Let's deal with the elephant in the room first: is it "the Yukon", or just plain "Yukon"? In a magazine article on the aeroplane on our way out here there was an interview with Shirley Adamson, lifelong resident of this territory, who was asked the question, 'You’re on the phone to a friend from the Outside. No one from the government is listening. Do you say “Yukon” or “The Yukon”?' Her answer was, 'I don't care if the government is listening or not, I say "The Yukon".'
Apparently saying "Yukon" is considered so... Outside.
Next a note on the term "sourdough". Sourdough bread is a type of bread made using a "starter" - basically a pre-fermented product made using naturally occurring yeast - as opposed to bread flour to which yeast is added. Hardened gold miners knew that trying to make bread with yeast in the cold Yukon winter doesn't work, it had to be made with a sourdough starter which could be kept alive for years, decades even, by feeding it fresh flour. So people who had survived a Yukon winter came to be known as "sourdoughs", while newcomers to the area were given the derisory name cheechakos, a word meaning "tenderfoot", or in this day and age, a n00b.
Sandra and I, technically, are cheechakos, but I like to think that we're well on our way to becoming sourdoughs.
[A note here about the "sour-toe" cocktail I mentioned at the start of this holiday. When it became apparent that in these modern days surviving a Yukon winter wasn't as big a deal as it had been, they needed a new way of measuring a person's mettle. A man called Captain Dick Stevenson came up with the idea of drinking a cocktail in which floated a preserved human toe. As you drink it, you have to touch the toe with your lips, and hence become a "sour-toe" as opposed to a "sourdough". I had thought this would be a wonderfully quirky thing to do, until I got to Dawson and saw that a huge number of people, including Holland America parties, were doing it, whereupon it immediately lost its charm and quirkiness. More information about the cocktail is here.]
We awoke this morning to the sound of rain. It's only the second time that's happened this holiday, and I didn't begrudge it, because it's always easier to leave a place when it's raining. Having breakfasted and packed, we loaded Arthur up for the last time and slipped sadly away from our Haines Junction lodgings. Our first stop was just a few hundred yards up the road, at the Visitor Centre, where we turned in our Yukon passports. We picked these up in Whitehorse when we first got there, and the idea is that as you go around to the different places of interest in the Yukon, you get them stamped. If you get ten places stamped, you can enter into a draw to win 2 Troy ounces of gold. If you get twenty places stamped, the draw is to win 5 Troy ounces. We got twelve stamps each (I tried to get sneaky extra stamps at places, but Sandra always spotted me). The woman at the Visitor Centre signed our forms, and then gave us both a little gold (not real gold) Yukon badge. "Thank you," I said, "I'll treasure this." And I nearly choked up as I said it, because I will treasure it.
We drove on then, almost two hours to Whitehorse, stopping a couple of times to take pictures of the views, but the scenery out this way isn't quite as staggering as it is coming into Haines Junction: I think we did the loop the right way, anti-clockwise. Prairie dogs and squirrels ran back and forth across the road at random, as they had when we were driving up to Otter Falls yesterday, playing their own real life version of Frogger.
As we approached Whitehorse the traffic level increased alarmingly. I'd not actually driven in Whitehorse before, just out of it, but we had a plan to get some sandwiches from The Deli which we'd used when we were here a couple of weeks ago, and eat them by the river. This meant me having to navigate traffic lights, multi-lane roads, and yes, even that blasted roundabout near to the hotel we'd stayed in, before we parked up, trembling slightly from nerves, near the S.S. Klondike.
We walked back into the town past our hotel, where there was a marquee set up with stalls inside selling First Nation artefacts. The whole town seemed to be buzzing, far busier than it had been when we were last here, and far busier than what we've grown used to over the last couple of weeks. We got our sandwiches and scurried back to a picnic table near to the huge sternwheeler, and ate mostly in silence as dark clouds started to roll in.
Then it was time to say goodbye to Arthur, and we drove him - with intense concentration - through the middle of busy Whitehorse once again, then parked him up at the airport and unloaded him. 2600 km we drove altogether, 1600 miles, much less than in Alberta or BC, but over much harder roads. And of course with our flights to and from Inuvik, plus travelling up from Vancouver, we've covered much more ground than either of those two holidays.
We checked in to the Air North desk, then had a gruelling four hour wait before our flight back to Vancouver. We sat in the airport building for a while, me watching a fat woman in a pink tracksuit complaining to someone that her suitcase had got dirty in the hold of the aeroplane. Complaining and complaining. There were three officials dealing with her at one point. I watched her leave the airport building and get on a Holland America coach, still complaining. I have a view on fat women who go on holiday wearing pink tracksuits which I won't share here.
After a while we went and sat outside in the sun, because the dark clouds had rolled away. The accoutrements of our holiday had been sloughed away one after the other: first our accommodation, so we had nowhere to stay, then our vehicle, so we had no way of going anywhere, and then our belongings, checked in and vanished into the bowels of the airport. We watched the prairie dogs playing Frogger across the airport runway, which is actually a lot safer than on the roads because only about six flights land here per day. Eventually it was time to board our flight, and we flew back down to Vancouver, catching a glimpse of Mount Logan - the highest mountain in Canada - in the distance, stopping off at Kelowna (where Ogopogo lives) on the way. We got into Vancouver at about 9:30 pm, people everywhere, so many cars and vans and trucks. We caught the complimentary coach to our final hotel of this holiday, the Radisson Aiport Hotel, a slick place with credit card door keys, smartly dressed serving staff, beeping confirmations of button presses and where, ironically, a power cut suffered by their internet service provider means this post will go up a day late. And no one gave me the opportunity to say, "no, this is the end of our holiday, not the start."
We arrived too late for the hotel's restaurant to feed us, so we went out looking for just a burger to fill a hole, but there was nothing of that ilk that we could find: instead, a glut of Chinese restaurants, but we didn't fancy Chinese, so we came back and ordered room service of mac and cheese, and thai noodles. Also it was dark by 10 pm, and we saw the moon for the first time in three weeks, it feels so... southern.
I don't know how to adequately sum up my feelings about the Yukon. I've already said I was nervous about this holiday. I didn't know what to expect. I thought it might be okay weather, with interesting and quirky places to visit, and I hoped beyond hope to see some amazing sights. I didn't expect that the most useless item of clothing I bought with me was my thick, heavy coat, and I certainly didn't expect to get a tan, but that's what's happened. There's no doubt that the good weather has been a bonus, but from what people have told us the only exceptional thing about the weather this year has been the level of the heat, not the amount of sunshine.
I'd wanted to go north, to go further up than Peace River or Prince Rupert, and see what the world looked like from higher up. I wanted to feel the gravitas of the globe curling away under me, in the same way that I felt it above me when I stood at the southern-most tip of South Africa last year. I wanted to feel like we were stretching up to reach the top of the world... and in doing so I've found that there are places to go to that are even further, and more unreachable, and possibly more interesting, still to explore.
We've both been stunned by the raw beauty and the unspoilt nature of this part of Canada. At times you feel like a trespasser, and that the road you are driving along and the vehicle you are in are interlopers - which they are. I've been stunned over and over by the scenery, and by the people who have been friendly and warm almost to an individual; here at the hotel tonight I went to get some ice, and nodded to a bloke by the lifts, who ignored me.
