Van Life in Montana, Oregon and Washington

Until recently, I'd always been the kind of bloke to not accept help when it's offered. That pseudo alpha male mind set stemmed from a desire for self-reliance and independence, and, retrospectively, excluded me from certain opportunities.

It was a situation that caused me to become homeless (and my determination to not pay rent) while working at a ski mountain in British Columbia that convinced me, however reluctantly, to accept help from a friend. There were three weeks left of the season before I travelled to the town of Courtenay on Vancouver Island to begin my next adventure. I was by that point close friends with Hayley, who had somewhat fortuitously just bought a 1997 GMC Safari van, furnished with everything needed for an extended camping trip.

Hayley offered to allow me to spend those three weeks in her new, instantly beloved transportation. Although cold at times and home to an interior light that dented my head when I sat up each morning, it was this act of generosity that allowed me to see out the season and save the money I needed. Hayley's kindness was extended when she offered to drive me to Vancouver Island, as she was headed in the same direction at the same time. It was here where my acceptance of her help showed it's true value, as our drive ultimately became far less straight forward than it first seemed - and I'm far richer for it.

My conversations with Hayley began to centre around places we'd like to see and things we'd like to do during our travels. At first we spoke wistfully, but as our similarities became apparent, our implausible plans began to firm and become a genuine possibility. With no strict time frame to adhere to for our drive to the Island, we eventually settled on a two week trip through Washington, Idaho, Montana and Oregon - far more fulfilling than the five hour Greyhound bus ride I had initially planned.

After a lengthy game of tetris to organise our belongings into the.. uh.. economical storage space of the van, we set off, entering the States through Osoyoos, B.C into Oroville, WA. Like many men that share a bed, I soon found myself relegated to a thin sliver of mattress and constantly on the precipice of discomfort. Despite my (sometimes loudly vocal) complaints, I felt this was a small price to pay for the travel experience we had.

The sense of wonderment Hayley and I share for the natural world was evidenced in the stops we made on our trip. Our first objective was the Ross Creek Cedars in Montana, as recommended to us by friends who had visited during the summer. It took us a couple of days to get there, eventually arriving at Bad Medicine campground after dark, exhausted and hanging out for some tucker. It was a still, quiet night, and I could easily hear Hayley's footsteps as she clambered out of the van, the rain falling softly on the fallen leaves, and... something. Being deep in the forest in an unfamiliar situation, we were nervous. I had our small propane cooker set up on the campsite table, bear spray easily at hand, and for every five seconds I spent preparing food, I spent ten scanning the trees with my headlamp. Hayley mentioned she couldn't believe how quickly dinner was ready! We laughed about it in the morning, but it was certainly thrilling at the time.

Because we arrived in late April, we had a four mile hike (read trudge) through snow before we found the trailhead for the cedars. Reaching the grove was made all the more satisfying for the effort we invested, however the majesty of the old growth trees - their imposing stature and stoic presence - was reward enough. I can only imagine the warm, idyllic experience the cedars must have been during the summer, a stark contrast to the scene we encountered. The overcast sky and tight canopies darkened the snow, already discoloured with fallen bark and branches and smudged soil, to produce muted hues and a deeply brooding atmosphere. As sombre as that description is, it gave us cause and time for introspection, and both Hayley and I exited the grove more at peace with our place in the world than when we had entered.

Over the next few days and nights we wended our way through inviting scenery and cities in Montana and Idaho to the Columbia River - the state border of Washington and Oregon. Hailing from an Australian state where the biggest body of water, the Murray River, widens and narrows unpredictably, to see a river of the magnitude of the Columbia extending seemingly endlessly into the distance was eye-opening. For the entire time we drove adjacent to the river it was difficult to tear our eyes away, the vast tumult of water offering something new to draw our attention at every turn. Windsurfers and kiteboarders took full advantage of the strong winds that coursed through the gorge, as did the enormous wind farms built along sections of the river. The multitudes of gigantic turbines gave the impression we were driving through an alien landscape - something Hayley, known to revel in the nonsensical, relished, and perhaps wished were true.

