Nancy and I attempted to define our 10 best days on the trip and ended up with 16 finalists. They're listed in order of appearance below. The finalists are all days we'll remember vividly for the rest of our lives. You'll notice some 7, 8, and 9 day gaps between these "super-days". Those gaps were filled with scenery and experiences that would be fond memories for most vacations. We had great days in those gaps, but the 16 days below are the indelible record of our Alaska RV Adventure.
7-July
A Day Of Toil And Triumph
Tetsa River to Muncho Lake: Stone Sheep, Cariboo, Moose, And Awesomely Beautiful Mountains
15-July
One Moose, Two Moose--Brown Moose, New Moose
Dempster Day 1--Magnificant Mountains, Mini-Glacier At The Roadside, Two Moose, Artic Fox, And Mosquitoes
16-July
Red Rodents For A Cool Lady
Dempster Highway Day 2: Yukon Love Affair
17-July
A Gray And Grizzly Day
Dempster Highway Day 3: Clouds, Mountains, Rain, Mud, Grizzlies, Fog, And Really Wilderness Hilltop Campsite
26-July
A Gray And Glacier Day
Valdez Charter Boat Trip: Birds, Otters, Seals, Whales, Waterfalls, And Incredible Glaciers
28-July
Here We Go Shoupe De Shoupe
Valdez Das Bot Trip: More Birds And Otters Plus Our Own Private Glacier
6-August
Island In The Sun
Kodiak Island: Arrival, Pillar Mountain 360 Degree View, Twin Creeks Camping, And Salmon EVERYWHERE
8-August
Big Brown Bears
Kodiak Island Bear Trip: Beaucoup Bears And Cool Plane Ride
10-August
Chitty Chitty Bang Bang
Kodiak Island: Rude Awakening, Pasagchak Road To Pinnacle In The Mist And Rocket Man
12-August
Up A Not So Lazy River
Kenai River Rafting: Bright Blue, Salmon And Salmon Fishers Teeming, A Pair Of Grizzlies
16-August
Delightful, Incredible Denali
Denali Bus Trip: Biggest Wildlife Day So Far, Very Impressive Terraine
19-August
Chean Rolla Underthebridgeda
Chena River Raft Trip: Lazy And Lovely
26-August
"Marshall Dillon! Marshall Dillon"
Haines Day 2: Bears, Owl, Fishing In A Quaint Setting
29-August
Yin & Yang
Drive To Skagway: Nearly Deserted Road In Nicely Desert-like Wilderness
1-September
Rabbit/Rabbit--Bear/Bear/Bear/Bear/Bear/Bear/Bear…
Stewart/Hyder Day 1: Championship Bear Day With Daunting Scenery For Good Measure
2-September
Grizzlies, and Glaciers, and Shrews..Oh My!
Stewart/Hyder Day 2: If The Shrew Sits, Stare At It
Trip Map
Green Dashed Line Is RV Route North And On To Homer
Brown Dashed Line Is Homer To Apogee
Red Dashed Line Is Return
Blue Dashed Lines Are Jeep-Only Trips
The Final Miles
Thursday 9/6, Friday 9/7, Saturday 9/8
We’re now just chewing up the miles on Interstate 5. We pass the time talking about the trip and remembering the great times. Thursday is totally uneventful. Everett, Seattle, Tacoma, Olympia, Longview, Portland, Salem—notable only as waypoints. CJ and the Admiral are crusted with Alaskan and Canadian dust. As we pass or are passed by sister ships we wonder if they swell with pride from their wonderous adventure.
Thursday we overnight in a rest area near Talbot, Oregon.
Friday we climb out of the flat prairie into the mountains of southern Oregon and northern California. The mountains are beautiful and rekindle memories of more distant peaks. Late in the afternoon we stop for the night in a rest area with a clear view of distant Mount Shasta—thrusting up from the brown landscape, its gray pinnacles touched with snow--impressive and a nice view from the front window of the Admiral.
Saturday morning we are awakened to the blaring sound of Mariachi music. It seems that last night we parked near a Mexican coffee & breakfast place that abuts the highway. Ole.
We’ve spent the night near Weed, CA. Gotta love this state. A few miles south of Weed we pass the rest area where we spent our first night back on 6/27—talk about coming full circle. Most of the day we’re traveling familiar roads, amid familiar terrain, and through familiar urban environments. We arrive in Santa Cruz in the late afternoon and park the Admiral on the Santa Cruz Harbor. In front of us sail and power boats float on Pacific waters. We are home and happy to be home. We are home and wishing we were in the Yukon. We are home and already beginning to dream of the next adventure. We are home, and we are very happy.
We’re now just chewing up the miles on Interstate 5. We pass the time talking about the trip and remembering the great times. Thursday is totally uneventful. Everett, Seattle, Tacoma, Olympia, Longview, Portland, Salem—notable only as waypoints. CJ and the Admiral are crusted with Alaskan and Canadian dust. As we pass or are passed by sister ships we wonder if they swell with pride from their wonderous adventure.
Thursday we overnight in a rest area near Talbot, Oregon.
Friday we climb out of the flat prairie into the mountains of southern Oregon and northern California. The mountains are beautiful and rekindle memories of more distant peaks. Late in the afternoon we stop for the night in a rest area with a clear view of distant Mount Shasta—thrusting up from the brown landscape, its gray pinnacles touched with snow--impressive and a nice view from the front window of the Admiral.
Saturday morning we are awakened to the blaring sound of Mariachi music. It seems that last night we parked near a Mexican coffee & breakfast place that abuts the highway. Ole.
We’ve spent the night near Weed, CA. Gotta love this state. A few miles south of Weed we pass the rest area where we spent our first night back on 6/27—talk about coming full circle. Most of the day we’re traveling familiar roads, amid familiar terrain, and through familiar urban environments. We arrive in Santa Cruz in the late afternoon and park the Admiral on the Santa Cruz Harbor. In front of us sail and power boats float on Pacific waters. We are home and happy to be home. We are home and wishing we were in the Yukon. We are home and already beginning to dream of the next adventure. We are home, and we are very happy.
9/7 Pictures
In California On I5
View Across The Trees
A Lake
Mountains In The Distance
Mt. Shasta On The Horizon
Mt. Shasta On The Horizon
Mt. Shasta Looming Closer
Mt. Shasta
Happy Anniversary—Midnight Bob
Wednesday 9/5
All night last night my concern about the passing trucks was building. We were so close to the edge of the road, and the trucks were traveling so fast, I could not erase visions of them rear-ending the sleeping Admiral. At midnight, I decided to ease my concern by putting out our reflective warning-markers. I slipped into my jeans and stepped out of the passenger side of the Admiral into the inky night. As I inched toward the rear of the RV, a truck came over the horizon and its headlights framed the startling silloutte of a man just in front of me. He was walking straight toward me and I pulled back as he reached out and said, “Man, I had a little trouble and I’m tryin’ to get home, could you spare me a Loonie or a Twonie?” Taken aback, I struggled for a response and finally stuttered, “No…sorry…can’t help you…got no Canadian coins…good luck”. “Aw…man”, he answered, “You sure?”. “Yeah”, I answer lamely, half expecting him to produce a gun or knife, but instead he mumbles something unintelligible, turns around and starts walking across the road. We are parked up-road from a couple of sleeping vans, and quite a few trucks have been passing by, but otherwise we are in the boonies (not to be confused with “loonies” although at this point I’m not all together certain that this guy isn’t one). He’s walking across the highway, but maybe he’s really in trouble or maybe he’ll find a way to make trouble, so I call out, “HEY, wait a minute, maybe I can give you some American money.” He starts back and I go into the Admiral and find a few dollars, which I hand to him. “Only six bucks. Hope that helps out.” “MAN”, he says, “THANKS! My name’s Bob.” Without further ado, he turns and disappears into the night. He becomes then, now, and forever: “Midnight Bob”.
