We awoke to the views of surrounding mountains that we knew the cloud and fog were hiding the day before. Even before 8:00 loaded tour boats and charter vessels criss crossed the calm waters of Ressurrection Bay, named in 1792 by a Russian fur trader.

Resurrection Bay

Our first stop was the Alaska Sealife Centre. Funded primarily with monies from the Exxon Valdez settlement this modern state of the art facility boasts a great view of Ressurection Bay and is home to some amazing displays. One of the most spectacular is the shore bird display which has an active rookery for seabirds as well as a sea pond where a wide variety of birds from puffins to mirs paddle and fly about. This ‘pond’ is the top of an aquarium that when viewed from the level below has its own family of finned marine sea life swimming about.

The centre also has a bull and cow sea lion. The grace and sleekness of the cow being contrasted by the mass and seemingly unwieldy bulk of the bull. However when feeding time arrived the speed and grace of the bull in the water was a surprise.

Bull sea lion in action

Mother Octupus

After the Sealife Centre it was a quick stop at the local coffee shop for some coffee and wifi where we caught up on email and posted to the blog. As we wanted to get as close to Whittier as possible we headed out, with a stop on the way at the Exit Glacier National Park to hike up to the glacier. A one hour round trip over generally unchallenging terrain brought us to the edge of the glacier. On the highway approaching and on the path to the glacier were markers with dates on them indicating the toe of the glacier at that time. Be it global warming or the natural recession of an Ice Age glacier it was sobering to see the rate of progression. As you approached the glacier the time between the signs decreased while the distance increased, marking the ever increasing rate of melting.

Exit Glacier

We stopped at the Visitors Centre and with the kind help of one of the staff used her cell phone to call the 1-800 number for the Whittier-Valdez ferry which we planned to take the following day.

Based on Jane and Ike’s earlier blog posting we knew to avoid staying directly in Whittier and with the assistance of our Milepost Guide we chose the Williwa Campground. Although it was a Saturday night, this dry camping park really is in the middle of nowhere and we were surprised to find it virtually full. A quick eye on Diane’s part spotted a site that wasn’t reserved and we quickly backed in, in advance of a growing line of vehicles behind us. We later found out this was the second last site available.

The nearby Williwa Creek north and south branches have a well developed trail, walkway and bridge system which we were told provide a great salmon viewing opportunity later in July as the salmon return to spawn. Alas in the absence of the salmon and their eggs that trout feed upon I was told the creeks were fishless. A disappointment as this was the last day for my Alaska fishing license. We walked the trail, working up a bit of an appetite for the chili that Diane prepared for supper.

In anticipation of the ferry ride the following day, where you pay by the foot, I removed the bikes and the rack from the back of the beast to be stored inside as we had done on the BC ferry to Prince Rupert.

Day 85 – June 27

A late-ish rise as we were very close to Homer and were staying here tonight. The beautiful view of the night before had become obscured by a thick bank of fog in Cook Inlet. After breakfast we walked into the business section of town to visit the Pratt Museum. Although smaller than many of the museums we have visited in the past months this museum was very well done with great displays on natural history as well as local culture, very much a small Anchorage Museum. There were full sized whale skeletons on display as well as those of bear and many other mammals. Of particular interest was a comparison between the human hand and cetacean (whale) flippers. As cetaceans are believed to be mammals that returned to the sea the similarity in bone numbers and construction was striking.

Gray Whale

Jonah’s view

We were looking for a good place for fish and chips with local fresh halibut and the very friendly volunteer at the museum directed us to Duncan House, a short walk away. Although the chips were pedestrian the fish was fresh and moist and only lightly covered in a crisp tempura like batter that was nicely complemented with homemade tartar sauce and coleslaw. The folks from the restaurant in Monterrey where we had the dreadful fish and chips should come up here to study how to do it.

A Homer Cafe

We walked back to the BRT and geared up to bicycle down to the Homer Spit. Homer has dedicated bike lanes along the highway but they are a bit treacherous as they seemed to be mostly used to store the sand and gravel that is spread on the roads in winter time. Once we got to the spit however there was a well kept dedicated bike path for most of the 4.3 miles of the spit.

Our Home Away from Homer

Along the Homer Spit bike trail

We stopped at the ‘fishing hole’ a small lagoon in the spit with a narrow breach to the ocean. The lagoon is stocked with salmon that return to the lagoon as their home and it’s fished heavily by tourists and locals alike. Next to the lagoon was a cleaning station where fishermen were cleaning their halibut, caught from one of the many hundreds of boats moored in the adjacent marina. There was an Alaska Department of Fish and Game employee there sampling some of the recreational catch, taking measurements and collecting ear bones, when possible, for ageing data – very familiar work for Diane who spent some time talking with her.

We locked up our bikes and walked into a number of the many small shops that lined both parts of the lower end of the spit. We picked up a couple of things, including a small piece of polished mammoth tusk that looked like wood burl. It is very cool to hold a piece of an animal that had lived here so many years ago.

The return uphill bike ride was made even more taxing by the strong head winds. We had a light supper, the fish and chips of late afternoon still occupying some prime digestive real estate. The fog bank that had persisted all day was slowly starting to recede allowing the tops of the mountains to float in the air. As the night wore on the ribbon of fog continued to thin until, by the time we were ready to go to bed, it had dissipated, just the reverse pattern from home.

