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The following are excerpts from their diary and notes as Liz and John Plaxton traveled north along Highway 97 in early May. .....

When we arrived at Barkerville a Class A, a Class C, and a Fifth Wheel were parked in the asphalt parking lot to the right. We chose to stop down in the dirt overflow area to the left, next to famous gold-producing Williams Creek and the soothing sound of cascading water. Knowing that the provincial parks (campgrounds) were not yet open, Liz correctly foretold that we would be by ourselves before dusk.

I hope those other tourists had seen everything they wanted to see. I’d hate to think they left just because a sign declared "No camping and parking overnight." ... Mind you, in the tourist season when 1100 people and hundreds of vehicles visit this historic site each day, one would be wise to heed the warning. It might even be wise to make reservations when planning on staying overnight. Alone, we stayed the night. We awoke a couple of times thinking the furnace fan was producing a lot of noise. Finally we realized the burbling hiss was from the rushing snow-melt flowing down Williams Creek.

Come daybreak we dressed, ate a leisurely breakfast, and strolled up to the park, being the second and third visitors that day. I don’t know how long that man had been sitting in his car waiting for the gate to open at 8 am.

Barkerville seemed so empty (there were no shop keepers, no miners, no visitors), so dull and grey (very few of the weathered buildings are painted, and trees hadn’t filled out with green leaves), so cold (piles of snow were still on the grounds although the main walkways had been cleared), and so much like an unpopulated ghost town. We could only wander around the buildings and look through windows, or walk among the old equipment and under the working flume feeding a braked water wheel.

Both Liz and I were disappointed. It was nothing like the time that I was there with our four children almost two decades ago. The place was lively, bustling, busy, exciting. And of course, it will again be so in the summer when living history walks the land mingling with guests and aromas from the restaurants and bakery and root-beer salon. Because the bakery didn’t open until 11 am we took a small break for a mid-morning coffee back inside our RV. Heading back we passed a couple from Holland who were spending four weeks touring British Columbia and Alberta. We asked them to join us. Martin and Tonie spoke excellent English and we had a very enjoyable conversation. Once again Liz and I were reminded that our being uni-lingual can be very limiting. After they drove away to visit acquaintances in Prince George, we returned to Barkerville. The sun and temperature had risen to a comfortable level. The staff had finished their meeting and opened many of the building’s doors. Now we could walk inside most of the buildings and scrutinize many antiques and artifacts close up. And main street was host to several newly arrived visitors. When we finished our much more interesting second look-around, we walked out of town and uphill for to see Richfield and the oldest Court House in BC.

Although only just 1.3 km, this trip seemed to take forever. This trail hadn’t been plowed. The snow, which had been packed by snowmobiles and cross-country skiers, hadn’t melted very much. It was half a metre thick in many places. Fortunately the crust was quite thick and hard and, although we slipped fairly often, we seldom broke through it.

Our legs felt as if they were weighted down with lead, and we seemed to have no energy. Eventually we realized that we were 780 m (2500 ft) higher than we were yesterday and we were probably affected by the increased altitude.

Part way to the Richfield Courthouse Liz wondered aloud if there were any bears about, grouchy from hibernation. That added a new thrill to our hike because I had seen two or three week-old paw prints that were from a cougar or mountain lion. It was hard to tell exactly because the snow had melted somewhat and the edges of the prints were rounded. So I whistled a few songs as we trudged along, warning any beast of our presence.

When we arrived safely at Richfield the door to the restored building was locked. Naturally. The windows were so far above ground we couldn’t see in. It didn’t matter. To prevent birds from trying to fly through the invisible panes of glass, they were completely covered with matte black panels on the inside, which blocked any possibility of our viewing the inside. Ah well.

The downhill trip back was much more pleasant. In fact it was so warm that, although our running shoes were soaked from melted snow and miniature waterfalls, we took off our jackets and sweaters and bared our backs to the tanning sun.

Leaving Barkerville we passed through the main building and interpretative centre, where we watched an interesting, but brief, audio-visual presentation of the history of the area. Back at our RV I packed up our portable table, put away our folding chairs, and checked the outside compartments and tires. Liz secured the inside cupboards doing whatever she does to keep dishes from breaking and cans and bags from falling onto the floor as we travel. On the way back to Quesnel, we found and took the 3 km side trip along Stanley Road which we had missed before, and stopped at Robber’s Roost and Blessing’s grave. Sadly, we saw little that appealed to us, and no bears or moose.

Barkerville should be visited for a minimum of four hours when it is officially open to tourists. But because we’ll be on the other side of 60N when that happens, this time we had to settle for an enjoyable visit instead of an exciting one.