Despite my late and eventful night, we are up early. Today is our 43rd Wedding Anniversary. Congratulations Nancy & Brian! Extra-Special, Double-Duty Congratulations to Nancy who has managed to put up with me for two score and three.
With the trucks and Midnight Bob, last night was not one of our best. When I go out to pick up the reflective warning triangles from the rear of the Admiral, I discover that in the haste and confusion, I set them up incorrectly and they’ve all fallen over.
It’s sunny, in the 60’s, and warming up. We’re just a few miles out of 100 Mile House so soon we’re at the lake where we anticipate some good birding. It is not to be. The lake, which is really more like a big pond, has partially dried up and the remaining water is covered in thick pond scum. There are a few common ducks plowing through this muck, but no new species.
Back in the Admiral we discuss the possibility of a side trip and quickly agree that the bubble has burst—let’s just get on down the road as quickly as possible.
As you’ve probably been able to discern, in this section of the road many places are named or associated with miles ala the town of “100 Mile House”. We passed through these places on the way up, but never really paid attention to the locus from which these miles are measured. Now this becomes important to us because we want to stop at “Mile 43” and take an anniversary picture. We research our guide books and determine that the “miles” were measured from a roadhouse near Lilooet that originally was the starting point of a stage line that ran to Prince George. The roadhouse no longer exists, and the route has been slightly altered many times—so it makes finding the exact “Mile 43” impossible, but we pick a point that makes sense relative to the other known locations. There we take our anniversary picture. We’ve been lucky enough that we’ve had anniversaries on the Amazon and in the Galapagos. This one is special. It’s our first anniversary since retirement. This has been a spectacular trip. And, the fact that we’ve been able to live very happily in the cramped quarters of the Admiral for more than two months is profound evidence that 43 years ago we each found the right person with whom to share the rest of our lives.
Though we are now retracing our exact route from earlier in the summer and the dramatic landscape in which we find ourselves is vaguely familiar, we see it from a different perspective—both physically since we’re traveling south, and intellectually since we’ve seen the land beyond. This country, where we are paralleling the Fraser and Thompson Rivers is gorgeous—some green and some that reminds us of the desert badlands of southern Utah.
At Cache Creek the road forks. We’re take the less-traveled, slower, more scenic spur that was our original route. We’re back in the craggy canyon that was so electrifying on our way north. 10 weeks later it is no less dramatic. Though we’re sure we have hundreds of earlier pictures, we cannot resist frequent stops to take more. This is our last day in British Columbia and the finale lives up to our highest expectations.
As we near the Canadian border, the narrow, north-south spur we’ve been on bursts from the mountains and merges with Canada 1—four lanes of east-west concrete evidence that we’re back. Amazing! Three days, 72 hours ago, we were in Hyder with bears and glaciers and shrews—now we’re at the functional end of the trip. Oh, my.
We pass Bridal Veil Falls where we hiked in June. It is remarkably puny in comparison to the falls we’ve seen in the north. We make our last gas stop in Canada to use up our remaining Loonies and Twonies. We pay the equivalent of $4.19/gallon—the least we’ve ever paid in Canada. Later in the day, we fill up in the USA for less than $3/gallon—but not without a little “adventure”. In heavy traffic we pull into a station and position ourselves near the pumps. When it’s our turn and we approach the pumps we realize the Admiral is too tall to fit under the canopy. Because of CJ, we cannot back up the Admiral, so we’re forced to disengage the Jeep and back out of tight quarters.
We’re back in the USA. Beatles anyone?
Back in the US of A.
Is this not our lucky day? Oy?
Back in the US of A.
At the border the agent asks us if we’re “bringing anything of value back from Canada”. We say, “no”, but as we pull away from the checkpoint we know that we’re returning with priceless memories—is there a duty on memories? We hope not.
It’s been a long day of driving. We’ve covered over 300 miles and traveled in two countries. There are no rest areas near our route so we spend the night in the parking lot of a Costco in Burlington, WA.
All night last night my concern about the passing trucks was building. We were so close to the edge of the road, and the trucks were traveling so fast, I could not erase visions of them rear-ending the sleeping Admiral. At midnight, I decided to ease my concern by putting out our reflective warning-markers. I slipped into my jeans and stepped out of the passenger side of the Admiral into the inky night. As I inched toward the rear of the RV, a truck came over the horizon and its headlights framed the startling silloutte of a man just in front of me. He was walking straight toward me and I pulled back as he reached out and said, “Man, I had a little trouble and I’m tryin’ to get home, could you spare me a Loonie or a Twonie?” Taken aback, I struggled for a response and finally stuttered, “No…sorry…can’t help you…got no Canadian coins…good luck”. “Aw…man”, he answered, “You sure?”. “Yeah”, I answer lamely, half expecting him to produce a gun or knife, but instead he mumbles something unintelligible, turns around and starts walking across the road. We are parked up-road from a couple of sleeping vans, and quite a few trucks have been passing by, but otherwise we are in the boonies (not to be confused with “loonies” although at this point I’m not all together certain that this guy isn’t one). He’s walking across the highway, but maybe he’s really in trouble or maybe he’ll find a way to make trouble, so I call out, “HEY, wait a minute, maybe I can give you some American money.” He starts back and I go into the Admiral and find a few dollars, which I hand to him. “Only six bucks. Hope that helps out.” “MAN”, he says, “THANKS! My name’s Bob.” Without further ado, he turns and disappears into the night. He becomes then, now, and forever: “Midnight Bob”.
Despite my late and eventful night, we are up early. Today is our 43rd Wedding Anniversary. Congratulations Nancy & Brian! Extra-Special, Double-Duty Congratulations to Nancy who has managed to put up with me for two score and three.
With the trucks and Midnight Bob, last night was not one of our best. When I go out to pick up the reflective warning triangles from the rear of the Admiral, I discover that in the haste and confusion, I set them up incorrectly and they’ve all fallen over.
It’s sunny, in the 60’s, and warming up. We’re just a few miles out of 100 Mile House so soon we’re at the lake where we anticipate some good birding. It is not to be. The lake, which is really more like a big pond, has partially dried up and the remaining water is covered in thick pond scum. There are a few common ducks plowing through this muck, but no new species.
Back in the Admiral we discuss the possibility of a side trip and quickly agree that the bubble has burst—let’s just get on down the road as quickly as possible.
As you’ve probably been able to discern, in this section of the road many places are named or associated with miles ala the town of “100 Mile House”. We passed through these places on the way up, but never really paid attention to the locus from which these miles are measured. Now this becomes important to us because we want to stop at “Mile 43” and take an anniversary picture. We research our guide books and determine that the “miles” were measured from a roadhouse near Lilooet that originally was the starting point of a stage line that ran to Prince George. The roadhouse no longer exists, and the route has been slightly altered many times—so it makes finding the exact “Mile 43” impossible, but we pick a point that makes sense relative to the other known locations. There we take our anniversary picture. We’ve been lucky enough that we’ve had anniversaries on the Amazon and in the Galapagos. This one is special. It’s our first anniversary since retirement. This has been a spectacular trip. And, the fact that we’ve been able to live very happily in the cramped quarters of the Admiral for more than two months is profound evidence that 43 years ago we each found the right person with whom to share the rest of our lives.