It's safe to say I've never been anywhere like the Yukon. I'm no sourdough, I've only seen the place in the summer, but that's been enough. It feels like it's taken a part of me.
We fly back tomorrow, so, with enormous sadness, this is my last entry.
Thanks for reading.
This is the Yukon, signing off.
Friday, 19 July 2013
Wednesday, 17 July 2013
Day 20 - Otter Falls, Pine Lake, and Forest Fires
There was a bit of excitement here last night. As I was finishing off my blog on the deck outside, I noticed that what I'd thought was a thunderhead cloud that had been building had actually dropped to street level. I'd been sneezing quite a lot, and was suddenly aware that the air had a distinctly "burny" smell about it. That and the small amounts of ash that started landing on my t-shirt began to get me worried. You couldn't see either end of the street for what was, obviously now, smoke and not thunderhead. Boyd Campbell at the Village Bakery yesterday had told us that the air here is very dry because all the moisture from the Pacific Ocean is lost as snow on the other side of the mountains (falling on what is the largest non-Polar icefield in the world), with the result that the whole of the Yukon, with all that forest, is like a big tinderbox.
"Forest Fire" was the only thing going around in my head. I walked to both ends of the street to see if I could see advancing flames, or herds of animals galloping away from impending doom, but basically everyone seemed to be going about their business as normal. The Haines Junction emergency services building (fire and ambulance) is three buildings down from ours, and there was no flurry of activity there whatsoever. I tried the news channels and found nothing, then looked on the internet and found the Yukon Wildland Fire Management Facebook page. There was a message there from about half an hour previously saying something along the lines of, "there's a tiny fire about 35 km from Haines Junction, that's what all the smoke is, it's not threatening anything, so stop worrying".
It was a something of a relief, but more so when the smoke had lifted by about midnight.
This morning there was no smoke in the air but you could still smell it, and have been able to all day. Checking out the Yukon Wildland Fire Management pages, they're looking after fires all over the territory, and the very east seems quite badly hit. I hope they get some rain soon... but not until after we're gone.
After breakfast we headed out on the Alaska Highway towards Whitehorse, the road we will be taking tomorrow as we complete our time out here. The intention was to visit Aishihik Lake and Otter Falls, both on a road leading north from the Alaska Highway, but we weren't sure if it was going to be possible because that's the area in which the forest fire was burning last night. The assumption was that, if there were going to be any problems, there would be barriers and flashing lights across the relevant roads.
As we came over the hill just outside Haines Junction we had our first view of Paint Mountain which overlooks Pine Lake, our second planned destination of the day. You could see the smoke from the previous night's fire hanging over the mountain, and stretching out to the east over the route we were due to take. I pulled my face a bit, but there had been no further updates this morning, so we plugged on.
The first thing we came to was an old wooden bridge over the Aishihik River at Canyon Creek. It turns out this bridge - which was in the process of being restored (though not at that actual moment) - was built by none other than Sam McGee, once resident of Dawson City and whose cabin we had seen a couple of weeks ago in Whitehorse at the MacBride Museum. He certainly got about a bit.
We drove on from there, looking for the Otter Falls road which seemed, on the map, to be quite close to the Canyon Creek bridge. We drove past it and I dismissed it because, well, surely that wasn't a proper road? A few miles further on I realised it must have been, so we about-faced and came back, turning onto another of the gravel roads we've seen so many of in this territory. Poor Arthur readied himself for another bumpy ride.
Because of the forest fire last night, I was expecting at any moment to find the road blocked, but it wasn't. In fact at one point we came upon roadworks (these being seemingly a man in a vehicle custom-made to shift the gravel around a bit), and several huge trucks came past us, carrying more gravel for the other vehicle to smear around. The speed limit along the road was 70 km/h, but you'd have to be some sort of crazy person to attempt that sort of speed: I was keeping it around 40-50, and slowing down to 20 in places. Otter Falls was about 30 km up this road, and Aishihik Lake about another 50 km after that. I told Sandra there was no chance we were going to go to the lake on a road of such dubious quality, and she agreed. It was quite weird, there were signs advertising it as a place of recreation, as if it was somewhere you'd pop off to on a sunny Saturday afternoon... no wonder they all drive Dodge Rams.
Eventually we came to the falls themselves. There was a little pull-out with information boards, but as expected there was no one else there. The falls used to feature on the back of the old Canadian five dollar bill. There seems to be no real reason for this other than that officials at the Bank of Canada reviewed thousands of photographs from all over Canada, and they liked the one of Otter Falls. They're certainly very picturesque, but not as stunning as they used to be as, apparently, hydroelectric works further up the river have nicked a load of the water, which is a shame. But then, we all still want electricity.
After a while we turned around and headed back down the gravelly road, and when we got to the main road turned right and made for Pine Lake. It's down a road signposted for Pine Lake Campground, which at first makes you think you might be taking the wrong route, but you're not. There was no one else there when we got there, just a beach, a fantastic view of the lake and Paint Mountain behind it, and some picnic tables. We sat down at one of the tables with our sandwiches, and another couple of vehicles showed up, vomiting children, women, and a man wearing a cowboy hat, dark shirt, and jeans in the searing sunshine. He must have been baking. The children ran out to the lake and splashed about it in while we ate; I couldn't bring myself to be grumpy about them.
After eating, we followed a little trail around the bottom end of lake for a while: it wasn't very long and we were soon back on the beach, where we found the other vehicles had gone again. It was mid-afternoon by now, so we came back to Haines Junction, both feeling listless and a bit depressed. There was a local market on, which we went to and wandered around in ten minutes flat. It wasn't very big, but it was enthusiastic and there was a woman there producing lots of homemade Thai food for people to take away. We went down to the Village Bakery and had a couple of ice-creams, and sat in the sunshine. To my utter delight there were a couple of blokes on a nearby table talking complete nonsense to each other, just like Bob and Doug McKenzie:
"So this re-cycling thing, I just take my re-cycling out once a week, and then, like, it's gone."
"Really? Can you put like, batteries in it? And paint cans?"
"I don't know, I should try it, eh? Oh, hello Mr. Horsefly."
"Have you noticed that there's not so many bees around?"
"No."
"Yah, no bees. Plenty of horseflies though. And wasps."
Sandra kept asking me what I was laughing at, I couldn't say anything until they'd gone. I've not heard anyone call anyone else a "hoser" yet, but I've heard more Canadian "eh?"s up here than I heard in Alberta and BC put together.
We got back to the Suite and Mrs. Watson had left us a bottle of wine as a leaving present, which was a really touching gesture. People here are just so friendly. Even our waitress at the Northern Lights Restaurant wrote, "Safe travels home!" on our bill tonight. It's going to be a real wrench to leave.
Tomorrow we head back to Whitehorse and then Vancouver. Let's complete this loop.
