In May of 2008, Mary and I thought it was time that HiLo's Malahat Mist, our Alaskan Malemute, visited her ancestral home. If you are reading during May of 2008, we are still on the trip, and this will be updated as we get to a motel with WiFi. Happy reading.
TAKE OFF, EH?
(PART ONE)
In 1980, Second City TV moved to the CBC TV. Each episode was two minutes longer than those syndicated to the United States, so as a filler the CBC network heads asked the show's producers to add ‘specifically and identifiably Canadian content’ for those two minutes. Rick Moranis and Dave Thomas thought it was a ridiculous request, since the show had been taped in Canada, with a mostly Canadian cast and crew, for two years. So at the end of each day's shooting, with just Thomas and Moranis and a single camera operator on the set, they taped two minute sketches, improvised on the spot, and after doing several ad-libbed bits, they picked the best ones for use on the program. To their shock, they found that this ad-lib filler had become one of the most popular parts of the show. It was so popular, they produced two comedy albums and a movie, Strange Brew, and a hit song, "Take Off" with Geddy Lee of the rock group Rush chorusing between the McKenzies' insults. The sketch's signature "coo-roo-coo-coo-coo-coo-coo-coo" theme was based on the flute music used in CBC’s ‘Natural moments’ nature quickies. President Bush learned all he knew about Canada from the McKenzie brothers.
So what, you ask? Well, Mary decided that HiLo’s Malahat Mist should see her ancestral home, and ever the willing husband, I agreed to be the designated driver. So on May 3rd we took off for the Great White North. We started at the beginning of the Trans Canada Highway, Mile Zero, in Victoria, and drove to Nanaimo. Actually, we drove through Nanaimo to Comox, where we took the ferry to Powell River, where I played rugby with my rugby team, Ebb Tide. Hottest day of the year so far (not saying much: it’s been a miserable spring) and I spent it running around a rugby pitch on the wing, waiting for the ball to come out. (Our eighth man insisted on doing eighth man pick-ups to the blind side. After the first two they were waiting, but he kept right on. Insanity can be defined as doing the same thing over and over again without changing any variable, while hoping for a different outcome.) After the game I considered going to the start of another famous highway, but decided we were close enough to say we’d done it, and headed to Porpoise Bay, just outside Sechelt, where we popped the top on the Grand Caravan. If you want to camp in a Class B or C rig, that’s the place. Nice beach, BIIIIIG campsites, easy back-ins. I suspect that in summer it will be a zoo, but there were only two others there besides us, and it was great.
FIRST QUIZ: To what famous highway do I refer, and where does it start? (Answer via my e mail. The usual kudos and world-wide fame to those who get it right. Anonymity to those who don’t.)
Up early Sunday, across on the Langdale ferry (got to look at the view, unlike the time I helped Pat put a metal roof on his cabin, and we were so wiped we just sat and stared at each other for the whole trip), and breakfast in Squamish. Boy, you can see where the money in B.C. is going. The entire highway budget for the next fifty years is going to the Sea to Sky Highway, and at least half of the construction work in the province is being done in the Squamish to Whistler area. Great drive through Pemberton and Lilloet, then up the Cariboo Highway to Chasm Provincial Park. Not a camping park: just a place where one can look down into a miniature Grand Canyon, and I kid you not. Imagine the Grand Canyon 200 m wide at the top instead of two km, and two km long instead of 10, and 200 m deep instead of 500, and you got it. Oh, and lined with trees, mostly pine and many dead of pine beetle. The actual look-out area was, up to a few months ago, surrounded by big pines, now turned into saw-logs. (See attached photo of our picnic table.) The canyon was made by the Napolean River. Misty met her first deer, when four or five Mule deer came in to say ‘Hi’. We kept her on the leash. Realized a minor ambition by playing the flute on the canyon rim, and hearing the tune come back five seconds later. Two bars, listen to the echo, two bars, listen….well, you get the idea. The tune was, naturally, Little Sir Echo.
Up early, to discover Misty had covered my clothes, which were on the front seat, with hair. Blue pants, black vest, white hair. Lovely. I look like Nanook of the North. Up Highway 97 to Prince George, past mills with huge piles of pine logs, and I do mean huge, and a dozen outfits making log homes. There used to be four or five. Got to do something with the denim pine, I guess. (For non-BCers, when pine is killed by pine beetle it takes on a faint blue tinge at the periphery: the marketing catch-phrase is ‘denim pine’. To Prince George, to discover that the railway and logging museum, listed in the BCAA Tour Guide as open every day 10 to 5 May to September, actually starts summer hours on the May Long Weekend. Until then, winter hours, so we have to wait until tomorrow, Tuesday, to see it. So here we are, in the usual Cameron motel: pictures bolted to the walls, TV bolted to the floor, tiny bars of soap, but the desk clerk is not named Patel. (I asked her. She just stared at me and said, “Huh?”)
Dinner at a Chinese buffet. 30 dishes, 20 deep fried. Average customer weight – 100 kg, including women and children. Tomorrow – the museum and off to Dawson Creek.
TAKE OFF, PART TWO
We visited the Prince George Logging and Railroad Museum, and were fortunate to get in, as the travel guide was wrong (again) about the opening dates However, there was a school group due at noon, so the docents were there at 10 and let us in. Great museum. Well worth a visit. Mary took my picture sitting on the chair once sat in by Prince Charles in the Please Go Easy dignitary coach. (The Pacific Great Eastern Railway [the PGE] was known by all as either the Please Go Easy or the Prince George Eventually.)
To Dawson Creek, where the oil and gas boom is in full spate. Cheap motel rooms are $70, and you wouldn’t want to stay there. Better ones start at $130. The Day’s Inn parking lot had 35 vehicles. Four cars, ten SUVs, 21 pick-ups, 16 belonging to Haliburton Oil, proud owners of the VP of the USA. Dawson Creek has grown since I was last there, and it’s not an improvement. Dinner at Tony Roma’s, where the cattle that were forced to spend their days in squalid feedlots eating tasteless, fattening food, now get their revenge by having people treated the same way. We were lucky enough to hit ‘All you can eat rib night’, which means that every construction worker in town was there. If you ever get an urge to try one of these zoos, don’t bother. The first plate is edible, but the next (and I guess any others) consists of scraps.
On the road bright and early, through miles and miles of miles and miles, made considerably less boring by snow (!!) at Pink Mountain. Lasted about 100 km, and actually had slush on the road for 20 or 30 km. -1 C. Heart in throat. How long will this last? Should we pull over? Then presto! Blue skies, bright sun, and 12 C into Ft. Nelson, where we spent the night. The van was christened by a rock to the windscreen, and the crack occasioned thereby grew exponentially over the rest of the day. (Wait. Can one still say ‘christened’, or is that religionist, and therefore politically incorrect? Should I say ‘came of age’? Or is that ageist? Ah, me. ) Anyway, the van is no longer a cheechako, but a true sourdough.
