Thursday 15 September 2005 - LAYOVER LAZINESS!
Hiding Out at Squanga Lake, Yukon Territory
Early early morning we listen to a hoot owl hooting briefly; only slightly inquisitive. Early morning mist off the lake obscures everything (or is that just the condensation on our windows?) then sunshine speckled with pigeon-puffy clouds. Nights and mornings are colder, away from the Skaguay coast; down to nearly freezing again.
A lazy day? No, a day to re-do the laundry in frigid water, pumped with hundreds of strokes from a low water table. Hang'em and hope. Listen to the floatplanes rising and falling just beyond our windows. Walk about a bit on the squishy forest floor and soggy lakeshore. Read some more.
A note about scoff-law Yukoners. We see'em everywhere. They're smoking by the NO-SMOKING signs, camped by the NO CAMPING signs, swerving across highway double-lines. I guess it takes a rugged breed of bandits to live here, eh? But I won't try to emulate them, not when taking firewood from a government campground can land one in prison for two years.
MAUREEN'S REPORT:
Something delightful happened to me yesterday (Wednesday). A woman I had hardly yet met invited me and Ric to visit her home on our next trip to Carcross, Yukon, and to park the RV in her yard.
Our first meeting was a week prior when I stopped in the 'Carcross Barracks' a gallery and gift shop where she works. We yacked about this and that, I admired polar bear earrings carved from wooly mammoth ivory, we bought some things for the family and then drove on southward to Skagway, Alaska. I thought as we drove away that it would be nice to visit with her longer when she was not at work.
All week in Skagway, Ric and I did my quest for polar bear earrings... nothing was close to the beauty of the ones in Carcross. Deciding to buy the Carcross pair on our return, I then had to work at not obsessing that someone from the endless piles of bus tourists would buy them.
On the morning of our return to Carcross she greeted us with a big warm smile and the earrings were waiting for me. We yacked again and with the owner of the store about the artist who carved the polar bears. Then as I was paying I considered asking her if she would like to swap addresses but then thought that she probably gets that all the time from customers who are taken by her easy happy manner.
It was one of those moments where I could almost imagine that she could read my mind, when she made the invitation. Delightful! Thanks Helen... We will be back, And we hope when you visit in Milpitas, California that you will make the trip to see us in Pioneer in the Sierra Nevadas (mountains that is).
Here is the story of my polar bears as told by 'The Barracks' owner Greg...
They were carved by Steve Anderson who has lived in the far north for years by his wits. He has not been known to ever hold a job. Was married to an Inuit for a while, lived in his car for a while, had his throat cut with a broken bottle in a bar fight, went to Thailand for a while to recover from that, returned to the Artic, was given an aluminum boat with many holes, repaired it and floated in it down the MacKenzie River to the Great Slave Lake, and hasn't been seen in Carcross for about a year now. He shows up at 'The Barracks' store when he needs money. The owners buy his materials... soapstone and wooly mammoth ivory. Then he studies the rock or ivory until the shape reveals itself and he just cuts away the excess. His work is exquisite. His address is unknown, but he has lived in Tuk, Inuvik, Aklavic, Yellowknife and Whitehorse.
* FYI in Canada 'First Nations' is the term for the people who lived here first. It is similar to the United States of American term 'Native American'.
|
|
Friday 16 September 2005 - TO THE CREST!
Squanga Lake to Continental Divide, YT
MORNING: Roll out of our COLD layover at Squanga Lake and hit the highway to head for Teslin, and we *immediately* pass a paper-white Hummer stretch limo. I wonder if there's a big demand for those around here? Adjacent mountains all look sanded, rounded, glacially scoured. It's not hard to imagine an Ice Age, and not that long ago.
After traveling the wrong direction awhile we get turned around and reach Johnson's Crossing, what passes for a major stop on the AlCan Highway. Here's where the Canol Road goes north over mountain and valley to frigid oilfields in the Northwest Territories. We cross a high bridge over the mighty Teslin River, headwaters of the Yukon River. Tall cliffs on the west side, vast forests and mountains in all directions — a scene of backwoods splendor. We last passed here, what? three weeks ago? Yeah, journeying into Whitehorse. Seems like an age.
