Day 5 -- The Alaskan Highway

June 23, 2014

 We left the Dawson Creek parking lot at six-thirty in the morning, too early for Wal-mart to be open.  Dawson Creek is the very beginning of the Alaskan Highway, constructed in 1942.  Very discouraging to have made It this far only to be told that the real adventure was really only beginning.  We filled up our tanks at 1.37 per liter before continuing northbound.  We came to a roundabout and followed the famous arrow to Alaska. As we left, the fields planted with bright yellow canola waved us goodbye and good luck.

Back in ’42, the threat of Japanese invasion started the construction of a road connecting Alaska, via Canada, to the rest of the United States.  It was constructed in only eight months, as Pearl Harbor, the invasion of Attu and Kiska in the Aleutian Islands, and the imminent danger of further invasions, made this military installation a top priority.  It didn’t open to the public until ’48 but it quickly gained the reputation of a tough terrain to traverse. 

Back in ’42, the threat of Japanese invasion started the construction of a road connecting Alaska, via Canada, to the rest of the United States.  It was constructed in only eight months, as Pearl Harbor, the invasion of Attu and Kiska in the Aleutian Islands, and the imminent danger of further invasions, made this military installation a top priority.  

It didn't open to the public until ’48 but it quickly gained the reputation of a tough terrain to traverse.  Today, the road is entirely paved, not counting the constant construction for maintenance.  The Alaska Highway begins in Dawson Creek and ends in Delta Junction, AK.  We would be leaving the Alaska Highway in Whitehorse, YT taking the Klondike Loop into Dawson City, YT.  Then, we’d be taking the Top of the World Highway, on our tenth wedding anniversary, across the Canadian-Alaska border. 

Before twenty miles were behind us, we took a side road, the original Alaskan Highway, to the Kiskatinaw River Bridge. This 531 foot original timber bridge is the only one still in use today.  We pulled over for a bite of breakfast.  While Jason was eating in the camper, Catrina spotted a deer.  While she scrambled for the camera, located in her pocket, a fox trotted out of the woods within just a few feet.  She, unfortunately didn’t catch either for posterity.  

We didn’t stop again until Fort Nelson, located at historic mile marker 300, where we re-filled and showered.  Jason had used the rest of the water in our tank that morning, but we forgot to re-fill it there or anywhere at that point.  The first three hundred miles has stayed mostly straight, flat across the prairie.  

Jason chatted with some locals at the campground, comparing Canadian prices with United States while Catrina patted a large dirty dog on the head.  We both were swatting the bugs off of us, while the locals laughed, and told us how the worst was just beginning.  But, before long, we were on the road again. Leaving Fort Nelson, the Alaskan Highway veers to the west and winds through the Canadian Rockies for the next 200 miles.

 At 1:02, we summited Steamboat Mountain (elevation 3,500 feet), overlooking the Muskwa River Valley.  Steamboat Mountain was named that way for its resemblance to a steamboat, but neither one of us saw the similarity.   The same could be said for the Indian Head Mountain we passed ten minutes later.

We passed a herd of animals, near McDonald Creek, that we are for certain were Stone sheep, this time, as mountain goats are not seen in this particular region.  We’re still unsure how to tell the difference between mountain goats, Dall sheep, and Stone Sheep.  Not sure if the herds we saw the day before were mountain goats or if they were stone sheep, or Dall sheep, even.  In the winter, goats have longer hair so it’s much easier to tell the difference then.  Mountain Goats are supposed to have darker horns, and when reviewing the pictures of the second herd, the horns do not appear dark enough to be goats.  Then, there seems to be some argument if the darker Stone Sheep are even a different species from Dall Sheep. So confusing, but we saw some animals, even if we weren’t certain of their correct species.  

At 3:10, we were stopped for construction for close to an hour.  We had a nice conversation with the couple in the RV ahead of us.  We had passed them, and they had passed us.  They were easy to spot with two large bumper stickers on the back.  The bumper sticker labelled the left side as a passing side, while the bumper sticker on the right labelled that side as suicide.  Jason didn’t think it was funny.  But, they were a friendly couple going the same direction as us, and he had once went to a University in Texas, not far from where we reside.  They, too, were going to Alaska for fishing, but they had hired a guide.   Soon enough, we were all on the move again, waving goodbye to our new acquaintances.  

We passed Summit Pass with little notice.  This would be the highest point, at 4,250 feet, we would reach while on the Alaska Highway. 

At 4:08, we crossed the Racing River Bridge, a seventeen foot clearance girder bridge with metal grating instead of pavement. The Racing River forms the boundary between the Sentinel Range and the Stone Range.  

We came around a curve on the mountain to see a large Stone Sheep ram.  Catrina stepped out of the car and snapped a few pictures, as he never paused licking the leftover winter salt off the pavement.

Toad River, a beautiful aqua color, weaved around the forest beside the road for a little bit, until we eventually crossed over the Toad River Bridge.

We stopped at a little picturesque gas station in the town of Muncho Lake, adding just a few liters at 1.58/liter to reinsure that we made it to the next station. 

We passed the turquoise Muncho Lake.  Here, the original highway had went along the tops of the cliffs, a particularly dangerous section of highway.  The Army, in 1942, had completed an extensive excavation, hauling the rocks away with horses, only to relocate the road later into the cliffs close to lake level. 

