We found a really beautiful spot about 41-43 minutes north of ft St John, BC. No signs. Nothing
We tested very carefully and the soil was dry and hard enough, but also had grass for our passenger’s tent.
About midnight I’m seeing high beam late model Ford half ton diesel headlights shining in our front window.
Nothing was marked, we thought it was crown lands.
No this here’s private property. You’re not in America now, you’re in CANADA.
I know, and I’m sorry. We didn’t vote for that jackass. That’s not how you oughtta treat people.
I’m wearing a nightgown and this guy is full up belt buckles and stetson.
You’ve got to go.
I’m not sure I can drive, and what guarantees this guy is telling the truth and won’t follow us and when I’m not sure I can drive.
Why don’t we call the mountees?
THE MOUNTEES?
Yes. Let’s call them.
You want to make them drive 41 minutes out?!?
I can wait.
And I closed and deadbolted the door. And I went in back to find my phone in the dark and yet stay out of the blazing bright high beams as if avoiding lightning bolts.
He pulls the truck right up next to us and I know he’s right dead in front of Florian’s tent. He had to see it, didn’t he? I peeked out the window and he was tiny outside the truck talking in the window to the rancher in the big truck.
So we wait for the mountees.
It takes 43 minutes. All the while the headlights right in the front window.
The mountee was very nice and verified, and acknowledged nothing was marked. I told him I was afraid to drive yet, and it had been four hours, so did I feel like I could drive ok he asks.
I can try, I told him, it had been four hours at this point since I had had any intoxicant.
Turns out I could.
So the mountee led us to a logging trail where we could sleep the rest of the night. Florian put up his stuff back into the bus. Mellie stayed on her bunk, and we drove five miles up the road to a new spot.
The guy should invest in signage. People DO pay attention for them.