The Fraser River is rife with history. Goldminers, cattle ranchers, remittance men, scoundrels, entrepreneurs and more have tried to make a fortune on its shores. The river is brown, laden with gold and other bits of dust eroded from its shores and hundreds of feeder creeks. Deer dot the riverside, as do bears, eagles and all sorts of other animals. Old mines and abandoned miners' huts, along with homesteader's cabins and other shacks speak of dozens of dreams gone by.
Huge rocks spire into the sky.
Tall mountains with sweeping striations look just as grand as the Grand Canyon. Big horn sheep eke out a living in in the area of the Gang Ranch and the Empire Valley Ranch, hiding behind clay and rock pillars hundreds of feet high. Amid this breath-taking grandeur, Simon Fraser's last big test was rapide du couvert, which is known as French Bar Canyon today. I'd been on the river a few days, eating Kumsheen's gourmet food, and, like a piker, using all of their comfortable camping gear and tents. We camped a few miles upriver from these rapids, which I had nearly lost my life in a few years before.