Woke up in Ft. Nelson to a sky that looked like someone dumped a whole box of bluing into the rinse tub. Drove over 300 km of excellent road, with caribou, mountain sheep, bears and supposedly bison, although we saw none of the latter. On to Liard Hotsprings Park, and if you haven’t been there, you should go. Wouldn’t make the trip just for that, but if you’re ever within a couple hundred km, stop by. In the summer, apparently, you need reservations and the place is full, full, full; but now there are only 30 of the 45 sites occupied, almost all by huge fifth wheelers. The first pool, which is a mixture of very hot water coming in from one direction and very cold from another, to form an interesting thermal incline, had a dozen or so people in it, but the top pool, which requires an extra five minute walk, was empty but for us. First time I’ve been in a hotspring that wasn’t surrounded by concrete. Great. Up early, breakfast, and on the road to Watson Lake. Bison all along the road. Didn’t have roller skates, so couldn’t see if Roger Miller was right. Watson Lake can be summed up in one word. Nothing. One very large and very nice grocery store, a gas station, and that’s about it. And lots of motels, as befits the only town in the 1200 km between Whitehorse and Ft. Nelson. Prices from $100 up. Oh, and a Northern Lights Centre with a high tech laser show of what the northern lights look like, for tourists who are there in the summer, when they aren’t on for real. Closed.
The guy in the gas station told us that there was no decent place to RV in town, but there was a “real nice campground in Teslin, right on the lake. It’s open.” Thanked him, drove 250 km to Teslin. Great scenery, great road. The museum, a ‘must see’ in all the books, was closed. The “real nice campground” was closed. The nice lady in the trading post (read ‘general store’) told us that there was a “real nice RV park” in Johnson’s Crossing. It’s open.” Having lost faith, at 5 PM I started looking for side roads, and the first one we tried led to a Yukon Highways gravel depot: flat, deserted, private, great view of the mountains, perfect. And free. While Mary made dinner (chicken breast, salad, Cajun style black beans and rice) I looked at the itinerary and the map to see how we were doing, and discovered that the lack of things to do in Watson Lake, Teslin, and points between (all closed: don’t depend on anything smaller than a town for gas) had put us 500 km ahead of schedule. (The schedule is needed, as the ferry between Skagway and Haines starts running on the 12th, and there are two sailings. Otherwise only one sailing per day. We want to get there on the 11th, to book our passage.) Looked at the map, and discovered that if we were to turn left at Jake’s Corner instead of going straight, we could visit Atlin Lake, which we both wanted to do. To bed in broad daylight at 10 PM, up in broad daylight at 5:30 AM.
The “real nice RV Park” in Johnson’s Crossing was closed, as was the gas station and cafe. Good thing we hadn’t gone on. Breakfast at Jake’s Corner. Nice man told us the road to Atlin is “real good. Paved at the beginning, and at the end. Only the middle part isn’t paved.” Eight km on the pavement ended. After 40 km of gravel I found myself repeating ‘only the middle part isn’t paved’, like some kind of mantra that would transport us to Atlin. Apparently you have to have the ruby red slippers for that to work. I had to drive the next 20 km of gravel. But the last 30 km to Atlin was paved, and Atlin is a nice little town, full of small wooden stores left over from the glory days between 1900 and 1920. Mostly closed. Be nice in summer. Rent a houseboat, cruise the lake. Course, there are almost no places to anchor, and the wind blows the dog off the chain every afternoon, but the scenery is great.
Back out, turn left, on to Carcross. Ghost town. Nothing open. Looks as if nothing will ever be open. Buildings all boarded up, place deserted. I’d planned on half a day in Carcross. One hour was pushing it. On to Skagway through wonderful scenery. Big cruise ship in port. Town full of cruisers. Nice town. Lovely town. Full of old wooden buildings, a great little museum, and jewellery stores. There must be, and I am being conservative, 30 stores selling nothing but jewellery, and 30 more selling other stuff as well as jewellery. Tanzanite is big, as is Ammonite. There are twice as many jewellery stores as all the other businesses put together. But the best part is, THE FERRY TO HAINES ACTUALLY STARTS RUNNING TOMORROW, THE 11TH, AND WE’RE ON IT. WE DON’T HAVE TO GO BACK BY ROAD, 200 MILES. The bad news is, it’s $103 for the 40 minute voyage, and even with a reservation we have to be there an hour early, at 6:00 AM. I don’t ever want to hear anyone complain about our B.C. ferries, ever again. So we’re up to date, and if I can get the DSL port in the employees’ break room to work, you’ll get this tonight. If not, God knows when. (No WiFi in this motel.) Best to all.
TAKE OFF, PART THREE
We left Skagway at 7:15 Sunday morning. We were supposed to leave at 7:00, but a number of foot passengers arrived late, and the ferry waited for them. This is the ferry, you may recall, that cost us $103 to go from Skagway to Haines, a distance of some 18 miles. The late passengers were 25 young men and women: clean-cut, wholesome, enthusiastic and All-American (except three who are Canadian) who are being trained to act as guides for Holland American Tours for the summer. They will be taking tourists from cruise ships (and anyone else who wishes to pay the $$$) inland to Whitehorse, Fairbanks, Dawson City and wherever else. They are typically graduates of hospitality programs in colleges and universities across the U.S. and Canada. There are 150 of them in toto, so you figure out how many tours there are. (I learned all this when one of them asked me to take a group picture against the ship’s rail with the mountains of the fiord in the background, and I exchanged camera work for details of who they are. (When I quizzed her on knowledge of the state history, she failed miserably: she didn’t know who bought Alaska, the year, or the nickname derived thereof.)
The trip took one hour (did I mention it cost $103?) and we broke our fast in the one restaurant open in Haines. When we walked in, I knew it was a good choice, albeit the only choice, as it was full of locals. (How do you tell a local? He’s got a baseball cap, with a heavy-duty equipment logo, hanging on his knee.) Haines was once Fort Seward (he of Seward’s Folly [cf the above-mentioned quiz]), and the most interesting part of the town is still the buildings of the fort; white clapboard houses and barracks ca 1910; now hotels, guest houses, and whatever.