Day 86 – June 28

We were heading for Seward so after a quick Face Time conversation with Molly, who was conveniently on her lunch break, we were on the road by 9:30.

Goodbye to Homer

In my mind our first stop was going to be at Deep Creek to finish the fishing that I had started two days earlier. However as Diane drove I spent some time reading the very convoluted fishing regulations and became uncertain as to whether the section of river I wanted to fish was opened. When we pulled into the parking lot there was a park employee trimming bushes and so I asked him only to find out that a ‘special order’ overriding the regulations had been put in place and the river was closed. He did tell me however that a good spot to fish was where the Crooked Creek flowed into the Kasilof River. As this guy was also the park host for the Crooked River State Recreation area he could give me clear directions as to where to fish.

Pulling into the parking lot at the state park it was clear from the attire of most people there, waders and dip nets, that this was indeed a popular fishing spot. I walked a trail down to the river and the shore of the Kasilof was lined with fishermen of every size, shape and age. I have been surprised at how many women fish in Alaska, either alone or with their husbands and boyfriends. Fishing seems to be much more of a family recreational activity here than at home.

However as I watched more closely from the riverbank it became clear that this was just a variation on the kind of fishing that we had seen in Anchorage. Basically the technique is to stand on the bank or just at the rivers edge, with a spinning rod that has about 8 feet of line spooled out and has a heavy lead weight and a bare hook with a piece of fluorescent tape tied to it, and to plunk, not cast, but plunk the hook and sinker into the fast flowing water about six feet in front of you, wait 5 seconds and repeat, repeat, repeat. This was some of the ugliest fishing I had ever seen. As I watched for about 20 minutes the only fish I saw hooked were on the far side of the river where three fishermen had positioned themselves on a sandbar after boating across the river. I returned to the BRT and we continued our backtracking from Homer towards Seward under cloudy skies and light rain.

At one point, at a bend in the road north of Anchor Point, we passed through the most westerly point of our trip. From now on, at least geographically, we are headed home.

We’re headed East

The rest of the drive to Seward was uneventful but we had the feeling that the cloud was obscuring beautiful scenery. From Jane and Ike’s blog we knew where they had stayed, just south of town, but being Friday we arrived to find that the campground was full. We headed back into town looking for the municipal campground that was along the waterfront. We found one small park that was full but were directed to another larger site down the road where we got the second last site. The remaining option was parking in the local ball field. Although unserviced ($15) we had not dry camped for a couple of days so our reserves were fine and we only planned a one night stay in Seward.

Once we had a confirmed our accommodations we marked our site taken by leaving a chair in the middle, the accepted protocol, and drove the short distance to town to walk around and view the sites. Seward is much smaller than Homer and effectively has one short Main Street. However Seward boasts the Alaska Sealife Centre where we planned to spend the following morning. We had supper at the Seward Brewing Company. The food was good but in our opinion the beer lack commitment. The amber ale was thin and the stout lacked the ‘now you got a mouthful of something buddy’ courage that for me marks a great stout or porter.

We returned to the BRT for a relaxing night with Diane doing her exercises while I dusted off my ukelele, which I have been neglecting for a while, to resume my self instruction.

Day 83 – June 25

We were heading for the Kenai (keen eye) Peninsula, which by all reports is the gem of Alaska so there was no doddling and we were on the road by 8:30. The night before while Diane did our late night laundry she was gifted a guidebook by a departing Australian. I had been referred to this guidebook before at our campsite in Whitehorse by a fisherman. Called the ‘Milepost’ it is $35 Canadian and seemed a bit expensive for a yearly publication but after driving a couple of miles with it I am a convert. It describes, sometimes in painful detail, everything along the highways, all referenced to the frequent mileposts. Everything from where the passing lanes start to whether the roadside pull offs are double ended is included along with descriptions of campgrounds and their amenities, stores, historic and geographic information. Here even is a description of where and when to fish and even what to fish with, not that I had any interest in that.

The route out of town was straightforward and we were soon on the Seward Highway heading south east around the Turnagain Arm, a long inland arm of the ocean originally named Turnagain River by Captain James Cook in 1778 when he found that it had no eastern outlet and then renamed Turnagain Arm by Captain George Vancouver in 1794 who apparently was a bit more fastidious about his surveying nomenclature.

However, a rose by any other name, Turnagain Arm provided many photo opportunities of the calm sea with the backdrop of the Kenai Mountain Range behind. There is snow low down on the mountains and many spots where groups of birders and whale watchers were gathered, seeking sightings of their respective mammals. After rounding the eastern end of Turnagain Arm we headed inland where the highway followed the Granite and Canyon Creeks. At one spot further along the highway where the road passed close to Summit Lake and where we stopped to fish and have a coffee and muffin at a nearby lodge I was told by a local that the spring thaw was late this year here and that the snow we were seeing low on the opposing mountains should all be gone by now. My fishing efforts for the roadside were rewarded with one small but extremely acrobatic rainbow trout.

