Exhibitors Herald World (Oct-Dec 1930)

October 4, 1930 EXHIBITORS HERALD -WORLD 37 w SOUND REPRODUCTION F. H. RICHARDSON on PROJECTION THRILLS IN CANADIAN DRIVE TO VANCOUVER [Continuing Richardson's story of his travels in the interest of better projection.] 1EAVING Cranbrook we headed for the Carahou Trail, which includes a 40-mile -^ boat trip across a lake from Kuskonook, Alta., to Nelson, B. C, where we struck Pacific time. This portion of our route included 40 miles of literally terrible road, in that it was very narrow, had almost unbelievable curves, wound around precipices in places, and was rather soft, very dusty and entirely without guards of any sort, regardless of how dangerous the condition might be. At one point our right fender was not to exceed six inches from a rock ledge and the right wheels not more than one foot from an almost sheer drop of at least 200 feet. Please don't get the impression that lam criticizing Canadians for the roads. It is a herculean task to put roads through such a country at all. The land is very sparsely settled and the marvel is that they have made it possible to get through at all. Improvements in roads are now going forward and within a year or two relatively good roads will be provided, so that the traveler may drive through with perfect safety and with reasonable speed. I must most sincerely compliment Canada for what has already been accomplished under fearfully difficult conditions. From Nelson we drove to Osoyoos through giant mountains. Leaving a town called Trail we climbed about 2,000 feet, immediately dropping down 2,200 feet again. From top to bottom could not have been more than one mile, though we zigzagged back and forth on hair-raising curves many times that distance. Next immediately came a 3,200-foot climb, to an altitude of 5,600 feet, followed by a similar drop again. At Osoyoos we were informed that to follow the Carabou Trail to Vancouver would require two and a half days' driving, but that by taking a cut-off over what I think was the Richter Pass trail (can't swear to the name of the trail) 150 miles could be saved. The trail was rough, they said, but we could get through in fifteen hours. So three miles beyond we turned into what seemed a little used roadway and almost at once began to climb up into the pass. Before three miles had been negotiated we wished to high Heaven we had not! It was little more than a farm wagon road, and there we were in a "pass," with night coming on, turning around next to impossible, and with what seemed to be a dark abyss in front of us. On either side were giant cliffs. There seemed to be nothing else to do, so, grabbing our courage by the hair, we dived down that "road" into what was then almost complete darkness, twisted and wiggled around sharp curves, struck bottom at last, and something like three miles beyond came out upon what seemed to be a fairly decent road. This road led us to the village of Keremeos, which boasted a hotel of sorts, and there we laid our weary heads for the night. My bed had a real classy spring and it certainly "sprang." With feet resting comfortably on the foot board, and head on the head board, my equator sank gently almost to the floor. We enjoyed nice running water basins, only the pipes were all broken so there was no water. It was a lovely hotel! Friend Daughter assured me next morning she had slept almost five minutes at one stretch. Next morning Vancouver was 360 curvy mountain miles away. It seemed impossible that such a distance on such roads could be negotiated in one day, but we set forth with courage high. Along the road occasionally was a small gas station — gas four dollars for ten imperial gallons. At two or three of them we were informed that ours was the first that-far-east car ever seen in that territory. At a place called Spence's Bridge we emerged upon the Carabou trail again, and for the next hundred miles the road literally beggars description. When the world was made there must have been lots of material left over, so it was just dumped down in piles and eventually was called British Columbia. Putting a road through these gigantic mountains was a huge task. The grades would be much too steep unless they were taken along the walls of the mountains so they have just carved a thin peeling from the canyon wall, sometimes down in the very great depths, at other times hundreds of feet above the raging torrent of the Frazier river. Had we not just come from the beautiful Banff country, I would surely say we drove through all the mountains of the world that day. After negotiating curves and more curves all day, we stopped at dusk in a really nice "chalet" for dinner. We were then just 100 miles from our next 'appy 'ome and still feeling fine, except for cramps in our necks from looking up at titanic mountains. Scarcely had the first spoonful of soup been comfortably put away, when out of the air came a hand and a "Hello, Rich. Where in Heaven did it come from?" It was R. H. Ray, president, Ray-Bell Films, Inc., of St. Paul, Minn., who had been present at my lecture in that city. He introduced Wallace Hamilton of Vancouver Motion Pictures, Ltd., and Associated Screen News, and J. H. Boothe, general manager, Skreen Adz, Vancouver, all of whom had been on a shooting expedition up Frazier Canyon way. They were shooting colored pictures. Well, finally, at about 10 p. m. we rolled into Vancouver, parked at that scrumptuous and oh so welcome hotel, The Vancouver, where the local had made reservations, called up Secretary John C. Richards, Motion Picture Projectionist Local Union No. 348, who immediately came over to see that we were properly taken care of and to deliver a lot of mail. We had a sociable drink together — it's perfectly all right: this is Canada — and then, Brother Richards having departed, we fell into bed with 361 miles of the most mountainous mountain driving imaginable to our credit since 8:00 a. m. Should anyone tell you he has driven farther in an equal time on duplicate road, just advise him, with my compliments, that he is a lawyer. We have been through Colorado, where Men are MEN. We have been in Yellowstone Park, where bears are bears. We will be in Hollywood where they're almost bare. We have been in Banff, where mountains are mountains, but take it from me brothers, (Continued on next page, column. 3) In defense of loved ones, the pioneers fought it out with savage tribes on the open plain. D.ivid Rollios and Marguerite Churchill in the Fox special, "The Big Trail.1*