Alaska RV Adventure: August 2007

Alone? In The Wilderness

Friday 8/31

In a rare occurrence I’m up first, so I start working on the blog. When Nancy gets up, she reads while I write. As we sit there, a stream of Alpenlites (5th wheel trailers) begins to spew from the rest area. There must be 20 or more. We have no idea how they all fit, but somehow they were sandwiched in, and now they are moving back onto the road. All headed south! Woe unto us—we DON’T WANT this much company.

By the time we hit the road, things have calmed down, just the occasional RV and the more occasional semi truck. Besides hauling salmon and timber south, and hauling gasoline and groceries north, these trucks also “haul ass”. It’s perfectly understandable that they want to get from point “A” to point “B” as quickly as possible, but when they come barreling down at you on this narrow road, it’s a little scary. Also scary are the sections of this road that are built on high gravel berms with no shoulder. There’s no margin for error in these sections. If you go off the roadway, you’re doomed. I’m nervous in these areas, and when I’m nervous, Nancy is REALLY nervous.

It’s clear and cold in the early morning—44 degrees. Soon clouds begin to appear, and as the day unfolds, there are more clouds and periods of heavy rain. There are a couple of stretches of road that are seriously under construction. Here, in the rain and slippery mud, there are deep, teeth-rattling, bone-jarring potholes.

While the road is sometimes bad, the scenery is consistently alluring…craggy mountains, bounteous waterfalls, and strings of clear lakes—many with beaver lodges. I stop at one of these to fish. There’s a torrent of cold water flowing through a culvert that connects Vine Lake with a lake on the other side of the road. Looks like a good spot. I cast my small Meps spinner into the swirl where the more shallow culvert water exhausts into the lake—BAM—a fierce strike and vigorous battle with a small but mighty Lake Trout.

We like this road a lot. With the traffic abated and virtually no towns along the way, we feel very much a part of the wilderness.

We come to glorious Dease Lake—25 miles long—essentially unpopulated—spectacularly adorned with rocky, tree-lined shores. Flowing into the lake, we find
Dorothy Creek. I take pictures of the pig and gather some native quartz as souvenirs.

In the early evening we spot a rainbow in the east. We stop to take photos and decide the rainbow is a good omen, and we’ll spend the night here near the Todagin River. I’m assuming it’s pronounced “toad-again” and is named after a kissed, then un-kissed, wart-giving amphibian.

8/31 Pictures

One Of Many Clear Lakes

Lake Known As Mud Lake Is Really Clear But Very Shallow

Rain In The Distance

White Flowers Near Mud Lake

Brian With Lake Trout From Vine Lake

The Mountains And The Road

More Rain In the Distance

And More...Rain & Road

The Pig Standing Next To Dorothy Creek

Purple Flowers

Dease Lake

Rain, Mud, And Traffic

More Dease Lake

Threatening Skies And RV Ahead Of Us

Pine Cones

Rainbow At Todagin

View From Todagin Campsite

Nancy, The Admiral, and CJ at Todagin

Mission Accomplished

Thursday 8/30

It turns out that we stopped last night just beyond the Morley River. This morning I fished for a while but gave up after about half an hour. The terrain was challenging—there were good spots, but I couldn’t get to them from the bank—and it was cold (mid 40’s) and rainy. In typical fashion we whiled away the morning and were on the road about noon.

We’re on a major mission today—today we’ll travel the last 150 miles or so of the 1,422-mile Alaska Highway! We’ve done the road in segments. We started on the Highway on July 5 but diverted north for 3 weeks in a long upside-down “U”. We were back on the AKH briefly on 7/21 and then headed south for a month-long, BIG, right-side-up “U”. Over the last 9 days we’ve taken side trips to Haines and Skagway, but, otherwise, we’ve been on the Highway headed toward Watson Lake where we abandoned it 7 weeks ago. When we get to Watson Lake, we’ll actually have to turn around and backtrack about 20 miles to get to the Cassier Highway which is the route by which we’ll return.

There’s rain, rain, and more rain. My mom would have called this a “glunky” day. For as long as I can remember she used this onomatopoetic word which I certainly thought was real. But I just looked it up, and I get no match on Google. Strange. “Squanga” means “awesome”, but there’s no “glunky”. I’m going to add the popularization of “glunky” to my life list. Maybe I can elevate it to that special status where it’s an adjective, noun, and verb: “It’s a GLUNKY day.” “What is that GLUNK?” “GLUNK you!”