Turnagain Arm

At Tern Lake junction we headed west on the Sterling Highway (they really like to name their roads up here) and soon were driving along the Kenai Lake and Kenai River. Suddenly everything you saw was about fishing, be it guided tours, accommodation, outfitting, crafts and gifts. This was a fish-centric area, I could feel my pulse quickening. The Kenai River is an aqua blue river, a pleasant change from some of the muddy brown and grey rivers we have seen up north and as we found out was now flowing in very high water conditions. I decided to keep my little ass out of that river, it would not have been my preferred way to see the Aleutians. The Kenai is primarily a big salmon river and I also found out that the current run of salmon started unseasonably early and was just about over. Due to all of this fishing frenzy most of the campsites were full and we had to shop around to find a site.

The Kenai River

We eventually found a spot at the Cooper Creek South Park, a dry camping site. Once we had a confirmed site we went exploring for a likely spot to fish. Being in flood there was no bank fishing in the Kenai River so we stopped at a local outfitters shop so I could gather some intel. As I was interested in smaller fish the locals sent me up to the Russian River State Park (which we had unsuccessfully tried to book into earlier) with directions to use day use parking lot and walk into the river where I might have some luck fishing for rainbow trout.

After buying some flies and some apparatus for fishing artificial salmon eggs (I always try to pay for information by purchasing some flies or such in an outfitters store) we headed back towards Russian River. Diane and I walked down to the river which has some of the best public access I have seen. As part of a streamside restoration project much of the bank side is fenced off, limiting access points. The trail along the fence has been built with a plastic grid matting and every couple of hundred yards there is a grated landing with aluminum grate steps right down into the river. Very cool. Long story short, no fish caught, although I did see one salmon being cleaned streamside and there were lots of signs of salmon bones along the stream, probably from the earlier weeks fishing.

We returned to our campsite and had a nice daylight campfire while we ate a ‘clean out the fridge’ supper of fish cakes (Lake Labarge trout) and potato salad before heading to bed.

Day 84 – June 26

We were on the road early, heading to Homer. I had been advised by the staff at the local outfitters shop of a couple of likely rivers to fish on the way. This westerly portion of the road moved us away from the views of the mountains through landscape that could have been Nova Scotia’s French Shore. The first of the rivers on my list, Crooked Creek, was closed to fishing until end of July – so much for local knowledge – my confidence was deteriorating.

As the road reached the western coast of the Kenai Peninsula from Soldotna south the scenery improved again (after miles of spectacular scenery you get spoiled) as vistas of the mountains on the far side of Cook Inlet appeared. With the aid of our new guide book I knew what milepost to stop at for the next river, Deep Creek. A small Nova Scotia- like river it appeared fishable so while I donned appropriate attire Diane positioned herself streamside in a chair with her book. I call this the fishing widow position.

I walked upstream for a while and then fished down, with little action. As I headed back to the BRT for lunch I walked past a deep pool that I had just fished and out of the corner of my eye saw a silver flash. I quickly backtracked and with the aid of my polarized sun glasses I could see several very large fish at the bottom of the pool. Looking at my trout gear it appeared that I had brought a knife to a gun fight but I figured worst that I could do was lose a fly and some leader so, filled with new confidence, I backed up to the head of the pool and started fishing again. Not until I put on a fly that I had bought from the outfitter who suggested this river did I see any reaction and it was a violent one. A sudden swirl as my fly passed over and my rod doubled over.

Flashes of silver in the pool let me know that luckily this was not one of the leviathans that I had seen finning at the bottom of the pool but a fish that I might have some chance in landing with this light tackle. The fish put on quite a show, at one moment diving deep into the pool scattering the other fish and in the next moment leaping clear of the stream. The sound of line peeling off my reel alerted Diane that lunch was going to be late. After a couple of minutes I brought the fish to my side and was able to briefly hold it before releasing it back to the stream, a small Pink Salmon. Catching and releasing the salmon whet my appetite for another hour of fishing which was not as productive. I left the stream knowing that we had to retrace our steps back this way in two days and that I would be better prepared next time we stopped here – hope springs eternal in a fisherman’s heart.

With some minor interference from road construction we soon made it to Homer, which was under clouds and a light rain. We drove right out to the end of Homer Split. At 4.3 miles long the Homer Split is the second longest spit in the world. The narrow tract of land is lined on both side with shops, fishing charter companies, rv parks and commercial fishing operations and their supporting trades.

Thanks to our guide we knew where the rv parks were and as scenic as the spit may have been the parks there were just gravelled sites with little privacy so we headed back into town looking for the information centre which we somehow had driven past on the way in. After a quick look around there we decided to try one last park slightly further out of town. The Ocean View park, offering full service and wifi had terraced grasses sites down to the ocean and we found a site that provided a great view across Cook Inlet to the mountains that were now appearing through the clearing skies.

The view from Ocean View

We set up camp, read and sent some e-mails, and relaxed. I made potato omelettes for supper after which we took advantage of the falling tide to walk along the shore. At one point we heard a buzzing noise overhead and looked up to see a flying craft of some nature. It took a moment to get its scale, with its flashing red and green lights but we soon realized this was a model quad copter but no operator was in sight. It flew over our heads and far down the beach, well beyond the range of any such toy helicopters I was familiar. We stopped to talk to a mother and her daughter along the beach who were also watching the show only to find out that it was their husband/father who was standing beyond the ridge of the beach who was piloting it.