"Forest Fire" was the only thing going around in my head. I walked to both ends of the street to see if I could see advancing flames, or herds of animals galloping away from impending doom, but basically everyone seemed to be going about their business as normal. The Haines Junction emergency services building (fire and ambulance) is three buildings down from ours, and there was no flurry of activity there whatsoever. I tried the news channels and found nothing, then looked on the internet and found the Yukon Wildland Fire Management Facebook page. There was a message there from about half an hour previously saying something along the lines of, "there's a tiny fire about 35 km from Haines Junction, that's what all the smoke is, it's not threatening anything, so stop worrying".
It was a something of a relief, but more so when the smoke had lifted by about midnight.
This morning there was no smoke in the air but you could still smell it, and have been able to all day. Checking out the Yukon Wildland Fire Management pages, they're looking after fires all over the territory, and the very east seems quite badly hit. I hope they get some rain soon... but not until after we're gone.
After breakfast we headed out on the Alaska Highway towards Whitehorse, the road we will be taking tomorrow as we complete our time out here. The intention was to visit Aishihik Lake and Otter Falls, both on a road leading north from the Alaska Highway, but we weren't sure if it was going to be possible because that's the area in which the forest fire was burning last night. The assumption was that, if there were going to be any problems, there would be barriers and flashing lights across the relevant roads.
As we came over the hill just outside Haines Junction we had our first view of Paint Mountain which overlooks Pine Lake, our second planned destination of the day. You could see the smoke from the previous night's fire hanging over the mountain, and stretching out to the east over the route we were due to take. I pulled my face a bit, but there had been no further updates this morning, so we plugged on.
The first thing we came to was an old wooden bridge over the Aishihik River at Canyon Creek. It turns out this bridge - which was in the process of being restored (though not at that actual moment) - was built by none other than Sam McGee, once resident of Dawson City and whose cabin we had seen a couple of weeks ago in Whitehorse at the MacBride Museum. He certainly got about a bit.
We drove on from there, looking for the Otter Falls road which seemed, on the map, to be quite close to the Canyon Creek bridge. We drove past it and I dismissed it because, well, surely that wasn't a proper road? A few miles further on I realised it must have been, so we about-faced and came back, turning onto another of the gravel roads we've seen so many of in this territory. Poor Arthur readied himself for another bumpy ride.
Because of the forest fire last night, I was expecting at any moment to find the road blocked, but it wasn't. In fact at one point we came upon roadworks (these being seemingly a man in a vehicle custom-made to shift the gravel around a bit), and several huge trucks came past us, carrying more gravel for the other vehicle to smear around. The speed limit along the road was 70 km/h, but you'd have to be some sort of crazy person to attempt that sort of speed: I was keeping it around 40-50, and slowing down to 20 in places. Otter Falls was about 30 km up this road, and Aishihik Lake about another 50 km after that. I told Sandra there was no chance we were going to go to the lake on a road of such dubious quality, and she agreed. It was quite weird, there were signs advertising it as a place of recreation, as if it was somewhere you'd pop off to on a sunny Saturday afternoon... no wonder they all drive Dodge Rams.
Eventually we came to the falls themselves. There was a little pull-out with information boards, but as expected there was no one else there. The falls used to feature on the back of the old Canadian five dollar bill. There seems to be no real reason for this other than that officials at the Bank of Canada reviewed thousands of photographs from all over Canada, and they liked the one of Otter Falls. They're certainly very picturesque, but not as stunning as they used to be as, apparently, hydroelectric works further up the river have nicked a load of the water, which is a shame. But then, we all still want electricity.
After a while we turned around and headed back down the gravelly road, and when we got to the main road turned right and made for Pine Lake. It's down a road signposted for Pine Lake Campground, which at first makes you think you might be taking the wrong route, but you're not. There was no one else there when we got there, just a beach, a fantastic view of the lake and Paint Mountain behind it, and some picnic tables. We sat down at one of the tables with our sandwiches, and another couple of vehicles showed up, vomiting children, women, and a man wearing a cowboy hat, dark shirt, and jeans in the searing sunshine. He must have been baking. The children ran out to the lake and splashed about it in while we ate; I couldn't bring myself to be grumpy about them.
After eating, we followed a little trail around the bottom end of lake for a while: it wasn't very long and we were soon back on the beach, where we found the other vehicles had gone again. It was mid-afternoon by now, so we came back to Haines Junction, both feeling listless and a bit depressed. There was a local market on, which we went to and wandered around in ten minutes flat. It wasn't very big, but it was enthusiastic and there was a woman there producing lots of homemade Thai food for people to take away. We went down to the Village Bakery and had a couple of ice-creams, and sat in the sunshine. To my utter delight there were a couple of blokes on a nearby table talking complete nonsense to each other, just like Bob and Doug McKenzie:
"So this re-cycling thing, I just take my re-cycling out once a week, and then, like, it's gone."
"Really? Can you put like, batteries in it? And paint cans?"
"I don't know, I should try it, eh? Oh, hello Mr. Horsefly."
"Have you noticed that there's not so many bees around?"
"No."
"Yah, no bees. Plenty of horseflies though. And wasps."
Sandra kept asking me what I was laughing at, I couldn't say anything until they'd gone. I've not heard anyone call anyone else a "hoser" yet, but I've heard more Canadian "eh?"s up here than I heard in Alberta and BC put together.
We got back to the Suite and Mrs. Watson had left us a bottle of wine as a leaving present, which was a really touching gesture. People here are just so friendly. Even our waitress at the Northern Lights Restaurant wrote, "Safe travels home!" on our bill tonight. It's going to be a real wrench to leave.
Tomorrow we head back to Whitehorse and then Vancouver. Let's complete this loop.
Tuesday, 16 July 2013
Day 19 - The St. Elias Lake Trail
While planning the Haines Junction part of this holiday, the first of the walking trails I had highlighted in my hiking guide by Vivian Lougheed was the St. Elias Lake Trail. However the same walk is mentioned in my Bradt guide, and because of what I've now discovered is a printing error in the latter (it reproduces part of the the description of a different trail under the St. Elias Lake Trail), I'd ended up dismissing it as one that we wouldn't find enjoyable to do. I spotted this mistake last night, and realised that actually this walk would be a good one, only a couple of hours or so long, but still off the beaten track (on a holiday that is, on the whole, quite off the beaten track).
After a breakfast of Alpen and the last slices of Mrs. Watson's homemade bread toasted and slathered in the odd white butter they have here, we took off down the Haines Highway again, this time past Kathleen Lake and past the Rock Glacier. Eventually we saw the sign for the St. Elias Lake Trail pull-out (lay-by), and turned into it. There was no one else there, not even a Holland America coach. It's things like this that remind you that, even during the tourist season, most of the Yukon is still pretty empty. You start to wonder if you should have let someone know where you are going.
But this trail is described as easy, following an old road, good for a child's first backpacking experience, and only taking a few hours at most. I left our Village Bakery sandwiches in the car, not wanting bears to smell the food on me (they would just have to smell me as food), and then, having liberally sprayed ourselves with insect repellent, we headed into the woods.
