Northern Exposure II
^{Towards Alaska, 2005}

Thursday 22 September 2005 - MAKING TRACKS!
_{Ritchie Ridge BC to Hyder AK}

EARLY frosty morning, 8:00 AM temperatures of 37°f outside and 47°f inside before I switch on the heater and engine. Wipe away some of the heavy window condensation and peer out at the whiteness and greyness of foggy ridges, the colorful vegetation, the lonely chupacabras hopping around seeking goats to bite. Or were they further south? Whatever,

This is a small RV of limited capacity. We can stay 'out' in dry camps (no water taps) for maybe 4-5 nights at most, but that means no showers. Our water tank holds somewhere around 30 gallons maybe, and we keep a few more gallons in jugs as backup. A propane fillup of 10 gallons lasts several weeks normally, fueling refrigerator and stove and water heater, and firings of the cabin heater maybe 2-3 times a day to bring the inside up to 65°f as needed. The heater blower, and the inverter that powers the computers and cameras, draw a fair amount of juice from the cabin batteries, so we usually turn the engine on while the heater is blowing. Yeah, 4-5 days 'out' is about the limit in this weather — then we need to hose off, tank up, buy some more milk and veggies, see something new.

NOONISH: We roll out from our nameless ridge-camp — we'll call it Ritchie Ridge because the turnoff is just south of km 205 and Ritchie Creek, south of Bowser Lake, near the Nass River but it's the Bell-Irving River that flows beside the highway now. A mighty stream fed by peripheral cascades, most pleasant on this warmish sunny day as we peer at the puffy and lenticular clouds ahead and behind. Ahead is Meziadin Junction and Glacier Highway. the last road to Alaska.

Meziadin Junction is minimal — a store, gas station, signs for all the splendors of Stewart and Hyder out on the international border, at the head of yet another long, long fjord. Just beyond the junction is Meziadin Lake which is pretty gorgeous, and VASTLY imposing peaks beyond — craggy, snow-covered, y'know, Matterhorn-type stuff. Yet another alpine wonderland.

A couple miles out of Meziadin we are running below these craggy peaks and, as advertised, there ARE glaciers hanging off them just above the roadway. They could fall on us at any moment. [Loud scream] But wait, there's more!

We stop at Bear Glacier for a few photos. The glacier emerges from the rift it's carved in the mountains and slithers down their slope right to the surface of the lake we stand at, 100 yards to the far side from where we are, THERE IT IS! Ice calving off into the lake — I'll wager that the water is a bit nippy right now.

Bear Creek, coming off Bear Glacier and becoming Bear River, cuts through a steep narrow canyon, the walls rising 1.5 miles above the bottom. We see beaver ponds along the road and incredibly lush Pacific NorthWest foliage oozing up the sharp slopes, and hardwoods along the creek's silty-boggy banks.

BORDER: Into Stewart BC to replenish water and food, to stare awhile at the quaint [cough cough] architecture. The town museum is closed, but looking through the window at the Victorian (cough cough) interior, we see a large goose patrolling. Waddling around a little, actually. Goose shit on the floor next to the water and food dishes. Nice museum.

Stewart (population 800) and Hyder, Alaska (population 90) are not exactly as touristy and postcardy as Skaguay, but then the cruise ships don't come up the Portland Canal (world's 4th longest) to disgorge deep-pocketed consumers here. This is the undrowned (so far, absent further global warming)) end of that fjord, where waters melting from Bear Glacier (east) and Salmon Glacier (north) merge at tidewater.

Hyder is definitely scrungy, an end-of-the-road town of dirt roads and quaint-to-rotten cabins. A sign reads HYDER ALASKA: Home of About 100 Happy People and a Few Old Shitheads! But everyone looks happy. There's one tavern per every 30 residents — maybe that's a factor. Another sign boasts that Hyder has the world's highest per-capita satellite radio listenership.

Crossing the border from Canada to the US is... nothing, because there's no US border station, no customs post, nothing at all. Coming back, one must show picture ID at Canadian customs. So this is, what, the USA's soft underbelly for infiltrators. The terrorists must just FLOCK to Greyhound Bus stations across Canada, buy tickets for Hyder AK, and when they get here all they have to do is wait for the ferry to Ketchikan that comes every two weeks. Right.

We wander north from Hyder on a road past the Fish Creek bear-viewing area, heading towards Tongass National Forest and the Salmon Glacier. We find a nice squat-camp-site at the confluence of raging torrents. Maybe we'll see the glacier tomorrow.