We left Haines at 10:30 Alaska time (one hour behind PDT) and drove to Haines Junction, a distance of some 250 km, seeing four vehicles coming the other way, and five going our way. That’s ten vehicles (including us) in 250 km of road. The road goes through the most spectacular scenery I’ve ever seen anywhere: the Tatshenshini-Alsek Provincial Park; the Kluane National Park and Preserve; and the Wrangell Saint Elias National Park and Preserve. Together, they make up one of the largest untouched pieces of land on the continent: certainly the largest one can see out a car window. Furthermore, it was a great road: smooth, wide shoulders (so you can see the wildlife before they leap out in front of you) and 120 kph most of the way. At Destruction Bay the road changed to a roller coaster ride: BIG dips every 50 metres, then smooth for 1.5 km to lull you into a false sense of security, then more dips. Down to 80kph or less. Lots of tourist spots, all closed.
At 4:00 Mary was making stopping noises, so we pulled into our now-favourite camping spot: a gravel pit. We’ve given up on provincial recreation sites: every campsite in the Yukon is closed, as befits the territorial motto: The Yukon – Larger Than Life, But Closed. It was windy, so we parked in the lee of a large gravel pile (50 x 12 x 5 m). Even there, the wind was CCSWS (that’s Cameron Camp-Site Wind Strength) 4. (Strength 3, Mary complains it’s too windy to knit outside, goes into the van; Strength 4, Ian’s canvas folding chair is blown over when he gets up to get more wine; Strength 5, Ian goes into the van.) In the lee of the pile, it was blowing about 20 knots, or 24 mph, or 40 kph: on the windward side of the pile it was blowing 40 knots, or 80 kph. The van was rocking in the wind. Mary won the rubber game of crib, and we went to bed with the sun way up in the sky at 9:00. At 11 it was still fairly light and the wind had increased to Strength 10 (the van is rocking so badly that Ian takes all the stuff out of the upper birth and closes the top) and so it was all night.
Up early Monday (5:30 AM, broad daylight) and on the road. Beaver Creek (‘Canada’s most westerly settlement’) has a great visitors’ centre, just opened for the season that day, and we stopped and talked to the nice lady – her first customers of the year. She says that the reason so many roadside spots are closed is that they can’t get help – at least, not at wages they can afford to pay. Once into Alaska the road was better, but only for 50 miles or so. (USA measures, for a while.) By 2:30 our time, 1:30 Alaskan, I was so tired I could hardly keep my eyes open, and we started looking for a campsite. Beating the crowds is fine in one way, but not having any campsites open is a drag. Earlier in the day we’d seen one that was open, so had high hopes. Nope. The two where we were don’t open until May 15th or so, and it’s the 12th, so we found a deserted homestead off the highway, and popped the top. Looks as if the local kids use it for parties, or used to, but the beer cans were pretty faded, and I didn’t expect any problems. The home was a long, long, long trailer, which looked like, but probably wasn’t, the one driven by Ricky and Lucy; registered in Colorado in 1968 and driven up here and parked, I guess. There were 11 dead cars parked around the trailer in the bush, and seven graves, two child and five full sized, behind it. I’d sure like to know the story.
Up at 5:30 local time, sun well up in the sky, and away. Pretty good roads to Anchorage, through wonderful scenery, but virtually no wildlife. After two days of seeing an average of one vehicle an hour, it came as a shock to hit the Anchorage-Fairbanks Highway, about 35 miles before Anchorage, as it’s four lanes and full of traffic. Pretty obvious where the centres of population are. It’s like Calgary and Edmonton, or Regina and Saskabush. All the traffic in the province (or state) is between those two places. Come to think of it, that’s the case in B.C. as well, but there’s a ferry with which to contend. Anchorage has three kinds of motel: expensive chains, grotty, and the Red Roof Inn. Guess where we are? And while there we watched Hilary defeat Barak 3:1 and heard him make the worst concession speech in history. God help us if he becomes president. He’s a worse speaker than Jean the Cretin.
For those of you who told me you received the last episode, thank you. For those who said they are enjoying it (actually everyone who responded), thank you more. For the one or two who attempted to answer my quiz, the answer is something of a cheat. The Pan American Highway officially runs from the US/Mexican border to the tip of South America. (Well, not quite: there’s a stretch in Panama, at Darien of stout Cortez fame, where there is no road, and the southernmost settlement in South America is Cameron [no kidding, look it up] and the highway doesn’t quite get that far.) North of Mexico the Pan Am doesn’t officially exist, but many people claim that it does unofficially. These people are divided into two groups: those who think it starts (or ends) in Fairbanks, as that’s the end of the more-or-less continuous north-south route; and those who think it starts (or ends) in Lund, as that’s the end of the coastal road. I am of the latter group. But Lund was 40 km in the wrong direction, so we didn’t go there. But we’ll be in Fairbanks in a few days, so we’ll be at that unofficial end of the Pan American Highway.
Wednesday we spent walking. First, the local birding lagoon, where we got as close to a loon and a magpie as I’ve ever been: they’re next door to tame. Then to the Alaska Air Museum: fair number of bush planes and more than I want to know about Alaskan bush pilots. Then to the Anchorage Museum/Art Gallery: hundreds of paintings of Alaska, and displays on native living and the history of the state. My legs are tired. Tomorrow, on to Seward and Homer.
TAKE OFF, PART 4
May 15th, arose early (fairly) and walked Misty (Mary) and bought oil and a filter and visited the Alaska State Trooper museum (Ian). Off to visit a member of the Jaguar Lovers’ Webboard who lives 40 miles north of Anchorage (unfortunately, the wrong direction for our next leg, but it was the only chance we’d have to visit, because of his work schedule.) Nice 2+2 E Type, nice TR 6, nice home-made airplane, and when I say “home-made” I really mean it. Even the engine, given that he cut a VW engine in half to make an opposed-twin. Only things he didn’t make were the wheels and tires, the front ones, that is. He did make the tail wheel, or at least adapted it.
Drove to Seward, 100 miles, good road, along the Turnagain Sound, lined (parts, at least) with guys fishing for oolichan. Raining, so another motel, but in this case a hotel: the historic Seward Hotel. Refurbished: very nice. Off season rate, half price but still pretty expensive. And an extra $25 for Misty. Don’t understand that, but there are only a couple of motels in Seward that take pets, so we didn’t have much choice. Seward is pretty small, and is crowded with tourists in summer. We missed that, but there were still a fair number of Alaskan visitors fishing for halibut. Good dinner, so-so wine. Back to the hotel, to listen to Alaskans moaning on the TV news about the fact that they have, on average, the most expensive gas in the country. The average in Alaska is $4.00 a litre. In Anchorage it’s $3.89, which is exactly $1 per litre. In Seward it’s $4.28, still only 75% of the price in Victoria. And so to bed.