Not far in we came upon our first wild life experience of the day; a cute and fluffy chick of some sort, fluttering its way up into a tree. We watched for a while, then noticed a parent bird at the base of the tree. I think it was a Spruce Grouse, it might have been a Ruffed Grouse. It studied us, watching warily, then fluttered its wings a few times. Suddenly a second chick flew out of the undergrowth, and when we pointed and went, "ooh look", as you do, the parent bird went nuts. It puffed out its neck feathers and wafted its wings, then ran at me, clucking. To be honest it scared the crap out of me, which doesn't bode well if we ever encounter a bear under similar circumstances. We both jumped backwards, and the bird kept coming, then started circling, protecting its young. Thirty feet in to the trail and we'd met the equivalent of Monty Python's Killer Rabbit of Caerbannog. And we were without the Holy Hand Grenade of Antioch.
We eventually got past our adversary by running quickly up the trail shouting, "it's all right, we're going, we're going"... Intellectual and strong humans - 0, tiny little bird without opposable thumbs or discovery of fire - 1. Once out of danger (us, not the grouse), we settled into our pace. After a few short hills we didn't need to make deliberate noises to alert bears to our presence anymore, they just had to listen out for our laboured breathing. It was very hot and muggy, which didn't help, and the flies and mosquitoes were proving a bit of a nuisance. The path was easy to follow, it being an old and narrow road (I can't imagine why people used to drive down there, it was a real switchback and hilly path). After a while we broke out of the trees and into some open ground with long grass... but still no bears.
I won't big this walk up, it's only 2.5 miles each way, but in the heat of the day, and with both of us nervous about bear contact, it was far enough as a starter. I would like to have done more and gone further with an experienced trail person, but for just the two of us it was enough. We both had a real sense of achievement when, after about an hour and twenty minutes, we arrived at St. Elias Lake. It's not a big lake, but it's quite pretty, and we'd made it our own as a result of walking here through a proper Yukon trail.
It didn't take us as long to get back to the car, and that cursed grouse wasn't there anymore (maybe a bear ate it). We headed off to try and find the Million Dollar Waterfall that Mrs. Watson had told us about, but there were no signposts for ages, so we gave up. Having checked on the internet later, it seems we didn't travel quite far enough. Instead we headed back to Kathleen Lake again, and ate our lunch for the second time in what is now our chair. The air wasn't as clear today, it seemed thicker and more prone to storms, even though it was quite sunny.
From there we came back to Haines Junction and down to the Bakery for a cinamon bun and a beer. While we were sitting outside on the decking, the owner of the Bakery, Boyd Campbell, came out to talk to us. This has been a recurring feature of the Yukon, people just want to have a chat with you, find out where you're from, ask a little about you and tell you a little about themselves. Boyd told us he was originally from Ontario, and when I asked him why he'd come up to Haines Junction he said, "I just got in a truck and kept on driving until I found somewhere I liked". A carpenter rather than a baker, he built the Village Bakery himself, then employed a couple of bakers. As a business it's done really well in the 25 years he's been running it, but he wants to sell up now and is struggling to find a buyer. He told us that the Holland America tours, which account for substantial business in the town, look like they're going to be moving to flights rather than coach tours, and will miss out Haines Junction.
It all sounds rather sad for a town that's got such a lot going for it in terms of hiking and walking. I asked Boyd if the town wanted us to tell people about the Yukon, or if the Yukoners would rather it be kept a secret, he said, "feel free to tell everyone!" So be told.
Following that we sat out reading for a while, then went over to the Northern Lights Restaurant again. We've eaten there most nights because the food is quite good, the waitress is really friendly, and the only night we ate somewhere else we weren't that impressed.
Just one full day left in Haines Junction, and the weather looks like it's going to hold out for us, which is good as we've got a couple more places we want to visit.
After a breakfast of Alpen and the last slices of Mrs. Watson's homemade bread toasted and slathered in the odd white butter they have here, we took off down the Haines Highway again, this time past Kathleen Lake and past the Rock Glacier. Eventually we saw the sign for the St. Elias Lake Trail pull-out (lay-by), and turned into it. There was no one else there, not even a Holland America coach. It's things like this that remind you that, even during the tourist season, most of the Yukon is still pretty empty. You start to wonder if you should have let someone know where you are going.
But this trail is described as easy, following an old road, good for a child's first backpacking experience, and only taking a few hours at most. I left our Village Bakery sandwiches in the car, not wanting bears to smell the food on me (they would just have to smell me as food), and then, having liberally sprayed ourselves with insect repellent, we headed into the woods.
Not far in we came upon our first wild life experience of the day; a cute and fluffy chick of some sort, fluttering its way up into a tree. We watched for a while, then noticed a parent bird at the base of the tree. I think it was a Spruce Grouse, it might have been a Ruffed Grouse. It studied us, watching warily, then fluttered its wings a few times. Suddenly a second chick flew out of the undergrowth, and when we pointed and went, "ooh look", as you do, the parent bird went nuts. It puffed out its neck feathers and wafted its wings, then ran at me, clucking. To be honest it scared the crap out of me, which doesn't bode well if we ever encounter a bear under similar circumstances. We both jumped backwards, and the bird kept coming, then started circling, protecting its young. Thirty feet in to the trail and we'd met the equivalent of Monty Python's Killer Rabbit of Caerbannog. And we were without the Holy Hand Grenade of Antioch.
We eventually got past our adversary by running quickly up the trail shouting, "it's all right, we're going, we're going"... Intellectual and strong humans - 0, tiny little bird without opposable thumbs or discovery of fire - 1. Once out of danger (us, not the grouse), we settled into our pace. After a few short hills we didn't need to make deliberate noises to alert bears to our presence anymore, they just had to listen out for our laboured breathing. It was very hot and muggy, which didn't help, and the flies and mosquitoes were proving a bit of a nuisance. The path was easy to follow, it being an old and narrow road (I can't imagine why people used to drive down there, it was a real switchback and hilly path). After a while we broke out of the trees and into some open ground with long grass... but still no bears.
I won't big this walk up, it's only 2.5 miles each way, but in the heat of the day, and with both of us nervous about bear contact, it was far enough as a starter. I would like to have done more and gone further with an experienced trail person, but for just the two of us it was enough. We both had a real sense of achievement when, after about an hour and twenty minutes, we arrived at St. Elias Lake. It's not a big lake, but it's quite pretty, and we'd made it our own as a result of walking here through a proper Yukon trail.
It didn't take us as long to get back to the car, and that cursed grouse wasn't there anymore (maybe a bear ate it). We headed off to try and find the Million Dollar Waterfall that Mrs. Watson had told us about, but there were no signposts for ages, so we gave up. Having checked on the internet later, it seems we didn't travel quite far enough. Instead we headed back to Kathleen Lake again, and ate our lunch for the second time in what is now our chair. The air wasn't as clear today, it seemed thicker and more prone to storms, even though it was quite sunny.
From there we came back to Haines Junction and down to the Bakery for a cinamon bun and a beer. While we were sitting outside on the decking, the owner of the Bakery, Boyd Campbell, came out to talk to us. This has been a recurring feature of the Yukon, people just want to have a chat with you, find out where you're from, ask a little about you and tell you a little about themselves. Boyd told us he was originally from Ontario, and when I asked him why he'd come up to Haines Junction he said, "I just got in a truck and kept on driving until I found somewhere I liked". A carpenter rather than a baker, he built the Village Bakery himself, then employed a couple of bakers. As a business it's done really well in the 25 years he's been running it, but he wants to sell up now and is struggling to find a buyer. He told us that the Holland America tours, which account for substantial business in the town, look like they're going to be moving to flights rather than coach tours, and will miss out Haines Junction.
