CHAPTER 108

Original: 2003-08-29

Rewritten: 2025-11-27

Every summer vacation, the four of us would drive to the Interior or to the islands for a one-week holiday, something both of our sons greatly looked forward to. Looking back, I realize that ever since Lun started high school—more than twenty years ago—our choice of travel destinations has been affected by climate warming, especially the increasing frequency and scale of wildfires in the mountains and forests.

Late August last year (2002), we travelled to Kamloops, a major city in the central part of British Columbia. Comparing the map, the 500-kilometre drive is about one-fifth longer than our usual trip to Kelowna. But if we took the faster Coquihalla Highway heading northeast, it would take only about four hours. The highway is wide and straight, and not difficult to drive.

Our first visit to Kamloops was eight years earlier (1995), when two families of old friends came from Hong Kong on vacation. There were twelve of us—six adults and six children—who joined a tour group. The tour bus passed briefly through the city, allowing us only time for a quick mixed-dish Chinese meal. Beyond that, I had little impression of the place.

Returning last year (2002) felt refreshing. The scenery around the Thompson River has a unique character. Because the climate there is even hotter and drier, the dominant color of the landscape is the yellow of dry grass. The narrow valleys and plains on both sides of the river are all covered in yellow. The view is simple: on a sheet of drawing paper, you could paint the sky as a blue bowl, add yellow mountains beside it, and draw a blue snake in the center—that blue snake is the Thompson River.

Looking at this simple picture brought back memories of the cowboy movies from my childhood. The short mountains stretched endlessly, vast but monotonous. Pioneers galloped across the desert-like grasslands, coming and going like the wind.

In the cowboy era, there were no highways. To travel anywhere, one simply pressed the spur against the horse’s belly, and the horse shot off with great vigor. When tired, the cowboy rested by the river, letting the horse eat grass and drink water while he sat smoking, exhaling thin wisps into the air.

Now, the four of us travel freely in our made in Japan vehicle, coming and going as we wish.

Kamloops receives little rainfall, but with a river running through it, water is abundant—meltwater from the snow mountains. It is an ideal place for those who dislike rain, especially people who enjoy picnics, hiking, and camping, without fear of wind or rain at night.

With a population of around 100,000, it is a major city in the Interior, with fairly advanced facilities. All major retail chains have branches there, making shopping and services convenient. It should be a good place to live.

We originally planned to revisit this August (2003), and to vacation for a week in the lake district east of Kamloops. We had already rented a small cabin. Unexpectedly, beginning in July, a wildfire broke out north of the city and became uncontrollable. To avoid the risk of having to evacuate after arriving, we emailed to cancel our trip. The resort owner tried to reassure us, saying the wildfire was still far away and we needn’t worry too much.

But man proposes, heaven disposes. The night before our departure, the wildfire spread to the city of Chase, located 30 kilometres west of the resort. We had to cancel the trip. (Two years later, in 2005, the four of us visited again.)

Gains always come with losses. In dry regions, fire is inevitable. This year the temperature was one to two degrees higher than usual, and rainfall decreased even further. The area could turn into a fire zone at any moment. Without moisture, vegetation dries like kindling. Evergreen needles—thin like pins—become matchsticks, igniting instantly. Fire embers can travel far, and dry grass on the ground acts as a pathway. Trees burn together, temperatures soar, and nearby trees reach ignition point and self-ignite within moments. Terrifying. Even scarier, after a wildfire appears extinguished, it can continue smoldering underground, resurfacing the following summer.

In Canada, many residents who live in greenbelt areas with little rain can see their homes and belongings turn to ash in a very short time.

(Today I heard news of a massive, once-in-a-century wildfire in Tai Po, Hong Kong. The devastation is severe, and the incident involves human causes. My grief is beyond words.)