Drove to Homer, at the tip of the Peninsula next morning, through the least interesting scenery since we got to Alaska, still pretty good by most standards. The interior of the Kenai Peninsula is mostly muskeg, but there are snow-capped mountains in the distance, and moose every once in a while. Homer is bigger than Seward, and very much a tourist town. There’s a very long spit sticking out into the Kachemak Bay, probably 40 metres wide and two km long, with a fair number of tourist businesses, RV parks and campsites. We opted not to stay there as it was pretty windy, and stayed at a park way above the Bay, with snow-covered mountains beyond. Very pretty. Park itself was closed, but we popped the top beside the nearby ball diamonds. Next day we visited the museum, great on local history, both natural and human; visited the annual library book sale; and decided to try the peninsula campsite. Windy.
Up Sunday morning, breakfast at a local café, where Mary decided to try the biscuits and country grav (sorry Freudian typo: that should be ‘gravy’), which turned into a treat for Misty, who seems to like sage-flavoured library paste. Headed back towards Anchorage, and stopped at the Cook Inlet State Park, billed as ‘the prettiest state park on the Kenai (pronounced Keen-Eye) peninsula’. It is indeed a lovely setting, and the waterfront sites have a great view over the Inlet, which is huge, something like thirty km wide at this point, with the usual snow-covered volcanic peaks in the distance. Interesting campsite: it must cover 80 acres, and has 54 sites, meaning the sites are very private, or will be when the underbrush leafs out. At the moment, everything is in bud, so the whole place is quite open. The climax vegetation is spruce, Sitka or Englemann, I’m not sure which (the locals call it ‘white’ spruce, as opposed to ‘black ‘spruce, and poplar. The spruce is about 18” DBH and the poplar is perhaps 30” DBH (showing my age there: for those of you under 30, “ is the sign for ‘inches’, an obsolete measurement equal to 2.54 cm, and ‘DBH’ stands for ‘diameter breast height’ which is of course sexist, and should read ‘DCH’). There is a significant understory of birch and alder, mostly clipped short by moose, and the undergrowth is a mixture of Devil’s club (thorns), cow parsley (which grows to about one metre and is less poisonous than its cousin water hemlock, but still not good for you), and some kind of buckbrush. Apparently the place also abounds in monkshood (attractive but poisonous berries), and deadly nightshade(!!!). I can just image summer, with cries of “Boris, don’t touch that!” “Ivan, watch out for Natasha! Make sure she doesn’t eat any of those red berries!” “Ninotchka! Don’t touch that!” (Lots of Russian heritage around here.) “Mommy, Alexandrina just ate some leaves from that plant, and now she’s throwing up! Ugh! Gross!” “Oh, daddy, I touched that plant and it stuck me and I hurt and my arm is going red!” “Where’s the cell phone? Dial 911!”
Drove back to Anchorage and through, to a state park at Nancy Lake, some 40 miles towards Fairbanks. Amazing how much the trees just outside Anchorage have leafed out since we came through there a week ago. Then, they were in bud, just a haze of green. Now, they’re in young leaf, quite green. When spring comes here, it comes in a rush. Speaking of spring, saw my second mosquito of the trip today, the first being back at Chasm in B.C. Part of that is that it hasn’t been very warm, but at Nancy Lake it was 50 F at the campsite, and NO WIND! Quite a change from the last four days.
Drove to Fairbanks, past Denali State Park, which is a BIG DEAL in these parts, complete with dozens of Holland America tour busses bringing the cruisers to the park to view wild Alaska from the comfort of the bus, and buy schlock at the park centre, which reminded me of Banff in miniature. We might have a picture of Mount McKinley, which they are trying to change to Denali, that being an approximation of what some Indian said it was called a hundred or so years ago. I say might because it’s pretty hard to tell which peak is which, but one of them had its peak in the clouds, so I assume that was McKinley. Denali has an interesting wrinkle: no private cars in the park, apart from the highway. Tour busses only. Supposedly to preserve the wilderness, but I sense a lobby somewhere.
Fairbanks is my kind of town. State park beside the river that runs through the city, rather like a campsite in Beacon hill Park. Sun was out, nice and warm, perfect. And what’s more, WiFi, so this comes to you from a campground. Ooooh, what a world we live in. Along the way, I entered the world of true geezerdom today. 65. Don’t feel at all different, but everything is suddenly cheaper.
TAKE OFF: PART 5
Before I go on, I forgot to mention in my last bulletin that I finally had a chance to realize an ambition by adding to my list of things-named-after-Canada-I have-seen Castor Canadensis, at Nancy Lake. Looks like an otter with hydrocephalus. Back to Fairbanks.
Woke up to beautiful weather, and reindeer omelets. Pretty impressive, huh? Well, let me give you a lesson in restaurant economics. When you own a restaurant, the first desideratum is getting people to (a) come back and (b) tell others about how good you are. There are two ways of doing this. The first is to provide great food, great service, and great décor. That’s really expensive. The second is to give people more food than they can eat, so they think they got more than their money’s worth. That’s cheap. (The difference between not enough food and too much is about $2 in food costs, so you add $2 to your prices and everyone thinks they’re getting a great deal.) So why am I telling you this? Well, one of our trip strategies is to eat breakfast in restaurants, to order omelets, and to take half the serving ‘home’ to the van and have it next morning. Which explains the fancy breakfast in a campsite.
Spent the morning having a garage lift the van to see what was causing the noise Mary asked about on the way to Fairbanks. “Is there a helicopter above us?” Turned out to be a wheel weight that had come off, and the vibration was causing the some-day-to-be-repaired CV joint to ‘click’. The tires were new about a week before we left. I’m going to have words with Canada Tire when we get back. Spent the first part of the afternoon in the Museum of the North at the University of Alaska, a great museum, and then visited an even better museum, of Alaska ephemera, run by a lady as a hobby in one of the oldest houses still standing in Fairbanks. What a great collection! Reaffirmed my opinion that one should never, ever, throw anything out. She’s got at least two copies of every movie poster ever made with the word ‘Alaska’ on it, and believe me, there were a lot of them.
Dinner was at the ‘Alaska Salmon Bake’ at Pioneer Park. Pioneer Park is in the middle of Fairbanks, and has four parts: a parking lot, holding perhaps 1,000 vehicles; a large theatre (live performances); an ‘Alaskan Gold Rush Village’; and the ‘Alaska Salmon Bake’ – “All you want to eat: prime rib, cod, halibut, salmon.” There are eight buildings: a small one for the salad bar, another for dessert and coffee, another for beer and wine, a gift shop, and two very large and two smaller mess halls. There is also a BBQ station serving roast beef, maple syrup glazed salmon, and deep fried cod and halibut. And 50 tables outdoors, each seating eight. In toto, the place seats about 800, and they run at least three sets through every day in the summer season. At $31 each, you figure it out. Most of the customers come from tour ships, bussed up from Anchorage, through Denali Park, through the gold dredge, down the river cruise, through the salmon bake, and home by air. There was one tour group in while we were there, and I felt anorexic. Average weight, at a guess, would be 225 for men and 185 for women.
