July 15 to 21, 2007 - Northern British Columbia

The Yellowhead Highway


Sunday, July 15, 2007
This was my first time west of Vanderhoof; strange that I’ve travelled to so many corners of the world and I’ve never seen much of northern British Columbia – my home province. This is the perfect time of our lives for this exploration – retirement means we have endless days and the perfect vehicle to call home while we travel far from civilization.

We left Prince George early and stopped at Vanderhoof not far down the road for some last minute shopping. As we drove into the Co-op parking lot, we passed another motorhome with a westie standing in the front window. Fernie walked Caesar over to see his double and met the owners – from Minnesota. Their dog, Piper came trotting out enthusiastically and he and Caesar made immediate friends while we swapped details of our proposed itineraries with the Minnesotans. They weren’t too memorable but their dog was.

Large stands of slender silver-trunked Trembling Aspen lined the Yellowhead Highway breaking the monotony of the evergreen forests. The damage from the pine beetle was extremely apparent along this stretch – the dead trees with needles still intact but reddish brown in colour; it made me wonder if all the pines would be killed eventually.

We stopped several times along the highway to geocache in the forest and we were bombarded by hordes of mosquitoes and in Burns Lake, exhausted we pulled into a rest area and had a nap. We found a perfect boondocking site in the centre of Topley, which is almost a ghost town with its dilapidated, boarded up buildings. It was near one of these vacant corrugated metal structures that we pulled in for the night. To the east was the Volunteer Fire Department, which seemingly hadn’t been occupied for quite some time. A large grove of trees separated us from the highway. Couldn’t ask for better. We walked down the road a ways on a Geocaching venture and the only business in town that was still open was the local café.

Monday, July 16, 2007
Another beautiful sunny day greeted us as we ventured further west, stopping in the town of Houston to grab a geocache at the ‘largest fishing pole’ in the Steelhead Capital of BC.

The Bulkley River Valley morphs from agricultural lands to steep tall mountains. Wildflowers predominate at the roadside and open fields are golden or white or multi-hued with the beautiful blossoms. Rivers were raging torrents, the waters fighting to merge through narrow canyons. The water was very high on the riverbanks, many trees submerged. We stopped at a Provincial Park for breakfast and the river had flooded so much of the grassed lakeside that it looked like the Louisiana Bayous.

Hudson Bay Mountain towers majestically over the more upscale town of Smithers - a massive glacier carves its flank. Sadly, it looks as if it has recently receded by about a third of its size. After stopping at Safeway and for gas, we pulled into a rest area on the outskirts of town for lunch and found a perfect wifi signal, so caught up on all our email.


We geocached at Morricetown Canyon – it’s on a First Nations’ reservation. We climbed down to the narrow canyon and then up again the other side along a steep winding path. The view was magnificent. As I started down the steep trail sidestepping while cursing that I’d worn sandals, an old native, sitting on a log beside the path grinned a toothless greeting “Howdy” in response to my ‘Hi’. I think he was laughing at my clumsy descent – I can imagine him thinking ‘Stupid white woman’.









Stewart Cassiar Highway


We crossed the Skeena River at Kitwanga, another First Nations village – we were now starting north on the Stewart Cassiar Highway #37. We checked our gas gauge when a sign warned that there were no services for many miles after Gitanyow so we exited down into this historic native village and found the most amazing array of totem poles that we’d ever seen away from museums. They were fabulous, intricately carved towers, each one telling a story. Fernie gassed up at a large above-ground tank with two hoses, one marked ‘status’ and the other ‘non-status’ – that’s us. A native woman was fueling up when we pulled in and she chatted friendlily – about rain and sun and bugs. She was using the ‘status’ pump and she didn’t have to pay.

The more southerly portion of the highway was spectacular with silver trunked aspen, wildflowers galore, statuesque mountains, roaring creeks and the wide raging rivers overflowing their banks. We found a great boondocking spot at Meziadin Logging Truck Depot by a boarded up weigh scale. Fast free wifi, a level gravel site, good satellite reception – Perfect! So we stayed two nights.

