Alaska Road Warriors

Despite our general distaste for camping in established campgrounds, this beachfront site overlooking Vancouver Island was a nice little spot. There are bonuses to campgrounds — namely bathrooms. I’m an EXPERT outside pee-er. It’s the pooping that messes with my head. Once you get over the initial hump, it isn’t nearly as bad as it sounds, but still: tell that to yourself at 7am in a dispersed site where you have to get out of your camper, find some shoes and probably some clothes so you aren’t walking through the woods naked, bring a shovel to dig a hole, adequate toilet paper, and walk far enough away that your husband is not going to WITNESS the atrocity. Then do your business and PACK OUT the TP — no easy task. And undoubtedly the reason you find so much damned toilet paper in the wilderness. But people: if you are going to use the great outdoors, you can’t leave FRICKEN TOILET PAPER laying all over the ground. It’s that simple. If you can’t stand the heat, get out of the kitchen. And go to a CAMPGROUND.

I’m sure that’s more information than anyone who subscribed to these updates wants to know but THAT’S WHAT YOU’RE GONNA GET from here on out — though I promise not to talk about poop again. 

*I hope*

Low tide was at 7:05, which is important if you want to walk the “spit” — a long finger of land that juts out into the water. (I would have said ocean, but someone is going to tell me it’s the Sound. Or the Sea. Or WHATever. So I chose water.). It was nice. You can walk 5 miles out to the lighthouse but it’s hard to imagine making that trek on a rubble-strewn beach. What IS interesting is that they have a volunteer/pay-to-play program for the lighthouse that I think is GENIUS. You can sign up to become a “keeper” and go out there for week-long stints with groups of up to 8 people. You have to mow the grass, polish the brass, give tours to anyone hardy enough to walk the 5 miles to get there, along with other menial tasks… All for the low low price of (something like) $400 for the privilege of being there and working (going off memory). Genius. And we did see two keepers being shuttled back from their week as we started our walk. They seemed happy enough. But maybe just happy to be done? haha

Given that we are generally killing time until tomorrow when the new hitch is supposed to be delivered, we weren’t in any great hurry to leave — though “check out” is at 11am… *eyeroll*. Dave showered. Not me. Though I do feel a certain amount of peer pressure to do likewise, I am resisting. Instead, I participate in — what are they called? — sink showers? — where I wash “the basics” and I think that’s good enough for me. Not sure Dave agrees, but I’m not asking cuz I don’t want to know. Washing my hair is a COMMITMENT that I try not to do more than a couple times a week at the most…

Back on the road. Destination Olympia to walk the boardwalk, on the recommendation of my high school friend Kristi, who lives there — but happens to be in Minnesota while we are passing through. How ironic is that? No offense to Kristi, but I find Olympia to be much like the rest of the PNW. I’m not sure why I expected it to be more like Minnesota, but it’s not. We have yet to find any midwesternly fake-friendliness — which I personally value a lot — and find that I miss it when people are honking at us and flipping us off as we cross the roundabout crosswalk for no apparent reason as they drive by with their huge nose rings and tattoos all over their faces. Maybe it’s just me.

We had a nice lunch out at Row and dallied some more as we tried to figure out where to stay for the night. I mean, we are in URBAN TERRITORY, so it’s mostly state parks, which, frankly, we are kind of OVER. (and, after much research, they are also all FULL, too, so it isn’t even an option.)

Much texting back and forth with Kristi ensued as we tried to glean some insider information. Where I landed was a resource I had previously sworn off, but for stupid a reason. (Yes, yes, I’m talking about hipcamp.com. I know people love it…) But, I HATE that they make you set up an account to see much of anything. Still. I caved out of desperation. I have to admit it was a good option for our current circumstances. We don’t want to be too far out of the Seattle area because we have an appointment to replace the Bronco hitch tomorrow. We need to pick up our AMAZON stuff and we also need to stop at CABELLAS on our way north to pick up a couple of Redington Wrangler rods so we can slay the salmon in Alaska! Not sure why we didn’t take care of that before we left home, but what else is there for me to do in the car while Dave drives and drives and drives? I mean, besides doing math equations on tongue weight levers?

We landed at “Dean’s Campground” — not because it sounded the best — but because they were the only ones in the area on HipCamp that accepted reservations inside of 24 hours. I mean, what the HELL? After this, I plan to delete HipCamp from my phone because the ONLY reason I would EVER use it was BECAUSE I NEEDED a place to stay INSIDE of 24 hours. Again, is this just me?