Next morning we visited the Creamer Bird Refuge, a 1500 acre dairy farm converted to a bird sanctuary just on the border of Fairbanks. Lots of birds, the highlights being 350 swallow nesting boxes, very crude, on four foot lengths of rebar, each with a pair of violet-greens making a nest; and 100 sandhill cranes (conservative count), unfortunately already paired off so we didn’t get to see the mating dance. Still, more than I’ve seen in my life, all at once.
Then off to Gold Dredge #8, the last gold dredge to operate in this part of Alaska. It is now owned by….yes, Holland America, who run bus loads of cruisers (and anyone else with the $$$) through it. You get a pretty good tour of the dredge, a lesson in gold panning, and a bag of paydirt to pan (they guarantee everyone gets a few flakes: some get more than a few but not Mary nor me); ‘miners’ lunch’ (bowl of stew, biscuits, cobbler, iced tea and coffee); and you can wander through the various bunkhouses, wash house, warehouses, and so on. Cost - $31 each. I’m gonna buy stock in Holland America when I get home.
This is short, because we’re in a motel tonight and I can send it. More to come.
TAKE OFF: PART 6
About 110 years ago, shortly before I was born, a gold camp located not far over the Alaska border from Dawson City became large enough to warrant a post office. This meant that it had to have a name. The citizens of the camp reached agreement fairly quickly that the new town should be named after the most prolific of the local fauna, upon which many of them had depended for sustenance when times were tough. Unfortunately, there was less agreement on how to spell the creature’s name, most of the residents agreeing that it started with a ‘T’, while a small but vocal minority said it started with a ‘P’. Lacking consensus, they compromised by naming the town for the alternate name of the creature, but ‘Bush Chicken’ was too long, so instead of ‘Ptarmigan’ it became ‘Chicken’, and so it remains.
We spent most of the day getting from Fairbanks to Chicken, which is 67 miles east of the Alcan Highway, most of the way to Dawson City along Highway 5, or the Taylor Highway, or The Highway at the Top of the World. It’s supposed to be incredibly scenic, and probably is if you go east to west, because you would then start at the top and see the vista before you. Doing what we did, all you see is hills in front of you as you slowly climb up and up and up. Unless you look back and see the view, which requires a pretty good stretch of the neck. Good road, though, at least from the Alcan to Chicken. Spent a pleasant evening in one of the two Chicken RV parks, read a gravel pit that charges.
Next day the road lived up to its billing. From Chicken to the border is 35 miles, and it’s gravel, narrow, winding, and has spectacular views, which means of course that there’s a 200’ drop-off on one side or the other, and at times both, as the road runs along the ridges. I’m not big on heights, and it was a white-knuckle drive for me. Fortunately, we started early in the morning and it’s early in the season, so we had only a dozen vehicles come toward us (mostly campers driven by old farts, all looking pretty grim) and I was able to drive next to the uphill side virtually all of the way. At the Canadian border the road is paved, but only for the first 30 km: the next 65 km is mostly gravel. There is still a 65 metre drop-off most of the way. (Notice that now we’re back in Canada the measurements are in metric, eh?).
The views really are something: this is one of the few roads I’ve ever driven that goes along the highest points of land rather than the lowest, and one can see clear across very large valleys to the distant ranges, on both sides, and as the Yukon is the fourth longest river in North America, and has the third largest drainage area (and the two with larger drainage areas, the Mississippi and the McKenzie, both flow through area that is virtually flat, and provide nothing in the way of scenery at all), the road is truly worth driving. (Those of you with a literary bent may wonder at that last sentence: it was occasioned by the fact that we visited Jack London’s cabin, and I recalled that London, in his day, was outsold only by Henry James, which made me think of epic sentences.)
Then across the Yukon River on the ferry that has to be open for one to take this route (interesting ride: the river has a hell of a current and you go across sideways) and into Dawson City, the tourist capital of the north. We went and saw Jack London’s cabin (well, half of it, the other half is in Oakland, his home town: they each took half the logs and rebuilt replicas using half of the original logs in each place. Now I’ve seen both of them, I have to report that the people here are more honest about the fact that only half the logs are original.) We found a commercial campsite that I can recommend: the dry sites (for those of you who are not RV’ers, ‘dry’ means no hook-ups for water or electricity) are right beside a tributary of Bonanza Creek, the creek from whence came most of Dawson City’s gold, and the campsite has washrooms that meet even Mary’s standards; cheap showers (a toonie buys you nine minutes); a car wash for two loonies; and free WiFi. All for $12. So we stayed an extra day. That, and the fact that we wanted to take several Parks Canada tours.
The only problem with the campsite is that one has the choice of parking with the big rigs, with hook-ups, in the sun, or in the shaded area next to the river. The shade, alas, is provided by cottonwood trees, which prompted me to doggerel (with apologies to A.E. Housman).
Lousiest of trees, the cottonwood now
Is strung with buds on every bough.
And every bud releases a sheath,
That falls to the ground, and underneath
Your shoe. And very soon you
Discover you have gained an inch or two,
From the sand and gravel trapped in the goo.
And your folding chair
Also has a share
As does the dog’s hair.
And there
Is also a whole lot inside the van.
(Did I mention that Robert Service’s cabin is just across the street from Jack
London’s?)
Parks Canada owns several attractions in the area, and has guided tours. Sunday the 25th we took the tours through the Palace Theatre, the Territorial Commissioner’s Residence, and the SS Keno (the smallest of the riverboats to operate on the Yukon in the middle of the last century). Great tours, and good value for money. I rate them highly, as I do the city museum, which is first class, and includes three locos used on the local mining railroad, a huge traction engine, and various wagons in states of disrepair. The Yukon is a mecca for steam fans: everywhere you look there are steam pumps and engines lying about rusting. Next day, Monday, I tried my hand at panning on a claim owned by the Klondike Visitors’ Association, which allows tourists to pan for free. Two hours produced nothing but stiff knees. We then took the tour of Gold Dredge #4, the last dredge to operate in the Yukon (closed down in 1959) which is not far from the public claim, also on Bonanza Creek, the richest creek in the world. I figure in the two hours I panned I washed 20 litres of dirt. That’s, um, 1/500,000 of a cubic metre. The dredge used to sluice 18 cubic metres per minute. Another good tour.
