Alaska 12. Road Warriors July 21

We took our time in the morning, enjoying the quiet spot with no road noise or neighbors having our usual breakfasts: me yogurt, blueberries, granola and dave cheerios, blueberries. But Dave then also usually makes some toast, eats a big chunk of cheddar and downs a few tangerines and/or an apple. So, basically he eats more or less constantly for about 3 hours. 

This tiny campground is described as “user maintained” and was surprisingly clean in the way of no garbage in the fire rings or toilet paper in the woods. However the bathrooms were full-on old school outhouses

Now, I know I promised no more “poop talk” but let’s be real. Everybody poops. And, you know, camping the way we do just puts a whole new spin on that *hopefully* daily activity. A lively debate between Dave and I centered around whether I would risk that outhouse or simply venture into the woods. I mean… that outhouse looked pretty ominous. Dave was like, “Outhouse for SURE!” So, I figured I’d at least have a look…

It wasn’t bad!!

We were on the road around 10:30 am with very vague plans to get somewhere near Dease Lake, BC. 

I realize now, as I write this, that I had made a mental note to research the Highway of Tears, where so many indigenous women have disappeared and the very highway on which we traveled before turning off onto the Cassiar highway. It was sobering and I thought a lot about it as I drove.

There is truly not much to report in the way of travel adventures today. The landscape became more monotonous. We lost cell service as soon as we turned on to the Cassiar Highway the day before, so we are now in full paper-map mode. We have a few Alaska Highway books that are, frankly, ridiculous. But despite the overkill of detailing every single road sign and gravel widening of the road (not kidding), it is nice to know where we are. It feels sort of like the WCCO Radio weather reports of the map world: overly cautious wordiness meant to inspire extreme caution. 

Aside from a 20 minute road delay due to construction, stopping for gas once in Iskut, BC and seeing a bear sitting in the road ditch, I can’t think of a single thing to write. 

We went past Dease Lake, which was long and HUGE. We figured we’d try to stay on the lake at a campground detailed on the map and in the book. Sounded nice enough. —Remember, we no longer have internet. We each made bets on how full it would be. I’m very surprised by the lack of other travelers on this road, especially going north — I expected it be more busy. As such, I predicted less than four others at the ten-site area. Dave predicted more than five. It was a VERY steep road to get down to the lake and when we turned the corner into the “campground” it was….

A CIRCUS!

Dave was right. He was right. He was right. He was right. (We have to say that 3x to the other person when we are wrong). He even had me write that on the map so he could remember. I think it happens so rarely, that we needed to document it. 🙂

This was a “ten site” campground crammed into a standard-sized USA cul de sac. The lake access was tiny. We didn’t even slow down. Back up the steep grade we went. And I mean STEEP. Even the Bronco struggled — and while the Bronco is now labeled “All Show/No Go” it DOES actually have some giddy up as far as torque goes. But this grade challenged it. I even spun the tires a bit. Oh yea. I was driving at this point. I must have taken the wheel in Iskut when we got gas… 

Coming around the corner right as we neared the top of the hill, an idiot motorcycle road-biker almost hit us head on. He was flying! We were going like 1 mph, so I will take zero accountability. He veered off the road in front of us, actually skidding, into the ditch to avoid hitting us. Wouldn’t THAT have been a story? I’m gonna have a bumper sticker made saying “Start Seeing Broncos.”

I’ve always struggled with the Start Seeing Motorcycle bumper stickers. I mean… If they would drive responsibly without weaving in and out of traffic and going two times the speed limit, nearly giving me a heart attack as they fly by seemingly from NO WHERE, maybe I’d actually be able to SEE them? 

I know, I know. It’s just a few bad apples that spoil the bunch but I’m struggling to come up with any content here, people, so just go with it.

Dave read in our trusty “Milepost” map book — you know, the WCCO Radio of map books — that there was a turnout ahead with pit toilets, river access and “informal camping” so we checked it out and ended up staying there for the night. There were two other vehicles there, so we took the last (and lamest) spot. — The one that had a 12 foot high sign saying “8 hour limit. No Campfires. No Camping.” 

We made dinner — a very strange concoction of ground turkey, rice and bok choy with lots of turmeric and black pepper. I’ve had worse. 

While I cooked, Dave went down to the Cottonwood River and took some casts. He promptly caught 2 whitefish, a grayling and a mystery trout that he later believed to be a bull trout because he found a sign saying that’s what was in the river. We still do not have internet, so we can’t look it up.

After dinner I joined him on the river, and, too lazy to change my rig, casted a huge chubby Chernobyl fly. Tons of action with these crazy fish hammering the fly, but none to the net. Dave didn’t catch any after that either and it started to rain so we headed back to the camper to clean up and crawled in for the night. 

At this point, Dave pointed out to me the sign that said “no camping” and said, “I never saw that sign.” And proceeded to make predictions we’d get a knock on the door in the middle of the night. Me, who is usually SO PARANOID about this type of rule-breaking? I was not concerned at all, for some strange reason. Maybe because the always-cautious-and-proper “Milepost” said it was OK? We each practiced what we’d say to the fictitious Mounty and snuggled in. I had finished my Louise Penny book and, since I had no internet to get a new one and out of desperation, started reading a book dave had put on their that interests me not-at-all. But that’s what I do to go to sleep and it didn’t take me long. The sound of rain along with the river — and only sporadically interrupted by trucks on the highway — lulled me to sleep.

(One not interrupted by the Cassiar Highway Patrolmen. I’m still waiting for my “You’re right. You’re right. You’re right.)

*Editors notes:

1. Editor disagrees with use of the word “monotonous” to describe drive. Editor suggests “much the same.” Author rejects suggestion.
2. Editor saw “8 hour limit stay” on sign. Editor did not see squares with red line through them depicting “no fires” and “no camping”. If editor had seen these (very prominent) symbols, editor would have moved, as editor would not have so flagrantly violated the law.