Yeah, I got turned around leaving the Squanga Lake campground. Yukon territorial government doesn't waste a lot of money on highway signs. There might be some indication of where you are (and likely on any map) but not necessarily of where anything else is. And our aftermarket electronic car compass isn't too reliable. Still, when it says we're going southwest when we should be headed northeast, I take that as an indication that something is amiss. It might help to calibrate the damn thing one of these days.
NOONISH: Outside of Teslin Village, we stop at the Teslin Lake campground to check on an older RVer who has his Alaska-licensed vehicle's hood up, working on the engine. Everything's OK, he's just replacing the air filter. He and wife live in Anchorage and leave for the winter. Smart folks. Deaf, though.
We reach the outskirts of Teslin Village and Mukluk Annie's is CLOSED for the season. Bother. No free camping and salmon bake for us today; we'll have to be satisfied with a tuna melt and squat camp. But now, let's see what Teslin has to offer. Any museums etc open?
LATE AFTERNOON: We had sort of an interesting day in Teslin. Not a lot to see, after-season. The Teslin Tlingit Cultural Center has modest but colorful and incisive displays, and we bought some nice beaded moccasins to showcase. The signs in front promise POWERFUL STORYTELLERS but they're out hunting now. The famed Johnson Museum is closed. The Yukon Motel Wildlife Gallery is a small room with stuffed-animal dioramas, OK if you like that sort of thing.
A nearby roadside stop has WiFi (wireless internet) so that's where we spent the afternoon, communicating with the world. Send out updates; read the mail, news bulletins and personal stuff. I read the news and there's nothing good — WHAT'S WRONG WITH EVERYBODY?!?!? Same old crap around the world. [Political diatribe deleted.]
It's now rainy and cloudy and we're moving on, past a demonstrations where they show the world how to grow trees and then cut'em down. Sitting in Teslin for 3-4 hours, the coach cooled off. We cruise down the highway and switch on the dashboard heat to harmonize the cabin, and Maureen had a wonderful brain fart. She took our remaining damp laundry and held it in front of the heat vents. This works just about as well as a blow-dryer.
As we drive further east we're thinking, "The road into summer!" because there's less color, more green in the trees. Then we look closer and see that the hardwoods have all turned, they're just lost in the increasing proportion of evergreen conifers as we rise from the depths of the Yukon River valley, heading for the Continental Divide.
Maureen just reminds me that some old gal in Skagway told us that SWAN SOUP is delicious, the best bird soup there is. So everybody, go out and kill some swans, RIGHT NOW!
EVENING: We drive along the Yukon BC border alongside Swift River, past Swan Lake (where are those damn swans? I'm hungry!) and many other ponds. I'm getting cataleptic and anxious to stop. And here's a side road to the Continental Divide airstrip! And here's a side road off that, through thick conifers! And there's an abandoned cabin, and trees across the road! No through-traffic to worry about here, so it's squat-camp time. Uh-oh, tires look low. Maybe we'll have to go into Watson Lake tomorrow. Bother.
|
Saturday 17 September 2005 - BACK INTO BC!
Continental Divide YT to Boya Lake BC
MORNING: We are looking for air. For the tire, that is. Maybe repair, too. We dug out a tire gauge. I tried to stick it behind my ear. It's too heavy. I thought, "Why not drill (into my head) a little hook, upon which to hang the gauge or other tools?" Then Maureen developed the idea for SWISS ARMY EARRINGS, small hooks for each ear lobe from which to hang (hopefully) light-weight tools. Light, so the lobes do not become too pendulous. Exquisitely crafted tools, formed from titanium-aluminium alloys, to provide a 'look' that says, "I can fix *anything*!" These would not be charm-bracelet tools but the real thing. Maureen notes that titanium can accept color, so the tools may be decorator accented.
'Tis announced on the radio that Monday is International Talk-Like-A-Pirate Day. Yarr!
