Alaska Road Warriors

Alarms went off at 5 am. It had rained all night long. The only good thing? I had bought myself some PopTarts for the occasion of the 5 am wake up call. Apple flavor. Much standing in front of the PopTart aisle was spent contemplating my choice. I used to be a Brown Sugar and Cinnamon girl. But my kids always wanted Strawberry. Dave CONDEMNED PopTarts on all fronts but, oddly, declared himself to be a Strawberry guy one time… In a bold move, I selected Apple. I haven’t had a PopTart in YEARS. Maybe longer than even a Twinkie. And I wondered: would the PopTart disappoint like the Twinkies*?

They were better than the Twinkies*, but they weren’t great. 

But I was hungry, so I enjoyed them.

I guess the OTHER good thing was that they hadn’t called off the charter due to the forecasted winds. 

(And the other OTHER good thing was that it wasn’t raining any more.)

We met our captain, Lowell, who was a youngish guy and who was being VERY dramatic about the forecasted winds. He sounded like a drill sergeant telling us how we were gonna “Go out there. Get our fish. And get back here by 8:30 am” There would be no “throwing fish back” and “being picky about size.” We’d get our “one under” (28”) and “one over.” All that was missing was a “drop and give me ten.”

So off we went in a paddy-wagon-like people-hauler pulling the boat on a trailer behind us to the rocky beach, where they use TRACTORS to launch the boats — right into the surf. Not even on a concrete launch.

Fascinating.

And also, now more obviously, a big reason why wind is such a factor for the Ninilchik charters. There is no harbor. And the waves can strand a boat out at sea or even on the beach until the tide changes. It actually happened to a boat the day before. It can be a pretty dangerous game for the boat, the tractor driver and the guy in the water.

We had our usual characters to laugh about fishing with us. But it was all good. Everyone was very nice. Just one bossy lady who was pretty funny. There were six of us on the boat, so we were looking to catch 12 fish.

Dave caught his two in literally the first 5 minutes we were out. He’s a seasoned halibut fisher, having gone once before, many years ago.

I had to work a little harder. I caught my first one — a BABY HALIBUT — that had the distinction of being the only fish thrown back for being too small.

But then I caught a big one! Lowell was very excited. “Nice fish!” And “Nice job!” But there is literally not one bit of skill involved. You reel it in when they tell you to. But not before. But *maybe* before because you might have missed a bite. But not too soon because then you pulled it out of its mouth. Then you have to reel in and rebait (no small feat). So I just did what he told me to and got the big one of the day. 170’ of line. 45” 45lb?

So that was my “over” fish and I still needed to catch an “under” that wasn’t a baby… It took a one more fish, but then I caught a 24” – the smallest “under” that we kept. There were still two others fishing when I finished but they quickly followed suit and we were, indeed, out of there and back to the beach by 8:30 am.

Weatherman Dave was baffled by Captain Lowell’s wind forecast. Weatherman Dave forecasted that the winds would not become significant until 1 pm. Lowell said 9 am. 

Weatherman Dave was right again.

But Captain Lowell DID give us some good advice about fishing some of the smaller creeks for trout and Dolly Varden (with a dash of reality that “these creeks don’t fish in high water”) after he finished cleaning all our fish. We paid more insane amounts of money to ship the fish home (but worth it: 40 lbs of fresh halibut!).

We headed back to the campground to regroup and eat before heading off for, yes, more fishing. Based on Lowell’s advice that the creeks “don’t fish well” after heavy rains — and Lord knows we have had HEAVY, RELENTLESS rains — we headed further south to Anchor Creek, closer to Homer, as Lowell speculated that area had gotten less rain. 

And right at 1 pm, the wind started HOWLING! Score another one for my sexy weather man.

Anchor River was beautiful! It was a REALLY NICE day. We saw golden eagles and moose calves. We thought we might have heard a bear… 

Are you picking up on my subterfuge here?

We didn’t catch fish.

Wait. I take that back. Dave caught two. I didn’t even have a bite. I am SO over it.

I might have weeped a bit while walking through the river. Not because I wasn’t catching fish — I have stopped expecting to catch fish, to be honest. I think I’m just over it. I need to point my boots toward home. I was expecting to do that when we got off the ferry. But then we had to stay to halibut fish. And then we had to stay because it was “too late to leave.” Tomorrow we want to fish Lowells “super secret spot” … I just want to get in the car and drive. Towards home.

Well. Catching a DAMNED FISH wouldn’t be bad either. 