Though we are now retracing our exact route from earlier in the summer and the dramatic landscape in which we find ourselves is vaguely familiar, we see it from a different perspective—both physically since we’re traveling south, and intellectually since we’ve seen the land beyond. This country, where we are paralleling the Fraser and Thompson Rivers is gorgeous—some green and some that reminds us of the desert badlands of southern Utah.
At Cache Creek the road forks. We’re take the less-traveled, slower, more scenic spur that was our original route. We’re back in the craggy canyon that was so electrifying on our way north. 10 weeks later it is no less dramatic. Though we’re sure we have hundreds of earlier pictures, we cannot resist frequent stops to take more. This is our last day in British Columbia and the finale lives up to our highest expectations.
As we near the Canadian border, the narrow, north-south spur we’ve been on bursts from the mountains and merges with Canada 1—four lanes of east-west concrete evidence that we’re back. Amazing! Three days, 72 hours ago, we were in Hyder with bears and glaciers and shrews—now we’re at the functional end of the trip. Oh, my.
We pass Bridal Veil Falls where we hiked in June. It is remarkably puny in comparison to the falls we’ve seen in the north. We make our last gas stop in Canada to use up our remaining Loonies and Twonies. We pay the equivalent of $4.19/gallon—the least we’ve ever paid in Canada. Later in the day, we fill up in the USA for less than $3/gallon—but not without a little “adventure”. In heavy traffic we pull into a station and position ourselves near the pumps. When it’s our turn and we approach the pumps we realize the Admiral is too tall to fit under the canopy. Because of CJ, we cannot back up the Admiral, so we’re forced to disengage the Jeep and back out of tight quarters.
We’re back in the USA. Beatles anyone?
Back in the US of A.
Is this not our lucky day? Oy?
Back in the US of A.
At the border the agent asks us if we’re “bringing anything of value back from Canada”. We say, “no”, but as we pull away from the checkpoint we know that we’re returning with priceless memories—is there a duty on memories? We hope not.
It’s been a long day of driving. We’ve covered over 300 miles and traveled in two countries. There are no rest areas near our route so we spend the night in the parking lot of a Costco in Burlington, WA.
9/5 Pictures
Romantic And Exotic "Dave's RV Park"
Cattail At 100 Mile House Lake--Better Than The Birds
A Few Birds In The Goo
Thistle And Thatle
Interesting Topography At Mile 43
Nancy And Brian At Historic Mile 43
The Last Beautiful Canadian Lake?
The Last Beautiful Canadian Lake?
Spectacularly Desolate
Red Hills
Red Hills
Empty Landscape
Lonesome Pines
Lonesome Pines
Beetle Invested Pines
Blank Hillsides
Blank Hillsides
The Fraser River
A Northbound Train Across The River
Same Train
Cool Church
The SAME Train
The SAME Train
Coursing Fraser With Tracks On Either Side
Delapidated House With Red And Blue
Delapidated House With Red And Blue
The Longest Tunnel Of The Day
More Of The Fraser
Note The Train Tunnel On The Far Bank
Note The Train Tunnel On The Far Bank
Delightful Dave’s
Tuesday 9/4
We're coaxed awake by rays of sunshine poking into the Admiral. It’s a beautifully bright sunny day! Nancy heads out to do laundry and she comes back ebullient—the washers and dryers are immaculate, they work flawlessly, and there is no vermin in the laundry room! Meanwhile, I am flushed with felicity—we have super-high-speed wireless internet connectivity! Dave’s RV Park turns out to be the best commercial place we’ve stayed. Dave’s has ALL the amenities including putt-putt golf, a croquet court, and an English Garden overflowing with autumn blooms.
At 12:30 we reluctantly leave Dave and his lovely wife Davette. We’re on the road with a mission. Our goal is the town of 100 Mile House—260 miles from here. We stopped in this town on the way north to watch birds at the city lake and were able to add several new species to our life list. Now, during the fall migration, we expect we’ll add some more. Near 100 Mile House, there’s also a possible side trip that would take us to a series of lakes where we might be able to raft and fish.
First we drive to and through Prince George—the dominant and “capital” city of northern British Columbia. In Prince George we turn straight south and begin retracing our route from earlier in the summer. Frankly, the scenery isn’t much better than yesterday but our spirits are better. Maybe it’s the sunshine, but I also think yesterday was a cold-turkey return to civilization, and now that we know we’re in the final lap, we’re beginning to focus on getting home to the kids and grandkids.
We do our first meaningful look back at the miles we’ve traveled. We’ve racked up over 6,000 on the Admiral and when we get home the total will be over 8K. More surprisingly, we’ve driven CJ almost 3,000 miles! We’re reminiscing about the great places we’ve seen, the scores of bears and moose and other animals. We’re also remembering the incredible scenery and the great discoveries. We recall the first moose, the first black bear, the first caribou, the first fish we landed, the plane crash, the Dempster Highway, the first Grizzly, the awesome empty mountains, the night in the foggy rain, the first glacier, the many glaciers, the trip to Kodiak, the salmon, the BIG bears, the days and nights alone, Denali, Haines, Skagway, and just a few days ago, Stewart & Hyder…so many incredible experiences. We’re feeling warm and fuzzy in the blanket of our memories.
As we near 100 Mile House, we’re finding it difficult to locate a suitable turn-out where we can spend the night. Finally we decide to join a bunch of trucks parked at the side of the road next to a small lake—there are a bunch of ducks in the lake, but we’ll work on identifying them tomorrow. Tonight we’re more worried about the many high-speed trucks that are passing by--as they pass, the Admiral shudders in the roar. It could be a long night.
One final thing—trust me, it will be important. Canadians have a nickname for their $1 coin. The coin has a loon (bird) on one side and it’s come to be known as a “Loonie”. Takes a while to get used to being asked for a “Loonie” or told that something is affordable because it’s “less than a Loonie”. They also have a $2 coin. Frankly I have no idea what images are on it, but, you guessed it, they call it a “Twonie”.
We're coaxed awake by rays of sunshine poking into the Admiral. It’s a beautifully bright sunny day! Nancy heads out to do laundry and she comes back ebullient—the washers and dryers are immaculate, they work flawlessly, and there is no vermin in the laundry room! Meanwhile, I am flushed with felicity—we have super-high-speed wireless internet connectivity! Dave’s RV Park turns out to be the best commercial place we’ve stayed. Dave’s has ALL the amenities including putt-putt golf, a croquet court, and an English Garden overflowing with autumn blooms.
At 12:30 we reluctantly leave Dave and his lovely wife Davette. We’re on the road with a mission. Our goal is the town of 100 Mile House—260 miles from here. We stopped in this town on the way north to watch birds at the city lake and were able to add several new species to our life list. Now, during the fall migration, we expect we’ll add some more. Near 100 Mile House, there’s also a possible side trip that would take us to a series of lakes where we might be able to raft and fish.