It all sounds rather sad for a town that's got such a lot going for it in terms of hiking and walking. I asked Boyd if the town wanted us to tell people about the Yukon, or if the Yukoners would rather it be kept a secret, he said, "feel free to tell everyone!" So be told.
Following that we sat out reading for a while, then went over to the Northern Lights Restaurant again. We've eaten there most nights because the food is quite good, the waitress is really friendly, and the only night we ate somewhere else we weren't that impressed.
Just one full day left in Haines Junction, and the weather looks like it's going to hold out for us, which is good as we've got a couple more places we want to visit.
Monday, 15 July 2013
Day 18 - Kathleen Lake
Today, after popping down to the Village Bakery to pick up some sandwiches and drinks for our lunch, we headed out along the Haines Highway towards our first of two planned excursions. This road, had we continued to follow it, would have brought us back to the US border once more, but instead, having stopped only once to photograph the pretty Quill Creek, after a little more than thirty miles we pulled into the car park for the Rock Glacier trailhead. There, brooding and silent, a Holland America coach: they'd beaten us once again.
We said hello to the only other person in the car park - a girl sitting in the open trunk of her vehicle and reading a book - and walked up to the trailhead (even just saying "trailhead" makes me feel like a real hiker). There we saw a sign advising of sturdy footwear because of the rocky terrain, so we returned to Arthur and replaced our sandals with trainers. By now Trunk Girl had stopped reading, and was instead eating cereal out of a bowl. She wished us a good walk.
The trail was mostly covered in a boardwalk until we got to the edge of the rock glacier itself. No one - not even wikipedia - quite knows how a rock glacier forms. As I could best understand it from the interpretive boards along the trail, it's like an ice glacier with rocks in from which all the ice has melted and left the rocks in the formation of the original glacier. A glacial skeleton, if you will. Not far up the trail we met a man coming down (Trunk Girl's companion?), and then as we started to climb the stairs to the rock glacier we met the Holland America people on their way back to the coach. There weren't so many of them as we'd seen before, and they seemed quite an enthusiastic bunch, so maybe I'm guilty of misjudging them.
On our own now, we climbed off the wooden staircase and onto the stone path through the terminal moraine (i.e. very end) of the glacier. It was a weird sight, almost like someone had built the whole thing out of millions upon millions of bricks. I've never seen anything quite like it before. At the end of the constructed path is an invitation to go further on up the mountainside, but there's no trail visible, and it was very steep, so we politely declined. Instead, we looked back over the way we had come: we had a terrific view of Dezadeash (pronounced DEZ-dee-ash) Lake, whence flows the river along which we walked yesterday.
Heading back down was harder on the ankles than coming up, but it wasn't too bad, and soon we were back in Arthur and retracing our steps to Kathleen Lake, our second destination of the day. The Holland America people were already there, being given a lesson on the edge of the lake by two enthusiastic girls about the difference between black bears and grizzly bears (me: "Ears, snout, claws, hump on the back, and a grizzly bear will kill you before it eats you"... the girls only mentioned the first four).
Kathleen Lake is spectacular. There is a small board-covered walk set up around the first quarter mile or so of the lake's edge, but you are invited to walk further if you would like and are able. We were both, and, taking note of the "you are in bear country" warning signs, we walked some way further around. And were glad that we had. Though the lake view when you arrive is indeed beautiful, it's only when you round the first corner at the end of the boardwalk that the lake's true character is revealed. To the left is the enormous King's Throne peak, and to the right of that is a mountain which I believe is called Kathleen Peak. Between the two is a gap giving a glimpse into the enormous expanse beyond, wherein lie glaciers, ice fields, and the St. Elias Mountains. My camera's telephoto lens barely picked up the detail; through binoculars the view was spectacular, great white peaks, angular and harsh, stretching out from the edge of the Yukon and into Alaska.
We ambled back to the boardwalk area, the odd fish throwing itself out of the lake to catch mosquitoes, and sat down on a bench, soaking up the warmth of the day. There we ate our lunch in the most picturesque and peaceful of locations. According to my guide book, some people (I've no idea which "some people" they are, but I suspect we all know people like them) are objecting that Kathleen Lake is becoming too well known, and therefore overpopulated with visitors. Including the Holland America coach load, I would say that no more than thirty people visited the lake while we were there. Given that Lake Louise in Alberta (and believe it or not there is a Louise Lake at the far end of Kathleen Lake) entertains 10,000 people per day during the peak season, and also given the fact that Kathleen Lake doesn't even have its own wiki page, and also given that I can't find out who Kathleen is or was and why she should have had a lake named after her, I think those "some people" need to re-evaluate things.
Sandra wanted to sit there all afternoon, and if we'd had books with us we might have. Instead we drove a little further down the Haines Highway looking for (but failing to find) a trailhead for another walk we have planned for tomorrow. After that, the temperature climbing, we drove back to Haines Junction, for we wanted to have a pastry on the deck of the Village Bakery. Arthur's external temperature sensor registered 30°C at one point, and by the time we got back the air was heavy and some dark clouds had gathered. I thought there was going to be a major storm, but only about 15 spots of rain fell, then the dark clouds moved on and it was baking hot and dry once more.
We had delicious pastries and a drink at the Bakery, then came back in the late afternoon sun, wishing life could be like this all the time.
It's so quiet. It's half past ten at night, still light, as I sit here on the decking of our Suite typing this, only the odd car engine in the distance a reminder that there are other people around. The noisiest things are the wind in the trees and the crazy howling birds they have around here.
I wonder where Holland America will beat us to tomorrow.
We said hello to the only other person in the car park - a girl sitting in the open trunk of her vehicle and reading a book - and walked up to the trailhead (even just saying "trailhead" makes me feel like a real hiker). There we saw a sign advising of sturdy footwear because of the rocky terrain, so we returned to Arthur and replaced our sandals with trainers. By now Trunk Girl had stopped reading, and was instead eating cereal out of a bowl. She wished us a good walk.
The trail was mostly covered in a boardwalk until we got to the edge of the rock glacier itself. No one - not even wikipedia - quite knows how a rock glacier forms. As I could best understand it from the interpretive boards along the trail, it's like an ice glacier with rocks in from which all the ice has melted and left the rocks in the formation of the original glacier. A glacial skeleton, if you will. Not far up the trail we met a man coming down (Trunk Girl's companion?), and then as we started to climb the stairs to the rock glacier we met the Holland America people on their way back to the coach. There weren't so many of them as we'd seen before, and they seemed quite an enthusiastic bunch, so maybe I'm guilty of misjudging them.
On our own now, we climbed off the wooden staircase and onto the stone path through the terminal moraine (i.e. very end) of the glacier. It was a weird sight, almost like someone had built the whole thing out of millions upon millions of bricks. I've never seen anything quite like it before. At the end of the constructed path is an invitation to go further on up the mountainside, but there's no trail visible, and it was very steep, so we politely declined. Instead, we looked back over the way we had come: we had a terrific view of Dezadeash (pronounced DEZ-dee-ash) Lake, whence flows the river along which we walked yesterday.