Tuesday, July 17, 2007


We woke to another glorious day, unhooked the Honda CRV and took the sidetrip over to Stewart, BC and Hyder, Alaska. Hwy 37A is a narrow corridor between tall snow-covered mountains, glaciers right down to the road. There were even remnants of the winter snows beside the highway. We crossed the US border to Stewart’s sister town of Hyder. There was no customs and immigration office – the border was wide open. A long fjord comes all the way up to Stewart and Hyder and they are ice-free seaports in winter. Stewart is a small town but it’s bustling and alive while Hyder is a ghost town with most buildings boarded up. It’s very quaint though.


The Glacier Inn in Hyder is still open for business. It’s famous for offering all who come this way the opportunity of being ‘Hyderized’. They serve a shooter and you have to guess what it is – I don’t know how much they charge though. There was nobody in the huge saloon except the barmaid behind the ornate bar – she was a woman with large sausage curls pinned in the 1940‘s style of the Andrews Sisters. She was not very vivacious and seemed disinterested in my questions so off I scooted. I’ll take my business elsewhere.


A sign for the Alaska Seafood Bus caught our attention and we followed the arrows down a back street. Diane was just finishing off a batch of smoked salmon so we had to buy some for appetizers later. She also runs the fish and crab café in an old school bus. Now only 11:30am, she said she’s be opening as soon as possible but couldn’t promise an exact time as it depended on a lot of things. Her husband is a fisherman and crabber and so the seafood is right off his boat. “We’ll be back for lunch later” we chimed as we headed out the door.

In the meantime, we took a drive up Granduc Road (AKA Salmon Glacier Road) which heads along the Salmon River. It’s a mud and gravel road built by Westmin Mines. Only 27.7km of it is open right now as road crews slowly clear the slides and damage from the winter. 7km in, we discovered ‘Fish Creek’; the US Forestry Service built a fenced walkway along the stream to view the bears (grizzlies as well as black bears) when they emerge from the bush to fish. We lingered a while but noon was obviously not a good time.
“They’re just in the bush sleeping – not too deep in” the ranger informed us.
“Come back tomorrow morning around 6am” she said “They’re pretty well always out for breakfast then”.
“One morning, I got here just before 6 and there was a huge grizzly stretched out sleeping on the walkway” she continued. “We just had to wait until he moved to open up”.

The road’s end was very close to the massive Salmon Glacier but they hadn’t cleared the road far enough to view it totally. Only the toe of the glacier was visible. But anyway, we had more important things on our mind – or should I say our stomachs. Fernie kept reminding me about the anticipated fish and chips for lunch so we hastened back much faster – glanced over to Fish Creek on passing to see if any bears were out but still none, so quickly back to Hyder.

The Seafood Express Bus was bustling when we returned. The kitchen is set up inside the bus while patrons sit outside on the old bus seats strung in a row under awnings and umbrellas. I grabbed us a table while Fernie put in our order – he came back a minute later with a chilled glass of chardonnay for me and an Alaskan beer for him.

We struck up a conversation with a couple from Texas – they drove down the muddy back road in their massive Aerbus motorhome. Their strange looking dog stretched out across the dashboard caught my attention and I asked what breed it was.
“Golden doodle” they answered. “Cross between a standard poodle and a golden retriever.” Tall with creamy white curly hair and long floppy ears, the adorable puppy hung his long legs out the driver’s window as we chatted.
“So, they get the intelligence of the poodle and the eagerness to serve and please from the golden retriever” I said.
“Are you tryin’ to say that golden retrievers aren’t too smart” she snapped. But a hint of a grin gave away her humour. Another couple, from San Clemente, California sat down in the adjacent bus seats and joined in our conversation about RVing, boondocking, etc. Texas was on the way south while California was on the way north – like us.
“Ah think if I’d known what this part was like – I’d have skipped the rest of Alaska” said Texas “This is the best right here” drawled Lyndon, named for President Lyndon Johnson. After finding out that we’d probably be driving down the Baja next February/March, the Texas couple who were planning the same trip gave us their card and asked for our info – I described our motorhome and tow vehicle and gave her my business card and they said “We’ll be sure to watch for yer”.

There is a Canadian customs office at the border back into Canada and when the young native customs officer asked us if we bought anything, I wondered what and where people shopped in Hyder that customs even cared about. “Just the fish and chips in our tummies” I answered and she broke into a wide gap-toothed grin.

On the way out of Stewart, a large black bear was grazing on the bushes beside the highway. At first, undisturbed by our intrusion when we stopped beside him and snapped some photos – he suddenly lunged towards the car, cranky that we’d bothered his lunch. I hit the gas and thought ‘Let’s leave him in peace’.