First we drive to and through Prince George—the dominant and “capital” city of northern British Columbia. In Prince George we turn straight south and begin retracing our route from earlier in the summer. Frankly, the scenery isn’t much better than yesterday but our spirits are better. Maybe it’s the sunshine, but I also think yesterday was a cold-turkey return to civilization, and now that we know we’re in the final lap, we’re beginning to focus on getting home to the kids and grandkids.
We do our first meaningful look back at the miles we’ve traveled. We’ve racked up over 6,000 on the Admiral and when we get home the total will be over 8K. More surprisingly, we’ve driven CJ almost 3,000 miles! We’re reminiscing about the great places we’ve seen, the scores of bears and moose and other animals. We’re also remembering the incredible scenery and the great discoveries. We recall the first moose, the first black bear, the first caribou, the first fish we landed, the plane crash, the Dempster Highway, the first Grizzly, the awesome empty mountains, the night in the foggy rain, the first glacier, the many glaciers, the trip to Kodiak, the salmon, the BIG bears, the days and nights alone, Denali, Haines, Skagway, and just a few days ago, Stewart & Hyder…so many incredible experiences. We’re feeling warm and fuzzy in the blanket of our memories.
As we near 100 Mile House, we’re finding it difficult to locate a suitable turn-out where we can spend the night. Finally we decide to join a bunch of trucks parked at the side of the road next to a small lake—there are a bunch of ducks in the lake, but we’ll work on identifying them tomorrow. Tonight we’re more worried about the many high-speed trucks that are passing by--as they pass, the Admiral shudders in the roar. It could be a long night.
One final thing—trust me, it will be important. Canadians have a nickname for their $1 coin. The coin has a loon (bird) on one side and it’s come to be known as a “Loonie”. Takes a while to get used to being asked for a “Loonie” or told that something is affordable because it’s “less than a Loonie”. They also have a $2 coin. Frankly I have no idea what images are on it, but, you guessed it, they call it a “Twonie”.
Dressed In Black
Monday 9/3
Insects haven’t been a big problem in the last month or so until last night when we were attacked by a band of 5th column mosquitoes. If these noisome buggers are about, some normally get into the Admiral while we’re setting up camp. As we settle in for the night, Nancy stalks them with her deadly paddle and one-by-hapless-one electrocutes them in a fiery snap, crackle, or pop. A few stragglers will hide in the curtains or crevices, but as soon as they alight, Nancy is after them like a valkyrie, and they are soon dispatched. Tonight as we attempted to watch a movie they came in endless phalanxes—each of which Nancy savaged—but soon after each battle, a new platoon would appear, and then another, and another. We could find no opening in the Admiral’s defenses---no open door or window—through which they were infiltrating, but they came nonetheless. We never did discover the breach, so while they seem to be gone this morning, we shall live in constant dread that they could strike again at any time.
Last night it also rained heavily, and for much of the night I could hear the drip, drip, drip of a leak near the head of the bed. This morning we find that the carpet in the bedroom is drenched from this leak, which appears to have occurred around the bedroom slider. We add this to our growing list of little problems we’ll need to address when we return to civilization.
Last night was also marred by the occasional roaring truck. While traffic on the Cassier is light, there are still quite a few trucks. These guys are pedaling hard to get from point “A” to point “B”, so when they whoosh by, the Admiral rocks and rolls a little in the thunder.
This morning we’re awakened by a neighboring car. Sharing these rest areas is typical, so it wasn’t the presence of another vehicle that was the problem; but this guy would run his engine for 10 or 15 minutes, rev it irregularly, shut it off for a while, then start up again on some weird schedule. In addition he got out of the car a couple of times and noisily slammed the door as if to announce his presence. We’re imaging he was trying to keep warm, but there was no pattern to his behavior, so it was effective in wrenching us from the bonds of Morpheus.
Today is Labor Day in the USA and Labour Day in Canada(except Quebec where it’s “Jour de Travail”?). It’s interesting that one of our handfuls of national holidays derived from the union movement. It shows how powerful, influential, and relevant unions once were. Back in 1882 when Labor Day began, I suppose the big bosses were petitioning for a “Scabs” or “Exploitation” Day. Given all the changes that have occurred in the last 100 years plus, it may be time to rethink the “Labor Day” appellation. The floor is open to suggestions but here are some possibilities: “Cheap Foreign Labor Day”, “Multinational Day”, “Empty Factories Day”, “Undocumented Labor Day”. Sarcasm aside, if we were to change the name, “Small Business Day”, “Free Markets Day”, “Capitalism Day”, or “All Americans’ Day” might be appropriate.
As we leave our cacophonous roadside auberge, it’s gray and cloudy. In about an hour we’re at the end of the Cassier and merging with the East-West Yellowhead Highway. The change is distressingly abrupt. In one moment we are in the wilderness, in the next, civilization. Then: The rare, occasional car/truck/RV. Now: Throbbing traffic. We’ve gone just a few miles, and 5 cars are stacked behind us, poking their driver’s side noses into opposing traffic looking for a chance to pass, coaxing us with their palpable impatience to invoke the 5-car rule that requires us to pull off so that they can pass. The change is almost instantaneous and dramatic—like a pierced balloon. We are more than 1,700 miles from home, but we sense that the end is near. The fat lady may not yet be singing, but she is in the building and warming up back stage.
We muse of the difference between the trip up and the ride back. On the way north as each mile rolled by our anticipation grew. The farther we went, the deeper we penetrated the unknown. The more distance there was between us and home, the more likely it was that we’d see animals and raw nature. On the way north, there was no moment of truth where we moved suddenly from one world to the next. The change was gradual and pleasing like a room warming, or the sun rising, or a flower blooming. On the way north the “end” was not yet defined—the apogee of our journey would be whenever it was, and wherever it was. Now the final “end” can be measured. It is 1,778 miles from here, 1,777 miles from the next mile marker. Until now we were on an adventure—now we’re on a trip. Now with every southward mile there is less of everything the journey was about. As soon as we left the Cassier we moved from a world of unbounded wilderness to a land of farms and fences. We see our first cow in almost 2 months. There are still occasional “Moose Crossing” signs, but our expectations are exceedingly low.
As oil trucks scream by, we are figuratively dressed in black. I search for a lower octave, and in my best Johnny Cash voice I begin to intone a version of “Folsom Prison Blues”…
We stop for lunch in the parking lot of the public library in Smithers—hoping also to have internet connectivity. Getting on line is problematic, but lunch is good. I’ve fallen into a pattern of having Oklahomas for almost every lunch. “Oklahomas” is the name my mom always used for what most people call “Sloppy Joes”. I have no idea how she arrived at the name “Oklahoma”, but she was raised during the Depression, and I found this history of Sloppy Joes on Google:
The sloppy joe has a foggy history, but it seems to have arisen during the Depression as a way to stretch ground beef during hard times. Several sources place its creation in a small cafe in Sioux City, Iowa, where it was called a "loosemeat" sandwich. No one knows if there was an original Joe, but they sure are sloppy!