Homer beach

Homer Spit

We joined them as they walked back to the landing site where we saw the pilot with his controller in hand and wearing video glasses bring his copter to ground. As you might expect he was only too eager to show us his equipment which included a GPS controlled quad copter complete with video camera and special glasses he wore that let him see what the copter borne camera was seeing. The family were former Homer residents and gave us some great advice on local sights before we returned to the BRT at 11:30 under the still light skies.

Day 81 – June 23

A slight error in setting our alarm resulted in a 5:00 a.m. wake up followed by a 6:00 alarm, when the plan was to get up at 7:00 and go fishing. It is amazingly bright at 5:00 in the morning, if it wasn’t for a sleeping blindfold I would be a sleep deprived basket case.

My fishing licence was set to start at 8:00 a.m. and I walked I to the stream on cue. Tolsona Creek is about 20 feet wide, slightly tannic in colour and for the most part easy to wade. I caught a small rainbow trout early on and then right behind the BRT site I caught another rainbow trout and two grayling before stepping out of the stream for a late breakfast.

It’s 8:00

Diane had spent some time writing postcards, yes in this age of FaceTime, email, and texting some friends at home had requested postcards. Taking advantage of the dump station on the way out (you remember the rules of the north, never pass a gas station or a dump station) we also stopped to use the wifi to answer some emails and FaceTime with Laurel to catch upon family news. By the time we were on the road to Anchorage it was just gone 12:00.

The road to Anchorage provides a great view of Mantanuska Glacier. At one point where road had steep banks Diane pulled over so I could take a picture. Watching out for roadside critters and oncoming cars I crossed the road for a better vantage point. As I framed my shot I looked down, straight into the dark brown eyes of a moose grazing at the base of the bank. Frankly I don’t know who was most startled, me or the moose, but the moose beat me to the draw as it bolted back into the bush, unphotographed. I’m just glad it wasn’t a grizzly bear.

As enthusiastic as I have been in describing the fabulous scenery along our journey so far, once again the bar is being raised in Alaska. The towering mountains, glaciers and roaring rivers are absolutely primal in their beauty. With the exception of the highway itself you can drive for miles and miles with no signs of the hand of civilization.

We found the rv park that Jane and Ike had stayed at, the Golden Nugget RV Park. It falls into the category of one of those places best viewed after dark, unfortunately with 22 hours of daylight daily in Anchorage right now that is pretty much impossible. The park does have some positive aspects however, the washrooms are clean and have free showers, it is very close to downtown and I’m pretty sure that the discharge of firearms is prohibited (OK I admit to making that last one up but I am grasping for good things to say). As Jane noted in her blog, the free wifi is non existent. With that policy I’m surprised they don’t offer free massages and free continental breakfast, because they don’t have that either. The jerk at the front desk tried to tell me it was my Ipad and that he had ‘personally’ just checked that morning with his very own cell phone all through the park and everything was fine – can you hear me now, can you hear me now? – you have no freaking wifi.

Before hooking up the BRT we opted to drive into Anchorage and check out the lay of the land. It was Sunday night and we wanted to scout out parking etc. in lower traffic conditions. My first impressions were that Anchorage is a big Whitehorse, lots of interesting buildings and shops and a river running through it. After our mini tour we returned to the Golden Nugget and had a delicious meal of Indian food, a frozen gift from Erin when we visited her and Alex in Vancouver.

Day 82 – June 24

We arose a little later than normal and after some small repairs to the RV we headed into Anchorage. Our first stop was the sod roofed Visitors Information Centre where we were directed to a parking lot with dedicated RV parking. At $1:00 an hour we weren’t going to break the bank as we explored.

Beautiful downtown Anchorage

We walked around town and stopped a the Muffin Man for some coffee and possibly, as you might imagine, a muffin. Of the five muffins for sale at the time the staff behind the counter offered a general description of what ‘might’ be in them. Keep in mind that as there were two pairs of muffins we are not talking about an memory feat that would stagger Reveen or Kreskin we’re talking three things to remember. For ten bonus points Bob, what’s your name. When I asked for a decaf cappuccino I was told that they couldn’t do that so I settled for a decaf anything, which I was also told they couldn’t do – no decaf for you. The coup de gras was when we asked about wifi. Turns out it was in the same place as the decaf coffee. Now is it me or is this the only coffee/muffin place in western civilization that doesn’t have wifi. Again, this is why I don’t by lottery tickets.

By the way unbeknownst to the guy behind the counter someone slipped big chunks of mango into my bran muffin and it was delicious.

We headed for the Anchorage Museum, a very modernist building right downtown. I could go on for pages about this museum, which has a partnership with the Smithsonian, but simply put it was fascinating. A spectacular collection of First Nations artifacts from the most utilitarian fish hooks to the most beautiful of ceremonial costumes. What struck me was the level of attention to detail in the construction of even the most functional of items, such as a hat or a basket – they were pieces of art. As Jane and Ike had mentioned there also was a display of pictures by a photographer who for three years made a photographic portrait of someone every day. Although most of them were taken in the natural environment of the subjects these were not snap shots, they were beautifully taken portraits that offered a brief glimpse into the soul of each subject, the true essence of a portrait, I could have spent hours just looking at that display alone. As it was we had to leave earlier than we wanted to avoid overstaying our 5 hour parking allocation.

