Likely, British Columbia It is not a fast river. In fact, in places it seems to stop and take a good look at its awesome surroundings. Above it, snow-frosted peaks form a jagged horizon. Hills thickly furred with cedars roll down to the river, and beside the river huddles the tiny town of Likely. The town was named after an early miner who for years patiently scraped the bedrock, lured by elusive grains of gold. Above the old mine tailings, bald eagles etch loops in the sky, locking talon to talon with rivals and mates alike. Upriver, fishermen ply the deep dark waters of Quesnel Lake, drawn by rumours of 1,000-pound sturgeon. Giant grizzlies peer from shore, perhaps amused by the puny efforts of the hopeful humans. And in the hills above the town, my cabin sits, tucked into a grove of century-old cedars. Their sharp aroma seeps through my cabin walls, bathing me in the pungent perfume of the wilderness. The massive logs of the cabin will be here long, long after I am gone.