Wednesday, July 18, 2007
Overcast this morning but fairly bright. 110km north we stopped for gas at Bell II - $1.32/litre – other than gas, there’s only a lodge and campsite, and grocery shop. I would hate to be driving a car on this trip and having to rely on hotels and restaurants – the only way to go is with an RV.

Beyond Bell II, the road winds through winter avalanche terrain – steep-sloped mountains lined the highway and remnants of avalanches remained beside the road; small glacial lakes were covered with lily pads and golden yellow blossoms while majestic white swans glided smoothly and silently; huge beaver dams blocked the creeks that were feeding the lakes. We encountered our first gravel section soon after but only about 200 metres long. The gigantic culvert beneath the highway had collapsed under the stress of the gushing snowmelt. A little further on, the paved highway disintegrated to rough, patched pavement with no centre line but it was only to get worse. At km 333 a series of gravel stretches greeted us – the first one only 3km.

At km 355, Fernie felt something funny in the steering and turned on our rear view camera and the Honda was trailing to one side – YIKES! He gradually stopped (luckily on a long paved straight stretch - we were so lucky as only a few miles back we’d descended a winding 8% grade.) and we discovered that one of the pins on the tow bar was gone and the car was loosely attached by only one arm. The tow bar is a V-shaped contraption where both ends of the V attach to the front of the car about a metre apart. The next panic was that my keys to the car were missing. I dumped out my purse on to the bed but they weren’t there. I was so scared I’d dropped them at our camp spot of last night. The other spare key was sitting inside the locked car in the ignition, as is required for towing. I was so impressed with Fernie as he didn’t panic at all – I guess he figured that I was doing enough of that for both of us. I finally found my keys in the crack of the passenger seat – they had fallen out of my pocket. PHEW! I drove a few miles back slowly looking for the pin to no avail. Luckily, we had a spare pin, which Fernie found right away, and even though the tow bar looked cockeyed, we managed to hook the car back up. The pin that snapped off and disappeared was one of those expensive locking ones – obviously not as strong as the old-fashioned cotter pin type.

As we crossed the pass, the foliage changed – now a preponderance of lodgepole pine and then the gravel stretches returned. Rattle, Rattle, Clang, Bang……just when one would end and we’d be back on blacktop, another would start – each one longer than the previous. The language in the motorhome was blue (and not from the navigator) as Maggie rattled and clanged over the washboard. The dust was so bad it got into our throats. The longest one, just north of Iskut at km 408 was a construction zone with dirt and gravel roadbed for about 30km including a couple of single lane flagged stretches. At one, we had to wait for about 15 minutes for the pilot car to guide us through. We started to think we’d never see pavement again but what a relief when we did.

Dease Lake was not far down the road and I kept my eyes peeled for boondocking opportunities but everything was so wet from the snowmelt and rains that we didn’t find anywhere so we drove into Dease Lake RV Park. Bill, the aging and deaf owner sauntered over to the office as we pulled in and eyed me up and down – not sure why.
“It’ll be $20 a night for power and electric” he drawled “I’ll put you in lucky #13 by the babbling brook”. Was he giving me a special spot?

We drove to #13 and prepared to set up when we heard a hissing from one of the back dual tires. DAMN! We had a flat. Fernie called BCAA and they told him they’d arrange to tow us to “Bill’s Auto Repair” just down the street but RV Park Bill said “You can drive at least 50 miles like that – the other tire’ll hold you up”. I wondered “Is everyone in town called Bill?” Anywayz, “Auto Repair Bill” said to bring it in tomorrow morning at 8am.

Did I forget to mention – I’d pulled a muscle in my back this morning and I was in agony. Things always come in threes, don’t they?

Thursday, July 19, 2007


Up early to drive Maggie to “Auto Repair Bill’s”. Bill, grizzled and sixtyish had a permanent cigarette hanging out of his mouth. It wiggled when he talked.
“Can’t start for an hour” he said “Why doncha’ go down to Mama’s for breakfast - just down the road”.

