John Rachal's Blog

(Not sure what happened to DAY 23. Can’t find it. But clearly based on DAY 24, this was the day we got on the Alcan Highway, also called the Alaska Highway, at Dawson Creek, and I remember taking pictures there.)

DAY 24, June 14, Friday

The temperatures are warming and quite pleasant. Yesterday’s drive of about 350 miles, perhaps half of which was on the Alaska Highway, was mostly in the 70s and hit 81 on the car thermometer. But when we arrived at a private RV park just outside of Fort Nelson, the rain gods were having trouble coming to a majority vote, and it would rain a bit, then sort of stop, then rain some more, then stop again. Val had done the second half of the driving, and she parked with a little help from me in the rain since I was having trouble locating my rain jacket. Generally we know where we have put things, but it is amazing how easily you forget where something went if you are in a rush or, more likely, forget to mentally register where you put it. The other day I thought I was going to have to buy another rain jacket just to force the first one to make a triumphant re-appearance (they do that you know), when I finally discovered it in my backpack. It is especially a joyful experience to look for things in the Thule roof carrier, which as a general rule tends to work best when it is empty.

Today was a work day as we had decided to spend two nights here since it supposedly had full amenities. I don’t mean to be peevish, but wi-fi and internet are so sketchy up here that claims of having those services should be regarded with a jaundiced eye. In any event, the rain gods were still doing that on again, off again raining, but, ever persistent, we paid a Canadian dollar per minute (about 75 cents American right now) to wash the Casita. I was severely tempted to suggest that doing so was a waste as it would be dirty and dusty again within 200 miles, and the words “But dear” were just forming themselves when Falstaff’s advice that discretion is the better part of valor saved me. She Who Must Be Obeyed declared that her baby required a bath, and I would be a graceless cad if I did not admit afterward that by gosh it did look rather handsome.

Our next task was four loads of laundry, including one for the dogs. By the time we had completed paying for this job I could have made a significant down payment on a new washer and dryer, but clothes were clean and closet shelves could be re-stocked.

Next was taping half-inch foam strips to the front of the camper to prevent road pebbles from causing damage. She Who Must Be Obeyed had foreseen this likelihood from the experience of others, and we used almost a whole roll of matching blue gaffer’s tape in hopes that the blue shield would endure the tortures of the “chip seal” pavement, with its small rocks and frequent dust. But other parts of the road are quite pleasant and mostly free of stones except on the shoulders. Traffic is light, but where the road is dusty and pebbly, an oncoming truck can send a pinky-sized stone right at your windshield, which did indeed happen to a fellow I chatted with today.

DAY 25, June 15, Saturday

The morning was grand and we left Ft. Nelson renewed and eager. Especially eager for the “Cinnamon Bun Center of the Galactic Cluster” about fifty miles down the road. They were quite good (though missing raisins), but mainly they were huge. Not far down the road was the area of Muncho Lake which had a little diner where we had some delicious, from-scratch mushroom soup and homemade bread. Then back on the road to the Liard Hot Springs, where we donned bathing attire and waded into the warm water of the spring, all natural except that gravel had been added to the bottom. We had parked in the shade and after a short dog walk, put them in the camper with windows open. The provincial park surrounding the springs was, as expected, full, and the overflow parking across the highway was the same price with no services, and itself was fairly full. So we drove on, with the goal of entering the Yukon and arriving at the town of Watson Lake. We made it to this little gravel “campground” about 8, a dusty, dirt-gravel surface, but it does have hookup and nice bathrooms. It’s 11:25 right now and the horizon is still red, and it’s way too light for the first evening star.

Val and I seem to have entered into a contest of who can first spot the most bears along the way, generally by the forest edge. Of course it’s not quite a fair match since I’m blind in one eye and can only see half as many bears. So naturally Val had me three to zip as of day before yesterday, but I made progress today with two, and she also added to her three with two more. But one of those was a grizzly ambling along not sixty feet from the road. Traffic being light, I would have stopped for him or her, but I didn’t really see the brownish beast until we were quite close, and I wasn’t going to back up on a highway with a trailer even though there were no cars in sight either way. Val pretends that the feat of spotting five bears in two travel days is nothing at all, shrugging it off with a disdainful flip of the hand, hardly worth a mention—as common as slapping a Mississippi Delta mosquito.

DAY 26, June 16, Sunday

We departed Watson Lake around noon, after crossing the road to check out the Visitors’ Center and especially the sign forest, with some 88,000 license plates and small signs, some homemade, telling where home is. They were almost all tacked to 4×4 posts rising 12 or so feet, and finding a vacant spot even with a short ladder was a neat trick. Val, always prepared, had brought her last AHIMSA license plate and four nails to befuddle almost all comers, and we found a spot for it, spreading the word of certain religious traditions of non-violence to other sentient beings.

We are well into the Yukon now, a name that has iconic meaning for me, but whether from the 1963 trip or too many Jack London stories I don’t know. I asked the ladies at the Watson Lake Visitor Center whether it was “the” Yukon or just Yukon, and opinion seems divided. Both the ladies and I are all partial to “the” Yukon, reflecting its past as a territory and somehow adding an air of remoteness and even exoticism, sort of like “the Empty Quarter” in the Sahara, or the Yukon’s sister province the Northwest Territories. But official signs (“Keep Yukon Clean”), and thus apparently the official view, turn a cold shoulder to that potent little article “the,” I regret to say.

My image of the Yukon is that of wildness, a place where civilization’s encroachments have been kept at bay, and probably what John Muir growled about when he complained of the logging companies that “nothing  dollarable is safe.” But I confess that paeans to wildness coming from me at least are a mite hypocritical, given that you don’t see me wandering the uncharted forests on horseback, wearing buckskins, roasting a rabbit over a small fire, and toting a .58 caliber single shot Henry rifle, a la Jeremiah Johnson. Instead I drive through the well-charted landscape at 60 mph, in thermostat-controlled comfort, pulling my house behind me, and chatting with my best friend, my wife.

The wildlife up here in the Yukon can be dangerous. What with all the bears, cougars, bison, sasquatches, mosquitoes and whatnot, an ounce of care is worth a pound of prevention. They tell you not to look the mosquitoes in the eye, as it makes them feel threatened and thus more aggressive. Why just the other day I saw four thuggish-looking mosquitoes start a fight with a grizzly, and while the bruin ultimately prevailed in the contest, his looks were not improved by the encounter.

We had planned to go about halfway to Whitehorse, but there were no convenient campgrounds in that vicinity, so we continued on and arrived at Pioneer RV park just outside of Whitehorse late in the day, choosing one of the “dry” (no hookups) sites nestled among trees. On our way we had seen several bison and a mama black bear crossing the road with two cubs. Darned cute—from the safety of a car. Val saw both cubs, but I only saw the second cub before they were lost in the bushes, so the Bear Score is now 8-4, not counting the one I saw at the end of the mountain hike in Jasper.