We wrapped up, headed back to the car and ran into a local guy who gave us a spot to fish for big grayling on the way home in Delta Junction. When we asked him how he did fishing Anchor Creek, he chuckled and said “Oh, I’m not fishing. It’s way too high and blown out. I’m just teaching my friend how to cast.”

*sigh*

I mean… we are in Alaska mainly to fish, so we are fishing. But it’s a bummer to be here — not just in-between salmon runs, but also at a time where all the rivers are blown out. 

But it’s really nice out. And it sure is beautiful. 

We headed back to camp and made some delicious FRESH halibut that we held back from being shipped. Really, REALLY  good. Very exciting to have that to look forward to at home.

We also mapped out a rough route home. Knowing we are officially starting back helped my mood tremendously. Don’t get me wrong: I have really enjoyed this trip. I’m STILL enjoying the trip. But we are going on six weeks on the road. Add to that a lot of rain and cold and living out of the car and camper. It starts to wear on you. I still like it, but I am ready to start heading home — remember we still have another two weeks on the road.

And to be fair, crawling into the camper at night feels as good as crawling into my bed at home. I love it and look forward to it. I truly did not think that would ever happen, but it did. I told Dave I didn’t even want to stay in any hotels as a “special treat” because I like the camper better. 

So put that in your pipe and smoke it!

*I completely forgot to chronicle the lunches that Jack brought for us on our ATV/fishing trip. They were HUGE and included a twin pack of TWINKIES. It was the BEST SURPRISE I could have dreamed of. And it MADE MY DAY. I ripped into that package like a kid on Christmas. …and they were truly AWFUL. Nothing like my brain had remembered. I still powered through them, though. Dave threw his away.

We got up with plans to speed out to Lowell’s secret spot on Stariski Creek, hit it, and head north to the Kenai area. I was a bit nervous when Lowell said there wasn’t a trail and it was a long walk (having VOWED OFF any more bushwhacking) but he said we could just “walk in the river”. (Yeah… right). I agreed to it because I figured it was the last hurrah. I could do it this “one last time.”

But first, we had some breakfast. I used up the last of my beloved homemade granola. (now it’s REALLY time to go home…)

And we needed to fill the camper up with water, as we were totally out. Handily, the campground had water. It wasn’t until I finished and was putting the hose away that I saw the small nearby sign saying “boil before drinking.” *sigh*

We figured we’d deal with it later. Stariski Creek was WAITING for us!

It was beautiful. The sun was out. We had the place to ourselves. 

Yeah, yeah. I’m assuming you know this already, but that’s code for “we caught no fish.”

We had not one bite. We saw nothing. The water was high and fast. We could NOT “just walk in the water” Like Lowell had promised. We walked a LONG way to the secret spot, scrambling up banks, through the bracken and back down to the water. Many times. When we finally got to the spot and it gave up no fish, we gave up fishing.

Bushwhacking straight up the steep canyon to the highway seemed like a way better idea that trying to ford our way in and out of the water back to where we started upstream. Walking upstream in fast, deep water is more than twice as hard as walking downstream. And walking downstream wasn’t easy. But still.

Does that sound like a way better idea to you?

Why do we keep doing this?

It was awful. It was a bit harrowing. We were sweaty. But we were DONE, thank God. 

We were heading home!

…But first a shower for Dave in Soldatna. Dave gets crabby when he misses a shower like I get crabby when I don’t catch a fish and he does. I don’t think I have ever gotten crabby when I couldn’t shower… I wonder what that says about me.

I don’t feel like typing out the whole story of stopping for a few quick soft tacos at Taco Bell (so exciting!!), other than to say it wasn’t quick and we didn’t get soft tacos — or anything else at the Soldatna Taco Bell.

Thirty minutes later and one quarter mile down the road we got McDoubles at McDonalds. And they were just FINE.

Remember me saying Soldatna is a place I want to get out of? Still true. Here is a pic of a standard campground in Soldatna:

We continued on, checking campgrounds out along the way — none good. We were tentatively hoping to stay at the Russian River campground but it was closed for improvements. That’s a big campground that serves a lot of the Kenai River salmon fishermen. The confluence of the Kenai and Russian Rivers is, I believe, the home of the busiest “Combat Fishing” anywhere — maybe in the world! At least that’s what we are told. And it’s a Saturday — halfway through a gorgeous weekend. It may have been full even if it had been open. — And it certainly means that all the other campgrounds in the area will be busier than usual… 

We took bets on whether there would be spots available at Quartz Creek, further up the road, where we had stayed a couple weeks ago. I won. (They were full.) 

