We had kept our fingers crossed that it wouldn’t rain for the 300-kilometre route across the Top of the World and it worked – a sunny and clear day greeted us.
The Top of the World Highway from Dawson, Yukon to Tok, Alaska teeters around the rounded mountaintops and sharp ridges and looks down at steep-cliffed canyons below. Travel books warned that it was a hazardous road to navigate.
Now, some people told us “Piece of cake – I took my rig and tow vehicle across and it was fantastic”. Others said “Good on the Canadian side – not so good on the US side”. And others “It was a nightmare” and “It took us all day”. Who should we believe? The alternate route would be to retrace our steps south to Whitehorse and then west to Alaska – triple the miles. Caravan groups do it – so how bad could it be.
Full of gas, we drove onto the tiny ferry in Dawson to
cross the Yukon River. The Canadian portion of the road is 110 kilometres and our expectation of it being paved was dashed. It was washboard gravel with short patches of pavement. The jarring of the surface on Maggie was tortuous if we drove above 15kph and sometimes even slower. When tanker and semi-trailer trucks passed us at full speed in the opposite direction, they wouldn’t slow down and we braced ourselves for rocks being thrown and for the huge cloud of dust they’d leave in their wake – we couldn’t see a thing until the cloud dissipated. And damn it….the chip that Hank fixed yesterday has started to crack not towards the centre of the windshield, thank goodness. So that $35 job wasn’t a very good one.It was a tense drive, so we stopped for lunch in
a rest area to take a break from the shaking and dust – and lo! When we got back on the road, the last ten miles to the border was smoothly paved. A funny little US border station sits high up near the top of the pass. It was visible way ahead and looked rather like one you’d see in the Khyber Pass. Same old questions from the border official:“Do you have any alcohol?”
“How long will you be in the US?”
“Where’s the beef?”
The initial US portion of the road, which we had been warned about, was dirt for 30 miles - as far as Chicken but it was smooth and so much better than the washboard. The precarious curves and narrow roadway above steep canyons were no problem. Along this stretch ran a gently gurgling stream – it was obviously concealing gold because all sorts of grizzled old prospectors were sluicing and dredging and hammering. I knew they were prospectors by their long white beards and hair, their plaid flannel shirts, their suspenders holding up baggy jeans, which were tucked into well-worn boots :-)
Chicken with a population of 36, was really supposed to be Ptarmigan but no one could spell it, so they called it what they usually referred to the bird by – Chicken. It’s purely a service wayside now but its roots were in gold mining – what else! .Just past Chicken, we found the most perfect boondocking site – well off the road, level, views over the previously burned, now covered with fireweed terrain below and no people for miles. The silence was absolute.
Sunday, July 29, 2007
Can’t believe we are so lucky to wake to day after day of splendid sunshine. An unexpected visitor arrived this morning – he stood there only a few feet away gazing up at us through the window. He was a bit skittish but if we moved slowly, he stood his ground. I think he was looking for Caesar who had been out walking about ten minutes before. Our caller was a large red arctic fox with a patch of white on the end of his tail. He skirted an arc around the side of the motorhome, looking at us all the time then eventually sauntered off into the woods.
A geocache drew us back to downtown Chicken - we could have camped overnight with electricity behind the gas station/store at no charge if we’d filled with gas but we were so much happier in the wilds with no one else around, rather than crammed in side by side
It was maintenance morning so Fernie greased the jacks, cleaned the solar panel, checked batteries, tires, etc not leaving our spot until 11:30. We stopped at Tok, not that far down the road to continue housekeeping duties. The Tesoro gas station offered free wash with every fill, so we washed both the Honda and Maggie. The mud that poured off the Honda was amazing – Maggie was not so bad. They both looked sparkling when we drove off the lot, but that didn’t last long. Then on to the laundromat. What a tiring day – don’t like this housekeeping stuff.
We’ve noticed a big difference between the Canadian north and the USA north – Americans take commercialism to the Nth degree as we just witnessed at Chicken & Tok. Not saying that Canadians don’t cater to the tourists because they do……just look at Dawson City - but they don’t carry it to the same level. However, there’s also a huge difference in population – the entire Yukon only has a few over 30,000 inhabitants while Alaska has more than 670,000 – almost 275,000 of them in Anchorage.
We boondocked along the Alaska Hwy in a very pleasant rest area with a great view. Why would anyone want to be in one of those crammed campgrounds when all of Alaska is available.
Monday, July 30, 2007
A sprinkle of rain – that’s refreshing, but
it was otherwise very warm. Delta Junction is the official end of the Alaska Hwy and the Richardson Hwy takes over for the journey to Fairbanks. A couple of geocaches in Delta Junction took us for a walk around the burg. There’s an armed forces base nearby and convoys of hummer type vehicles roared through the town as massive propeller airplanes soared low to land not far off. National Security beefed up the forces in this area in 2002 as they did all over the USA. Why is it that they still use propeller planes? I thought they were bombers but Fernie says they are Hercules freight-carrying aircraft.
