CHAPTER 115

Original: 2005-09-01

Rewritten: 2025-12-17

When I wrote this essay in September 2005, I was already prepared to undergo surgery at the end of that month to remove liver cancer. Adhering to the principle of living life as usual, we followed our original summer plan and took our family of four on a vacation inland.

Back in the summer of 2002, we had spent a week vacationing in the City of Kamloops. Although during that stay Lun had suffered insomnia on three separate nights and was later diagnosed with depression—which led me to begin writing the column “Lun’s World”—we still retained fond feelings for the area. We therefore planned to return in the summer of 2003, this time to Sorrento in the Thompson Okanagan lake district.

However, in 2003, forest fires raged continuously across British Columbia. The day before our departure, the fires spread to the town of Chase, only 20 kilometres west of our campground. To avoid the constant anxiety of a possible evacuation, we ⁰had no choice but to cancel the trip at the last minute. Two years later, we were finally able to make the journey.

Having previously vacationed in nearby Kamloops, I fancied myself a seasoned traveller. We set off at 1 p.m., confident that Sorrento lay just 60 kilometres east of Kamloops and that following Highway 1 would surely get us there. Without even checking a map, I started the drive.

Continuing eastward, I carelessly missed the turnoff to Highway 5 and headed north instead. After another 30 kilometres, the scenery felt unfamiliar. I pulled over to check the map and only then realized that we had driven into the Fraser Canyon—adding another 100 kilometres to our journey! I could only apologize to my wife and children. A veteran making such a blunder truly deserved a scolding.

This region was hot and stifling, with scenery strongly reminiscent of the American West. There were no shallow riverbanks, only sparse vegetation in greyish-yellow hues, low hills in the distance. Upon reaching the small town of Cache Creek, we immediately refuelled at a run-down gas station, then turned east and headed straight for Kamloops. Gradually, vegetation became denser, and the hills took on a bun-like shape.

Once past Kamloops and continuing east, the landscape changed abruptly: dense forests appeared, as if we had entered the Whistler area, with mountains cloaked in deep green. We made a brief stop along the way for hamburgers to stave off hunger, and finally arrived at our destination at 8 p.m.

Sorrento is a small town in the Shuswap lake region, a popular vacation spot with a population of just over 600. The entire lake district comprises 20 lakes and is home to only about 7,000 people, while nearby Salmon Arm has a population of around 20,000.

The campground where we stayed covered two acres, with ten rental cabins and twenty RV sites. It was immaculately maintained, with fresh flowers planted outside each cabin and covered picnic tables provided.

At 8:30 each evening, the owner lit a campfire. My younger son and I had our dinners by the fire every night, chatting with the campground host. My wife and Lun stayed inside the cabin watching television. Late at night, my wife and I would step out together to stargaze. The Shuswap region was breathtakingly beautiful—sun-drenched during the day, yet cool and crisp at night, like early autumn.

Next door stood the Sorrento Conference Centre, a church-run retreat facility. During our stay, it happened to be hosting its annual alternative folk music gathering, known in English as Bluegrass. The style closely resembled North American folk music, drawing music enthusiasts and audiophiles from Europe and North America, who gathered to exchange ideas and techniques.

Most of our fellow campers were there to attend the event. From morning till night, impromptu performances filled the campground, and on weekends a full-scale music festival was held. I simply sat back and savoured the gentle, flowing melodies.

The furthest point of our trip was Revelstoke. “Revel” can mean “to enjoy” or “to make merry,” while “stoke” means “to stir up”—colloquially, “to really get the party going.” It is a renowned ski resort and a paradise for thrill-seekers. Expert skiers are flown by helicopter or taken up by mountain buses to untouched slopes, where they ski down pristine virgin snow to rendezvous with helicopters or buses waiting below, indulging in an activity of extreme risk and equally extreme cost.

In previous years, a world-class snowboarding champion, followed by more than a dozen high school students from Alberta, had perished in avalanches there. Beneath the joy and excitement, deadly danger lay hidden; snow is indeed unpredictable.

After spending a week in the idyllic haven of Sorrento, we returned to Greater Vancouver’s Lower Mainland, where we were greeted by days of relentless rain.

(Postscript: Two years later, in the summer of 2007, we revisited the campground and told the owner that I had undergone liver cancer surgery after that summer and was doing well. By December 2007, however, the liver cancer had recurred.)