Friday 23 September 2005 - GLACIERS, THEN BC!
_{Hyder AK to Salmon Glacier (and others) to Clements Lake BC}

MORNING: We break above Hyder Alaska, above the Salmon River descending from the Salmon Glacier this rainy morning, and decide to head up into the fogs and mists through impossibly steep narrow canyons. We're right alongside Misty Fjords National Monument, but most of the fjords are on the other side. Drat. So on to the glacier. There are mining operations along here; big ore trucks come roaring up and down the mountain, looming out of the mist like... monsters of... something or other (Maureen laughs). Great gondolas filled with some presumably precious crap.

This is a rockslide area. Very great rocks have fallen down the nearly perpendicular slopes and sit right next to the road, on our right. To our left there's a big honking glacier down below us and below opposite huge mountainsides, the glacier striated and dirty and crawling like a very cold snail trail. Much obscured by clouds, but enough is visible to give awful portents of its icy immensity.

The roadway is sometimes paved, mostly just packed gravel, in some places torn up by the heavy ore-haulers. But overall, not too frightening. Guidebooks say this is one of the most spectacular places in the BC coastal ranges. We *are* just across the border back in Canada now, but we're at the corners of all the maps, right at their edges. So we have no detailed rendering of where we are and where we're going. Another adventure, eh?

We saw a tanker-trailer that suffered adventures in hauling — looks like it's been hit by a rockslide, all dented on one side. Creased and dimpled, says Maureen. Not as spectacularly destroyed as a rail tank car whose interior was steam-cleaned by an inexperienced crew, then sealed up. The implosion left that one a mangled mess, like a cigar tube twisted by mischevious hands.

We get out towards (or past?) the mouth of the mouth of the glacier, the spectacles are pretty awesome. More ore-hauler roads out here. One mining site is signed SILVER COIN PROJECT but I don't know if that's accurately indicative of anything. (Background noises of RV rattling over bumpy road.)

GLACIERS: We stop for lunch at an overlook next to an extensive former mining operation, great galleries cut into the hillside and fronted with concrete columns and porticos. Below us, just west, two glaciers merge -- and above us to the east, two more, all these within a mile or so. Land of ice and snow, yup. Brrrr... We're north and east of the Salmon Glacier now -- those to our west might grow from the same icefield. We need better maps.

Beyond (north of) those merging glaciers and their icy melt pond, the valley widens and softens. The road splits, one way interrupted by a no-longer-extant bridge; another seems to loop around on the flats beside the widening river; a third road cuts over to the west over a flatcar bridge crossing the glacial creek but is signed DANGER - KEEP OUT - PRIVATE PROPERTY etc. Thus we are forced to return. At least we haven't had to call on any rescuers or wreckers. The valley looks like the cover of Jean Auel's THE MAMMOTH HUNTERS. Where *are* those woolly mammoths? We could use a few right now.

Returning, the clouds have lifted a bit and from this long high road we can look down onto the top of the Salmon Glacier crawling south towards Hyder. We're maybe 1000-1500 feet above the glacier, peering down at all the fissures, crevasses, boulders, little melt ponds, the whole raggy surface. Northbound drivers stop to inquire of us. Yes, the road's OK, there's more to be seen. A Georgian in a SUV is ready to see it all, but the German in the Yukon rental RV seems dissuaded by a grimacing wife. To come this far and then to turn back?!?!?

RETREAT: We continue past Salmon Glacier's melting mouth; we're gliding along Salmon Creek (whitish blue-green with all the rock flour); we've passed the bear lookout (numerous folks standing around not watching bears); and we're back in Hyder's muddy precincts.

One of the local taverns has a ritual. Pin a bill to the ceiling so you won't return broke, take a shot of Everclear (191 proof pure alcohol) in a single swig, and receive a card saying I'VE BEEN HYDERIZED! We regretfully skip Hyderization and look for (WiFi) wireless networks, find three of'em but can't log into any. Drat.

Thus ends our final day in Alaska. Now we're back in Canada; it took a whole 30 seconds to clear customs. No, we have no firearms, bear spray or pepper spray. Yes, we'll have a nice time. Somehow. We sniff out a couple WiFi nets around the hospital but still can't log in. Updates will just have to wait.

Some few fee-free BC Forestry Reserves are to be found a few klicks east of Stewart and we've taken shelter at Clements/Bear Lake. Quiet, very green, very wet, not very cold, no charge. A perfect plop for the night. Slide open the windows and listen to the grass grow. But it's Canadian grass so it has a slight accent, eh?