It’s a pretty good rail ride from Sioux City to Oklahoma, but the latter was certainly associated with the Depression, so I guess I can see my mom’s family calling this meat s-t-r-e-t-c-h-i-n-g sandwich an “Oklahoma”. We had Oklahomas a lot when I was growing up. It was one of about 10 meals through which my mom rotated. I was raised in the 50’s and 60’s and, at least at our house, day-to-day culinary creativity and exploration were unusual. My dad had been in Europe in the War and loved food, so he bravely tested boundaries and developed a few dishes of his own that were excellent, but he only cooked on special days. Otherwise, we had more or less the same stuff week after week. I can’t imagine what would have happened if one day Mom had decided to serve Sushi for dinner. Back in those days, “Sushi” had the less glamorous name of “Bait”. We used it quite often down at Salt Creek to catch Bullheads, but never would have imagined eating the stuff.
Near Smithers, the sun flashes briefly and provocatively, then dissolves again into the murky, rain-sodden sky. We’re on a section of road where the towns are strung together along the road like plastic beads. Outside of Smithers we get a view of the Hudson Bay and Toboggan Glaciers in the western distance. It’s great to see glaciers again, but we know that these truly are the last we’ll experience on this trip. We’re back in the Pine Beetle blight area. Many hillsides are completely covered with red, infected and dying trees.
In Houston we take our picture under the “World’s Largest Fly Rod”. We check it off on our life list—we ARE living the dream.
While we frequently ruminate on our best days of this adventure, it takes little discussion to agree that this is our worst—civilization, traffic, bad weather, plebian scenery, and the distant sound of the fat lady warming up for her caustic aria.
It’s early evening, we’ve passed the fair city of Vanderhoof—hooray! Just outside of town we stop at “Dave’s RV Park”.
Insects haven’t been a big problem in the last month or so until last night when we were attacked by a band of 5th column mosquitoes. If these noisome buggers are about, some normally get into the Admiral while we’re setting up camp. As we settle in for the night, Nancy stalks them with her deadly paddle and one-by-hapless-one electrocutes them in a fiery snap, crackle, or pop. A few stragglers will hide in the curtains or crevices, but as soon as they alight, Nancy is after them like a valkyrie, and they are soon dispatched. Tonight as we attempted to watch a movie they came in endless phalanxes—each of which Nancy savaged—but soon after each battle, a new platoon would appear, and then another, and another. We could find no opening in the Admiral’s defenses---no open door or window—through which they were infiltrating, but they came nonetheless. We never did discover the breach, so while they seem to be gone this morning, we shall live in constant dread that they could strike again at any time.
Last night it also rained heavily, and for much of the night I could hear the drip, drip, drip of a leak near the head of the bed. This morning we find that the carpet in the bedroom is drenched from this leak, which appears to have occurred around the bedroom slider. We add this to our growing list of little problems we’ll need to address when we return to civilization.
Last night was also marred by the occasional roaring truck. While traffic on the Cassier is light, there are still quite a few trucks. These guys are pedaling hard to get from point “A” to point “B”, so when they whoosh by, the Admiral rocks and rolls a little in the thunder.
This morning we’re awakened by a neighboring car. Sharing these rest areas is typical, so it wasn’t the presence of another vehicle that was the problem; but this guy would run his engine for 10 or 15 minutes, rev it irregularly, shut it off for a while, then start up again on some weird schedule. In addition he got out of the car a couple of times and noisily slammed the door as if to announce his presence. We’re imaging he was trying to keep warm, but there was no pattern to his behavior, so it was effective in wrenching us from the bonds of Morpheus.
Today is Labor Day in the USA and Labour Day in Canada(except Quebec where it’s “Jour de Travail”?). It’s interesting that one of our handfuls of national holidays derived from the union movement. It shows how powerful, influential, and relevant unions once were. Back in 1882 when Labor Day began, I suppose the big bosses were petitioning for a “Scabs” or “Exploitation” Day. Given all the changes that have occurred in the last 100 years plus, it may be time to rethink the “Labor Day” appellation. The floor is open to suggestions but here are some possibilities: “Cheap Foreign Labor Day”, “Multinational Day”, “Empty Factories Day”, “Undocumented Labor Day”. Sarcasm aside, if we were to change the name, “Small Business Day”, “Free Markets Day”, “Capitalism Day”, or “All Americans’ Day” might be appropriate.
As we leave our cacophonous roadside auberge, it’s gray and cloudy. In about an hour we’re at the end of the Cassier and merging with the East-West Yellowhead Highway. The change is distressingly abrupt. In one moment we are in the wilderness, in the next, civilization. Then: The rare, occasional car/truck/RV. Now: Throbbing traffic. We’ve gone just a few miles, and 5 cars are stacked behind us, poking their driver’s side noses into opposing traffic looking for a chance to pass, coaxing us with their palpable impatience to invoke the 5-car rule that requires us to pull off so that they can pass. The change is almost instantaneous and dramatic—like a pierced balloon. We are more than 1,700 miles from home, but we sense that the end is near. The fat lady may not yet be singing, but she is in the building and warming up back stage.
We muse of the difference between the trip up and the ride back. On the way north as each mile rolled by our anticipation grew. The farther we went, the deeper we penetrated the unknown. The more distance there was between us and home, the more likely it was that we’d see animals and raw nature. On the way north, there was no moment of truth where we moved suddenly from one world to the next. The change was gradual and pleasing like a room warming, or the sun rising, or a flower blooming. On the way north the “end” was not yet defined—the apogee of our journey would be whenever it was, and wherever it was. Now the final “end” can be measured. It is 1,778 miles from here, 1,777 miles from the next mile marker. Until now we were on an adventure—now we’re on a trip. Now with every southward mile there is less of everything the journey was about. As soon as we left the Cassier we moved from a world of unbounded wilderness to a land of farms and fences. We see our first cow in almost 2 months. There are still occasional “Moose Crossing” signs, but our expectations are exceedingly low.
As oil trucks scream by, we are figuratively dressed in black. I search for a lower octave, and in my best Johnny Cash voice I begin to intone a version of “Folsom Prison Blues”…
We see the trucks acoming
the RVs and the cars,
We’ve left the wild
country and found the sleazy bars.
We’re chained to this damn highway and
find no solace here.
We’re seeing cows and pigeons but no more moose or
deer.
When I was just a baby, my momma told me, “Boy
When you leave the
wilderness you’ll also leave the joy.
The joy of peace and freedom and
emptiness alone
And trade them for a fax machine and blackberry
phone…”
Well, if we could bolt the Yellowhead
Escape to northern
climes,
We’d find ourselves alone again in far more happy times.
Far from
civilization that’s where we want to stay,
And let the wild creatures howl
our blues away.
We stop for lunch in the parking lot of the public library in Smithers—hoping also to have internet connectivity. Getting on line is problematic, but lunch is good. I’ve fallen into a pattern of having Oklahomas for almost every lunch. “Oklahomas” is the name my mom always used for what most people call “Sloppy Joes”. I have no idea how she arrived at the name “Oklahoma”, but she was raised during the Depression, and I found this history of Sloppy Joes on Google:
The sloppy joe has a foggy history, but it seems to have arisen during the Depression as a way to stretch ground beef during hard times. Several sources place its creation in a small cafe in Sioux City, Iowa, where it was called a "loosemeat" sandwich. No one knows if there was an original Joe, but they sure are sloppy!
