vanished at dawn for hunting and returned after dark only to light up the forest like a Walmart parking lot. Impressive, if nothing else.

When we finally pried ourselves away from Horseshoe Rapids, we still weren’t ready for pavement. One last stop caught our eye — Kootenay–White Rivers Junction Recreation Area, where the two rivers meet in a swirl of teal and white. Not quite as jaw-dropping as Horseshoe, but still pretty spectacular. We shared the wide-open area with one other van, though neither of us made the trek to say hello. Sometimes the best neighbors are the ones you never meet.

We left early the next morning — early for us anyway — and followed the last stretch of dirt road south until it spit us out at Canal Flats. There, Marcel got his tires aired back up, his speedometer back in the 60s, and his nose pointed toward the border. One last night at a packed rec area, one last night under Canadian stars — and then, the next morning, we crossed back into the U.S. The end of another chapter, dusty and perfect.