Saturday 24 September 2005 - TO THE SKEENA RIVER!
_{Clements (Bear) Lake to Skeena Crossing (near Kitwanga BC)}

Late morning, we break out Clements Lake aka Bear Lake camp and head up Bear River's slot canyon, vertical walls, a narrow gorge, whose upper glacial-gouged contours give Yosemite a run for the money! And on up to Bear Glacier which, after what we saw yesterday, is like, "OK, so what? It's a little glacier." (Maureen laughs.)

Maureen: Each little fold in the mountain as we go along the canyon has a waterfall and rivers coming out of it. And the tops of those canyons are like triangles with trees sticking right out of'em.
Me: And those tops are lost in the clouds.
Maureen: Some of'em.
Me: Many of'em. Maureen says some. I say many.
Maureen: Most.
Me: We'll compromise on 'most.' (Maureen laughs)

Further south, we're almost at Kitwanga, southern end of the Stewart-Cassiar Highway, otherwise known as the Kitwanga-Alaska Highway, otherwise known by whatever name a chamber of commerce wants to apply. After heading south from Meziadin Junction it felt like we'd driven south into early autumn, away from late autumn, early winter. Clouds have lifted; it's actually getting warm in here.

BUMP. Our other rear hubcap just fell off. Those hubcaps require special retaining hardware to attach them, so I expect we'll have a little session in a wheel shop back stateside. Now we have two of these deep-dish silver beauties sitting in the back of the coach. They'll make a nice matched lampshade set.

Meanwhile we're trying where to go from here 'cause this is... there are no more official scenic highways for quite a ways. There was a possibility of a turnoff to go to New Aiyansh village and to Nisga'a Lava Beds Park (which erupted around 1750, killing hundreds of people because children disrespected the fish) and to Terrace, out towards Prince Rupert on the coast, a very scenic route. But that would have been many more miles, many more dollars, and we're just too broke for that. Bother. So, what to do, what to do? I am told that timewise we are halfway through this trip. And on up ahead are high blue mountains that we can't get into and vast wildernesses beyond.

We take a couple side roads through dense bright hardwoods, the green forest floor spotted with bloated fungi. No nice wide flat sunny places to park for the night. Bother.

LEAVING THE GREAT NORTH!

KITWANGA: Finally, after taking a forest road towards a lake we couldn't find, we come into Kitwanga. This seems to be mushroom season; there are mushroom depots, buyers, camps, all over the place. They're buying mushrooms from folks wandering around in the forest, like that guy we saw on the road to the lake we couldn't find. We're reminded of our pass through Ukiah Oregon (on the Umatilla Plateau between John Day and Pendleton) in late May 2000, also a time for exploiting poor mushroom pluckers from around the world. We were told than that families came from Latin America, Europe, Russia, SouthEast Asia, to participate in the harvest. And what's the situation here?

Kitwanga is located at a beautiful flatland off the Skeena River, beautiful now because of the color and the monstrous sharp mountains rising in a couple directions — sharp, snowy, cloudy, dark, ominous, doomed. Beautiful now because the blizzards haven't arrived yet. Nor the lizards either, notes Maureen.

Ah, three things I forgot to mention before: 1) You can tell you're in the North because the satellite dishes are aimed *real* low, like almost parallel to the ground; 2) The glacier we saw made yesterday one of the absolute high points of this entire trip; and 3) 'Way up North are river crossings made by ferries in the summer and ice bridges in the winter, including across the huge MacKenzie River — in between, you're out of luck.

We're crossing the Skeena River and we see several vehicles (including RVs) parked along its long shore, so maybe we should turn around and go down there and inquire about squat-camping for free. Woops. It's an Indian Reserve fishing area, with a goodly fee charged, not quite what we're looking for.

ONWARDS: Thus we cross the mighty Skeena yet again and head ever onwards, out Route 16 which is variously named the Yellowhead Highway or the TransCanadian North. We are no longer in the rugged outback zone of very intermittent services. We are back in what in Canada passes for civilization. Yawn. Only 485 klicks to the next WalMart.

We're finally back in CBC broadcast range. The labor lockout continues but we can hear music by the Wailin' Jennies. The network's been living on canned programs for six weeks now. The lockout started just after we arrived in the country. Coincidence, or... ??? Will the dispute be settled about the time we leave?