Anchorage Museum

After loading a couple more hours on the meter we walked around downtown some more and then headed to the Glacier Brewhouse for a delicious supper of fresh halibut and craft beer (IPA and Oatmeal Porter). I had heard that the salmon were running in Ships Creek in downtown so we drove over to check it out. Clearly a poorly kept secret, sections of each side of the river were lined with fishermen shoulder to shoulder heaving lead weighted bags of roe into the middle of the river with 8 foot spinning rods. As I watched several large salmon were hooked and landed, and by large I mean 36″, 20 pound fish. However for me there is no relaxation in that kind of fishing so I decided to pass on joining the conga line the next morning.

Take a number

After a stop at Safeway for a few groceries and free wifi (who would have guessed that a grocery store would have wifi and a coffee shop wouldn’t) where we caught up on emails and I posted to the blog. Back at the beautiful wifi-less Golden Nugget RV park Diane did a laundry at 10:00 – this midnight sun thing makes it seem OK to do all sorts of stuff at an hour you would never consider at home.

Day 79 – June 21

After 5 nights in Whitehorse we were anxious to get on the road again. We needed a few groceries and while in town topped off our propane tank. Our goal was to get as close to Alaska as we could. As we had driven part of the Klondike highway twice on the previous day we opted to go to Alaska via Haines Junction and return to the Yukon by the Top of the World highway. Our first main community as we headed west was Haines Junction where we bought gas at an unstaffed gas station. Even though there was a new building and brand new pumps there was no staff on site, buying gas seems to have come full circle.

At Haines Junction we headed north west towards the Alaska/Yukon border and were once again awed by the scenery provided by the Saint Elias Mountains to our west. We stopped south of Silver City at Sulphur Lake for lunch (no fish) and then headed on towards Kluane Lake. For me even the name Kluane evokes visions of the Canadian north. The # 1 highway follows the western shore of Lake Kluane for many kilometres providing and unimpeded view of the aqua blue waters of the lake with the backdrop of the Ruby Range mountains to the east.

Kluane Lake

Past the lake we came across a memorial site along the side of the road that Jane and Ike had mentioned in their blog. Literally in the middle of nowhere this is a memorial to Douglas Richard Twiss II, a 23 year old First Nations man. An obelisk at the centre of the memorial has text inscribed written in the first person by ‘Dougie’ in which he thanks his parents, celebrates his children and siblings and acknowledges the support of his community. Radiating out from this central point are various sculptures and carvings both in wood and stone. Standing there you can’t help but wonder what kind of impact Dougie had in his short 23 years that would generate such an outpouring of emotion. I would have liked to have met him.

‘Dougie’s’ Memorial

Douglas Richard Twiss II

As the afternoon wore on we began to look for a place to stay. Having made better time than anticipated we had overshot our planned stop. We drove through Lake Creek campgrounds where Jane and Ike had been entertained by the beavers on their trip north but the lack of wind and the proliferation of mosquitoes made us move on. Not far down the road was White River RV Park, a private site with full hook up and Wifi. It was a well maintained site strewn with various artifacts including abandoned US army vehicles left over from the construction of the Alaska Highway. A sign on the door said ‘We buy junk and sell antiques’. That sort of said it all about the eclectic collection. The office was full of stuffed animals which included a bison whose front half appeared to be emerging from a wall and who was staring glassy eyed but intently across the room at a small grizzly bear.

Outside a pair of legs extended from underneath an old US army six wheeled personnel carrier. Still clothed in its army khakis I assumed the vehicle was decorative in nature but to my surprise it soon burst I to life and with a grind of the pre synchro mesh gears jerked off down the road. Later that night all the folks who had collected around the communal bon fire, which seemed to generate more smoke than flame, were treated to a hay wagon style ride around the park and across the road to the river, their departure being signalled by the fading sound of grinding gears.

We went for a walk down the highway before supper to explore the White River, it sounded promising. About a kilometre down the road I once again learned that there may be a lot in a name but frequently names reflect some euphemistic desired state rather than describing the existing one. ‘White’ River, a boiling mass of chocolate, closer to a rapidly moving mud slide than anything I would call water was a perfect example of this.

Based on the less than ideal results of barbecuing the lake trout fillet the night before I decided to fry the other side, hoping for results more like what I had tasted along side the Yukon River the day before so I dug out my portable stove and set up kitchen on the picnic table. Even at 9:00 at night, this far north the sun is still high in the sky and full of heat so we decided to eat outside. Frying turned out to be a much better method for cooking the lake trout and accompanied with potatoes, broccoli and white wine, made a great meal.

We played crib until about 11:30 and then did our best to darken the vehicle for sleeping, a task that is becoming more and more of a challenge.