We continued up a road to another (much smaller) campground. Also full. But lo and behold we learned we were in a national forest. On a dirt road. We could disperse camp!

The campground host at the smaller Crescent Creek campground sternly warned us that, while we COULD camp at any of the pull outs in the national forest, we could NOT “prospect.”

I laughed.

He didn’t.

He repeated himself, sternly: “NO PROSPECTING.”

“Like, for gold? Are you serious?” 

He was serious. 

“Not a problem,” I said.

It was LOVELY to be able to be by ourselves off a dirt road like we are used to when we camp. Never, in a billion years would I have dreamed that, on a trip to Alaska — through the YUKON territories no less — we’d be staying in mostly lame campgrounds on mostly busy roads. Paying a minimum of $20 a night. But, unless we want to stay at a paved rest area/turnout on the highway, this is how you pretty much have to do it. We are nearing the end of our journey and I can count on one hand the number of dirt roads that we’ve been able to camp off of. Granted, there may be some insider information we aren’t privy to, but — despite our bad-ass rig — we aren’t going to take too many chances on sketchy roads that aren’t marked on any maps. It’s not worth it.

We found a nice spot — which, crazily enough, you could still hear that damned road from — set up and promptly crawled back into our waders and drove back down to fish one of the spots we had marked on the Kenai River from our friend Loren (our Colorado River fishing guide from Alaska 1 post).

We parked just beyond the Russian River Ferry in a large turnout and were greeted by a loud, boisterous white dog named Riley. We make lots of friends by loving other people’s dogs and this was no exception. Love their dogs and watch them tell all their (fishing) secrets!

We followed Wayne and Riley out through a beautiful wooded path — no bushwhacking involved, for once. He warned us to be very vigilant about bears. Lots of bears in this area, and indeed, lots of fresh bear poop. (But nope. no bear sightings.)

We casted out and accidentally hooked a few Red Sockeyes, which was hilarious. A group of guys that had just cleaned fish told us they threw Sockeye eggs into the water and that there were a bunch of trout eating them up. Dave wandered over and sure enough. A GAGGLE of them! And BIG ones, too! He casted to them and turned their heads, but couldn’t get a take. They were too busy gorging themselves on the real thing…

It was nice out. And it was beautiful. 

We called it a night and decided to grab a bite at a nearby spot rather than fuss with dinner at camp. We split a very good burger, fries and chowder and then drove back and crawled into bed. 

Rather than fishing and having to drive back up the road to get the camper, we opted to hook it up and bring it with us. We were mostly heading back to Kenai out of obligation to Loren (Colorado fishing friend/guide) who was SO EXCITED for us to catch… I’m not sure what. He didn’t seem to fully understand the words I spoke to him many times: “The silver salmon are not here yet.”

He was undeterred in his advice and enthusiasm for us to fish his carefully guarded map pins where he had had so much success in past years. The difference, of course, being he was here in SEPTEMBER and not during the Sockeye run when nothing is BITING. When all the normal fishing rules are out the window. 

But we love Loren, and despite all our fishless expeditions thus far, we still love to fish. And we wanted to experience wading the Kenai and Russian. So off we went to the fly shop in Cooper Landing to pick up the flies that Loren recommended. 

Fly shops are almost always great fun. In addition to an insanely cute and mopey mini dachshund named Little John, it had a great selection of gear. Interestingly, the fly shop guy was adamant that it was “too early” to be fishing beads for trout. Call us clueless about all this Alaskan fishing stuff, but… seriously? Did we hear that wrong? Literally every other person UNDER HEAVEN has said we could ONLY fish beads. But he was unmoved. “Too early.” 

Maybe that has been our problem? 

To be fair, he wasn’t all that encouraging on any front. Those trout are “just plain full.” In other words, they simply aren’t hungry. 

That DID make sense to us.

In any case, we bought a handful of streamers and nymphs and quickly decided it would be fun to take the free ferry to the far side of the Kenai River and hike up the Russian River, 1) for the experience and 2) because the fly shop guy mentioned that was the ONE PLACE you could potentially throw a dry fly to a trout.

The ferry cost $12 each to take roundtrip. Fascinating. It’s non-motorized and works with the river current, both coming and going from each bank, and is guided by a rudder and a cable. It only takes a few minutes to cross. We talked to a cute little local family, the dad of which said he didn’t go too far up the Russian, personally, because it’s “too juicy” with bears. 

It’s funny because we were so worried about bears before setting out on our trip. I can’t tell you how much time we spent researching how to bring a gun with us for safety (basically impossible due to Canadian customs). And yet we’ve only seen one bear — even with all our bushwhacking! So bears have become sort of… fictional, to some degree. For me, anyway. It’s also hard to feel too scared when there are about a hundred other fishermen around. 