Mid afternoon we arrive in Watson Lake. We overnighted here on the way north at an RV Park that had gas and internet, so we stop there to fill up, dump our tanks, and attempt to blog (unsuccessfully because the connection is so slow). The place is nearly deserted. We ask why. “The season’s OVER”, says the attendant, “a week earlier than usual. Don’t know why, but it’s OVER.” We do not find this as discouraging as he…we LIKE the idea of an empty wilderness all to ourselves. The attendant’s remarks about the end of the season are consistent with our observation that everybody’s headed south…RVs, trailers, and flocks of ducks and geese.

We buy a few groceries, back track 20 miles and turn south on the Cassier Highway. There are just two north-south roads in British Columbia: in the east, Highway 2 (most of which is also the AKH), and in the west, Highway 37--the “Cassier”. The Cassier is less-traveled and generally considered to be the most scenic, so we’re excited about this part of the trip; but we’re also beginning to feel the vague pain of the impending terminus. It’s like nearing the end of a great book. You’re flipping page after delightful page, lusting for the next twist or turn, but as the remaining pages dwindle, you know that the end is in sight. You can’t wait for the final chapter, but you don’t want the reading to end. That’s the feeling we have now as we start down the 600-mile long Cassier. We’re eager for the next adventure, but know that with each day the end of our trip draws nearer.

At the top end of the road, there are signs warning that the next “services” are 235 km away. We love signs like this that suggest a paucity of civilization.

Shortly we come to a small body of water named High Lake. Our family spent many great summer vacations at High Lake in northern Wisconsin. Great memories…dad dragging out the fishing gear…mom helping us sort through the clothes we needed…loading the back of the family station wagon…piling stuff that wouldn’t fit inside on the roof rack and securing it with a tarp that inevitably worked loose and flapped noisily for the most of the trip…the l-o-n-g drive through northern Illinois and Wisconsin…the building excitement as we passed through the exotic towns of Tomahawk, Minoqua, and finally Boulder Junction…stopping there to buy groceries and a new, can’t-miss fishing lure…pulling into the High Lake resort…the crunch of the gravel road as we slowly threaded through the birch trees to our designated cabin…the tedious unloading when we really wanted to rush out to the lake…the first promising cast into the clear water from the end of the pier…the teeter-totter of the aluminum boat…the adrenal rush of the rumbling outboard as we make that first foray to the island cove where the lunker Muskies must live…my dad in a ball cap and a flannel shirt, steely-eyed at the helm, admonishing us to “sit still”…throwing huge lures into the lily pads with the tingling expectation that a giant, angry-looking muskellunge may attack THIS cast…peering into the clear brown water as we retrieved the lure to see if a fish were following the lure…transfixed in that rare moment when there actually was a “follow” and a huge log-like fish rose out of the depths, looking up blankly as it glided under the boat…the swimming…canoeing…campfires…big breakfasts…the brisk mornings…bright days…and days spent inside playing games when it was “glunky”…great memories of High Lake.

That was a different High Lake with cottages and boats. This High Lake is unpopulated except for some Greater White-Fronted Geese (new birds!)

We’re looking for a place to spend the night. We’re finding that there are very few spots along the side of the road to camp. We stop, and I walk back in the woods to survey the viability of an area where the province stores gravel for road repairs. The site is not suitable, but I notice fresh moose tracks through the gravel…it’s been a long time since we’ve seen a moose, so we’re excited by something as plebian as tracks.

We finally end the day in a rest area. There are already several Alpenlite 5th wheel trailers parked in this area. We’re figuring it’s a group of Alpenlite owners that are part of a caravan. Normally we’d push on until we found a spot alone, but since there are few opportunities along the Cassier, we decide to join this community.
It’s soon dark, and there are luminescent clouds drifting past a brilliant moon glowing in the crystal sky. Nice!

8/30 Pictures

Morley River

Brian Fishing Unsuccessfully

Just Before We Turn Onto The Cassier Highway
Note That The "Northern Beaver Post" Is All Things To All People

The Cassier Highway--This Is The Best It Gets

Services Are Few And Far Between And Road Is Under Repair

Fireweed Is Still Blazing

High Lake

Greater White-Fronted Geese

More Typical Condition Of The Cassier

Typical Scenery

Luminescent Clouds

BIG Moon

Yin & Yang

Wednesday 8/29

This morning we’re leaving the Admiral at Squanga Lake and taking CJ about 100 miles more or less straight south to Skagway. We’re going down and back today. We’ve heard good things about the scenery along this road, and been warned about cruise ships in the town—Yin & Yang.