*rant over*

Dean’s campground is JUST FINE. It even surpassed our expectations. The description is accurate (the fully owned the road noise). But the other campers were quiet tent people who all left early in the morning and we were even able to even take showers since no one was around. Yes, I even washed my hair.

I get ahead of myself. Let me tell you about DINNER: we bought a small piece of halibut in Olympia and made tacos with the Napa cabbage and tomato.

The fridge is looking good for the border crossing tomorrow (hopefully!). Good night from your favorite Urban Warriors.

The only campers at Dean’s Campground (in tents) all left really early and we had the place to ourselves — so of course we took showers and I even washed my hair — truly an undertaking. “Check out time” (still makes me laugh) was 11 am and we weren’t expecting to hear from the hitch place until 1 pm, so we puttered around and made plans to hit the laundromat. But then Dave’s phone rang at 10 am and they said the hitch arrived, so we went into fast motion, got out of there, dropped the clothes at the laundromat and got to the Torklift by 10:30 am. This place was LEGIT. We really felt lucky that we landed on them via a google search from afar. I didn’t do much research, but the guy we talked to was helpful and they did welding, which we thought made them the real thing. We felt we were in good hands.

After a lengthy conference with the technician, we grabbed a backpack full of stuff with plans to walk the 3.4 miles back to the laundromat in order to satisfy Agreement #3. Did I cover that one yet? I don’t have internet as I jot this down, so I can’t check. In case I didn’t, Agreement #3, established on about day 5, is to walk at least 30 minutes a day. Dave wanted to tack on 5 minutes of stretching in the morning, and I — of course I agreed — agreed. Because I’m an amenable type of wife. But I knew we wouldn’t do it. And, Spoiler Alert, we haven’t. I’m more committed to walking and we’ve stuck to that pretty well. I admit a 3.4 mile urban walk in hot sun (after washing my hair, no less) was ambitious. And I’m REALLY glad Dave is less stubborn than me. Because after walking 1.5 miles, part of which was along a little urban “trail” that was more arduous and perilous than a ridge climb along a Colorado 14er, Dave called us an Uber. I acted like I could go either way, but I was a sweaty, muddy mess. And once we surfaced from the subterranean creek trail and were walking along the road, with cars whizzing by us only feet away, I was even more glad he called the Uber.

We made it back to the laundromat, moved the clothes to the dryer and parked it at a little coffee shop a couple doors down. I, of course, toiled away at the blog and Dave… I have no idea what he was doing. Probably watching all the weird people. To be fair, they were way less weird but no less interesting. 

We were told not to expect the Bronco to be done before 5 pm but they called around 2:45 and we quickly finished folding the clothes, got another Uber and headed back. It took us another couple hours to get the right hitch permutation that would allow us to open the back Bronco gate (which is a single, long gate with a big spare tire on the back) without smashing into the back of the camper while also clearing the ball and not getting stuck on the spare tire. It was complicated. We ended up with less rise than we would have liked as well as a longer hitch than we would have liked. All of which makes us like the Bronco a whole lot less. But it is what it is.

Of course we ended up leaving Kent, Washington at 5:30 pm at the worst possible time heading into the heart of the beast of Seattle rush hour traffic. Dave tried to route us directly to the Vancouver border crossing, but I — very kindly and gently — reminded him of HIS PACKAGES at the fricken AMAZON LOCKER. This guy….

From the Whole Foods in Bellevue, we went north to Tulalip, WA to get the two 8wt fly rods we had purchased for pick-up. All in, those detours — due entirely to traffic — took almost 3 hours. It was brutal.

As we headed to the border, we were diligently making a list of all the stuff we had in the cooler and bins that you need to declare. But they didn’t even care. The question was: “Do you have any firearms in your vehicle.” We said no. He said, “Are you absolutely positive that you don’t have any firearms in your vehicle.” And when we said that no, but we really WANTED to, and researched the crap out of it but gave up, he seemed impressed. But when I told him we had correct kind of BEAR SPRAY, allowed by Canada as stipulated on the Canadian Customs website, he was so speechless that he just let us drive on by.

So I got to keep my head of cabbage!