We started by walking a short way up the Russian River, then started casting our new streamers. Nothing. And our new nymphs. Nothing. Meanwhile, Dave saw a guy catching several small rainbows upstream from us. And what was he using? A BEAD! We switched and shortly thereafter Dave caught one. So exciting! …I, of course, caught nothing.

Until I finally did! 

A 3” BABY!

Shortly after I caught a nice Dolly Varden. 

It was a RELIEF to finally catch a few fish. But it was also really slow. We were pretty far upstream just enjoying the day and casting. I was passing by an older guy when he tried to converse a bit, though he didn’t have much English as he was from Spain. He indicated he wanted to see what I was using and I showed him my bead. Then he showed me his and said “Better” and proceeded to dig in his bag and gave me a handful of the ones he was using — slightly, smaller and just a hint more red.

I didn’t have the gear to rig up but I didn’t want to be disrespectful of his kindness — even though I didn’t give any credence to his certainty that his was better — so I quickly made just sort of a hacked jury-rigged bead set up and cast it, just to show him I was grateful. 

I kid you not. First cast I had a HUGE trout on. HUGE! I landed it and looked upriver to him and he was giving me a thumbs up. “THANK YOU,” I yelled!!

I caught a ton of fish after that. Eventually I even made a rig for Dave. 

I’m kidding. I made one for him right away. It is astounding to see such a small thing make such a big difference. We leapfrogged with this guy for the next hour as we made our way back toward the Kenai and the ferry. I thanked him so many times I think I became annoying. But he simply didn’t know how many times we’d been skunked over the past weeks. It was a gas. It was thrilling. 

We continued to catch them right up until we boarded the ferry. What a day. (Spoiler Alert: this day would need to sustain me…)

We are still trying to figure out what the HECK that fly shop guy was smoking. Too early…

We got back to the camper and made some sandwiches and hit the road north, backtracking past Girdwood where we saw TONS of cars pulled off and using binoculars and having cameras at the ready. Far off in the distance I saw a funky wave and Dave immediately knew it was a bore tide — something he had read about. It turns out that Turnagain Bay has some of the largest bore tides in the world — which happens when high tide switches to low tide and vice versa. We think this one was about 5-6 feet high.

We pulled over just in time to see all the locals who were lined up in the water catch the big wave and ride it toward the end of the Turnagain Arm. So cool! What great timing!

It took us another couple hours to get back up to the Talkeetna turn-off where there was a campground right at Montana Creek that someone had told us was nice.(Remember? Probably the #1 trout stream in all of Alaska? Yes. We are giving it another try.)

It wasn’t a nice campground. 

But we had it almost entirely to ourselves, so it wasn’t as bad as it could have been. Everything is sodden and muddy and puddly. There has been so flippin’ much rain. We walked to the creek to see if there was any easy fishing access. 

There wasn’t.

One thing I have been super grateful for was the foresight to bring our Muck Boots along. Dave bought a pair and I brought one of my two pairs from MN to CO so I could bring them with to Alaska. Since getting to Alaska I went directly from wearing my Chacos 100% of the time to wearing my Mucks. I have lived in them. 

In Alaska, the locals wear Tuff brand. They are actually really cute. I can’t you don’t see them more at home. Maybe I’ll become a distributor. (Editor’s note: we DO have them at home. Schools sells them.)

We had pork chops again (So quick! So good!) and hit the hay.

Well people, it’s time to start wrapping this journey up as we head toward home. We will be putting long drive days in with — *fingers crossed* — nothing too much to report. Of course if there is anything to report, I will definitely report in, but from here out, I’ll probably be combining days.

Thank you Mike for pointing out my FAUX PAS on the Tuff boots. They are, in fact, XTRATUF boots! Ahhhh the dangers of freewheeling without the benefit of internet to fact check. Just imagine how much other misinformation I’ve spread over this series…

Ah well. Too late!

August 19

We left the camper and drove upriver where we hoped Montana Creek might settle down a bit and become more fishable. We tried one spot and gave up, deciding to go back to the scene of the crime where we had been skunked a couple weeks earlier. It was still pretty wild, but we were able to fish. We saw some slow Chums near the end of the road but ultimately, we were skunked again. 

I could just feel it in the air from the moment we set out, so I will admit I didn’t have a lot of patience for the exercise. Still, I dutifully changed my rig many (MANY) times. Mostly to entertain myself since the fish weren’t doing that for me.