Then we drove 300 km to a campground just north of Carmack. What a difference a week makes. The campgrounds are open, and they’re great. This one is right beside a creek (where Misty just went swimming, fortunately on the end of a line so she didn’t get swept away: it’s pretty fast running), and firewood is included in the $12 fee. Not that it makes much difference to us: it’s 22 C so who needs a fire? I’ve never understood the campers who pull into a campground and start a fire, regardless of the time of day or the temperature. Guess it seems more like real camping. Drove to Whitehorse in the morning, checked into a motel that specializes in bait and switch (“There are two of you? That’s $10 more. WiFi? $5 more.”) But the museum is great, and the SS Klondike, the largest and last of the riverboats, was the best Parks Canada tour yet. I have to say once more how much I like Parks Canada tours. The guides are friendly, knowlegable, and willing to answer any and all questions. Course, the fact that we’ve been the only people on the tour five out of six times doesn’t hurt. But still, great tours. We went to the only Yukon Liquor Corporation store in Whitehorse, and scored a bottle of pretty good Zin, delisted and on sale. The Yukon has LC stores in larger centres (that’s five in the Territory, but the other four are pretty small) and there are off sales in almost every pub. I forgot to say that Alaska has an interesting policy: all liquor stores are private, and they sell booze in grocery stores, but the booze department is separate. Safeway calls theirs The Oaken Barrel, and it’s in a separate room off to one side. No one under 19 allowed in, unless accompanied by a parent or a spouse over 19. Safeway Club cards get you 20% off, so guess what? Yep. So much for principles.
So here you are, courtesy of a desk clerk who waived the WiFi fee: “Chust don’t tell anyvone, yah?” (Every business in the north has to have at least one bilingual employee: English and Deutsch.) On the way home. And by the way, it’s hot up here.
TAKE OFF : PART 7
We went to the Yukon Museum of Transportation before we left Fairbanks: pretty good museum: lots of bush pilot stuff, and the usual saga of the riverboats and dogsledding. Then drove and drove and drove, almost to the junction with Highway 37, the Cassiar Highway, and stayed the night in a campground that was closed on our way up. Very nice. Up Thursday (29th) morning, and off we went. Onto 37, which is scenic but partly gravel and not very fast. I did scratch an itch I’ve had for a long time by going to Cassiar, about 20 km off the highway, to take a look at a ghost town, for the creation of which I bear a small amount of credit or blame. In 1983, gold was $700 an ounce, and the company that owned the town was doing well. They thought they were going to need more workers, and so they persuaded the local MLA (Member of the Legislative Assembly) to convince the government to build a new school, which, they reasoned, would attract stable family men to live there. A year later the price of gold fell to $350, and the company decided to close the mine. People left. The school population declined. The education finance formula, of which I was in charge, was based on the number of students in a school, and there weren’t enough students to keep the school running. The school board petitioned the Ministry for help. I said, “If we do it for you, we have to do it for everyone.” They said, “If the school closes the town will die.” I said, “The School Act allows you to raise local taxes to fund a school by passing a referendum.” They said, “Don’t be silly. We don’t have the ability to raise taxes. Just give us the money.” I said, “Why should everyone else in the province pay for your school?” The school closed, and so did the town. The last inhabitant, now the caretaker, informed me that it was ‘all the faulty of the f---ing bureaucrats'. True enough.
On down the road through lots of good gravel road, but in order to keep the dust down they had a tanker out spraying (as I thought) water. Passed him as soon as I could, but we still got coated with mud. Got to Dease Lake, where I noticed a rear tire that looked pretty low. (So did the town, for that matter, but I was more concerned with the tire.) Sure enough, it was. Filled it up, but not at the town pump, which is connected to the general store. Good store, lousy service station. No air. Found the local mechanic, who allowed me to use his air, but by the time we pulled into a campground at Kinaskan Lake, 30 km on, it was back down. Moreover, the CV joint started to really tick, meaning it’s getting dry, and will fail at some point. However, Kinaskan is a great campground. Almost empty, naturally, and we popped the top about five metres away from the water. Perfect. Sunny, warm, and I tried my hand at fishing, using a toy rod and spinning reel I brought along. Had a hell of a time getting the handle on the reel, until it occurred to me that it might be like Moby Dick’s girlfriend, and have a left-hand thread. Got it all to work, but the lures, which Mary swears caught lots of fish for her father in the surf in Florida 60 years ago, didn’t seem to attract any of the fish here. Ah, well. The wine was good.
I have mixed feelings about Kinaskan Lake. Wonderful lake, great campground, but I had to change to the ‘emergency only’ spare, which requires lowering it from inside the rear area, which necessitates taking everything out. During the process, I discovered that the ‘water’ they were putting on the road was a slurry of calcite, which is great at keeping dust down, but lousy on cars, as it doesn’t dry, and makes anything that touches it filthy. Then we discovered that we had no house battery, because Infallible Ian had neglected to turn the 12 volt switch off when he turned the propane on, and the battery was cooling the fridge. That only works for so long.
Drove to Stewart, on the Portland Canal some 60 km off the highway. Great road, wonderful scenery. Bears, glaciers, all that stuff. Went to a service station to have the tire mended, discovered that the cords were sticking into the casing, which had caused the leaks. As Pat said in response to my complaint about Canadian Tire a couple of installment ago, “There are three things you should never buy at Canadian Tire: batteries, tires, and anything you really need to depend upon.” Bought two new tires. Garage guy phoned Terrace, where they had a CV joint and would install it. Made an appointment for next day. Went into Hyder, across the boarder in Alaska, along with a hundred or so motorcycles from all over the continent (Georgia, Louisiana, Alabama) on the annual ‘Hyder Seek’ run. Nothing to see in Hyder. Drove back out, and stopped a Meziadin Lake Campground. Wow. As Mary said, “This is like a resort.” Huge lake, campground in a little bay, bright sun, wonderful. Couple pulled in next to us, set up the tent trailer, guy cast out his line and bingo! A 50 cm trout. Got to like a campsite where you can catch fish literally from the back of your van, and then pick a couple of morels to go with them. (Oh, there are deer flies and mosquitoes, but Watkins bug dope works pretty well.)
Saturday, up and off to Terrace, with the CV getting noisier all the time. Found the shop, left the van, walked the downtown area, admired the hundreds of lilacs, all in bloom, had lunch, collected the van, and drove 37 towards Kitimat and checked into Lakelse Campground, which is huge and fairly crowded, given the time of year. Then drove to Kitimat, where the public library provides an hour of free internet time for non-members, which is why this is coming to you from Kitimat. Tomorrow, Prince Rupert and then home.
TAKE OFF: PART 8
First, my apologies. After I had sent Part 7 off, I discovered I had five or six copies in my Inbox. (I send these things to myself, with bcc to the rest of you unfortunates.) I assume you also got more copies than you wanted or needed, assuming you want or need the first one. I don’t know how that happened: I use the UVic webmail system to send these things, and it’s not as reliable as it might be. That’s the first time that’s happened, though.