Day 80 – June 22

Unlike in the movie where it is possible to go around the world in this time frame it appears that 80 days was not enough time for us to circumnavigate North America. Currently weighing in at just short of 18,000 km. and still heading north and west I think we are going to break into three digits. Taking advantage of the showers and moving at a leisurely pace saw us on the road just after 10. Speaking of the road, its condition as we headed north began to deteriorate, becoming much more reminiscent of a roller coaster ride than the preceding stretch had been. We were slowed by road construction and dusty gravel road conditions, crossing the Alaska border at 12:00 YT time, 11:00 Alaska time – meaning lighter later at night.

The border crossing was uneventful but somewhat cool. Maybe I’m old fashioned but I like to be welcomed into a country but on the bright side no cavity searches, I’ll take take that as a net win. Instantly upon approaching the border crossing the highway went from yippie aye oh ride ‘me cowboy to smooth as silk beautiful asphalt – what a treat. The beast doesn’t like bronco riding, sporadically popping open the odd door and displaying its contents to show her displeasure.

Roadside pedestrian

The scenery bar gets raised again

We stopped just across the border to buy gas, the next station being 100 miles I didn’t want to risk waiting even though my mental math said we were OK. The gas station looked a little worse for wear, with half of the pumps being marked out of order and the others having their credit card slots taped over with red duct tape, a nice decorating touch. So we are back into buying gas in the USA. I entered the station after a return trip to note my pump number (out of practice) in anticipation of which gas purchase option we were going to play. It turned out to be a simple round of Texas Hold’em – leave your card hostage and go pump gas, much easier than the Bob Barker ( refer to my buying gas rant earlier in the blog if you need a refresher).

Not far down the road the silky smooth asphalt deteriorated slightly but still a good highway for driving – so long as you are not trying to type a blog. We arrived in Tok around noon and had lunch in the BRT along the road while waiting for the outfitters store to open at 1:00 when I could get my Alaska fishing licence. We walked around one of the Tok stores which had displays of local crafts along side stuffed animals and tanned hides of wolf, wolverine, lynx and coyote.

We headed further down the road with no particular destination in mind, working our way closer towards our target for tomorrow Anchorage. After looking at and rejecting a couple of sites – no trees, muddy river (pass), lots of trees, no river, lots of mosquitoes (pass) nice stream, few mosquitoes, breeze (done) we stopped at the Tolsona Wilderness Campground on Tolsona Creek.

After looking at several prospective sites we settled on one on a bend in the stream with a nice breeze to keep the mozzies at bay. I got a smudge fire going to help with insect control and while Diane made an awesome potato salad I barbecued chicken breasts. We had dinner outside to the accompaniment of the creek running by. A couple across the creek busied themselves fishing while two ducks flew in to add to the stream side ambience. Not a bad place to have your supper. My fishing licence didn’t start until the next morning so I watched in anticipation of a stream side walk the following morning.

Things are just ducky in Alaska

Day 78 – June 20 Summer Solstice

It was an early rise at 6:30, I was going fishing on Lake Labarge. I had tracked down a guide a couple of days earlier but his first open spot was today, and thus our protracted stay in Whitehorse. Diane, undoubtedly bored with my whining about my dry spell in fishing success in this, the land of fish, was more than happy to postpone moving on if this would shut me up.

There were two other guests on the trip, a couple from the states who were on a cruise and had no transportation so I offered our guide that we would pick them up at the Westmark Hotel in town as it was on our way. We had arranged for an 8:00 pick up and had to make one stop en route for them to pick up fishing licences at a gas station along the Dawson Highway.

Our guide Rob had given me clear directions to his home/base which got me to his dirt road. From there my written instructions said 4th driveway on left, by the big motor home. Slavishly keeping to those directions I drove past a big motor home on the right until the road started to narrow. Taking advantage of a turnaround spot in the road I pulled over and walked down the road a bit further to see if there were any more driveways. I soon passed a sign advertising organic unpasteurized honey and out of the corner of my eye saw some motion. Thinking that I could get directions I headed down the driveway. I saw a woman walking out of an outbuilding carrying a flat of plants, no doubt having been put inside for the night to protect them from the still coolish overnight temperatures. What struck me as strange was not the plants but what she was wearing – nothing, starkers, buck naked, birthday suit – was all our little gardener was wearing.

I did an abrupt turn around and headed back towards the BRT, double time. I had read all about what to do when you encountered a bear or a wolf up north but not a word about confronting a buck naked gardener. Retreat seemed to be the best option. As I returned to the rig a couple of things passed through my dazed mind. Firstly I hoped this was not a dress code for the whole road, I didn’t relish the notion of a naked guide, regardless of how much I wanted to fish. Secondly I wondered what plants were in her flat, although in this case, based on what I had just seen, ‘flat’ seemed an inappropriate word. Suddenly it came to me. I bet she is raising melons, that was it for sure. Some people talk to their plants to encourage them, she was obviously a more visual person and was just trying to set a worthy example for them. Large healthy melons, it all made sense now.

Fearful of what might lie further down the road I decided the the motor home on the right looked a lot more promising than it had earlier and since it was now on my left it felt better. We met our guide, Rob, coming up the road on his quad, having seen us drive past he was no doubt trying to spare us from an encounter with this last outpost of the Doukhobors.