We drove on through Vancouver and up to Squamish, British Columbia (BC) to camp at a campground that I had made a reservation at the day before. I am learning that all of Canada requires camping reservations to be made AT LEAST 24 hours in advance. (And, Spoiler Alert, British Columbia requires 48 hours.) I only found that out because I assumed we’d be getting out of Washington late due to the hitch and thinking we wouldn’t want to be farting around looking for a spot late at night. Super glad I did, because maps didn’t put us into the area until after 10 pm.

I still think there can’t be a more beautiful city in the world than Vancouver. This is probably my third or fourth time driving through it and I am no less stunned. There was also a full moon making it that much more impressive with the oceans and the water. Breathtaking.

I’m glad I enjoyed all of the last half of the day so much, because the joy and peace and feeling of VICTORY (at having conquered the hitch and doing it with grace) was far too short lived.

We pulled into Klahanie Campground at 10:30 pm. We were tired and just wanted to go to bed. I went to open the back of the camper to get out the toothbrushes and…

The solar panel was gone.

The thrill of victory seems to always be followed by the AGONY of DEFEAT.

This was a dark day. I am writing this one day after the events and I am going to have a hard time making light of it. 

BUT I WILL TRY.

No one is here to read about a CRY BABY!

But I WAS a cry baby. 

Initially, I showed normal, accepting resolve and sadness after discovering the solar panel was gone. We were absolutely stunned. We were united in our grief. This was, in fact, our SECOND solar panel. We lost the first one on one of our first outings with the camper. We never knew for sure what happened, but given the circumstances, we deduced it must have been stolen. We never ruled out the possibility it had fallen off — especially since we had traveled a very long, very rough road. We were close enough that we went back and looked for it as soon as we found it missing. I posted on social media but we never found it. We ordered a replacement from Escapod. They are EXPENSIVE. Solar panels, in general, are expensive, but these are custom formed to fit the curve on the back of the trailer. We had to wait for the replacement for a long time, and when we got it we tried hard to make it “fall off” but couldn’t. So we landed conclusively on it having been stolen. 

I bought a lock for the new one. I did more research and we resolved to only travel with it on the camper (going to and from destinations) when we were not on rough roads — just to be safe. But honestly, if you can’t have it on the back all the time, what good is it? It charges so slowly that you really need it connected as much as possible. 

Anyway, I checked it as we left the hitch place. It was solid. I know that definitively because I CLEANED it so that it could be as efficient as possible…

And now, three hours later, it was gone. 

We really don’t think it was stolen because we were with the camper almost the entire way. The lock was intact. But, one of the mounts was loose. Even with that, I still don’t know how it came off. But it’s not there, so…

It’s easy to see why I didn’t sleep much. Much rumination and trying to remember if the panel was on at various stops after leaving the hitch place (as well as feeling very, very sorry for myself) kept me tossing and turning all night.

We left the campground early the next morning, very morose, and headed into Whistler for some breakfast. When I opened the back hatch to grab the toothbrushes (which now seems a harbinger of doom), the “fixed” refrigerator was OFF. 

At that point, all my “this will be fine.s” And, “it is what it is’s” vaporized. I started crying and didn’t stop until I had a beer in my hand ten hours later.

Yeah, yeah, I’m exaggerating, but humor me, man. It was a HARD DAY. I did, in fact, cry on and off most of the day. More bad shit happened: the lock on one of the brand new Rotopax — which are the cherry-on-the-top additions to the Bronco in making it truly ALL SHOW and NO GO — seized up. So now, one of the gas tanks (which we now will need on a regular basis to fill the generator that I tried to force Dave NOT to bring along with us because I didn’t think we would need it…) is stuck to the side of the Bronco — held captive by a faulty lock that the manufacturer told me all I had to do was somehow get the pack off the vehicle and use some ridiculously sized bit to drill the lock core out and send them the guts for my “simple warranty replacement.” 

I’m more likely to go at it with the ax that I was worried the Canadian border patrol would seize.

More tears.

Dave hadn’t slept either, so I did some of the driving. While he slept, I listened to some music with headphones and tried to put everything into perspective: none of this is THAT big of a deal… But then a sad Josh Garrels song came on and I was crying again. 

Dave woke up and, as the passenger, got to work. …And was quickly frustrated by his inability to find a decent place to camp for the night, so he assumed driving duties and moved me back to my usual spot and I went reluctantly to work. Then I, too, got frustrated by my inability to find a decent place to camp for the night. — and I starting wondering: why are we even DOING this??