Heading back down was harder on the ankles than coming up, but it wasn't too bad, and soon we were back in Arthur and retracing our steps to Kathleen Lake, our second destination of the day. The Holland America people were already there, being given a lesson on the edge of the lake by two enthusiastic girls about the difference between black bears and grizzly bears (me: "Ears, snout, claws, hump on the back, and a grizzly bear will kill you before it eats you"... the girls only mentioned the first four).
Kathleen Lake is spectacular. There is a small board-covered walk set up around the first quarter mile or so of the lake's edge, but you are invited to walk further if you would like and are able. We were both, and, taking note of the "you are in bear country" warning signs, we walked some way further around. And were glad that we had. Though the lake view when you arrive is indeed beautiful, it's only when you round the first corner at the end of the boardwalk that the lake's true character is revealed. To the left is the enormous King's Throne peak, and to the right of that is a mountain which I believe is called Kathleen Peak. Between the two is a gap giving a glimpse into the enormous expanse beyond, wherein lie glaciers, ice fields, and the St. Elias Mountains. My camera's telephoto lens barely picked up the detail; through binoculars the view was spectacular, great white peaks, angular and harsh, stretching out from the edge of the Yukon and into Alaska.
We ambled back to the boardwalk area, the odd fish throwing itself out of the lake to catch mosquitoes, and sat down on a bench, soaking up the warmth of the day. There we ate our lunch in the most picturesque and peaceful of locations. According to my guide book, some people (I've no idea which "some people" they are, but I suspect we all know people like them) are objecting that Kathleen Lake is becoming too well known, and therefore overpopulated with visitors. Including the Holland America coach load, I would say that no more than thirty people visited the lake while we were there. Given that Lake Louise in Alberta (and believe it or not there is a Louise Lake at the far end of Kathleen Lake) entertains 10,000 people per day during the peak season, and also given the fact that Kathleen Lake doesn't even have its own wiki page, and also given that I can't find out who Kathleen is or was and why she should have had a lake named after her, I think those "some people" need to re-evaluate things.
Sandra wanted to sit there all afternoon, and if we'd had books with us we might have. Instead we drove a little further down the Haines Highway looking for (but failing to find) a trailhead for another walk we have planned for tomorrow. After that, the temperature climbing, we drove back to Haines Junction, for we wanted to have a pastry on the deck of the Village Bakery. Arthur's external temperature sensor registered 30°C at one point, and by the time we got back the air was heavy and some dark clouds had gathered. I thought there was going to be a major storm, but only about 15 spots of rain fell, then the dark clouds moved on and it was baking hot and dry once more.
We had delicious pastries and a drink at the Bakery, then came back in the late afternoon sun, wishing life could be like this all the time.
It's so quiet. It's half past ten at night, still light, as I sit here on the decking of our Suite typing this, only the odd car engine in the distance a reminder that there are other people around. The noisiest things are the wind in the trees and the crazy howling birds they have around here.
I wonder where Holland America will beat us to tomorrow.
Sunday, 14 July 2013
Day 17 - Haines Junction
Haines Junction is one of a number of small towns that didn't exist before the construction of the Alaska Highway and, like a lot of those towns, it was originally made of wood and burned down a couple of times before they cottoned on to the root cause. A second highway here connects the Alaska Highway to Haines in Alaska, hence the name of this town, Haines Junction. It's a town that, these days, relies on tourism for business, leaning heavily on the adjacent Kluane National Park. A major new visitor and cultural information centre was built here in 2011, but to the consternation of local residents it's only open from May to September, thus denying the town winter business which it badly needs.
I knew nothing about this town when I was planning this holiday. It seemed like a logical place to stop on our Klondike/Kluane loop, and would give us a chance to see some fantastic scenery and do some walking. Walking (not hiking, not yet anyway) is something I wanted to do to take advantage of the amount of weight I've lost over the last year (in real terms, equivalent to my combined checked in and hand luggage allowance for this holiday - how I used to walk around with that all the time I can't imagine). Prior to my diet, walking up the stairs was hard work, now I wanted to get out into the countryside, and Haines Junction seemed the place to do it. I bought a walking guide to the area by Vivien Lougheed, and picked out a few walks of no more than a couple of hours each on which I figured that Sandra would be able to keep up with me on her short little legs.
Our first stop this morning was the big and very modern visitor information centre. The Holland America people got there before us, two coachloads of them, and were poking and prodding exhibits in a disinterested fashion. It seems to be a hallmark of these people, where ever we've seen them they just seem to be waiting for it to be time to get back on the coach and go to the next place, where they can get off the coach and wait around to get back on the coach again. We waited until they'd all gone into a room where they were being shown a video about something, then picked up a couple of maps from the information desk, one being a walking tour of Haines Junction itself.
The walking tour is mentioned in my hiking guide, and it was one of the walks I'd always intended us to do, so, in the glorious sunshine and with the Auriol Range of mountains towering over the town to the west, we set off. To get to Point Of Interest Number 1 (the St. Elias Convention Centre) in the walking tour guide, we had to walk past Points Of Interest Number 21 (the Glacier View Motel, constructed of modular residences and "assorted orange crates" left over from the Haines Junction maintenance camp during the construction of the Alaska Highway), 18 (St. Christopher's Anglican Church), 19 (Our Lady of the Way Catholic Church, made out of a converted American army Quonset Hut) and 3 (the Old Fire Hall, now the Museum Of Nostalgia set up by a man with the unlikely name of Smokey Guttman - you have no idea how bummed I was that this place was closed). We arrived at the St. Elias Convention Centre just as two coaches, which had obviously skipped the fascinations of POIs 21, 18, 19 and 3, disgorged their contents of disgruntled Holland America tourists into the car park. They were in a surly mood, looking for food: a room had been set aside for them with sandwiches and drinks supplied, but many of them took several attempts to find it (indeed, some of them may still be looking).
The St. Elias Convention Centre had a feature on life in the Haines Junction area from pre-Gold Rush (it was an area the First Nation people travelled through on their long annual migrations) through to present day. We left while the Holland America people were still refuelling, and heading on to POI Number 4, Pugwash's Place. This is a cabin previously owned by Fraser Pollard (now deceased) - from Pugwash, Nova Scotia - since the 1970s. Mr. Pollard would "scavenge treasures" from the local dump in order to supplement his income. When the village bought a compactor for the dump as part of a waste management project, the wily Mr. Pollard sought and gained employment... as the waste compactor operator.
The Holland America people were missing all this great stuff.
From here we made our way to POI Number 8. This consists of a number of what look like planks raised up high above the ground on other planks, and when I first saw them yesterday I bet Sandra any amount of money she would like to name that they had at one point been used for hanging and drying salmon. I was completely wrong, but never more delighted when I found out their true use. POI Number 8 is the Haines Junction Swallow Haven. Anyone who has had swallows nesting in the eaves of their house knows what a nuisance these birds can be. To overcome this, the people of Haines Junction built a series of raised false eaves for the swallows: the birds moved in by the hundreds, with the added bonus that each bird devours enormous quantities of the local mosquito population, thus reducing the need for pesticide control. Simple and brilliant.