Mercifully Rob was fully clad. We made our introductions and headed down towards the provincial park, a short distance back up the road where clothing did not seem to be an option. I helped Rob launch the boat and after a good bye wave to Diane, who was spending the day in the area, we were off. Lake Labarge, as made famous by Robert Service, is a very large lake, effectively a widening in the Yukon River, and this morning found it unbelievably calm, mill pond flat in fact.

We’re off

We motored north full throttle to where Rob had some confidence we would find fish. For the first part of the trip we were going to troll for lake trout, not my preferred style of fishing, or Rob’s for that matter, but one enjoyed by the two other guests, Ed and Karen. Trolling for lake trout is a fairly straight forward process, after letting out the prerequisite 40 pulls of line from the reel, the lead weighted line sinks a brilliant green lure down to where the fish live. The rod is placed in a rod holder and as the boat motors at a slow speed, you wait. As I had witnessed on the river fishing on the Skeena, this is fishing you could do while sleeping.

Lake Trout fishing

Once the rod starts to twitch, you wait a couple of seconds, set the hook and start reeling. The reeling generally goes fairly easily until the fish sees the boat and then heads south, with a vengeance. Ed was standing next to the first rod that had a strike and he reeled in a nice sized lake trout, running about 6 pounds. Not long after was my turn, resulting in a slightly larger fish, a confidence building trend. Not long after Karen boarded an even larger specimen. I landed one more small trout and after a long dry spell, with no sighting of fish on the depth sounder we headed north on the lake towards the outlet of the lake where it resumes being the Yukon River.

Now that’s a fish

On the way we passed below where, the day before, a forest fire had been burning on the hillside. Helicopter water bombers were still working some of the smoking hot spots. Rob also drew our attention to his depth sounder as we passed over the submerged wreckage of the A. J. Goddard, a stern wheel paddle boat that had sunk in Lake Labarge 110 years ago. Having only been discovered in July 2008, by a local archaeologist, there have been several explorations of the wreck by National Geographic and the Nautical Archaeology Institute of Texas. Unlike most wrecks of this type the Goddard had not been destroyed by ice, and as it settled in an upright position it created a perfect site for exploration, the ice cold waters of the Labarge preserving many of the artifacts on board, a long lost reminder of ‘those men who moil for gold’.

Considering the size of the Yukon River, its exit from Lake Labarge is well disguised. Rob took advantage of navigation markers, originally installed for stern wheelers like the A. J. Goddard at the end of the 1800’s, to find the channel as his depth sounder showed ever decreasing water depths. In places Lake Labarge is over 500 feet deep but at the mouth of the river we were recording depths of 4 feet. In conjunction with the powerful boat motor the fast flowing river moved us quickly past the surrounding landscape of trees and rocks. Rob had a place in mind where he and I could fly fish for Grayling while Ed and Karen could use light spinning gear.

When we turned and headed up stream to beach the boat the power of the river became very obvious as our pace slowed dramatically battling the downstream current. Once we were landed Rob and I put on our waders and I strapped on my bear spray. Ed’s first cast from the stern of the boat resulted in a nice sized Grayling. A large Graying runs 16 inches, small by comparison to lake trout, but they are an aggressive fighter and great fun on light tackle.

Rob and I headed downstream a bit, both wearing inflatable life vests as we waded knee high into the fast flowing Yukon. I was fishing a dry fly, optimistic that my success of the previous afternoon would be repeated. Rob was fishing a sinking tip with a wet fly and was quickly out fishing me so switching tactics and armed with a fly matching his I was soon into fish. For a while I was catching 12 and 14 inch grayling on every cast – the dry spell was finally over. Grayling have a beautiful long dorsal fin that flowed like an iridescent pennant in the clear water of the Yukon as I reeled in fish after fish.

Reluctantly I had to abandon fishing and return to the boat for lunch, on my own I would have gone hungry but I didn’t want to appear anti social. Rob had filleted the smallest of the lake trout and kept a large grayling which he split. He had fried up both on his Coleman stove. Served on a split croissant with fresh tomatoes and lettuce the ‘sandwiches’ were delicious. Fish doesn’t get any fresher than this.

After lunch Rob and I returned to our spot to fish but the action had quieted (note to self, next time be anti social and hungry) . It started to rain and I had left my raincoat back in the boat but I wasn’t going to give up 10 minutes of fishing to stay dry so fish on.

We had agreed that at 4:00 we would head back out, clean our fish and troll again. Our target was to be back on shore by 6:00. Rob found a beach in the lee of the now increasing wind where he filleted the fish, drawing an attentive audience from the local gulls and one bald eagle. It was amazing to watch how big a piece of scrap one seagull can swallow. My gag reflex kicked in just watching. By the time we had finished cleaning the fish it was time to head in.

Here comes supper

Diane met us at the boat launch. She had spent the day reading, sorting some of our vast collection of tourist info and spent some time in the bakery down the road talking to the 75 year old proprietress who pretty much ran a one woman show of baking and running the store. In winter she travels to Mexico. The Yukon is full of characters.

Lunch at the Bakery

We returned to Whitehorse and dropped our passengers off at their hotel, happy with their Yukon experience. We returned to our site where I barbecued up one of the lake trout fillets along with some asparagus. Frankly We were both disappointed. The meat was not as tender as I would have hoped and certainly not as tasty as the smaller fish we had fried that afternoon. Fish chowder may be in our future.