All I had on my mind was the Denali Brewery pizza in my near future, which I had very intentionally placed us near. I didn’t need to talk Dave into it — he just didn’t realize it wasn’t a happy accident.

It was quite nice so we were able to sit outside and enjoy the same pizzas we had ordered last time — this time with a cider instead of a beer. Everything was just as good as I remembered!

Then, we got in the car and headed to the Denali Highway where we were SURE to fool some grayling and end on a high note.

(Do you want a spoiler alert? Yes? No?)

(No.)

We drove about 30 miles in to the same creek (why mess with success?) but chose a MUCH nicer place to camp just beyond it. It was COLD!!

Dave went off to pick blueberries while I made dinner.

We weren’t super hungry so I made a single bowl of the Costco Pho (I recommend these quite a bit!) all doctored up with cucumbers, tomato, cilantro, diced salami, cabbage, chopped peanuts… amazing. I mean it was REALLY GOOD! And we ate it straight out of my little dutch oven so it stayed warm and we only had one pot to wash.

Yes, yes… I’m brilliant.

There are lots of hunters on this road and we were parked off on an ATV trail and were a bit surprised by a couple ATVs coming right past us long after we went to bed. Which is a bit disconcerting, but all in all it was one of our favorite spots to camp thus far.

August 20

The mountains got snow overnight. It was beautiful and peaceful. And MOFO COLD! Dave made us probably the last blueberry pancakes we will have on this trip as we waited for the sun to come over the mountains and warm us up. 

Putting on waders and fishing at near 32 degrees doesn’t sound great and, frankly, I doubt the fish would oblige us at that temp either.

Eventually we packed up and made our way to Seattle Creek TAKE TWO- *snap* ! 

It was a gorgeous day. The scenery was beautiful!!

And we didn’t see or catch a single fish.

CAN YOU FRICKEN BELIEVE IT??

The creek was up probably 12” since we fished it last. It’s a small creek but it was roaring. We walked a long, long way upstream and fished some absolutely PERFECT runs of water. All to no avail. 

Oh well. We concluded we were just very unlucky, timing wise, what with all the rain. Plus, it really was cold. My guess was that these guys are late risers. Like me.

We needed to get on the road anyway.

We packed up and headed back out to the Parks Highway and were stunned speechless to see Denali, in all its glory shining at us for much of the drive out. What a consolation prize!!

We drove up through Fairbanks and on to Chena Hot Springs road where we planned to camp. To be honest, there really isn’t all that much to see north of Denali. We’ve been almost all around Alaska now — on virtually every highway except for one small span down by Mantanuska Glacier — and I could tell someone with confidence “You can skip everything north of Denali”. At least as far as scenery goes. But it was kind of fun to complete the circuit.

We actually threw around the idea of driving north on the Dalton Highway to get to the Arctic Circle. Because, I mean, why not?

Hopefully you know by know that that is my and Dave’s fatal flaw. We tend to balance each other’s OTHER behavioral flaws pretty well. But as far as saying things like “We are so close to the arctic circle. We might as well go…”

Not so much. 

Thankfully, sanity won and Dave and I lost. The only thing that pulled us back from the brink and saved us from 240 miles of rutted gravel was cell service and the weather forecast: MORE RAIN. –And rain on the Dalton is like rain on Hardscrabble Road back in Eagle: death defying, not to mention, a REAL MESS to clean off. 

So we skipped it and headed up Chena Hot Springs Road to find a spot to camp. We landed at Rosehips campground and, once again had it all to ourselves with the exception of one other camper. It was a muddy, puddley mess but it would suffice.

We were really looking hard for a hike, as we are both feeling really gross and lazy and stiff. We talked to the campground host (a real character) who recommended a nice one up the road. We planned to do the hike and then continue driving to the end of the road and experience the hot springs and a SHOWER!

The only problem was, once we left the campground, we would lose cell service until we were at the hot springs. All day we had been nervously watching the scheduled salmon delivery in Eagle which was supposed to have showed up hours earlier — and still hadn’t. Our neighbors were poised to swoop in and unpack it into our freezer as soon it arrived. We decided we couldn’t risk doing the hike and being out of service for so long.

Also proving… we really ARE lazy, because honestly: what could we even have done about the stupid fish other than wring our hands and watch our phones?

Instead, we drove the 40 minutes to the hot springs slow and carefully, having been told by the host that FOUR MOOSE had been killed in the last week on that stretch. (We didn’t see one).

It was now 8:30 pm in Eagle. The tracking said, “your package is running late but will still be delivered today.”