From there we looped back up towards the village, taking a photo op at the Antler Signpost (POI Number 12), before ending up at the Village Bakery and Deli. This pleasant log cabin has plenty of outdoor picnic seating, and serves up freshly made bread, pizza, sandwiches, wraps, panninis, etc. We sat in the sun with our chosen lunches, and lapped up the good weather for a while.
After that we came back to our Suite, changing into trainers rather than sandals, and headed out for a walk around the Dezadeash Trail (the Dezadeash being the river that runs to the south of the town). This, according to my guide books, is an easy walk, just 90 minutes or so, and in the heat of the afternoon it was all we wanted. A warning sign at the start of the trail tells you that you're in bear country now, and another board warns ominously, "what you see isn't the same as what sees you". Suitably terrified, we set off, clumping and coughing and making a lot of noise (so that the bears would know where to find us).
It was a good walk, nice to be out in the open after three days of virtually continuous driving. There were a lot of mosquitoes and flies though, it was a good job we were both sprayed up with insect repellant. We saw three squirrels and a prairie dog, and when we got to the end of the walk we had an ice cream for a treat. Then, because it was late afternoon, we came back and sat out on the deck for a while, listening to weird bird calls and reading (or in my case, pulling together pictures for the Flickr site).
We still have a few days left of our holiday. I'd thought about booking a flight over to the glaciers and mountain ranges beyond the mountains we can see bordering this tiny town, but to be honest we're both kinda "full up" with trips and organising complicated days out. We just want to take it easy for these last days.
And of course, get some more walking in... I didn't buy that compass for nothing.
I knew nothing about this town when I was planning this holiday. It seemed like a logical place to stop on our Klondike/Kluane loop, and would give us a chance to see some fantastic scenery and do some walking. Walking (not hiking, not yet anyway) is something I wanted to do to take advantage of the amount of weight I've lost over the last year (in real terms, equivalent to my combined checked in and hand luggage allowance for this holiday - how I used to walk around with that all the time I can't imagine). Prior to my diet, walking up the stairs was hard work, now I wanted to get out into the countryside, and Haines Junction seemed the place to do it. I bought a walking guide to the area by Vivien Lougheed, and picked out a few walks of no more than a couple of hours each on which I figured that Sandra would be able to keep up with me on her short little legs.
Our first stop this morning was the big and very modern visitor information centre. The Holland America people got there before us, two coachloads of them, and were poking and prodding exhibits in a disinterested fashion. It seems to be a hallmark of these people, where ever we've seen them they just seem to be waiting for it to be time to get back on the coach and go to the next place, where they can get off the coach and wait around to get back on the coach again. We waited until they'd all gone into a room where they were being shown a video about something, then picked up a couple of maps from the information desk, one being a walking tour of Haines Junction itself.
The walking tour is mentioned in my hiking guide, and it was one of the walks I'd always intended us to do, so, in the glorious sunshine and with the Auriol Range of mountains towering over the town to the west, we set off. To get to Point Of Interest Number 1 (the St. Elias Convention Centre) in the walking tour guide, we had to walk past Points Of Interest Number 21 (the Glacier View Motel, constructed of modular residences and "assorted orange crates" left over from the Haines Junction maintenance camp during the construction of the Alaska Highway), 18 (St. Christopher's Anglican Church), 19 (Our Lady of the Way Catholic Church, made out of a converted American army Quonset Hut) and 3 (the Old Fire Hall, now the Museum Of Nostalgia set up by a man with the unlikely name of Smokey Guttman - you have no idea how bummed I was that this place was closed). We arrived at the St. Elias Convention Centre just as two coaches, which had obviously skipped the fascinations of POIs 21, 18, 19 and 3, disgorged their contents of disgruntled Holland America tourists into the car park. They were in a surly mood, looking for food: a room had been set aside for them with sandwiches and drinks supplied, but many of them took several attempts to find it (indeed, some of them may still be looking).
The St. Elias Convention Centre had a feature on life in the Haines Junction area from pre-Gold Rush (it was an area the First Nation people travelled through on their long annual migrations) through to present day. We left while the Holland America people were still refuelling, and heading on to POI Number 4, Pugwash's Place. This is a cabin previously owned by Fraser Pollard (now deceased) - from Pugwash, Nova Scotia - since the 1970s. Mr. Pollard would "scavenge treasures" from the local dump in order to supplement his income. When the village bought a compactor for the dump as part of a waste management project, the wily Mr. Pollard sought and gained employment... as the waste compactor operator.
The Holland America people were missing all this great stuff.
From here we made our way to POI Number 8. This consists of a number of what look like planks raised up high above the ground on other planks, and when I first saw them yesterday I bet Sandra any amount of money she would like to name that they had at one point been used for hanging and drying salmon. I was completely wrong, but never more delighted when I found out their true use. POI Number 8 is the Haines Junction Swallow Haven. Anyone who has had swallows nesting in the eaves of their house knows what a nuisance these birds can be. To overcome this, the people of Haines Junction built a series of raised false eaves for the swallows: the birds moved in by the hundreds, with the added bonus that each bird devours enormous quantities of the local mosquito population, thus reducing the need for pesticide control. Simple and brilliant.
From there we looped back up towards the village, taking a photo op at the Antler Signpost (POI Number 12), before ending up at the Village Bakery and Deli. This pleasant log cabin has plenty of outdoor picnic seating, and serves up freshly made bread, pizza, sandwiches, wraps, panninis, etc. We sat in the sun with our chosen lunches, and lapped up the good weather for a while.
After that we came back to our Suite, changing into trainers rather than sandals, and headed out for a walk around the Dezadeash Trail (the Dezadeash being the river that runs to the south of the town). This, according to my guide books, is an easy walk, just 90 minutes or so, and in the heat of the afternoon it was all we wanted. A warning sign at the start of the trail tells you that you're in bear country now, and another board warns ominously, "what you see isn't the same as what sees you". Suitably terrified, we set off, clumping and coughing and making a lot of noise (so that the bears would know where to find us).
It was a good walk, nice to be out in the open after three days of virtually continuous driving. There were a lot of mosquitoes and flies though, it was a good job we were both sprayed up with insect repellant. We saw three squirrels and a prairie dog, and when we got to the end of the walk we had an ice cream for a treat. Then, because it was late afternoon, we came back and sat out on the deck for a while, listening to weird bird calls and reading (or in my case, pulling together pictures for the Flickr site).
We still have a few days left of our holiday. I'd thought about booking a flight over to the glaciers and mountain ranges beyond the mountains we can see bordering this tiny town, but to be honest we're both kinda "full up" with trips and organising complicated days out. We just want to take it easy for these last days.
And of course, get some more walking in... I didn't buy that compass for nothing.
Saturday, 13 July 2013
Day 16 - The Alaska Highway
The Alaska Highway was built during World War II as a means of connecting mainland USA with Alaska. This was felt necessary for two reasons; firstly it enabled the shipment of supplies up through Canada into Alaska and over to America's then allies the Russians, via Siberia, and secondly the shipment of troops to protect Alaska and Canada should the Japanese invade via the Alaskan Aleutian Islands (Japan actually did attempt this in 1942, but with no success). Construction of the 1700 mile road began in March 1942, and was completed by the end of October of the same year, the northern linkup of the road crews being at mile 1202, Beaver Creek (see, there was a point to us staying there). Interestingly, a lot of the infrastructure developed for the movement of large amounts of people and supplies during the Yukon Gold Rush was also used for the construction of the Alaska Highway.