Down we went to Mama’s Café. As we entered the door, a wave of heat hit us. They had the furnace on in the middle of summer. We sat down, ordered coffee, tea and toast and observed the locals. In the corner sat who looked to be the “Chief”, a straw cowboy hat on his head. He was a huge rotund First Nations man and the waitress/owner, Zoe treated him deferentially. RV Bill strolled in ten minutes later. “Hi Ed” he said to the chief and sat down with him. (So, they’re not all named Bill) Zoe was a long-legged pretty young brunette with long braids and Fernie said in admiration “There’s something about a girl in pigtails”. Guess he was having a fantasy.

A police SUV drew up outside and a grey-haired lone officer emerged – time for coffee! On the side of his vehicle the letters CVSE puzzled us so I eventually asked him what they stood for. “Commercial Vehicle Safety Enforcement” he answered. Ahhh, I guess those logging trucks need to be policed. I felt as if we’d landed in a “North of 60” film set. The stereotypes were so true. (North of Sixty was a CBC TV series from several years ago about a northern First Nations town)

Auto Repair Bill’s property is a junkyard and graveyard for all the vehicles I guess Bill couldn’t fix – a truly chaotic environment. Two dogs (Alberta and Joe) and a pure white cat roamed through the decrepit vehicles, hunting for mice. The cat spied one and the dogs joined her in the pursuit.

Bill, born in Arkansas wandered around the USA before being enlisted in the air force for the Vietnam War. “I was a pilot” he said proudly “But they didn’t treat us right when we returned home after” he told Fernie and so he tried Canada ending up in Dease Lake thirty years ago and has never left since. Fernie asked him about the extreme rain and flooding.
“Well, we ain’t gonna get no forest fires around here this year – it’d take Nepalm, to start one” he said with a grin.
His blue overalls were black with oil as was the baseball cap perched on his head. He lifted the cap to scratch his head and his bald shiny dome was snowy white as if the sun had never touched it. He got right to work on fixing our tire, talking non-stop – cigarette still wiggling even when he was laid flat underneath Maggie. It turned out that it wasn’t the gravel that caused the flat but a long screw had punctured the tire. Total cost: $85 including fixing a grommet that held on the Honda’s bra.

While I was waiting, a man drove in on a motorcycle – he had a problem with his tire and he and I chatted while Bill finished working on Maggie. From Talkeetna, Alaska just south of Denali, he had ridden down to California and Nevada and was just on his way home. A man about my age and a speech therapist, he’d left San Francisco 16 years ago with his wife and daughter and settled in Alaska after visiting it and falling in love. “You have to like your own company” he said “and the outdoors”.

We were booked another night at Dease Lake RV Park so took Maggie back there and headed out on the south west road to Telegraph Creek, supposedly a most stunningly scenic route – the main reason for our stopping in Dease Lake. The Milepost Book had warned that while only 115km to Telegraph Creek, the road was gravel and dirt and precarious in places so allow three hours each way. No worries, we have about 19 hours of daylight right now each day. Still overcast, I could see a light sky to the west and was feeling optimistic. Fernie however kept warning me that rain was coming…..

The first half of the drive was not particularly charming – just sort of normal BC wilderness on a flat to rolling landscape. The hard pack road was well maintained and I was able to keep my speed to about 70 kph. We turned a corner and the most amazing herd of horses were spread all over the road and grazing at the side. Huge stallions, white, black, mahogany, piebald, palominos – they were absolutely gorgeous and what a wonderful life. I edged the car carefully between them and they gazed at us without fear – moreso an attitude of their supremacy.


Rain started to sprinkle on the windshield (I hate it when Fernie is always right). Scenery is never as attractive without the sunshine. At the 68km mark, the terrain changed with a warning of an 18% downgrade – that’s right 18% - not 8% as is normal but 18%. It was a narrow, steep, slippery and snaking ascension with unnerving switchbacks. Fernie kept echoing “Easy, easy……” as we inched on down without plummeting over the cliff. It would have been much better had it been dry – the rain had created water-filled ruts as vehicles had skidded around the hairpin bends. The road took us down the canyon to the Tuya River but then climbed right back up the other side but not quite as steep. Ooops, the book is warning of the next descent as having a 20% downgrade – oh well, that’s only 2% worse. It turned out to be a much shorter descent but 20% does seem awfully steep and you wonder how quickly the car would stop if needed or if it would stop at all. The road travelled across the top of a narrow promontory, plunging cliffs each side down to the Tahltan River one side and the Stikine on the other. Ahead, the aerial views of the Grand Canyon of the Stikine were magnificent – the wide and mighty Stikine actually narrowed to only 8 feet at its most constricted so you can imagine the power of the water as it fought to get through.