It’s cold, probably in the lower 50’s, so we toss some warmer clothes in the Jeep. 20 miles into the drive, it starts to rain…guess we should also have brought the rain gear.

For most of the way this road is known as the Klondike Highway. Much of it traces the trails of the 1897 Yukon gold rush. Then it was teeming with thousands of hopeful miners, today it is empty—Yin & Yang.

Since this road parallels the highway to Haines that we were on a few days ago, we expect the scenery to be similar. We are very happily surprised by the difference—Yin & Yang.

In the first 30 or so miles we pass through the very small towns of Jake’s Corner, Tagish, and Carcross—then we’re in the wilderness. We are virtually alone…almost no other traffic.

At first the landscape is familiar—long, deep blue, glacier-lakes in the east and mountains in the west. Then there is an abrupt transformation. Our guidebooks describe this terrain as a “moonscape”, but that description is totally inapt. It suggests black, barren, and devoid of life. There is abundant life here. What is unique about this area is the sparsity of trees. The valley is a jumble of tumbled, roundish, granite boulders. Stunted trees find the occasional foothold, but mostly the vast, flinty fields are open to a misty, leaden sky. There are thousands of tiny lakes and ponds. Some are black reflections of the somber day, and some are dimly cerulean. We are dumb-founded by the strange beauty of this landscape. It goes on for mile after incredible mile; then as if we’ve reached the end of an uncharted sea, we plunge out of a high mountain pass into a verdant forest of dense, majestic trees. We are now in a dramatic cleft between the Racine and Montana Mountains. Far across the valley a long passenger train snakes its way southward. There are waterfalls on both sides of the valley. There are dozens, scores, hundreds of waterfalls, any one of which would be a local attraction in the lower US, but here each is just another unnamed silvery sinew.

The drop toward Skagway is long and precipitous. On-coming tour buses from the cruise ships are laboring up the mountain--some are stopping to view waterfalls. We pass two guided strings of bicyclers screaming down the mountain, obvious excursions from Skagway. As we stop to photograph one of these groups, we notice a lone biker headed the other way—UP THE MOUNTAIN—pedals grinding in slow but steady orbits. We feel his pain.

Just before the road flattens abruptly, we get a glimpse of the harbor. There are two cruise ships docked there. We are instantly reminded of “War Of The Worlds” where giant spacecraft dominate the sky. The ships have belched their passengers into the town, which clearly exists in symbiotic harmony with the ships. The main street and its arteries are lined with cloned tourist shops—every other one of which seems to be a jewelry store selling “Genuine Yukon Gold”. The streets are clogged with transients—one endless stream bumping its way clockwise around the town—the other endless stream going counterclockwise. I chat briefly with a policeman, “How often are the cruise ships in town”, I ask?
“At least one every day during the season”, he answers.
“Don’t you get tired of it?”
“Yes, but without the tourists, I wouldn’t have a job, and I couldn’t live here near the wilderness…you get used to it.”
Yin & Yang.

After one abbreviated clockwise rotation, we happily leave town. A few miles later we’re climbing upward through the thick forest. Many tour buses are already returning. This is good.

Soon we are back among the bewitching rocks, solitary trees, and ubiquitous lakes. We are beyond the grasping tendrils of the cruise ships and back in the wilderness—Yin & Yang.

On our way back we wonder who pays for this marvelous road. Most of it is in Canada, but its terminus is in the USA. There are no towns or people along this road. Only a handful of adventurers bound for Skagway travel this road. It is a glorious waste of some country’s tax dollars.

Up the road we pass the same lone biker we saw earlier in the day. Over the past 3 hours he’s made 20 grueling vertical miles. We ask where he’s headed. “Whitehorse”, he answers—another 70 miles.
“When do you think you’ll get there?”
“Sometime tonight.”
Amazing. We experience near terminal exhaustion just thinking about it.

We stop briefly in an isolated gravel pit, and I take target practice. I am deadly accurate and dispatch a demon log.

We return to the Admiral and drive east for a few hours, finally stopping near Rancheria. It’s been a great day…familiar and alien wildernesses, crowded streets and empty spaces, throngs of tourists and a brave solo cycler. Yin & Yang.