It’s a pretty good rail ride from Sioux City to Oklahoma, but the latter was certainly associated with the Depression, so I guess I can see my mom’s family calling this meat s-t-r-e-t-c-h-i-n-g sandwich an “Oklahoma”. We had Oklahomas a lot when I was growing up. It was one of about 10 meals through which my mom rotated. I was raised in the 50’s and 60’s and, at least at our house, day-to-day culinary creativity and exploration were unusual. My dad had been in Europe in the War and loved food, so he bravely tested boundaries and developed a few dishes of his own that were excellent, but he only cooked on special days. Otherwise, we had more or less the same stuff week after week. I can’t imagine what would have happened if one day Mom had decided to serve Sushi for dinner. Back in those days, “Sushi” had the less glamorous name of “Bait”. We used it quite often down at Salt Creek to catch Bullheads, but never would have imagined eating the stuff.
Near Smithers, the sun flashes briefly and provocatively, then dissolves again into the murky, rain-sodden sky. We’re on a section of road where the towns are strung together along the road like plastic beads. Outside of Smithers we get a view of the Hudson Bay and Toboggan Glaciers in the western distance. It’s great to see glaciers again, but we know that these truly are the last we’ll experience on this trip. We’re back in the Pine Beetle blight area. Many hillsides are completely covered with red, infected and dying trees.
In Houston we take our picture under the “World’s Largest Fly Rod”. We check it off on our life list—we ARE living the dream.
While we frequently ruminate on our best days of this adventure, it takes little discussion to agree that this is our worst—civilization, traffic, bad weather, plebian scenery, and the distant sound of the fat lady warming up for her caustic aria.
It’s early evening, we’ve passed the fair city of Vanderhoof—hooray! Just outside of town we stop at “Dave’s RV Park”.
Grizzlies, and Glaciers, and Shrews—Oh, my!
Sunday 9/2
Last night as we were getting the Admiral safely docked in the rest area at the Nass River, we noticed a promotional sign extolling the virtues of a side trip to Stewart/Hyder. Included in the list of things to do and see was “Grizzly Viewing” in Hyder. We checked our guidebooks, and sure enough, Hyder was cited as a great place to observe Grizzlies. How the heck did we miss that? I guess the Grizzlies must have been hiding behind the saloons. Upon further review, we learned that the bear-viewing site is about 10 miles BEYOND Hyder, and we’d just turned around too soon. Nuts!
This morning we ponder our alternatives: Continue our southeastward journey hoping to find a place for another rafting adventure but knowing we’re drawing closer and closer to the end of our trip; go south and then west to Prince Rupert which also is purported to have Grizzlies; or return to Stewart/Hyder, and see if their Grizzlies are out and about.
The decision is not difficult. We disconnect CJ, backtrack to Mezadin Junction, and turn down the Stewart/Hyder spur.
I vow to drive to Hyder without photographic interruptions—after all, yesterday we took pictures of virtually every mountain, glacier, waterfall, river, lake, tree, and rock along the road.
We agree that we’ll stop to shoot (pictorially) any black bears along the way, and we’re expecting that after yesterday we’ll see a few; but between the junction and Stewart, where we saw eight yesterday, we see ZERO today. It reminds us again how serendipitous it is to sight a bear.
We bounce through the potholes on Hyder’s main street and head out the road toward the Fish Creek Wildlife Preserve and the bear viewing area. The guidebooks have told us that here we can expect to see both Black Bears and Grizzlies feeding in the same salmon stream—a rarity.
The potholes are bad in “downtown” Hyder, but worse on the road to the preserve. If holes this big were on the surface of the moon, they’d be named after presidents. At the outset, we’re paralleling the Salmon River on our left. It’s a typical wide, shallow, silty-blue, braided river. A couple of miles before the preserve we angle away from the river and follow Fish Creek. This narrow, very-shallow creek abounds with salmon, and the fish are easy pickings for the bears. We get only brief, limited views of the creek, which is thickly lined with birch and pine trees. Because there are so many bears in the area, parking along the road outside of the preserve is prohibited.
As we round a curve just before the preserve we get a glimpse of a bear as it lumbers across the road from right to left and disappears into the trees. It’s pretty big, but more black than brown so we assume it’s a Black Bear. We learn later that the local Grizzlies often have this coloration, and, that given the size, this was probably a Grizzly. The bear is here and gone before we can get a picture.
The preserve viewing area is a narrow strip of land that encompasses Fish Creek at the south end and a small tributary in the north. The whole thing is probably 1/3 of a mile long. The main viewing platform is a boardwalk built 6’ to 10’ above the streams. Bears come from the woods on both sides of the creeks—often walking through the parking area and ducking under the boardwalk to get to the water.
We’ve read that there’s a little bit of a theme park atmosphere to this place, and we can detect it. The well-maintained boardwalk is punctuated with graphic signs explaining the flora, fauna, and bear lore. There are several “naturalists” on duty, one collecting a “modest fee” and the others making sure that everyone gets a good look at the bears without being part of the dinner plate. There’s even a sign with an up-to-the-minute log of bear sightings. There are probably 20 other tourists on hand. “You just missed a BIG one”, one naturalist says. “It was here for about an hour—just left—walked into the woods over there”, she reports as she points. Honestly, the informational signs are interesting. One describes the lifecycle of salmon and how important their lives and deaths are to the ecology. Another shows the key differences between Grizzly/Brown and Black Bears. When Grizzlies walk, the highest point on their bodies is their pronounced front shoulder hump. Black Bears don’t have this shoulder hump, and their butt is the top of their profile. Grizzlies have a shallow depression or dish in their faces. Black Bear faces are flat.
At this moment, there are no bears, so we spend time observing the salmon and gulls. It’s near the end of the salmon season, and there are scores rather than thousands of fish—some are REALLY BIG—all are showing clear signs of having worked exceedingly hard to get here. A few are still spawning—big, colorful, hawk-nosed males churning and splashing next to the females. Most have finished the grand moment—their battered bodies are undulating slowly against the light current—holding their positions—waiting for their inescapable demise. There are many dead salmon—some skeletons or remnants on the bank—some bodies lying on the bottom lodged amongst the rocks. Most of the gulls are scavenging, but a few stand above tired fish swimming in place and peck away at their backs as if to urge them to be done with it all. The patient fish occasionally object in a flurry of splashing but then settle back into the current and await the inevitable.
Soon…BEAR! A Grizzly crosses the road with a salmon in its mouth. It scrambles under the boardwalk and mostly disappears into the forest to devour the fish. We can see just tiny glimpses as it chews away. The bear is blacker black than the emptiness surrounding it and moving a little—so THAT must be the bear. By now, all of the tourists have moved to this section of the platform—all craning for a view and snapping away with their cameras. Before we continue the bear saga, a brief respite to talk about “LENS ENVY”. Prior to the trip we bought a big, new, professional-grade 100/400 zoom lens for my Canon digital camera. Several times on the trip men have shown blatantly overt “Lens Envy” when they’ve seen my equipment. “That’s a BIG one,” they’ll say. “Wish I had one that BIG!” Now, on this platform, there are at least 3 other men with the same lens, but one who has the MUCH bigger 200/600 lens. It is like a cannon and swathed in macho, camo cloth. The air is ripe with testosterone.
Back to the bear—it’s in the woods and barely visible. So I head to the other end of the platform and begin photographing gulls, salmon, and scenery. While I’m gone, the bear finally finishes the fish, crawls out of the woods into the stream below Nancy and begins to work downstream looking for an easy kill. She is very close to the bear. It’s just a few feet below her. Nancy and the rest of the tourists are following it like paparazzi—some of them with sophisticated cameras zooming in for close-ups and some shooting with their cell phones. Finally Nancy breaks free and hurries to get me so that I can see the bear. We watch this bear for ½ hour. Mostly, it is focused on the possibility of salmon, but sometimes it looks up at us with mild confusion as if to say, “What Are you doing up there? Can’t you see I’m working here!”
