Old Skeena bridge at Terrace

Photo courtesy of Canada's Historic Places

When we moved to Terrace in 1958, the wooden bridge over the Skeena River was two-way. Once, in our old black Mercury, we met a loaded logging truck in mid-span, right where the bridge curved, and I was absolutely sure there wasn't room to pass. Somehow, we managed it.

Back then there was little traffic. Drivers would sometimes wait for other vehicles to cross before starting out. The deck of the bridge was worn and bumpy, the planks as smooth as satin and the nail heads rearing up where the wood had been worn away around them.

By the time I left for university, the bridge was officially one-way, with a traffic light on each side. Shortly after that, a second bridge was built across the river. It was wide, modern and efficient. Yet somehow, each time I visit the old hometown I feel compelled to cross the old wooden bridge.

That bridge contains the elixir of evocation. Watching the roiling river from that long-ago familiar perspective takes my mind back to memories I thought were forever locked away.