More tears.

If you research where to disperse camp in Canada, you will read about “Crown Land” and how you can camp on most of it. Supposedly it’s EVERYwhere. But I challenge you: just try to find some. In real life. On a map, on a website, in a train, on a plane. If you can find me some Crown Land to camp on in British Columbia, drinks are on me when I’m back in town.

So for now, it’s campgrounds. And the pickins’ are — while not slim — interesting. I was trying to get us a spot in a British Columbia government campground, but this was when I was schooled in the art of PLANNING. You want to camp in Beautiful BC? Plan ahead. 48 hours minimum, ma’am. So instead, we pulled into the quaint Caribou Place. $14 for the night. Free water and electrical (now an enticement, given that we are minus one solar panel). There were a few others at the campground, but it wasn’t crowded, thank goodness, because if it had been, I don’t think I would have been so, well, amenable. I’m an amenable sort, remember?

I’m still pretty weepy at this point. And when I say weepy, think more of an injured dog. An injured dog is so sad and pathetic and you just want to help it SO much, but when you try to help, LOOK OUT! Cuz it might rip your face off. You find out real quick that that sad, injured dog is actually really SCARY! — Dave is well acquainted with weepy Jennie and wisely steered far clear. 

As he parked the camper, I opened the back gate to start dinner to find…

Can you guess?

THE EFFING REFRIGERATOR WAS OFF. 

And not only was it off, but —this time— I couldn’t get it to come back on. I am actually amazed I didn’t sink to the ground and die right then and there. Just decide “I am done,” not only with this trip, but with living in general. And die. I consider it to my great credit that I made it to the bed in the camper before collapsing and re-starting the waterworks. 

I laid there, weeping, with my forearm over my brow, Scarlet O’Hara-style for about… I dunno. Less than 5 minutes. Maybe even less than one minute. Because all the sudden I was MAD. As in: what in the SAM HILL is going on with that stupid fridge?! It shouldn’t be this hard! It’s an electrical connection! I know how to fix those! And I THREW the door open and EMERGED. Dave was in his chair with his head down looking engrossed. He knew better than to speak to me — or even look at me for that matter. I whipped the fridge out, disconnected it loudly. Unstrapped it from its tray. HOISTED it off the tray and set it on the ground without hurting myself. I cast a quick sidelong glance at Dave silently DARING him to admonish me. He didn’t. Smart.

I CRAWLED into the cavity and yanked the 12 volt male end out to examine it. I can’t say for sure, because I was being pretty wild and dramatic at this point — and because didn’t want Dave coming over and meddling — but I’m fairly certain the collar on the plug was loose and causing the metal prong that sticks out the end to move around. If that was happening inside the connection, maybe that’s what was going on. I tightened the collar and reinserted it and tried to secure it with duct tape. But the area is so tight and so hard to reach that I’m not sure that did anything. 

Dave was, indeed, keeping an eye on things because at that point, he couldn’t help himself and asked, “Was that loose?”

“I. Don’t. Know.” I replied, petulantly.

I then set about HEAVING the cooler back on the tray and plugging things back in. 

It turned back on. 

Hallelujah.

But there’s always tomorrow, so no actual rejoicing just yet.

I was a very unmotivated chef and threw together some of the instant Pho I had grabbed from our Eagle pantry. Add leftover lamb chops (*eye roll*), stirfried the rest of the Napa, chopped some cilantro and — dang it! — SHOULD have added some peanuts on top! I’ve got them, but I just thought of that now! Oh well…. I drizzled some sesame oil on top and sriracha and we ate — mostly in silence. 

This is where the story comes full circle: I had a beer in my hands and I finally stopped crying. 

The end.

I slept like the dead. 

And awoke like the resurrected.

It’s a NEW DAY.

We will put the past behind us. We will PLUG IN to the provided electrical. The refrigerator is ON.

And we will drive on. 

And drive we did.

After waiting for the batteries to get to 90%, we filled the water tank. I pulled out the dumbbells and cranked out an exhausting ten minute workout and we were off. The plan was to hammer it to at least Telkwa, BC. But we are Road Warriors and we went well beyond Telkwa to the turnoff onto the CASSIAR Highway. It’s official. We are now on the road to Alaska.