Hard to believe. Especially since it is Eagle we are talking about. I’ve had plenty of times where packages have said that and then didn’t show up. We were just sick about the idea of our fish thawing out over the course of another night and full day but there was just nothing we could do. Our neighbors were going to bed anyway. We had to just let it go.

Heartbreaking.

We changed into our suits (locker rooms = gross) and met in the pool. Dave was already in there when I got out. I hung my towel up and hid my phone under it, when… *PING*

Ring doorbell alert!

UPS MAN WITH HEADLAMP ON! 9:15pm in Eagle! I quickly texted our AMAZING neighbors who rushed over and saved the day for us. 

It felt like a fairy tale happy ending. 

I just had to live through the hot springs first. 

I did.

We even ate at their restaurant. Dave ordered his usual “perfect Manhattan on the rocks” which has both sweet and dry vermouth. It came in a glass, room temperature with no ice. Dave reminded the waiter it was supposed to be on the rocks. He disappeared and came back with another glass and a single cube saying “I got you the fancy ice.” Dave can’t even describe the taste to me other than to say “it was just really strange. Not good.” My beer was delish.

Dave ordered the chowder, which was actually VERY good. And I had the seafood Pho. Despite just having just had it the night before. 

Which Pho was better?

The Costco pho was better. The restaurant’s wasn’t BAD, but it wasn’t great. And they used fake crab, which I usually actually like, but theirs was YUCK.

We drove very carefully back to camp and went to bed. It rained all night.

August 21

It rained again last night. Ugh. So over it. I had to check between my toes this morning to make sure there weren’t any mushrooms growing there. 

Dave got up early so that he could make the drive back to Chena Hot Springs Resort. Not to take another soak, but to get his bathing suit that he left behind. Not sure how he could have done that, given that when I met him outside after showering, and he handed me a beer but didn’t seem to have anything with him, I asked him, “Where is your towel and suit?” And he said, “I put them in the car already.” He definitely put a bundle in the car, but it didn’t include his suit. So back he went to retrieve it.

I enjoyed the extra time laying in bed and reading. When he got back we quickly hitched up and hit the road.

TO THE NORTH POLE!

Yes! The time had come for me to deliver the letter from Hattie to Santa himself. The town is actually pretty cute. I think it would wear on me if I lived there, but — for instance— the lamp posts are all permanently decorated as candy canes. It’s very charming. 

That mission accomplished, we continued on to the river that a guy we met down in Ninilchik told us to hit for big grayling in Delta Junction. It required a small detour but we were very eager to catch some dang fish. The river was very large and very pretty. There was an older gentleman fishing the exact spot we were told to start at and we talked to him a bit. He shared that he had great success the day before but nothing doing today. 

Good grief AGNES! Can we not CATCH A BREAK?

Still, we were there, so we grabbed our rods. Just to say we did it. We didn’t put our waders on, so were limited in how far out we could cast. But I was honestly just so tired of casting to nothing. And I was getting a little pouty. So rather than be a baby, I went up to the car to relax and read. About 30 minutes later they started rising so Dave came up to put his waders on and promptly caught a couple. I wasn’t feeling very optimistic, but I put on my waders and went down there to join the FUN. Right then, Dave caught a really nice one that I was able to get a picture of — but we couldn’t get him to put his big sailboat fin up before wriggling free.

I caught a baby. And nothing else.I have mentioned this before, but I can’t tell you how frustrating it is for me to see other people catching fish (Dave and the older gentleman… one after the other) when I catch nothing. Now I really WAS feeling like a big baby.

And, after watching fish after fish jump out of the water for everything EXCEPT my (many different) flies, I packed it in and stomped back up to the car. Done. FINISHED with fishing. Arguing with myself about my attitude. 

Blah blah blah. 

I sulked for a few hours. I write this as my confession in the hopes that by revealing it to all I will magically change into a more likable person. (Let me know if it ever works.) 

We continued on toward Tok (the ugly little town you have to go through both coming and going to Alaska by road) where we filled up with gas and water before hitting the Taylor highway, which is a north route that will take us to the Top of the World highway before dropping back down to Whitehorse. We are hoping it isn’t too rugged, as we are very quickly losing that particular spirit of adventure…. And also hoping it doesn’t rain anymore because that will make the gravel road pretty bad, from what we have read.

We found a very nice little turnout on a small creek to camp for the night. I made BRILLIANT “deconstructed enchiladas.” (Can you tell that I am no longer sulking? I go from self-loathing to self agrandization in a matter of hours. Such are the delights of Jennie Menke…)

It was COLD – it got down to freezing overnight, and…

Do I even need to tell you what it did all night?