Well. We spent Saturday night at Lakelse Campground, and either mass camping is a local phenomena or I’m waaaay out of touch with the world. Lakelse is a large lake about 15 km off Highway 16, which runs between Princes George and Rupert, on Highway 37 West, which goes to Kitimat. Lakelse has a famous resort, with hotsprings, which if I recall correctly was visited by Al Capone in the 1920’s or 30’s. Nowadays, a large part of the lakefront is provincial park, with two large campgrounds, one for tents and one for RV’s. The RV park has 156 spaces carved out of west coast rainforest, and last night, with 140 spaces occupied (according to the camp operator) there must have been 400 people. Groups numbering anywhere from six to 20 come out to this place from Terrace, Kitimat and Prince Rupert on the weekends and in the summer, occupy three or four campsites, and socialize or do whatever while their kids race around on bicycles. At the height of the season it must be a zoo. I’m sorry we weren’t here earlier: the predominant groundcover is skunk cabbage, and it must have been a real sight when they were in bloom. On the other hand, skunk cabbage in bloom attract bears, and apparently there were a dozen in the campground most of the time the skunk cabbage were out. (We saw several bears on the way down Highway 16, eating dandelions by the side of the road.)
As Kitimat is only 40 km further down the road, we drove over. Hasn’t changed at all in the ten years since we were last there. Sunday we drove around Terrace – first place we’ve been with real gardens and lawns – and then to Prince Rupert, 130 km of excellent highway, almost no traffic, and the Skeena river higher by far than I’ve ever seen it. Prince Rupert hasn’t changed either. Weather was great by PR standards – it wasn’t raining. Not sunny either, but in PR that counts as great weather. I don’t know how many times I’ve been in PR, but almost every time I’ve said, “I really have to visit Port Edward and see what’s there.” (Port Edward is about 30 km from PR, at the mouth of the Skeena.) Well, I should have gone long ago. What’s there is one of the last of the really big canneries to be shut down, in the 1980’s. It’s a Heritage Canada site, operated as a tourist attraction by a local society and partly funded by Parks Canada. What a great place. We spent three hours there, and could have spent another three. They have set up a hand production line against one wall of the main canning room, so you can see what it was like before mechanization. The butcher machine at the start of the main production line is the original one, made in Victoria in 1910. When I was in school we were taught that such machines “Were referred to as ‘Iron Chinks’”, as though that was a slang name. Not in the least: this one has a brass plate proclaiming this machine to be:
THE IRON CHINK
MANUFACTURED BY
SIMPSON MACHINE WORKS
VICTORIA B.C.
Times do change: hard to think of Victoria as a
manufacturing centre. Probably wouldn’t get away with the name these days,
either. Found a little café for dinner, and had one of the best seafood dinners
we’ve ever had. The halibut must have come off the boat that morning, and was
perfectly cooked. Prices were pretty reasonable too, certainly by the standards
we’ve come to expect on this trip. Checked into a local RV park, not far from
the ferry terminal, and reported to the terminal at 5:30 AM, so they could load
us and make us sit until they left at 7:30. To be fair, this ship, being made
for rough seas, is not RoRo so it takes a while to load. I’m writing this on the
ship, and I feel as though I’m a passenger on the City of New Orleans:
15 cars and 15 restless riders,
Two conductors, 24 sacks of mail.
7:00 AM The ship is virtually empty: there are 62
crew, and there might be 100 passengers, on a ship that carries 600. I guess
that at least 30% of the passengers are German, and another 10% or so are Brits,
judging by the accents I hear. There is also a smattering of Dutch, and quite a
few Americans. Almost all the people I can see are sleeping, each one occupying
a choice window seat. And of the people who are not sleeping, three are talking
on cell phones. We are well into Grenville Channel, at the end of which we make
a turn to port, I hope I hope I hope. If not, we hit Gill Island. Sound
familiar? However, if this thing hits terra firma and goes down, they’ll know
who was on it. They’re not taking any chances: we had to show picture ID, and
they checked names against pictures about four times, and took pictures of the
cars as we drove on. They asked me for a name of someone to be contacted ‘In
case of emergency’ and I gave them my victims’ list, so don’t be surprised if
you get an e mail. Course, by the time you get this we’ll be back ashore, so I
guess telling you is superfluous. (Why should this episode be different?)
2:00 PM Well, we’re almost half-way through the voyage: we’ve missed
Gill Island, and the endless miles (nautical miles, of course) unreel. Trees,
islands, mountains, snow, waterfalls, trees, islands, mountains……..Misty is not
having a great time: she’s too well trained to go except on grass or gravel, and
we forgot to bring any. Had we been thinking, we would have brought a square of
Astroturf for her, but it didn’t occur to us. So we walk her, and she sniffs at
the spots where (I assume) other dogs have gone, but she can’t bring herself to
break training.
3:30 PM We are now at the half-way point, and the ship is alive with
excitement. Not only are we passing Boat Point, a deserted fishing village with
two buildings still standing, but we are also passing not one but two cruise
ships. All of our passengers are at the windows or the railing taking pictures,
and the same is true of the passengers on the cruise ship. So much for the
‘world class scenery’ advertised by the cruise lines. Those people are
desperate for something to look at besides trees. More exciting from my point of
view is that Mary has just reported success in the canine evacuation department,
at least the solids division.
4:30 PM We are crossing the first open bit of water on the trip,
Millbanke Sound and the change is considerable. Up to the start of the sound the
water was dead flat, but for the past 30 minutes we’ve had two metre swells and
a nice cork-screw motion. I haven’t seen anyone using the bags that are evident
throughout the ship, but I imagine some folks came close.
7:30 PM Finished dinner, and I can recommend it. Mary had the prime
rib, advertised as 8 ounces (so much for metric) and at least two ounces more. I
had the (East) Indian Butter Chicken, which was pretty good. Litre of
nondescript red (I asked the bus girl what it was, and she brought back a
handwritten slip to the effect that it was ‘Mission Ridge Barrel Select, 4 litre
box’: I suspect 40% Cab, 40% Merlot, 20% Sirrah, aged in the truck) at $26.
Pretty good dinner. Raining hard. I’m really looking forward to landing and
trying to find a place to pop the top in the pouring rain, and walking Misty,
who still hasn’t peed.
8:30 PM Still coming down hard, and we’re now in the open seas of Smith
Sound, at the north end of Vancouver Island, so the ship is pitching a bit – not
as bad as it might be, by far, but not rock steady, either. Half of the
passengers are asleep, and most of the rest glassy-eyed. I feel sorry for the 15
motorcycle riders on board – I wouldn’t want to climb on a bike and ride off
into a dark, rainy night.