The drive to get there was mostly uneventful. We made several stops (Prince George for gas, sporting goods store, Burns Lake for gas, A&W…) Did you know every single little town in BC has an A&W? Unbeknownst to me, Dave had gotten, lodged into his brain, the idea of a kid’s size root beer float — no doubt some food memory from his past… So he pulled into the drive thru and ordered one. Reply: “Sir we do not have root beer floats.” Dave was rendered speechless. But only for a moment. He didn’t stop talking about the RIDICULOUSNESS of it for the next 20 minutes. “That’s how they got their start!” Then, five miles later, he’d break the silence with another outburst: “A&W doesn’t have ROOT BEER FLOATS? That’s insane.” A few miles more: “That’s all they had going for them. Everything else SUCKS.” He finally wore himself out and fell asleep. But I woke him up because he was still driving.

Maybe it was time for a driver change. 

I took the wheel, Dave blew up his neck pillow. I plugged in my headphones and the landscape finally started to change. We are finally out of the dry, slightly hilly, hazy low scrub forests and seeing big big mountains. It’s very green. And very pretty. I enjoyed driving immensely; freed from my bondage of doing passenger-seat research for illusive campgrounds, always at Dave’s beck and call…

We drove through the really cute medium size town of Smithers. I could live there. And they definitely will have access to fresh water long after the USA has run dry. (Note to self.). The SIZE and IMMENSITY of the rivers is simply insane. There is so much water! Dave is sorry he slept through it since I declared I will be moving there after the apocalypse. (Assuming I’m still alive.)

I got us to Kitwanga — the start of the Stewart-Cassiar highway, which I’ve been reading about for a year, since deciding to do this trip. It was, with the exception of the unexpected ice cream cone, very anti-climactic. 

It was also the scene of disagreement #2. Nothing to report, other than Dave waking up on the wrong side of the bed and Jennie not having it. A standard “spat” that lasted until we pulled into the Derrick Lake campground. Oh…well, it DID include a passive-aggressive swing through Gintanyow to see the “largest group of standing totem poles” that Dave mentioned in the midst of the spat — probably right after he told me not to “speed through town like a crazy person.”

Excuse me?

We had two options for campgrounds about an hour up the Cassiar Highway and took the road to the first, which was 3 miles of very rough gravel/grass, and ended at a little shallow lake with lily pads — hardly “cutthroat” habit as promised in the ALCAN Highway book — but quiet and empty, with the exception one tucked back site right as we drove in. We liked it. It felt like the first “real” campsite of the trip — and we are on day 11!! Bugs weren’t too bad — they were bad, but not as bad as I had imagined driving in. Dinner was a repeat of pork chops, cabbage and a sweet potato. Not nearly as good as the first time, not sure why. 

But the beer and the whiskey were divine. 

We took some casts, saw some rises. We think they were minnow-sized fish. 

Talk turned to bears at some point. For some reason, I’m not all that worried. That said, I also don’t have a ton of interest in SEEING bears. Everything I read is about people saying they can’t wait to see the grizzlies. I can wait. I don’t need to see the grizzlies. I am uber cautious about the food, garbage, etc. But I feel pretty secure in the camper. I am not sure quite what to do about a hot night though. Dave wants every door and vent open. I prefer to be safe and shut them. But I’m trying to not be psycho about it. So went to bed with everything open. 

At some point during the night — I think around 2 am — Dave nudged me whispering, “Jen. I hear footsteps. I think it’s a bear.”

I did what I thought was reasonable. In fact, I think I had rehearsed it in my head several times during the trip so far. I sat up, stuck my hand under the door screen, whipped the door shut, locked it, reached up to the stargazer window, unscrewed the hatch lift, slammed the window, secured it, clicked the magnetic screens back into place, laid down, put a pillow over my head and went back to sleep. 

And Dave hasn’t stopped laughing about it since. 

In fact I just read this to him and he’s laughing all over again. He can’t get over the  “instant reaction time.” The “efficient and seemingly practiced movements to  secure the pod.” He just can’t get over it. 

What I can’t get over is that HE woke up to alert me. That guy slept through the howls of our toddler kids. He would have slept through a tornado if I hadn’t woken him up. He slept through our smoke alarms going off in the middle of the night in Watertown (tiny bugs set them off). But somehow he woke up to “slow crunching footsteps”? How awesome is that?

The takeaway? We appear to make a good team.

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.