It rained. 

August 22

We did our usual coffee/cereal/pack-up-and-leave ritual and headed to the town of “Chicken” — a place VERY talked-up in The Milepost, as well as by a few people here and there that we talked to on our travels. From what we could tell, it was simply a little town with a lot of big Chicken sculptures. They had a gas station though, and we did need that, so we stopped and wandered around the little store/gift-shop and bought a pretty bad latte. But it was still a real latte, so I drank it and enjoyed it immensely. 

[Editor’s note: there was more to Chicken than the gas station and we were annoyed with ourselves for not at LEAST driving through it.]

I also bought my one and only souvenir of the trip.

Squatty Chicken. Now nicknamed “Naughty Squatty” — because she keeps turning away from me as we drive instead of paying attention to ME like I WANT her to… naughty squatty.

(The things I do to entertain myself…)

After Chicken, we started the Top of the World highway. It was FOGGY. And it was a HOLY MESS OF MUD. 

Dave promised it would “burn off.” Indeed, it started to, but it was STILL CLOUDY and I was MAD.

But, Dave said, “the clouds also make it EXTRA beautiful!”

I eventually came around. Dave was right.

He was right. He was right. He was right. (it’s our rule. you have to say it 3x)

We enjoyed every minute of it, once we got over the trauma of the oil-treated dirt road and the literal inch-thick coating on the car and camper. We have dealt with this concoction before and it is a nightmare to remove…

We crossed the border back into Yukon Canada — and along with that, a free ferry over the Mighty (very MUDDY) Yukon River…

…and eventually came off the road in Dawson City, the second largest city in Yukon. I expected at least that the roads would be paved. They were slippery buff-colored mud. The sidewalks were wood boardwalks.

We looked for restaurants that were open at noon and found exactly ONE. 

But what a restaurant it was! It might even be the best one we have had on the whole trip. Not even kidding. [Editor’s note: Editor does not agree.] Dave had pork and white beans and grilled baguette that were to DIE for. I had the “ploughman’s lunch” with sliced meat, pickled egg, olives, bread, mustard. It was so, so good. [Editor’s note: he REALLY does not agree with this assessment. Author must have been REALLY hungry.]

We walked around the town. It was very, very charming. I was DELIGHTED by some of the houses. Alaska needs to take a page out of their playbook.

I hear it is usually also very dusty, but not on the day we were there. We were happy in our rubber boots. In Alaska, we would have fit right in, except for the fact we were not wearing XTRATUF boots, but still. But here in Yukon? NO ONE was wearing boots, despite the fact that they SHOULD HAVE BEEN.

We stopped to read informative signs posted around town which were fascinating. These buildings sink because they are built on permafrost and then heated, melting the frost and sinking into the ground:

We found a manual car wash and hosed down the rig (while next to us a group of motorcyclists fresh off the Dalton Highway were hosing each other off. Literally0 and were on our (long) way to just south of Carmacks. 

We changed the whole “let’s take our time…” and “no long drive days…” to driving like bats out of hell because we want to get to Coalville, Utah by Thursday morning, ahead of Labor Day, to have a few things looked at on the camper, since we will be driving right past on our way back to Eagle. 

Did I already say this? I feel like I already said this. But I no longer remember, nor do I have the energy to read back to find it. I must press forward. And you must forgive me if I am repeating myself. 

The scenery continued to be majestic. Truly awe-inspiring. And Devine. We are without excuse [Romans 1:20-21]. It’s hard to disagree.

Our general goal was Carmacks. So we got through that town and found a small campground for the night. What does camping in a campground in Yukon mean? Free firewood! And good firewood. So we had a nice fire, made a dinner of… I can’t remember. And oddly we have no pictures. I know it was something because, also oddly, I do remember doing the dishes. [Editor’s note: Editor believes it was pasta. Author argues he has a 1 in 4 chance of guessing right because we’ve had it so much.]

Some other campers came by to check out the camper. Canadians, to a person, have been so very nice. I like Canada.

August 23

We took a quick little hike around the lake where we were camped at, loaded up some firewood to take with us and hit the road. 

It was a long, boring drive day. On this leg we had to do some backtracking, having driven a few hours on this stretch on the way up. Dave even got bored enough to turn the wheel over to me. Remember Agreement #1? The one where we don’t speed so that we can get better gas mileage? That is flippin’ OUT THE WINDOW. We (and by “we” I mean “I”) don’t care anymore. To be clear, we aren’t speeding much over the limit. The limit is just high enough that we go from getting acceptable gas mileage (14-15 mpg) to unacceptable (under 13). 