A few klicks more finds us around a tiny village enroute to the Hazeltons (Old or New or South); a road with the bridge out makes a fine dead-end for us to park for the night. Aren't some museums ahead? Maybe they'll be open tomorrow. Maybe we won't freeze. Stay tuned.

Sunday 25 September 2005 - BEYOND THE SKEENA!
_{Skeena Crossing thru the Hazeltons to Houston BC}

Last night's camp turns out to be near Skeena Crossing and an Indian Reserve village just east of Kitwanga. And right next to the Canadian National Railroad tracks. Luckily the trains only went by at midnight and 7 in the morning. And only a couple cars roared by during evening and morning, over the high obstacle delineating the closed section of road. So we almost got some sleep. A lovely place though and not very cold. Yet.

HAZELTONS: We rolled a bit further east on the Yellowhead Highway to the Hazeltons. Here's South Hazelton; southeast a bit is New Hazelton; up north is Old Hazelton; and there might be a Down Hazelton uphill some­where. Old Hazelton is the best, a restored pre-railroad community with a gold-rush feel to it, beautifully situated among the usual fertile hills and valley lands with huge gnarly whitecapped peaks hanging overhead.

Here sits an old First Nation village, 'Ksan (no relation to the San Francisco radio station where alternative FM originated) complete with heritage center. We peer into the tiny museum and larger gift shops. We walk past the fee-required quaint traditionally-carved and -decorated structures with interpretive videos playing inside. We save our money and keep going.

The road between the Hazeltons crosses a small suspension bridge spanning the steep rocky gorge of Hagwilget Canyon, a traditional crossing place long vital to coast-to-inland trade. And long fought over. Downstream at Kitwanga is a steep hill that was topped with a fort long before the Europeans arrived. Trade wars here a millennium ago were the usual bloody affairs, so we are informed. Trade and wars for aeons; for the last century, the Trans-Canada Highway (north) and railroad run though here. The wars have been won, for now.

The Hazeltons are all very scenic and culturally significant, and thus they rate stops by tour buses, even early Sunday mornings. The crowds sweep in and sweep away again, leaving monetary debris. This region now has a very East Coast and New England feel. Except maybe for all the mooses, and the tall glaciated mountains.

SMITHERS BC is further south, located below Hudson Bay Mountain and just around the corner from the last big glacier visible on this route. This is the biggest city we've seen since Whitehorse; it even sports a Safeway market. And a number of opaque WiFi hotspots — I can download mail but that's about all, no uploading or web browsing. Bother. So we replenish our vital fluids and bid farewell.

We're nearly exhausted by the time we pass a few more villages. Ah, in Houston BC we find a nondescript shopping center with a sign FREE RV PARKING IN REAR OF MALL so we slip under some trees and anchor for the night. And not a moment too soon. This wasn't our first choice, but all the municipal and provincial and commercial campgrounds are bare and expensive and there are few alternatives. Civilized BC is NOT the place to come for budget camping. I suspect we'll be much happier when we can again plop in US national forests, but who knows when that will be?

LATER: The farther south we go, the earlier night descends. After we settle into Sunday's darkness, rain starts, wet and insistent like a fall of cool vanilla drops or an infinite scurrying of cats on a cold tin roof. The water curtain is comforting and insulating — but then I feel the coach vibrating fast but not deeply, too long for any rational seismic action. We've felt such tremors on other recent nights but haven't seen any alarm or news of major quakes hereabouts. Signs warn of bears here-and-there but we see no claw marks on the RV body, no evidence of any attempted ursine break-ins. Is a puzzlement. Are we just picking up good vibrations? Then, after a couple hours, the rain itself sounds like claws picking at the windows and roof vents and surface seams; futilely.

Monday 26 September 2005 - THE LAKE DISTRICT!
_{Houston to Burns (formerly Burnt) Lake, BC}

NOONISH we break our behind-the-mall camp. (Of course all the little shopping centers in the Great North must be malls, indoor shopping plazas to protect consumers and subjects against the long winters.) We had a hard time leaving town — get info at the Visitors Center, fruitless wandering while sniffing for WiFi, cheap lunch and almost worth it, checking for nearby campsites, etc.

Bymac Camp on the Morice River is cheap ($25/week) but closed in by hardwoods, a place where old folks can vegetate and anyone with a license can fish — nothing else to do there. We came this far too SEE things other than fisherfolk and birches. And it's right around the corner from a lumber mill, a 2X4 factory. If this is like other mills, it'll smell pretty awful here when the wind shifts.