We woke to foggy, overcast skies — or is it smoke? Hard to say. I think it’s fog, mostly. Dave always get up early and makes coffee and brings it to me in bed, but today of course he left me to go fish. I thought about it, but there were so many mosquitoes and little green leaf hoppers on the screen that I didn’t even want to get out of bed to pee! So I held it as long as I could and finally faced the bugs. When I got back in the camper I found had the tiny green bugs all over my shins and had to kill several of them minutes later as they came back in the camper with me. That sealed it for me. I was staying in the camper and waiting for my coffee. I didn’t have to wait long. My fisherman emerged victorious after catching 2 more grayling and a HUGE (suspected but unconfirmed) bull trout that broke his line.

We both agreed to skip breakfast and skeedadle rather than while-away any more time and violate the law. Our EIGHT HOURS were EXPIRED!

We drove through a HUGE burn area that we later learned was from 2022. When we have internet (which we still don’t) we plan to read about it. We assumed it was even more recent since it 1) wasn’t detailed in our map book and 2) we smelled smoke. 

We also saw two more black bears and a little fox with something in its mouth.

The junction with the true-blue ALASKA HIGHWAY was even more anti-climactic than the start of the Cassiar Highway. Mostly because Dave didn’t even slow down for me to get a picture.

I have about 3 blurry window shots to validate mile marks I have been looking forward to for a year now! 

WhatEVER! We drive. We don’t fart around taking tourist shots!

We stopped a mile after turning onto the Alaska Highway for some gas, two lattes at the cafe and a snack for Jennie (banana bread), while Dave rummaged through the fridge (it’s still ON!!) and got his bread and an apple. We learned from the guy at the cafe that there is an active fire in Watson Lake just a few miles to the east — a bigger city that looks fun if “The Milepost” is to believed. Which it is not. So that explains the smoke we were seeing yesterday and could smell today.

He’s got the bug to fish now, so much river-ogling is happening as I write this, though no stops have yet occurred. 

The triscuts and Easy Cheese are out though — presumably because he didn’t get his cheese or cheerios. We are happy to be getting our recommended daily amount of calcium… (See instagram for context)

There are lots of bikers on the AlCan (The Alaska/Canada highway). My hats off to their fortitude, however I cannot think of a more death defying activity. The shoulder is awful, the grades are relentless, it’s often smoky and the bugs are horrendous. I think all of them are camping — which means backpacking-type camping. Do I need to go on? Charlie — Are you reading this? Please give up road biking. I think you are safer rock climbing.

We stopped to fish at a small creek named Smart Creek — but is actually meant to be named Smarch Creek, after the guy who lived here. But over time people misunderstood it and the Yukon government — just like me choosing Butt Naked over Buck — rolled over to popular opinion. 

There were some rises and we got some takes. We had a guy drive down to talk to us, which was kind of scary because we realized we didn’t actually have Yukon fishing licenses. Oops. Didn’t even think of it…. And a biker(!) came down to eat his lunch. All of which was pretty nuts, given there is very little traffic on this road in the first place, much less it being a VERY low value pull off compared to all the others we flew by at 70 mph. 

Friendly Dave got to talking to the biker and learned he is biking the Pan-American highway. TWENTY THOUSAND MILES LONG. He said it will take him 1.5 years. He started at Prudhoe Bay at the top of Alaska and I think he said he was on day …. We don’t know. We are both getting him mixed up with the group of riders from UT Austin riding all the way from Austin to Anchorage! And we do remember that THEY are on day 59. Again: crazy!. So whatever. He’s gone a long way already. And three days ago a bear charged him in his camp. Scary Scary Scary. We pray for his safety — and ALL the bikers out there!

The third day of no internet had me finally pulling my giant tote bag from the back seat holding my giant crochet project that Dave had talked me into bringing along. If you are paying close attention, you will see a theme here. Jennie trying to NOT bring things along and Dave trying TO bring things along. 

For MONTHS before the trip, as we talked about logistics and what needed to be packed and how to do it, Jennie said, “We don’t need/can’t bring that.” Dave said, “Why not? We’ve got the room.” Jennie said, “No we don’t! We are going to be packed to the gills!” (Voice rising with impatience) Dave said, “I don’t know what you are talking about. We’ve got a TON of room. I’m bringing ______ (fill in the blank).” Jennie said, “We’ll just see about that. When we actually start packing you are going to be surprised.” Dave said, “I’ll bet you.” And Jennie said, “I totally bet you.”

You are probably wondering who won this one. 