After this bear, we wait, and wait for another and then decide to do some exploring elsewhere. We head up the road toward Salmon Glacier. Almost immediately we see three Black Bears, a mother and two cubs, cross the road and head toward the stream. After a few miles, we decide the remaining 15-mile drive to the glacier on the horribly pockmarked road will be too punishing, so we turn left onto a narrow dirt track. For a couple hundred feet we’re in a tunnel through the trees, then a view of the Salmon River opens on our right, and we find ourselves paralleling the river heading back toward the preserve. We sense that at any moment a giant Grizzly Bear, the largest predator in the Americas, could lunge from the trees just a few feet in front of us.* Suddenly we see movement. There, ahead of us in the grass along the road—what IS it? Is it a…bug…hopping strangely toward us? No…not a bug…a…SHREW! Not only A shrew, but, we think, a PIGMY Shrew—the polar (hopefully you’ll excuse the pun) opposite of a Grizzly bear because the Pigmy Shrew is the smallest mammal in the Americas—small, but mighty and fierce. They eat 60-100% of their body weight per day and will even attack and eat larger animals (let’s see a Grizzly do THAT). Like bears, shrews are cannibals, but nastier. Put two shrews together and one will kill and eat the other. Shrews look a little like mice, but they’re not related. The shrew is a completely unique species. Some shrews are venomous and most secrete a pungent repugnant musk that discourages predators. We watch this guy for 15 minutes or so, as he hunts along the path and ducks under rocks and leaves. He’s cute and fascinating, but we keep the car doors closed because we know he’s wild and deadly.
Finally, the Pygmy Shrew gets bored with us and hops into the forest. Do the creatures therein know the peril that now stalks them? Will the Shrew find an unsuspecting mouse, or bunny, or deer? Do even the Grizzlies tremble?
In this same area we also see the first amphibian of our trip. We’ve been confounded by the apparent absence of frogs and toads. Now we see a wee, spotted, brown frog bound across the road. I try frantically to photograph this guy. The result is an unDisneyesque series of shots of the grass where the frog used to be.
We return to the bear viewing area with hopes of experiencing another Grizzly encounter. We are not disappointed. A new bear is working along the creek in the same manner as the bear we saw earlier. We are astoundingly close to the bear as it slowly wades downstream.
As we leave Fish Creek, we see another Black Bear cross the road. Then we bounce back to and through Hyder. We pass a cursory inspection at the Canadian border control point. The border agent is the same nice lady who was on duty yesterday. We’re wondering whether she thinks that being assigned to this post is a GOOD thing or a BAD thing—probably depends on her career aspirations.
Despite the fact that we saw no Black Bears along the road on the way in, Nancy challenges me to guess how many we’ll see on the way out. I guess three—we see none. Yesterday in and out we saw 8—today 0. This reinforces our sense of how special the prior day was.
Back at the Nass River by about 6:30 PM, we reconnect CJ and are on the road again. Moments later, a Black Bear bounds across the road! 30 miles or so south we stop for the night in a roadside pullout near Cranberry Junction. It has been an exciting and wonderful day.
*There’s an ongoing debate about whether Grizzlies or Polar Bears are the larger. Apparently, on average, Polar Bears are bigger, but the LARGEST bear ever recorded was a brown/Grizzly bear standing 12 ½ tall and weighing 1,600 pounds.
Last night as we were getting the Admiral safely docked in the rest area at the Nass River, we noticed a promotional sign extolling the virtues of a side trip to Stewart/Hyder. Included in the list of things to do and see was “Grizzly Viewing” in Hyder. We checked our guidebooks, and sure enough, Hyder was cited as a great place to observe Grizzlies. How the heck did we miss that? I guess the Grizzlies must have been hiding behind the saloons. Upon further review, we learned that the bear-viewing site is about 10 miles BEYOND Hyder, and we’d just turned around too soon. Nuts!
This morning we ponder our alternatives: Continue our southeastward journey hoping to find a place for another rafting adventure but knowing we’re drawing closer and closer to the end of our trip; go south and then west to Prince Rupert which also is purported to have Grizzlies; or return to Stewart/Hyder, and see if their Grizzlies are out and about.
The decision is not difficult. We disconnect CJ, backtrack to Mezadin Junction, and turn down the Stewart/Hyder spur.
I vow to drive to Hyder without photographic interruptions—after all, yesterday we took pictures of virtually every mountain, glacier, waterfall, river, lake, tree, and rock along the road.
We agree that we’ll stop to shoot (pictorially) any black bears along the way, and we’re expecting that after yesterday we’ll see a few; but between the junction and Stewart, where we saw eight yesterday, we see ZERO today. It reminds us again how serendipitous it is to sight a bear.
We bounce through the potholes on Hyder’s main street and head out the road toward the Fish Creek Wildlife Preserve and the bear viewing area. The guidebooks have told us that here we can expect to see both Black Bears and Grizzlies feeding in the same salmon stream—a rarity.
The potholes are bad in “downtown” Hyder, but worse on the road to the preserve. If holes this big were on the surface of the moon, they’d be named after presidents. At the outset, we’re paralleling the Salmon River on our left. It’s a typical wide, shallow, silty-blue, braided river. A couple of miles before the preserve we angle away from the river and follow Fish Creek. This narrow, very-shallow creek abounds with salmon, and the fish are easy pickings for the bears. We get only brief, limited views of the creek, which is thickly lined with birch and pine trees. Because there are so many bears in the area, parking along the road outside of the preserve is prohibited.
As we round a curve just before the preserve we get a glimpse of a bear as it lumbers across the road from right to left and disappears into the trees. It’s pretty big, but more black than brown so we assume it’s a Black Bear. We learn later that the local Grizzlies often have this coloration, and, that given the size, this was probably a Grizzly. The bear is here and gone before we can get a picture.
The preserve viewing area is a narrow strip of land that encompasses Fish Creek at the south end and a small tributary in the north. The whole thing is probably 1/3 of a mile long. The main viewing platform is a boardwalk built 6’ to 10’ above the streams. Bears come from the woods on both sides of the creeks—often walking through the parking area and ducking under the boardwalk to get to the water.
We’ve read that there’s a little bit of a theme park atmosphere to this place, and we can detect it. The well-maintained boardwalk is punctuated with graphic signs explaining the flora, fauna, and bear lore. There are several “naturalists” on duty, one collecting a “modest fee” and the others making sure that everyone gets a good look at the bears without being part of the dinner plate. There’s even a sign with an up-to-the-minute log of bear sightings. There are probably 20 other tourists on hand. “You just missed a BIG one”, one naturalist says. “It was here for about an hour—just left—walked into the woods over there”, she reports as she points. Honestly, the informational signs are interesting. One describes the lifecycle of salmon and how important their lives and deaths are to the ecology. Another shows the key differences between Grizzly/Brown and Black Bears. When Grizzlies walk, the highest point on their bodies is their pronounced front shoulder hump. Black Bears don’t have this shoulder hump, and their butt is the top of their profile. Grizzlies have a shallow depression or dish in their faces. Black Bear faces are flat.