9:30 PM Pouring rain, visibility maybe a mile, getting dark. Land on
every side: the north end of Vancouver Island to the west and all sorts of
little islands to the east. Whatever happened to 11:00 PM and broad daylight?
Well, we came south. 100 km is about one degree of latitude, so a day’s drive is
four degrees, and it really makes a difference. 65 N to 61 in a day, and 61 to
57 the next day, and 57 to 53 the next day is the difference between sunset at
10:30 and dark at 12:30, and sunset at 9:00 and dark at 10:30.
Landed at 10:30, pulled into Wildwood campground about two minutes later (Mary
wants me to give it a plug: it’s full of rhodos and roses and virtually every
kind of shrub and vine you can name, and cheap too), got up Tuesday morning,
drove through way too much rain to Victoria where it wasn’t raining, and we’re
home. You’ll get a final analysis in a day or two once I get caught up with the
mail, the phone messages, and everything else.
TAKE OFF: PART 9
The last chapter. I write these epistles partly as an
aide memoir; partly to help identify the pictures (now more than ever
necessary, as Mary has a digital camera and has taken about 800 pictures); and
partly as I am not by nature a diarist, and have to feel that I am writing for
an audience, however unwilling. (But I have to tell you that a three-part
article I wrote for the Island Growler, the Vancouver Island Jaguar Club
Newsletter, on how I bought my E Type, won first prize for its category for all
NA club newsletters for 2007, out of 800 entries. You can find the article at
http://www3.telus.net/IanCameron/ click on ‘A Boy and His Toy’. You will
also find all the Parts of the trip just ended, in case you want to read them
again.) Anyway, when writing these things I think of the audience as those who
might someday take such a trip, and might profit from our experiences. In that
spirit, herewith the last installment.
Philosophy
You will have gathered that Mary and I are travelers: we like to see new sights rather than to sit and contemplate, or explore an area thoroughly. Take that into account when reading this summary.
Driving
The trip took 31 days, and covered 8300 km. There were days we didn’t travel (not many): on the days we did travel we averaged 350 km a day. The longest day was Anchorage to Whitehorse: 580 km. The roads were generally good to excellent. The only gravel was into Atlin (40 km of gravel each way); Chicken to Dawson City (about 60 km of gravel); Watson Lake to Kitwanga (40 km of gravel, but with calcite sprayed on it. If they’re spraying with calcite, don’t drive on it until it dries.) Gas cost was just about $1000, thanks mostly to the $1 per litre in Alaska. Gas in the Yukon is $1.45 to $1.60. We bought two tires in Stewart at $90 each, which is comparable to Victoria. Replaced a drive shaft in Terrace: parts $125, labour $175, taxes $50. Could have done it myself in Victoria for a $200 savings, but if I’d had it done at a garage the cost would have been similar. Changed oil in Anchorage, $30. Total driving cost, about $1600, but the tires and the axle really don’t count, as they would have needed replacing anyway. Let’s call it $1050.
Timing
We wanted to escape tourists and bugs, but didn’t want to freeze. We also wanted to be in Victoria for flower season. May seemed to be the best time to go. Right on the first two, wrong on the weather. It was pretty cold sitting outside in campsites in the late afternoon. Everyone told us that spring was late this year, but the last week of the trip was a lot warmer than the first two. Further, Yukon campsites are closed until May 15, and they mean it. There are various things not open until June 1, but nothing major. My advice is to wait until May 12 at the earliest to start the trip, maybe May 20. You’ll still miss most tourists and bugs.
The good
The sights, especially the mountains, are unbelievable. Worth the trip just for the scenery. The highlights might have been the trip from Anchorage to Fairbanks, or Tok to Dawson City, but the road into Stewart is the best value on a scenery per km basis. The territorial campgrounds in the Yukon are great: almost all campsites are right beside creeks or lakes. Free firewood, if you have to have a fire. B.C. provincial campgrounds in isolated areas (Meziadin Junction, Kinaskan Lake) are also great. I’d go back in a heartbeat. Gas and wine are cheap in Alaska. Lots of great museums. Nice people everywhere. Stewart is worth visiting if you’re on Highway 37. Dawson City is terrific, especially the museum. Long way to go, though. The ferry from Prince Rupert to Port Hardy was scenic, but expensive ($600).
The bad
Yukon campgrounds don’t open until May 15th. B.C. provincial campgrounds near urban areas aren’t so good, as your site will be a looooong way from whatever the attraction is, usually a lake, and they’re full of kids being kids. B.C. Forest Service campgrounds are being closed, although you can still find them. Problem is, the maps that show them are out of date, and they aren’t printing new ones. You don’t want to drive 20 km down a logging road to find the camp gone. Prices are high. Breakfasts in ordinary cafes range from $7 to $11, lunch the same, dinner entrees $24 to $35. Cheap motel rooms go from $90 to $135. Alaska State ferries are very costly.
Disappointments
Mostly the towns. Places I’ve heard and read about - Watson Lake, Teslin, Carcross, Dease Lake – are nothing. Really nothing. Not quaint, or picturesque, or interesting. Nothing. On the other hand, you’re driving through them anyway, so it doesn’t matter much. Seward, on the other hand, is almost as bad, and you have to go a long way in and then out to get there. Atlin is okay, but also a long drive, which you have to do twice.
What to miss
If I were doing it again, I’d miss Seward for sure. If time were limited, I’d miss Atlin, Skagway, Haines and Homer as well. Given the time we had, and the fact that we’d gone all that way, I’m glad we saw them, but there really isn’t much to see. We could have cut a week off the trip without missing much.
Bottom line
I’m glad we did it, but we won’t do it again. I wish we’d gone a bit later, but it was fine. If you’re doing it, go later – May 15 would be good. If I had to stay in motels, I wouldn’t make the same trip. Not just cause I’m cheap, but it would be really pricy. For a couple eating every meal out, you’re looking at $100 a day, $130 if you have wine with dinner, and at least $100 for the motel. 30 days, plus gas, plus attractions, would total $8,000 at least. In those circumstances, I’d go from Watson Lake to Carmacks, to Dawson City, to Tok, to Fairbanks, Anchorage, Gulkana Junction, Tok, Haines Junction, to the border (half way to Haines), and back to the Junction, to Whitehorse, Watson Lake and down 37. If I didn’t live on Vancouver Island, I sure wouldn’t take the ferry. That would make the trip about 20 days, and the cost about $5,000. I guess it would be worth it. But the way we did it, it was absolutely worth it.
We kept a fair amount of the literature we collected: if you wish, come and have a look or take it away. Thanks for reading these (lengthy) reports.
Ian and Mary (and Misty).