Dave won this one. He always wins. Whether or not it’s an actual WIN is up for debate though, because every day that he has to shuffle bins around to get what he needs to get, insisting it isn’t any trouble at all… But then he’ll swear in frustration while driving because he can’t push the “map crate” (an actual milk crate brought along to hold the maps) far enough back to plug in his rechargeable EMBER COFFEE CUP.  

So anyway, yeah, I’ve got the crochet project. It’s literally a blanket. Specifically a “Temperature Blanket.” The idea is you crochet one row each day, the color of which denotes the recorded high temperature of the day. Each color represents a 10 degree temperature span. I’m recording the temps in Eagle. The REALITY, of course, is that I don’t do it every day. I CAN’T pack this in my carry on. When I picked it up today, I was on March 27th. I’ve got a lot of catching up to do. 

(I will confess, in full-disclosure, that I brought along the fancy electric milk frother for my coffee in the morning. –But that’s a necessity.

We started picking up a cell signal a few miles outside of Whitehorse, the capital of Yukon. MAD texting and emailing ensued. We learned Biden pulled out of the race. I got to read some fun messages from friends. I learned Pam is shirking her duties in picking the garden. SHAME ON HER! (But much gratitude for digging the garlic.)

I frantically grabbed my laptop to get the next two posts queued up because I DO NOT want to get a mocking text from my brother! Road Warrioring is hard work! 

We grabbed some groceries in Whitehorse and drove about 30 miles beyond to the Tahkini River Campground, 9 miles down a gravel road that was a muddy mess from a recent rain. What a couple of pansies we are, driving like 10 mph because we don’t want to get the camper dirty. Though I will say, we’ve had some nightmare scenarios getting crap off the camper. Rain soaked dust-control treated dirt is AWFUL. We’ve had tar from resurfacing that took us HOURS… so, maybe cut us some slack on this one. My guess is that it’s just the beginning of mud, from everything I’m hearing about Alaska weather. 

We are also pretty big babies about the mosquitoes. Again… something tells me we need to get over this REAL quick.

The campground was nice. And it was a super nice surprise to learn we could have fires in the Yukon. Yay! I made some crazy turkey burgers out of the remaining ground turkey. I’ve never made turkey burgers before, so I just guessed at what to put in them and they were pretty good. Dave ranked them “right up there.”

We headed down to the river (another HUGE one) and fished a little back-eddy to some rising fish. Dave proceeded to catch like his 13th, 14th and 15th fish of the trip while I caught…

Not one. 

I had graylings doing literal CARTWHEELS over my hopper. They tenaciously grabbed on to the white floof on the top and tried their best to imitate the alligator death roll, pulling it down, promisingly. But none could conquer the #6 hook in their tiny mouths and, alas, let it go. It was fun to have so much action. It was not so fun to not catch any. It was a relief to not have to unhook one after Dave told me how stinky they were. They must be really stinky for Dave to keep going on about it. Now I find that I don’t WANT to catch a grayling!

A German guy that we had talked to earlier came down with his waders and fished below us. I could hear him false casting 10-20 times on each cast. I am not kidding. For those of you who don’t know what that is, it’s whipping your rod and line back and forth in the air before letting your fly land. It’s what you picture when you think of fly fishing. In reality, you really should do as few as possible because — or so I’m told — it spooks the fish. And it’s not necessary. Was he trying to dry his fly out so it would float?  I have no idea. Very interesting. Might have to google.

Dave was trying to wait for it to get dark so he could take a shower but it never did. It never got dark. So he took a shower in broad daylight. I was spotting for him, but there was no one around. I plan to take a shower in the morning because I didn’t want to have to wait for my hair to dry.

I read until 11:40 and it was only just getting dark. Only JUST! I googled it as soon as I had a signal and sunSET was at 11:10 pm!! Crazy!

*Author’s note: In the frantic pace to get these posted during short stints of connectivity, proofing is not happening at all. Apologies for typos. Editor is also getting testy at not having full control of content. Author admits to perhaps a bit too much creative license and knows that the reader is fully aware who the liability is in this operation. Hint: it’s not the editor. Author believes the reader is SMART ENOUGH to know this. After all, where would the author be without the Editor’s generator? The Author is testy at having to have this disclaimer inserted for fear it removes some of the hilarity, however the author is also 59 years old and experienced enough to know that not everyone gets her humor.

^ Just a little window into this Author’s Alaskan life…