Our Milepost book warned us to watch for moose at
mile 284 and again at mile 309. We scorned the suggestion but were absolutely amazed that just past MP284, a cow moose stood right beside the road chewing placidly on the vegetation. It must be on the government payroll! So what do you think we thought when at mile 309, another moose – this time a young male – ambled along while snacking. An idiot trucker barrelling along the road roared by us while blaring his horn – it frightened the moose into galloping into the bush but what if it had ran onto the road instead. I guess the trucker doesn’t like gawking tourists.Another beautiful wayside along the wide basin of the Tanana River was our home for the night. Stopping early, we really got to enjoy it.
Tuesday, July 31, 2007
Light rain overnight finished by the time we got up but it stayed overcast for a while. We noticed yesterday while towing the Honda that the brake lights on the car stayed on when we parked. However, Fernie didn’t notice any drag while driving so we surmised it was an electrical problem….maybe all the gumbo from those gravel and mud highways is mucking up a connection somewhere. I pumped the Honda’s brakes and the lights went off. Then this morning we had to fool around for a while to make sure the brake lights went off and on properly. Gotta get that looked at.
The scenery between Tok and Fairbanks was pretty blah! So far, Alaska hasn’t been anywhere near as scenic as the Yukon. There hasn’t been much wilderness along this stretch of the Alaska Highway. Driveways and mailboxes are regularly apparent. Another large Air Force Base, Eielson, sits just outside Fairbanks. Americans really do take their security seriously. Signs along the highway pronounce” No Parking”, “No stopping”, “No photography”. Yet another armed forces base closer into town – regiments of dark and stealthy-looking vehicles travelled down the roads – kind of spooky, if you ask me.
North Pole is a suburb of Fairbanks – 12 miles east of town. It was conceived to draw the attention of a
major toy manufacturer to the area but none thought manufacturing and distributing from Alaska was an economically feasible idea. Local entrepreneurs have grabbed onto the Xmas theme though and shops and RV parks follow it. Gargantuan Santas and candy canes grace the business fronts; street names echo the idea with names such as Santa Claus Lane. A bit of a racket, the big seller in the Xmas shops is the choice of a pre-written letter from Santa personally inscribed to the intended recipient. Some of the categories to choose from:- “Non-religious adult”
- “Religious”
- “For troubled times”
- “For a divorcee”
- “For a bad or troubled child”
etc.
The traffic on the freeway came to a full stop ahead of us as we approached Fairbanks – what could be happening? It soon became apparent as the traffic in both directions inched forward – a duo of moose strode across the highway in no particular hurry. After all the miles of wilderness we’ve travelled with nary a wildlife sighting, we enter an urban environment and there they are.
Pioneer Park, a theme park close to the city centre memorializes the late 19th century society that sprang up around the gold fever. An old stern-wheeler, a rotting railway car, mine shafts & equipment, authentic cabins moved from their original locations and now used as tourist shops, Victorian theatres, a miniature railroad and turn of the century houses are all situated along the twisting Chena River. This is where they offer the ‘Alaska Salmon Bake’ and the ‘Victorian Revue’ following dinner. It’s run by the city of Fairbanks and they’ve allowed overnight RV parking in their large parking lot for a fee - $12/night.
“Exorbitant!” I choked until I turned my computer on and found an excellent wifi signal. That settled it – we stayed for three days. There was lots of room and we weren’t crammed in with other RVs and three days in one spot was just what we needed..
We got to know Fairbanks quite well in the three days – we geocached every corner and I do believe the toughest caches we’ve ever encountered are here. Several skunked us. On one of the great hikes in the forest, we followed the ‘poopie’ trail of a moose but he stayed well ahead of us. Had we seen bear dung, I’d have been long gone.
Wednesday, Aug 1, 2007
The Honda’s engine was totally encrusted with mud after the Dempster expedition so we took it in for an engine cleaning, oil change and general checkup. The filth was probably the reason that the brake lights wouldn’t extinguish.
The car was in for a couple of hours, so we looked for a place to have breakfast and found the Hometown Café. The décor was most unusual…Hawaiian wallpaper with Chinese paintings, Xmas garland with red ornaments hanging from them, giant plastic swordfish, floral fabric swathed to look like sails, faded plastic flowers – a melee of bad taste. What a dive…. but a clean one and the breakfast was good.
There was still time left so we strolled up the road to The Prospector’s Store and on the way passed a sign for a veterinary clinic “one block around the back”. Caesar’s eye was still infected so we went in to talk to them. The 80 year old vet said “Bring him in after 3 o’clock” which we did Dr. Buckley who had been in Alaska since 1952 was paralysed on the right side of his face after a stroke.