We might look further down the Morice River road for other promised campsites but this a big logging road. And big logging truck whiz by with big big loads. We'd like to find a bucolic rural setting but the behemoth traffic makes me nervous. These are worse than those overloaded Mexican rigs in Veracruz and Tabasco and Yucatan — much heavier here, much less controllable in dire circumstances.

And I'm sorry, but Canadians are worse drivers than Mexicans, and that's the truth. I mentioned this to the Houston info-gal, about how we've driven up from Honduras and only got whacked in Whitehorse, and how Canucks aren't good drivers. And she replied, "Oh, we aren't so bad! Of course, I've hit a few people myself." [Maureen laughs.] A living testimonial there, eh?

TENSION: On the highway we commonly pass end-of-construction-zone signs that read MOVING BRITISH COLUMBIA FORWARD - END OF PROJECT. And we think, "This explains the earthquakes! It's the tension, the stress, the seismic strain. Part of the province moves forward and part just stays in place. That's the same way the San Andreas Fault works."

Further south we reach Burns Lake Village and HALLELUJAH! A WiFi signal we can use! We spend the afternoon parked in front of an expanding motel until the owner asks us to move to make way for a truck. We pull around the corner, reconnect, and communicate extensively. Then in town we find good fresh water at the Rotary Club Sani, and free camping at the Municipal Campground right on the lake. We might stay a couple days, unlax, communicate some more, take a break.

Oh yeah, I should mention that I've recently written yet more Travel Guides: TRAVEL ELECTRONICS & JOURNEY TO THE CENTER OF YOUR BRAIN & HITCHHIKER'S GUIDE TO YOUR BACKYARD & LOVE AND SEX FOR TRAVELERS & THE JOURNEY OF A LIFETIME & WANDERING THRU PRIVATE GARDENS. Not to mention documenting the BONFIRE SONATA. Busy busy busy.

Tuesday 27 September 2005 - THE LAKES DISTRICT!
_{Burns Lake village to west Francois Lake, BC}

The night and the morning are colder, drier. We drag ourselves into the tidy town, to the info center displaying some remarkably good local art (some of which has received national attention), to the thrift shop for more trash books (and we leave amid a crowd of laughing joking Natives), to the WiFi intercept spot (more communications). A young couple (with infant) stops to chat at Maureen through the kitchen window as she makes sandwiches — she might report on the conversation. Maybe.

[ONE NOTE: Maureen says no, she'll write no report. The beautiful Native woman left after a bit; the guy was all too anxious to talk about personal and medical problems. And he complained of over-regulation: "In BC you need a license to fart."]

[ANOTHER NOTE: The info-center gal warned us about bears around the lakes, told of a very recent Grizzly mauling nearby, told of a garbage-guzzling brown bear being shot right behind their office just a few days prior. Beware the bears.]

We take a spin out to the Lakes District. Many lakes out here, some quite large. A long free ferry ride across one. Mennonite and First Nations settlements. A sign that looks like THE NATION-HATER PROJECT is actually THREE NATION WATER PROJECT with tribal names and numbers beneath. A warning sign shows a fellow being chased by a moose.

The road gets rougher, the settlements fewer. A fawn lies by the road­side, recently hit by something; still alive, looking around, but there's nothing we can do. Further, black shapes on the road: an adult brown bear followed by two cubs, the second limping. The road gets rougher.

We're among timbering projects and laughable 'highway' projects (what, are they grading the mud?) and countryside that looks rather tame, from the farmland to the low-rolling colorful forests scattered among many lakes. Tame, but for the monstrous snow-clad mountains beyond. We loop around yet another muddy bend and spot a forestry recreation side, free no-frills camping at the end of long Francois Lake. Maybe we'll stay here until the propane runs out.

Wednesday 28 September 2005 - LAYABOUT LIKE SLUGS!
_{Doing Very Little at west Francois Lake, BC}

Night and morning are warmer than expected. Ah. Another day for reading and writing and ruminating etc. Some rain, some sun, some warmth, some cold; and we're almost out of propane to we'll head back to civilization tomorrow. Lovely long lake here, loons and ducks and the odd seagull far from home. Nobody else around, since the pickup-camper uprooted this morning. All to ourselves. Ah. And no bears around here.

Meanwhile I've churned out yet ANOTHER batch of stupid brilliant Travel Guides: ASTROLOGICAL TRAVEL & TRAVEL TIPS FOR BUS RIDERS & INTEMPERATE VACATIONS & BICYCLE TO HELL AND BACK. Some day I might run out of advice and guidance, but I guess this isn't that day.

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