NOONISH: Back to Watson Lake YT, where we find that our nervous tire *doesn't* require repair. So we hit the Visitor Center for road info and a short film on local and Yukon and Alaska Highway (AlCan) history. Some more reprovisioning, as we are headed towards sparsely-populated and -serviced realms: south into the wilds of north-western Brutish Columbia on the Stewart-Cassiar Highway, across the Cassiar Mountains to the glacial village of Stewart and beyond. This is supposedly the scenic alternative to the AlCan. We'd better see some glaciers pretty soon, dammit.
The highway is supposedly paved most of the way through. It's a rougher, twistier, narrower ride than the AlCan, swooping over low hills through an oppressive matchstick forest sweeping forever along the shallow ridges and across the far river basins, the white-topped Cassiar range looming blue off in the distance. We pass groves of bare hardwoods, their leaves already shed like bothersome bikinis by skinny girls. The highway is two-lane, no lines, no shoulders, little more cut back than a logging road would be. Occasional pond clusters and small lakes hidden behind the trees.
LATE AFTERNOON: We pull into Boya Lake Provincial Park for the night. I'd read that BC parks stopped charging camping fees after 15 September but apparently that ain't so here. And the blackflies swarm like swirling dead rain. We can't even go outside to puff a good Cuban cigar (La Gloria Cubana, Habana) — the cloud of smoke wouldn't be enough to drive them away, the wretched wee buggers.
But later the temperature drops, the bugs diminish, we have our smoke and watch clouds descend on the termination dust of nearby peaks. The view across the lake from our windows, our campsite, is rather lovely, but only worth a couple photos. Perhaps we'll lay over tomorrow — too much driving these last couple days.
CULTURE NOTES: Astute readers may have observed that there are far fewer cultural notes in this journal than in, say, both the Mexico-Guatemala logs. Reasons for this include 1) this here is pretty sparse country and there ain't really a whole bunch of culture to observe; 2) local indigenous cultures are mainly displayed at tourist centers, with limited presentations; 3) we are motoring and not cycling, and are thus relatively insulated from the outer world; and 4) the mainstream Canadian culture is pretty much Americanized. As anthropologist Emily Martin says, "Studying your own culture is harder because everything seems so normal to you."
Differences north of the 49th parallel are mostly minor and easily assimilated. Except for non-commercial broadcasting, the radios play US music with generic accents. It's really rather boring. Ya hear that, Canadians? YOUR COUNTRY IS BORING!! Out west, anyway. Well, I suppose it's OK for killing things. Fish (expensive license), hunt (more expensive license, cut down trees (even worse). I suppose one could forage for mushrooms for free.
I'm daydreaming of catching a cheap flight to Antigua Guatemala, taking a cheap language school there for a few weeks, taking buses through the Central American and Mexican highlands, visiting INTERESTING and CHEAP places again. And we'd probably run into some Canadians there, also bored by their home, ogling exotic cultures. Let's go!
|
|
Sunday 18 Sept 2005 - CAN'T TAKE IT ANYMORE!
Lolling About & Resting Up at Boya Lake, BC
I stroll around the campground and lake; Maureen doesn't. Reading and writing and figuring as usual. I manage to churn out a few more Travel Guides: TRAVEL RADIO & TRAVEL WEATHER & TRAVEL TALK & TRAVEL FOOD & OBSESSIVE TRAVEL. I'll get back to the stories one of these days. You'll know when.
This provincial campground (as are all those in this area) are managed by a commercial outfit. It's a long ways to the next campground. At least three uniformed staffers in two vehicles have been here off-and-on all day, raking leaves and whatever. There are just two other campers' vehicles here, each at $14 per night. This doesn't seem economically viable.
|
|
Monday 19 September 2005 - FURTHER SOUTH IN BC!
Boya Lake to Upper Gnat Lake, BC
MID-MORNING: We rolled out of Boya Lake, kinda got the creeps in that campground due to the management firm's staff circling around like sharks, like prison guards, sez Maureen. Feels like we're under surveillance the whole time, with too high a staff-visitor ratio to be profitable, for sure. My hypothesis is that, since they have rentable canoes and kayaks and dinghys laying around the shoreline, unlocked, they want to make sure that nobody uses a boat without paying. No tickee, no boatee.
