"The Woman Who Drove Around Northern B.C."

by Charlynn Toews

Cassandra Pybus, an historian from Australia, became obsessed with the story of Lillian Ailing, a Russian immigrant who was rumoured to have walked from New York City to Russia in the 1920s. Ailing was spotted near a telegraph line cabin north of Hazelton, and again in Whitehorse, where sketchy police and newspaper reports repeat the rumour.

In The Woman Who Walked to Russia (Thomas Allen Publishers, 2002) it takes Pybus 238 pages to reveal the rumour was only that. In the mean time, we are treated to a travel tale that manages to trash northern BC and its inhabitants while also showing us some travelers bring a lot of baggage with them.

Did you know, all the waitresses in northern BC (save one) are surly and the coffee is consistently terrible, "the colour and flavour of sullage water." Pybus is travelling with an old friend Gerry from Texas, whom she doesn't seem to like much, either. Somewhere in the Chicolton, Gerry declares to a" roadside lodge" proprietor, "I find these pine forests dreadful. They can trash the lot, as as far as I care." Pybus is displeased at the outburst and hungry, too, but "nothing in this fly-blown store can tempt me."

On to Bella Coola, where Gerry and Pybus jump into the fray between " greenies," "burly" loggers and First Nations people. After talking with a local chief about sustainable logging and treaty negotiations for a short time, Pybus concludes: "If I knew him better I would argue about this.... I am gravely skeptical that his proposal is a viable option." Alrighty then, onto Quesnel.

---

First a stop at a garbage dump where Pybus declares the bears harmless-looking, resembling "the stuffed-toy variety much more than fierce man-killers." They make a pit stop in Williams Lake, where the women cannot find the way to travel along the telegraph line instead of the
highway. "Gerry questions the sullen waitress, who tells her to ask the tourist information centre in the next town, which she says is Quinnell. A smile would kill? 'If it's called Quin-nell,' Gerry snarls, 'Why the fuck do you people spell it Ques-nel'.[sic]"

The Yellowhead Highway to Hazelton is dull indeed, Pybus tells us. They stop for a hike at the Babine Mountains. Gerry says, "Don't suppose these people clear-cut their provincial parks, though God knows they might. If it moves, shoot it. If it grows, cut it down."

Gerry declares the Stewart-Cassiar Highway "a piece of piss" and wants to go to New Aiyansh instead. "Not on your life," Pybus intones, "New Aiyansh is the heart of the Nisga'a Nation. I doubt those Indians are going to welcome us" because their treaty is a "raw deal" and Gerry and Pybus are white.

Ever northward, where the travelers are disgusted to see evidence of moose-hunting but no moose. At a caribou-and-moose BBQ at Atlin, Pybus argues with the cook that moose are endangered, and points to the absence of roadkill along the highways as evidence. He hoots with laughter. "You wouldn't want to hit a moose, lady. You'd be the roadkill."

After a close-up encounter with a grizzly (banging around outside her cabin at 4:00 am) Pybus says, "Thank the Lord I am going home today." At last her readers who live in northern BC can agree with her.