As we moved further west, the natural beauty of the Columbia River became progressively more apparent. The rolling hills gave way to cliffs that were sometimes angrily obtrusive and bare and sometimes shrouded by foliage encompassing every conceivable shade and saturation of green. It was lucky I was driving at this stage, because Hayley derived such great pleasure from being so immersed in the innate beauty of the world that she almost exploded in the passenger seat. I'm thankful she didn't, because cleaning certainly isn't my forte. The highlight of the continually spectacular drive was the Multnomah Falls, a gorgeous waterfall that ate into our (by that time) tightening time schedule.

After whiling away two nights in Portland with heavy music, craft beer and inner city stealth camping, we began our drive north back into Washington and towards Port Angeles and the ferry to Vancouver Island. Being a lifelong devotee to sun, sand and surfing, Hayley began accumulating ants in her pants at the thought of soon being able to swim in the ocean. She claimed to not be concerned with the still freezing temperature of the water, and knowing from experience that she was usually game for anything, I was interested to see how long her swim would last. We followed Highway 101 from Aberdeen to the coast, soon arriving at the striking but heavily touristed Ruby Beach. With a frigid breeze blowing and plenty of other beachgoers looking on, I stripped to my shorts and prepared to run in. I had to encourage a surprisingly hesitant Hayley, who was beginning to look like all talk and no walk. She eventually stripped to her bra and knickers (they were modest enough for public) and approached the water.

After taking a run-up and immediately diving under the shallow waves, it didn't take long for the cold to suck the breath from my body. I looked up to see Hayley hip deep and complaining loudly, so I... helped her into the water. After a small scream and plenty of frosty glares to accompany the frosty weather, we dried ourselves in front of the incredulous other visitors. Despite the silliness of the afternoon, we still took time to appreciate the sweeping beauty of the coastline in front of us. Piled with dead tree trunks and branches and framed by jutting cliffs, Ruby Beach was far different to those we knew in South Australia.

Our last and perhaps most anticipated objective before returning to Canada was the Hoh Rainforest and Sol Duc Falls. Long drives and several hikes revealed a sprawling area of coniferous rainforest, the trunks and limbs of the large trees draped with heavy lichen. This gave the forest a unique ethereal quality, and Hayley mentioned more than once that she felt as if we would stumble upon fairies or elves at any moment. The sheer density of the lichen created spaces that felt far removed from the rest of the world, and overcame any sense of anthropocentricity dwelling within ourselves. We were both easily content to wander interpretive trails for hours, learning and observing the ecology and history of the area.

Although coming at the culmination of our short trip, the hike and visit to Sol Duc Falls was perhaps the thing that left the most indelible mark on our memories. It was a breathtaking waterfall, the type I had only ever thought I'd be able to see through a television or computer screen. Although not particularly tall and not particularly wide, the falls were imbued with a serene ambience, enhanced by the deep rainforest quietly encroaching on all sides and the interminable thrum of water tumbling down the rocks. Fallen trees spoke of storms past, but in the present enabled Hayley and I to clamber as near to the centre of the cascades as we were game. I saw a flash of trepidation across Hayley's face as she watched me crawl further and further out over the water - the first time I can remember seeing her scared. Of course, being a professional photographer, she still managed to get a great shot.

We left the Hoh Rainforest not without a small amount of remorse, but unfortunately had a changing timeline to adhere to. I was able to spend the time on the ferry to Vancouver Island in contemplation of the recently completed trip, and found my thoughts circling back to how grateful I was I had accepted Hayley's first offer of help when I needed somewhere to sleep on the mountain. Without that it was likely that the whole trip would have remained in my imagination, and I would have found myself relegated to a cold, uncaring Greyhound bus.

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