At this moment, there are no bears, so we spend time observing the salmon and gulls. It’s near the end of the salmon season, and there are scores rather than thousands of fish—some are REALLY BIG—all are showing clear signs of having worked exceedingly hard to get here. A few are still spawning—big, colorful, hawk-nosed males churning and splashing next to the females. Most have finished the grand moment—their battered bodies are undulating slowly against the light current—holding their positions—waiting for their inescapable demise. There are many dead salmon—some skeletons or remnants on the bank—some bodies lying on the bottom lodged amongst the rocks. Most of the gulls are scavenging, but a few stand above tired fish swimming in place and peck away at their backs as if to urge them to be done with it all. The patient fish occasionally object in a flurry of splashing but then settle back into the current and await the inevitable.
Soon…BEAR! A Grizzly crosses the road with a salmon in its mouth. It scrambles under the boardwalk and mostly disappears into the forest to devour the fish. We can see just tiny glimpses as it chews away. The bear is blacker black than the emptiness surrounding it and moving a little—so THAT must be the bear. By now, all of the tourists have moved to this section of the platform—all craning for a view and snapping away with their cameras. Before we continue the bear saga, a brief respite to talk about “LENS ENVY”. Prior to the trip we bought a big, new, professional-grade 100/400 zoom lens for my Canon digital camera. Several times on the trip men have shown blatantly overt “Lens Envy” when they’ve seen my equipment. “That’s a BIG one,” they’ll say. “Wish I had one that BIG!” Now, on this platform, there are at least 3 other men with the same lens, but one who has the MUCH bigger 200/600 lens. It is like a cannon and swathed in macho, camo cloth. The air is ripe with testosterone.
Back to the bear—it’s in the woods and barely visible. So I head to the other end of the platform and begin photographing gulls, salmon, and scenery. While I’m gone, the bear finally finishes the fish, crawls out of the woods into the stream below Nancy and begins to work downstream looking for an easy kill. She is very close to the bear. It’s just a few feet below her. Nancy and the rest of the tourists are following it like paparazzi—some of them with sophisticated cameras zooming in for close-ups and some shooting with their cell phones. Finally Nancy breaks free and hurries to get me so that I can see the bear. We watch this bear for ½ hour. Mostly, it is focused on the possibility of salmon, but sometimes it looks up at us with mild confusion as if to say, “What Are you doing up there? Can’t you see I’m working here!”
After this bear, we wait, and wait for another and then decide to do some exploring elsewhere. We head up the road toward Salmon Glacier. Almost immediately we see three Black Bears, a mother and two cubs, cross the road and head toward the stream. After a few miles, we decide the remaining 15-mile drive to the glacier on the horribly pockmarked road will be too punishing, so we turn left onto a narrow dirt track. For a couple hundred feet we’re in a tunnel through the trees, then a view of the Salmon River opens on our right, and we find ourselves paralleling the river heading back toward the preserve. We sense that at any moment a giant Grizzly Bear, the largest predator in the Americas, could lunge from the trees just a few feet in front of us.* Suddenly we see movement. There, ahead of us in the grass along the road—what IS it? Is it a…bug…hopping strangely toward us? No…not a bug…a…SHREW! Not only A shrew, but, we think, a PIGMY Shrew—the polar (hopefully you’ll excuse the pun) opposite of a Grizzly bear because the Pigmy Shrew is the smallest mammal in the Americas—small, but mighty and fierce. They eat 60-100% of their body weight per day and will even attack and eat larger animals (let’s see a Grizzly do THAT). Like bears, shrews are cannibals, but nastier. Put two shrews together and one will kill and eat the other. Shrews look a little like mice, but they’re not related. The shrew is a completely unique species. Some shrews are venomous and most secrete a pungent repugnant musk that discourages predators. We watch this guy for 15 minutes or so, as he hunts along the path and ducks under rocks and leaves. He’s cute and fascinating, but we keep the car doors closed because we know he’s wild and deadly.
Finally, the Pygmy Shrew gets bored with us and hops into the forest. Do the creatures therein know the peril that now stalks them? Will the Shrew find an unsuspecting mouse, or bunny, or deer? Do even the Grizzlies tremble?
In this same area we also see the first amphibian of our trip. We’ve been confounded by the apparent absence of frogs and toads. Now we see a wee, spotted, brown frog bound across the road. I try frantically to photograph this guy. The result is an unDisneyesque series of shots of the grass where the frog used to be.
We return to the bear viewing area with hopes of experiencing another Grizzly encounter. We are not disappointed. A new bear is working along the creek in the same manner as the bear we saw earlier. We are astoundingly close to the bear as it slowly wades downstream.
As we leave Fish Creek, we see another Black Bear cross the road. Then we bounce back to and through Hyder. We pass a cursory inspection at the Canadian border control point. The border agent is the same nice lady who was on duty yesterday. We’re wondering whether she thinks that being assigned to this post is a GOOD thing or a BAD thing—probably depends on her career aspirations.
Despite the fact that we saw no Black Bears along the road on the way in, Nancy challenges me to guess how many we’ll see on the way out. I guess three—we see none. Yesterday in and out we saw 8—today 0. This reinforces our sense of how special the prior day was.
Back at the Nass River by about 6:30 PM, we reconnect CJ and are on the road again. Moments later, a Black Bear bounds across the road! 30 miles or so south we stop for the night in a roadside pullout near Cranberry Junction. It has been an exciting and wonderful day.
*There’s an ongoing debate about whether Grizzlies or Polar Bears are the larger. Apparently, on average, Polar Bears are bigger, but the LARGEST bear ever recorded was a brown/Grizzly bear standing 12 ½ tall and weighing 1,600 pounds.
9-2 Pictures
Another View Of Hillside Damaged By Avalanche
Another View Of Bear Glacier
A Velvet Carpet Of Arctic Cotton
Second "Hyder Grizzley" With Salmon--Note Proximity To Viewing Bench!
Brian's Off Photographing Gulls While Nancy Stalks Grizzly Coming Out Of Trees
She Follows The Bear Down The Stream
More Of Nancy's Great Bear Shots
And Another As The Bear Crosses A Log
Meanwhile, Brian Shoots Dying Salmon
Meanwhile, Brian Shoots Dying Salmon
And Feasting Gulls
Beautiful Pool Where Bears Often Fish
Beautiful Pool Where Bears Often Fish
Nancy's Bear
More Distant Shot Of The Pool
Less Distant Shot Of The Bear
Less Distant Shot Of The Bear
Bear At The Edge Of The Pool
Delicately Perched On Submerged Branch
Delicately Perched On Submerged Branch
Gull Not-So-Delicately Perched On Stream Bed
One More Pool Shot
One More Pool Shot
Shrew! Hopping Toward Us
Can You Find The Shrew In This Picture?
Can You Find The Shrew In This Picture?
Hint: There Is No Shrew In This Picture.
Shrew
Shrew
Rare Shrew Closeup
Shrew Among The Leaves
Rare Shrew Closeup
Shrew Among The Leaves
Plant On Tall Stump
A New Bear On Our Second Stop At The Viewing Area
More Feasting Gulls
More Feasting Gulls
This Bear Is REALLY Close
REALLY Close!
REALLY Close!
Wading
Sniffing At Bystanders
More Wading
More Sniffing
More Sniffing
Finally Wades Off To Pool
Salmon River Near Bear & Shrew Land
Salmon River Near Bear & Shrew Land
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