It's Getting Cold Up Here

Short Version:
A scenic lake and a stinky one (which is still scenic)

Long Version:
Beaverdam Lake is shallow, with reeds protruding through the surface of the water in many places. From where we were camped we had incredible views across the lake and over rolling farmland with occasional woodlands and idyllic-looking farms, up foothills sprinkled with trees to the lower slopes of the distant mountains, thickly-forested and rising sharply to bare, pale rock at the high peaks. Sunset was spectacular from where we sat, sheltered from the strong wind off the lake by a rather pretty birch tree, but as night fell the wind died, and the ravenous mosquito hordes we'd been promised started to materialise. Seemed like a good reason to go to bed.

We awoke to a clear, still day. The far-off mountains were beautiful reflected in the lake's placid surface, and the sky seemed huge after having been so long in steep valleys and forested areas. We were bathed in sunlight, which was very nice, but there were huge grey clouds visible to the north - exactly where we were headed. The rain arrived as we drove through 150-Mile House, I think. May have been 108-Mile House, or any of the many other [Number]-Mile House townships we passed through. Whichever one we were in when the rain hit had at least two sub-norms in it though - we know because we saw them, riding their bicycles opposite directions along the highway in the downpour.

Williams Lake surprised with its size, and with the scale of its impressive Information Centre, where we stopped to try to steal internet but were thwarted by the fact that they were giving it away. Next stop was Red Shreds Board and Bike Shop for trail info, which they gave in spades, and then we were off up Chimney Lake Valley, to the "most scenic of the area's campgrounds," at Brunson Lake. Which had shrunk due to the long-standing drought, exposing large areas of vile-smelling mud. We checked out Felker Lake, a few kilometres further down the road, but at $14 and right next to the highway we felt it was not right for our band, so we drove back to Brunson and parked the van in a hollow atop a small hill (away from the worst of the lake-mud stench) just in time to watch a thunderstorm roll in.

We'd arrived under a predominantly-blue sky, marred only some small, fluffy, innocuous white clouds. As we set up camp we noted gathering gloom in the northwest, and eventually we figured out that the odd noise we'd been hearing was not trucks crossing a reverberating bridge but thunder rumbling in the distance. By the time we had the van set for the night the storm front was a clearly-distinguishable line of cloud, approaching fast. The thunder was no longer in the distance, and the forks of crackling light playing amongst the clouds had us checking our surroundings for lightning non-death appropriateness. It got very dark very quickly. A breeze began to blow, and strengthened quickly to wind, and then gale. Likewise the rain - which started as light, sparse drops - was soon pelting down, turning to icy hail within minutes of starting. We huddled in the van, wrapped in sleeping bags for warmth as the temperature plummetted, as the darkness was lit by sporadic bursts of harsh white light and the bursts of thunder rolled into one another, creating a barrage of incredibly loud noise that seemed to go on and on uninterrupted.

Soon, though, the trailing edge of the storm became visible, the hail died away to rain and then stopped, and the wind dropped away to nothing. Ten minutes later we were out playing disc golf under blue skies, watching the sun set behind wispy clouds far in the west as the still-thundering storm rampaged its way southeast across the plateau. Mist wraiths danced on the surface of the lake in the last of the sunshine, and the forests on the far side of the water looked clean and new as we traipsed around the fields in pursuit of wayward chunks of molded plastic. Then popcorn in the van and a grand night's sleep despite the chilly overnight temperature.