A native fishing village is situated at the merging of the two rivers; menacing signs warned ‘No trespassing; no fishing; no ………’ but I had read that someone around here sold smoked salmon and I really wanted some. ‘On the way back’, I thought. The village was comprised of about 9 or 10 rustic cabins most with smokehouses out back, smoke curling from the chimneys in most. One cabin was covered with antlers of all sizes and types - supposedly, a sign of prominence in the community if you have the most, proving your hunting expertise.


The road ahead looked particularly scary – winding narrowly up the mountain in a single lane, as there had recently been a mudslide. Not sure that we should brave it, I waved down a pickup truck that had just descended. A sea of about six or seven native faces – Dad, Mom and 4 or 5 children - stared at me dourly as I asked “How’s the road ahead…..to Telegraph Creek?”
“Good, good…..the road is fine all the way” said Dad.
‘Aha’, I thought ‘here’s my opportunity to find out where the smoked salmon is’
“Do you know of anyone in this village that sells smoked salmon?”
A hesitation and a meeting of eyes between Dad and Mom and “Yes, me” said Mom. “I have some smoking right now and it’ll be ready in a couple of hours. Why don’t you come back after you go to Telegraph Creek? I just have to go to town shopping first.”
“We live in that house over there with the stuff all over it” said Dad.

The Old Tahltan Native Community at the top of the hill was where they once bred ‘bear dogs’ – very aggressive little (smaller than a Westie) beasts that they used in bear hunting but the breed has died out now – none remain.

We encountered another herd of native horses being rustled up the steep mountain by a pickup truck. The horses were skittish and the road was narrow, so it took us a bit of time and manoeuvring to get past them. One stallion in particular seemed as if he would charge the car if we passed.


Telegraph Creek is built on the banks of the raging Stikine River, and all the way up the steep, winding hills. It is so remote that other than the RCMP and an adventure group, the only residents are hermits and other oddballs. It is a quaint and picturesque town, quite a few of the old gold-rush cabins remaining still.

We stopped at the native fishing village on our way back, walking up the rutted road to the cabin with all the horns but I guess they hadn’t got back from town……did they mean Dease Lake? If so, they wouldn’t be back for another couple of hours, so we carried on. I do wish I’d got a look at the inside of their house though and tasted their smoked salmon.

The rain came down harder as we returned but it wasn’t half as bad going up those steep hills even though the cliffs were on our side. There is so little traffic that you hardly ever pass another vehicle so you can use the centre of the road. I fought sleep as I drove through the boring last half; Fernie was fast asleep in the passenger seat. I did finger exercises to keep me awake and opened the window so the wet cool air would keep me awake.


The thick gumbo (yucky mud) had coated our car and it was unrecognizable when we returned. The RV Park has a high pressure car wash for just such reasons so Fernie washed it back to its silver colour.

Friday, July 20, 2007
The heavens opened up overnight. It made for a wonderful night’s sleep but everything was wet and muddy when we got up. Figured we might as well do laundry as who knows when we’ll be in an RV Park again.
“Check out time is 11am” said RV Park Bill “I’m expecting a large caravan today and they all want to use the laundry so make sure you’re done by 11”.
We drove out at 10:55am.

There were a few stretches of gravel, but not too long and in much better shape than yesterdays. The rain continued to pelt down and the clouds were low and ominous. So we figured ‘Why not stop early? And maybe tomorrow, the weather will be better’. Jade City, population 12, only 113 km north of Dease Lake offered free overnight parking and I was eager to see if I could find a raw hunk of jade that I could practice my lapidary on when I get home. The FREE parking turned out to be much more expensive as I ended up buying a jade ring. It was actually a man’s ring but they only had it in small sizes, hence they were priced more reasonably – and I love large jewellery.

A local, a grizzled old timer wandered by while I was looking at the huge boulders of raw jade. I had on my winter coat and a hat to keep me dry as it drizzled miserably and relentlessly. He stopped to talk to the young Australian woman who worked at the shop and was showing me the cutting apparatus. “My lake went up two foot overnight” he said “pretty soon my cabin will be flooded”. When would the rains stop?