We reach Jade City BC, home of the world's biggest jade-mining operations — 3/4 of it comes from here, they say. Nice little shops, still a little pricey for us but we're cheap and chintzy, especially regarding this stuff which is all shipped to China (or a little to New Zealand) to be carved, mass-produced (even the Maori stuff) on assembly lines, then shipped back to here and Guatemala or wherever. Note the distinction between jade and jadeite, eh?
Jade City sits in the Cassiar Mountains, peaks all around us covered with snow — it looks like a bit more than just termination dust. And it's cold here. Maureen says, "The way the wind feels, it could snow down here tonight." Sacre bleu! (Maureen says, "Hah!")
Maureen says the topography hereabouts is rather Swiss-looking.
The highway slices through rocky cuts lined with bushier conifers, and hardwoods already all turned. Beyond are craggy peaks; the treeline only goes halfway up to the snow. We drive along a moderately wide river and clusters of lakes nestled in among the verdant furry rocky slopes, the trees giving the jagged terrain a green pelt. The sawtoothed peaks still remind me of a shark's mouth (inverted) with an isolated Matterhorn or three.
This is ragged jagged country, scene of a gold rush long ago. A huge gold nugget was taken out of a local creek by some lucky bastard — 72 ounces of solid gold, the biggest ever found in BC. Ay carrumba!
MID-AFTERNOON: At Dease Lake we refuel, pick up a WiFi internet signal that we can't log into, grab a couple cheap used books to illuminate our eyes and brains a bit longer, and cross from the Arctic to the Pacific drainage. We don't find a suitable place to camp, so onwards, over Gnat Pass, and there's Upper Gnat Lake and it's just ideal for squat-camping, so here we stay.
Some deeper pockets in the earth are sandy, full of ice-age lakebed sediments, but almost all exposed surfaces are nothing but shattered rock, almost no soil. Trees and shrubs dig into the fragments, yes, and the ground is covered with sphagnum moss and mushrooms if any cover is overhead, with lichens otherwise. But there's no dirt here. Digging becomes a frustrating experience.
|
|
Tuesday 20 September 2005 - FURTHER SOUTH IN BC!
Gnat Pass to someplace or other, BC
MORNING: We break camp early at Upper Gnat Lake, it's cold here. Nippy, at least. Not quite freezing but somehow the chill seeps into our bones and flesh, meagerly sheltered in our non-winterized RV. So we continue southward across more degrees (or minutes) of latitude [loud sneeze] looking for more sunshine and less snow, ha ha ha. Yeah, we beat the heat all right. But snow and glaciers are visible ahead, and even further than we can see. The guides say [loud sneeze] to take 3-4 days to drive this highway, but we might take a little longer. Brrr.
We're in a narrow valley carved by meandering Gnat Creek, the road margins covered with fireweed and other flowering shrubs all frosted brown. Snow drops ever lower on the mountains around us. This valley floor looks like a thin muskeg or maybe tundra — trees are stunted and spaced far apart. Then we're back in the matchstick conifers, scraggly and oppressive.
We crawl into and out of the Grand Canyon of the Stikine River and its pathways to wildernesses. It doesn't look so grande here — maybe it's steeper upstream. And beyond, we see white-topped immensities, peaks poking through clouds with their glacial burdens. I think, according to the Scenic Highway guide, this is where it's supposed to get scenic; quintessential, even. No, that was back at Dease Lake. Can't tell the scenery without a program, eh?
On the Klastline Plateau just south of the Stikine River we pull in at Morchuea Lake. It's a little chilly (and early) to stay the night just now, but it looks like a good place to hang out for a few days on a future trip. No fee, hopefully.
GREATER ISKUT: Five miles north of Iskut we stop in at Trapper's Souvenirs and Cabins. The proprietor Charlotte and her three manic Pomeranian dogs have a hard time getting away, nobody to watch the shop while they're gone. We almost said, "Sure, we'll tend the store for you, for room and board in one of those cabins, and maybe a couple gold rings, no problem." She has lots of local gold rings to sell. And the scenery is staggering. But she says it gets old after 30 years here.