Home! As of 1:30PM this afternoon, we are home! The sun is shining, the weather is warm and the rhododendron is in full bloom. The dog has no idea who we are but she will 🙂 The MRT is now mostly unpacked, some cleaning has been completed and much laundry is being handled as we write this.

We were gone a few hours less than 63 days and drove 20,375 km which is funny because we based our original cost estimates on 20K worth of driving. We saw a lot of amazing things and had many great adventures.

We had a really great time, made all the better by being able to travel with and share so many memories with such great friends. To the other RTs, looking forward to seeing you all safely home over the coming weeks, safe travels and have fun, cheers, the Medium Rolling Turd

Did we mention that Dave is an early riser? Up at 5:30am – we’re not sure how he does it given the challenges of the night before, Michelle woke us as promised at 7am to say good-bye as he headed to work. Toast, tea/coffee, and a final quick gab with Michelle and we were on our way. Made it through Montreal relatively unscathed and headed for the Maritimes. The always troublesome road from Riveiere du Loup and Edmundston has continued to be upgraded over the past year and now features more twinning, However on this particular day it looked like the Quebec construction strike was still on so the only workers were a multitude of flagmen otherwise nada…

We were within striking distance of home and would have met Sean’s self-proclaimed last day on the road of 20 June but our somewhat late start, fuzzy heads and lack of desire meant we weren’t going to reach the homestead much before midnight so why bother. And while descending upon Grace and Shogi in Sackville might have been possible (we would have called first Grace, honest), instead we rolled into Woodstock heading for a close by campground ably guided by Sean’s iPhone. It took us to a school park and not the camping park and even proudly announced our arrival… We turned around and Carla once more affirmed why maps are best. We headed to the lakeside park but it was full then to Jellystone Park (Sean just couldn’t handle that) so off to Howard Johnsons (HoJos) we went. With the traveller’s rate it wasn’t much more expensive than hanging about with Yogi and Boo Boo for the night. Some RVers we have turned out to be! Three indoor beds in the past three nights although our RV’s king-size is perfectly comfortable… laziness I guess and the proximity to home. The Channels they calls it in sailor world… sitting on our deck or sailing or even mowing the lawn is starting to look good after 7 months of travel (for Sean’s work in Kaz, Nepal, etc.), and I am even looking forward ti getting home and just hanging out. It has been absolutely great, especially having such great friends to travel with for most of it, but it is now time to start enjoying the all-too-brief Novi summer and remember, after tomorrow the days start getting shorter.

So, one more post tomorrow upon arrival and then we will do a brief summary of the trip and costs etc that might be of use to to others thinking about a similar adventure.

So good night and a fond hidey ho from Ho Jos high atop the hill in Woodstock (not the hippie free-love place unfortunately).

Another driving day, but on this day, a pot of gold at the end. We had contacted our friends Dave and Michelle in Ottawa and they were expecting us for the night. Arriving around 4pm, we were greeted with warm welcomes, drinks, and the realization we had tons of catching up to do. Families, mutual friend, our kids, new boats for both couples – the J105 for us and a Catalina 35 for them which they keep in Florida, recent travels, jobs and businesses… I could go on and on…. and we did! Nick, their eldest son, dropped in to say Hi and joined us for an amazing dinner of ribs and strawberry spinach salad. You cant beat old friends and good conversation- a perfect end to the day.

Day 77 – June 19

Jane and Ike hosted our now traditional (if two can be considered a tradition) breakfast of blueberry pancakes and sausages. Diane and I cleaned up dishes while Jane and Ike prepared the LRT for launch. They had allowed a couple of leisurely days travel on their way toFort St. John ( not Fort Simpson as I said yesterday, way too many forts up here, very confusing) hoping to get to Liard for the night.

I ran into a fisherman and his wife from New Brunswick at the rv park and he was a wealth of information about where to fish in easily accessible spots around Whitehorse and on our way to Alaska. Our trip may slow down a bit as we pass through those areas. Remember all plans are STC.

We headed into Whitehorse where we stopped by a unique store that specialized in recycled rustic pieces like knobs, latches, cast iron anything from dredge buckets to door hinges and some really neat new wood fired cedar hot tubs. Luckily everything was too big and heavy to fit in the BRT.

Very cool hot tub

We then went down to the Shipyards Park again and Diane made lunch which we ate in the beast while watching all the activity in the well used park. Having taken care of those chores we were off to Jackson Lake where I had been told by Ike’s friend that lots of grayling hung out. Although it was mostly a gravel road, it was well maintained and after some exploring for the right spot I headed down to the lake while Diane did her back exercises.

Lots of fish breaking at the mouth of the stream feeding the lake was a welcome sight and although on the small size (small Grayling don’t seem to understand that they shouldn’t fight like their big brothers and sisters) I still had a great afternoon of catching dozens of fish on a dry fly while standing in a crystal clear lake with bald eagles circling overhead and a gentle breeze keeping the mosquitoes at bay – a very good afternoon indeed.

We returned to the rv park and relaxed while watching game four of the playoffs before heading downtown for delicious bison burgers at the High Country bar.