Again, we no longer care — other than to watch it go down and comment on it every time we lose another tenth of a mile. WHATever.

When we calculated sort of where we would get to today (generally 500 miles or 7-8 hours of driving) we landed on Liard Hot Springs Campground. I know, I KNOW — who CARES! Hot springs are overrated!! But it was something to shoot for. Plus, a woman I met at the Chena Hot Springs told me that they had stayed at the Liard Hot Springs Campground and it was (WAY) better than Chena. Our bar has already fallen so low that we figured, “Why not?” And “How bad can it be?”

I was driving as we neared Liard Campground (we were also driving along the beautiful pale blue Liard River) when Dave said “Stop! Turn around!”. I kept driving. Because, I mean… really? But he really DID mean it. He saw what looked like a sweet spot to possibly disperse camp down by the river. So I pulled a U-ey and drove off the road to investigate. It was pretty nice, but we couldn’t get all the way to the river like he thought, so we would be exposed to anyone passing on the highway. Not usually a big deal, but we had no cell service, had no idea if we were on private land, or what the rules for dispersed camping were here.

So we continued a couple miles more to the back-up campground I had identified but it was closed with a gate across the road. Bummer. So we kept going to the hot springs campground. We pulled in behind a line of 5 campers ahead of us. Rangers in full mountie gear were standing behind an 8 foot tall electrified fence checking people in. To keep wildlife out? No idea. The place was CUCKOO! It was also full, obviously, and they were directing people to the overflow camping (a parking lot) across the street. We spun another U-ey and headed back to the dispersed site we had just rejected because we weren’t comfortable with it.

We set up, made a fire, made steaks and potatoes and enjoyed the solitude, laughing about how we started the trip with me researching how to disperse camp in Canada until my fingers bled. Never getting a clear answer and being too scared to take a chance. Now? After Alaska? No problem! There’s tire marks in the grass? That’s enough for us! Just a funny observation that we didn’t realize until we were sitting there eating.

We kept hearing a strange squawking from the trees and concluded it must be a crow, but as Dave started the dishes, the sound moved right behind me. I turned around and there was a HUGE owl in the branches above, checking us out. It was surreal. We just stood still and stared at each other. Eventually, it squawked one more time at us and noiselessly flew away. 

The only thing we were really worried about at this site was the campfire. We’ve been living in a rainforest for the past month and so had forgotten all about potential fire restrictions. A legitimate concern. So we finished cleaning up and put the fire out, brushed our toofers as we walked along the river…

And went to bed!

—– Later that night —–

Dave woke me up some time in the middle of the night. I had no idea what was going on but I was up and out of the camper in a matter of seconds — just like when he thought he heard a bear. (I didn’t know this about myself. But I like it! I’m a quick responder when asleep. Who knew?)

Happily, It wasn’t the police. And it wasn’t a bear.

It was the NORTHERN LIGHTS!! How exciting and amazing! I had hoped we might see them in Alaska, but the rain and clouds foiled any chances we had, so this was a cherry on the top surprise.

August 24

We packed up and hit the road for another long, boring drive day

The highlight was a stop in Jake’s Corner (a town) at the Cinnamon Roll place (can’t remember the name and my photo only shows ___Outfitters…. There were three semis parked on the highway because they didn’t really fit in the parking lot. We took that to mean that this place was legit. 

We also bought an egg salad sandwich for lunch and some salami. We like salami, even though we have read that it’s almost death itself.

I figure we’ve had a good life, so why not enjoy some salami.

Oh! And we also finally saw some Caribou. Cue the bad wildlife shot:

Our goal this day was Grande Prairie and Dave gave me the wheel again when he hit his “sleepy time.”

He gets real crabby doing the necessary route and camping research from the passenger seat, so he took back the wheel after waking up and promptly started ordering me around again. I was getting real crabby too, as options for camping the nearer we came to Grande Prairie were looking like slim to none — at least as far as ACCEPTABLE campgrounds. There was a KOA…. and we were actually thinking we might have to do that. 

Neither of us realized how big Grande Prairie was as far as urban sprawl — I think from as far away as Calgary. Doesn’t make for easy camping. It makes for URBAN camping.

So that’s what we did. We didn’t go to the KOA.

Hello Grande Prairie Rotary RV Park!

We found a spot, unhitched and left. Went looking for pizza and ended up at an Indian joint that was AH-mazing. 

We timed it such that we didn’t even have to hang out at the RV park. We got back after dinner and went to bed.