 Muncho Lake, one of the largest natural lakes in the Canadian Rockies, is seven and half miles long and one mile wide. Reports claim the deepest point to be seven hundred thirty feet deep, but the confirmed depth is no deeper than four hundred feet. The brilliant colors are attributed to leaching copper oxide.  In the east, the Sentinel Range drains into the lake.  In the west, the Terminal Range drains into the lake.  The mountains surrounding the lake are approximately seven thousand feet.  The island in the middle is named Honeymoon Island.

At about 4:00, we came across two young caribou trotting along the highway.  While licking the salty pavement, they rubbed their velvety antlers together, before trotting a little further. 

Thirty minutes later, we drove into a herd of bison grazing on either side of the road. 

At about 5:00, we stopped at Liard Hot Springs, the second largest hot springs in Canada.  We popped up the camper and changed into our bathing suits, in anticipation of the swim in the spring.  It was warm here, and the mosquitos were beginning to swarm and bite.  We covered ourselves in bug spray, before walking toward the boardwalk to the springs.  The mosquitoes were starting to swarm and had filled the camper when we popped the peak. 

The original boardwalk and pool facilities had been built by the United States Army in 1942, but the park hadn't been designated until 1957.  The boardwalk protects the delicate muskeg that forms the warm water swamp, filled with, at least, fourteen different species of orchids alone.  

We witnessed a pair of geese raising a nest full of goslings.  Squirrels danced under and about the boardwalk, through the boreal forest.

Jason remembered two springs, an Alpha pool and a Beta pool.  The Alpha pool reaches up to one hundred and twenty six degrees Fahrenheit.  However, Beta pool had been closed.  The boardwalk had been removed and there was little trace of the pool being harmed by humans.  

Before we got in the pool, we walked to the hanging garden, overlooking the pool.  Strangers’ eyes stared as we walked up the boardwalk, past the Alpha pool. As many people that were in the pool, there was no one on the boardwalk to the falls.  

Here, there were a variety of interesting plants, and an eerie silence, away from all the people.  By the time we reached the top of the stairs, we were both huffing and puffing.  We watched the ground squirrels play in the tropical marsh, among fallen limbs and trees.  The railing had been replaced several years ago, but the old railing still remained on the ground beside the boardwalk. 

We walked back to Alpha pool, and set our towels and shoes on the bench.  We walked into the warm sulpher water.  The water was a lot hotter than our body temperatures, and the upper seventy degree weather outside made the pool a little uncomfortable, temperature wise.  We were very buoyant, and had trouble walking around, or sitting on the provided benches in the water.  Jason had us walk as close to the spring as possible, the water getting warmer the further we went toward the water source.  After a few minutes, we decided it was time to get out of the water.         

We walked the boardwalk back toward the camper, as a gull started to yell, across the marsh. We pointed out different plants, and a family of baby ducks

We changed our clothes quickly, as we had spent quite a bit of time here.  On the way out, we remembered to re-fill the water tank.  As I was standing there, observing the hose fill the side of the camper, Jason walked to the ranger station to ask about the closed pool.  People had endangered the habitat of a rare snail, so they had closed that particular spring to the public.

Later, when Catrina went to research the Banff snail, she learned about a publicized rare deadly black bear attack in ’97 that had occurred near the hanging garden. Probably at the exact spot that the railing and boardwalk had been replaced.  No wonder there hadn’t been anyone that went that direction on the boardwalk.  Some claimed that this was the real reason the pool had been closed, but Catrina also found the research proving that just a little human interaction could cause the death of thousands of these rare snails.  

Upon leaving the park, we quickly spotted two black bears playing the ditch.  They were grazing on the grass.  Soon, like New Mexico and antelopes, we were pointing out the black bears.  The trees on either side of the road had all the bark stripped, making it obvious that this area was over-populated with bears. 

Among the many black bears, we also caught a glimpse of our first brown bears.  A mama bear with two cubs grazed also in the right-of-way. 

Including the three black bears from the day before, we counted a total of eleven black bears.  Plus, the three brown bears put us at a total of fourteen bears then.

We stopped at a roadside park, snapping pictures of a memorial to the construction workers of the Alaska Highway. 

We entered the Yukon Territory at 10:30.  Notice how it is still very, very daylight in our photograph below.

We passed through Watson Lake, filling up for 1.47/liter.  Watson Lake, itself, is not visible from the highway, but it isn’t the most publicized attraction, anyway.  It was just after eleven o’clock, yet the sun was still above the horizon.  Most gas stations were closed, but the pumps were still on.  The streets felt strangely deserted, empty, while daylight, except for a few teenagers up to the assumed no good.  Everyone else were home in their beds.   

We stopped at the Signpost Forest.  Poppies grew amongst the signs.  The “Forest” was empty, and we took a quick stroll through a few of the markers, noting dates.  The oldest signpost we saw marked with a date was ’67.  Originally, a homesick Carl K. Lindley had posted a sign marking the distance to home, Danville, IL, while working on the highway in ’42.  Travelers started adding to add their own signs, and last counted at more than 75,000 signs.  Neither Jason nor Catrina were volunteering to count them all.  

We got back on the road, and drover a little ways out of town.  We found a pull-off by the Lliard River for the night.  We popped the camper, and put a pre-made lasagna in the oven.  The problem with the pop-up A-frame camper is the inability to put it up and keep every mosquito out.  And as we fell asleep by the river, in the daylight, we were bitten by what felt like a million mosquitoes, but a decent rest was had by all.