And just beyond, we pass the Bear Paw Resort Hotel, with its twin log-cabin towers out front, stockade-style. We were told by the info-gal Daphne back in Carcross that it's an excellent hotel; but unfortunately, we're not in the market for resorts right now. The snowy mountains are getting closer, looming higher. Yeah, it's pretty spectacular here. Maureen says that it's as good as Switzerland but the autobahn is missing.
We stop in Iskut, at the head of a chain of great thin lakes under lowering mountains. Definately a First Nations community. At the general store, prices are astounding. Maple syrup is $16 per gallon. That's cheap. Milk is $6 per half gallon. That's not cheap. Meat and produce are atmospheric. A moose hunting licence is just $50 (no charge for First Nations folk) and one moose will feed a family of four all winter. We wonder who buys the store meat? Maybe the same folks who buy the packaged Chinese foods. Everybody's friendly and smiling, everybody says hello. Little kids wave at us. And I don't even look like Santa Claus now.
NOONISH: We stop at Bob Quinn Lake for lunch, watch the REALLY BIG helicopters land and depart. We pass Little Bob Quinn Lake — hey there, Little Bob! Around here is where the Iskut River cuts through the Coast Range. Then we zip over a low summit into the next watershed, the Ukut River drainage.
Both the Iskut and Ukut cut deep valleys through the mountains. It's only a little ways over there to the Pacific Ocean and Alaska. The Iskut joins the Stikine near the coast at the town of Stikine, and just beyond is Wrangell Alaska. But we can't get there from here except by helicopter. Or canoe. And then it'd be a hard paddle back. Especially since we didn't bring a canoe; all we have is that little raft, 300 pound capacity. That'll be tedious. Maureen says I'll have to swim along behind. Right.
Oh yeah, the colors are gorgeous, the mountains are awesome, it's raining here now and snowing up above. Maureen says she sees fresh snow ahead. And we're heading right into it. Ay yi yi. Sacre bleu.
LATE AFTERNOON: We cross another low summit and we're almost down to the Glacier Highway, the road from Meziadin Junction over to Stewart BC and Hyder AK. That's still too far for today. Many more miles of beautiful narrow valleys; then we luckily find a solid gravel track heading a little ways uphill. We take it, wind away from the highway, and find a sunny wide spot (near Glacier Creek?) with nothing but views. Home for the night! We set out our table and chairs in the sun and read. Along comes a hip young BC Fisheries warden but we're not fishing or hunting so everything's cool.
And darkness falls and we're vacuumed up into the stars. And tomorrow is another day, hopefully.
|
|
Wednesday 21 September 2005 - NORTHERN BC!
Lay Around, Somewhere in the Vicinity of Glacier Creek?
It's too nice here to leave today. I recently write all or most of some more Travel Guides: ALTERNATIVE TRAVEL & GRAPHIC TRAVEL & TRAVEL GAMES & TRAVEL WITH A SOUSAPHONE & JOURNEY TO THE CENTER OF YOUR BRAIN & HITCHHIKER'S GUIDE TO YOUR BACKYARD. What? Maureen is getting bored? And we're not quite halfway through this trip. Sacre bleu! Well, back to Alaska then.
AFTERNOON: We stroll along this ridgetop road, away from our cleared perch with vistas of surrounding glacial peaks, up into the dense bulky conifers. A river roars on the ridge's east flank; a highway is somewhere to the west. Climbing, we pass through layers of shattered shale into boggy fens overgrown with ferns, horsetails, mosses, cool swamp growth.
The pounded-graveled road is strewn with thin orange cups of mushrooms like golden poppies in bloom, the cupped caps ranging from tiny buttons up to the diameter of large coins — toonies, quetzals, silver dollars. This site is so beautiful, mockingbird-sweet but no birds around; a few flies, some curious furry caterpillars maybe 1/2 inch thick and two inches long, divided into three colored bands: black, yellow-orange, black. We've seen a number of these in the Great NorthWest.
|
|
|