“One of my eyes doesn’t close” he said while demonstrating. It was a bit grotesque. I was a worried that he couldn’t see out of the eye when he brandished his rechargeable clippers and proceeded to shave poor Caesar’s face – well half of it. He used his own situation as an analogy to Caesar’s. :He’s older than all of us” he said of Caesar with a chuckle – computing Caesar as 13 years old x 7 = 91 in comparable human years. Caesar’s shave was a trifle lopsided but Dr. B lectured as he shaved; on how we should cleanse and treat the infected eye. I think he took off more fur than was necessary but he was 80 and he was operating on only one eye himself. Caesar’s good looks are certainly compromised but I guess his health comes first. So, now we’re calling Caesar ‘Patch’ - he looks so funny with his big shaved pink and black eye.
Note: Don’t read the following if you’re squeamishOur groomer told us before we left home that Caesar’s anal glands were impacted and to have them cleansed by a vet. We hadn’t had the opportunity to get around to it so asked Dr. Buckley.
“Now, this is something you can do yourself” he said to me “you just come over to this side of the table and I’ll show you. Fernie, who was holding Caesar down had his eyes tightly closed so I was the obvious candidate for anal gland cleansing instruction. YUCK! He showed me where to place my fingers and how much pressure to use and how to strip it. It was sort of like milking a cow – not that I’ve ever done that , but I’ve seen it done on TV.
“Now, young lady” he said to me “don’t you do this just before you expect company” he grinned crookedly – the other half of his face had no expression “because your hands will stink to the high heavens for hours after – you can’t wash the smell off”. Gee, and I thought I’d never have to nurse an old man – that’s why I married a younger man.
I took Caesar out to the car as soon as he was finished and left Fernie to settle up with Dr. B. He was in there an awful long time – Dr. B was reminiscing and telling him naughty stories of his first clients when he came to Alaska.
“The whores loved their little dogs” he said “and they always paid cash - they’d come in here in their scanties and they’d pay anything to have their little pooches looked after”.
A trip to the oldest cemetery in Fairbanks initiated by a geocache was an interesting visit. Right downtown at the foot of a street labelled “Dead End”,
the graveyard was the final resting place for many gold miners who had died by tunnels collapsing, freezing to death, murder or other wayward means. The houses bordering the cemetery were particularly rundown and messy. In one yard, three beautiful chows threatened us over their dangerously short fence. “Shud-uppppp!” a woman yelled from within when the dogs went into a chorus of frenzied barking. “Sorry, it’s our fault” I called out “we were admiring your dogs and they were just protecting their property” (you’ll never see me stick up for people the way I will for animals). A fortyish woman came out and we asked about her dogs which opened her right up. Half an hour later we had her whole life story and that of Mismo, her youngest chow. Mismo for Missoula, Montana. “I gotta get back there – that’s my home but I just can’t seem to afford the move – things are awful expensive up here in Alaska”
“You ain’t never felt cold like the cold in Alaska in the middle of winter – they think Montana’s cold – huh! I could go outside in my shorts on their coldest day. There’s some mornings, my dogs won’t go out ‘cause it’s so cold – they’d rather hold it” she said with a grin “but I push em out and they're finished in no time and back in the warmth”
While we were gathering Geocache info from a miners’ memorial plaque, the resident caretaker popped up beside us “You lookin’ for anyone in particular?” he asked
“No, No – just interested in the history” we lied. He went on to tell us of the body, which was in pieces in one of the graves and the gravestone that kept getting stolen and how the ‘injuns’ would come to town and get drunk in the cemetery smashing bottles on the headstones.
“I’m runnin’ for mayor’ he announced with pride. My eye was caught by the big button on his cotton hat that declared “Dissent is patriotic”
It was only a short walk from Maggie over to the Salmon Bake in Pioneer Park, so we thought we’d try it. Tables were spread out under trees in the shade and on the lawn in the evening sunshine and there weren’t too many vacant spots. I looked around at the hordes of people chowing down, elbows on tables, faces almost in their dishes with absolutely no conversation between shovel-fulls of food and searched for a private table. “All you can eat” doesn’t bring out the best. We ended up sitting with a couple about to embark on a Holland America ship in Anchorage. They’d had a two-week bus tour of Alaska first. I don’t know how they could stand two weeks on a tour bus. As well as grilled salmon, they had cod, halibut and prime rib – salads, rolls and the obligatory baked beans and a variety of desserts. Fernie picked up a bottle of chardonnay and we really enjoyed the seafood feast.
A largish woman giggling like a teenager, sat astride a giant wooden fish. “Now you make sure it’s a good photo” she barked at her husband. A stream of other folks figured it was a real good idea and lined up for their opportunity.
Thursday, August 2, 2007
Back to beautiful sunshine after yesterday’s overcast skies. The day passed pleasantly with some Geocaching, shopping, strolling and a film at the tourist centre. Tomorrow onward towards Denali National Park……
Note: Muskeg is a soil type (also a peatland or wetland type called a bog) common in arctic and boreal areas.
No comments:
Post a Comment