The section of the Highway that we were due to drive today runs from Beaver Creek to Haines Junction, a distance of 180 miles. It might have been further in 1942; the Alaska Highway today is over 300 miles shorter than when it was first constructed, as it has been straightened out a lot over the intervening years. Polly Evans, who wrote the Bradt guide to the Yukon without which this holiday would have been infinitely more impossible to plan, begins her Haines Junction to Beaver Creek section on the Alaska Highway with the words, "Oh you lucky, lucky thing". That sets an expectation in a man's mind.
It was bright sunshine when we checked out of our basic accommodation at the 1202 Motor Inn (basic it may have been, but I had the best night's sleep there that I've had for the whole holiday so far). We drove down to the Beaver Creek Visitor Information Centre, where we listened to the two attendants there telling us terrifying bear-encounter stories until we made good our escape. Heading south down the Alaska Highway we could again see the snow-topped Saint Elias Mountains to our right, marching into the distance as if they were leading to Gondor: with the morning sun shining on them, they were even more spectacular than yesterday.
The road was proving to be an interesting drive; once again a mix of surfaces, sometimes paved and sometimes gravel. In its Yukon stretch, the Alaska Highway mostly follows the Shakwak Trench, and the eponymous Shakwak Project is an agreement between the US and Canada to maintain this stretch of road... with the resultant construction and variable road surfaces. It keeps a driver on his toes.
We passed over White River, which wasn't really a river at that point but more of a sandy bed - every year, when the snow melts, this river deposits millions of tons of sediment into the Yukon - and were approaching a bridge before a wide place in the road called Cook's Koidern River Lodge, when something bounded out in front of us. My first thought, and Sandra's, was that is was a fox or even a wolf, but as we got closer I said, "that's a lynx". We couldn't get a decent photograph of it other than its backside, but it was obviously a big cat of some sort. We slowed right down and it cut across the road and into the undergrowth, out of sight.
Still moving slowly, we drove over the bridge and further along the road, but we didn't see the cat again. Your heart beats faster when you see something like that, especially something you've not seen before. Your senses come alive, the day seems brighter and more exciting. And it was in that state that, just a mile or so further along the road, we got our first sighting of Pickhandle Lake. The bear-story ladies at the Beaver Creek Visitor Centre had told us of a family of ducks at this lake which had taken to approaching visitors in order to be fed on bread. Um... we're from England, we've been feeding bread to ducks since we were children, it's not something we find exciting any more, and I had no intention of stopping at Pickhandle Lake.
But I just couldn't help myself pulling into the side of the road as the lake came into view. Maybe we were just lucky with the time of day, the angle of the sun, the lack of breeze to ruffle the surface of the lake, I don't know, but it knocked everything we've seen so far into a cocked hat. Lake Louise, when I first saw it in 2008, became the benchmark by which I measure the beauty of a view: this easily equalled it, and bettered it in the fact that there were no other people around, just the two of us. I've used a lot of superlatives over the last few days to try and describe what we've seen in the Yukon, but when, a few minutes later, another vehicle stopped and the driver got out, the only thing I could think to say was, "it's quite something, isn't it?" He responded, "it sure is beautiful".
We drove on another mile to the Pickhandle Lake rest area (the ducks were there - actually a female mallard and a number of ducklings), and again I was moved beyond words by the spectacle. Eventually I said to Sandra, "this is it, I don't want to go anywhere else".
Other people started to arrive, and rather than have the moment spoiled, we reluctantly moved on. Further down the road we came upon a tiny car-gaggle. It's the first we've seen since we've been in the Yukon (probably because there aren't enough people here to make a proper gaggle). We slowed down, and someone told us there was a black bear up on the side of the hill. There was too, going about his business, and his business was - as it always is for bears - eating. We watched him for a while, but he stubbornly refused to pose in a photogenic way, just continued gnawing at leaves and berries and grass, oblivious to the attention he was drawing.
Finally we tore ourselves away again, heading for Burwash Landing. I wasn't expecting anything much of note here, except maybe a decent view at which to stop and enjoy the sandwiches we'd bought at the 1202 Motor Inn, but there wasn't even that. We did visit their Kluane Museum of Natural History, where they had a stuffed Canadian Lynx, which, when compared with our photos of the one we'd seen earlier confirmed the sighting. We also learned that the sighting of such a creature in daylight and at this time of year was quite rare, which made it all the more special.
Pausing only to photograph the largest gold pan in the world, we moved on from Burwash Landing to Destruction Bay, so named because strong winds there blew down structures during the construction of the Alaska Highway. If there was little at Burwash Landing, there was less at Destruction Bay, so, having eaten our lunch in a rest area, we drove on.
Kluane Lake was on our left now, the largest lake in the Yukon. The road pulled teasingly away from it, then swung back and travelled close to it, giving us stunning views of not just the lake but the Ruby Range mountains beyond, and the Saint Elias Mountains curving against its southern flank. We kept stopping to take pictures as each bend in the road seemed to bring more and more amazing views.
But the best was saved until last.
The road sweeps round in a long, slow arc, similar to those we've seen on the Icefield Parkway, drifting over a gargantuan landscape, letting you know how dwarfed you are by the distances and size of the scenery. Then it curves around the bottom of the lake, and presents you with a view of the journey you have just undertaken; the mountains to the left, the lake itself stretching out in front of you, the enormity of the oddly named Sheep Mountain off to one side, dwarfing everything else. It's jaw-dropping. It was one of those moments when we both stepped out of the car and had to move apart from each other to spend some time alone with our thoughts and with the impossible views before us.
I debated not even writing this part up in the blog; I didn't want to share it, I don't want people to know about it, I don't want people tramping up there to be herded into huge car parks by slick attendants, I don't want there to be viewing platforms like they have at Lake Louise. Never have I been so moved by a place. The Yukon finally got to me today.
I don't know how long we stayed there. I do know that starting the car engine took a physical act of will. Leaving that place was like leaving a lover, that's the only way I can describe it. It's corny, but all I could think of was a phrase from The Lord of the Rings, where Gimli leaves the land of Lorien: "I have taken my worst wound at this parting, having looked my last upon that which is fairest."
So, on to Haines Junction.
Another hour of driving, for we had dillied and dallied on the way, and a journey that should have taken just a few hours had taken nearly six. We tumbled into a sunny Haines Junction at 4 pm, and followed the street map in my Bradt guide (there aren't many roads in this town) to the place I'd booked as a last resort when my other Haines Junction booking fell through. There waiting for us by the Aspen Place Suite was Mrs. Erni Watson, the most welcoming and chirpy person we could have hoped for. The Suite is unlike anything we've ever had in Canada: it is in fact a small cottage, with a kitchen, dining area, sitting area, bathroom and bedroom. There's even a deck outside on which to sit in the sun (and we have, and will again).
Supplies were one thing we were short of though, so Erni told us where we could get some milk and cereal (she'd made us some homemade bread for tomorrow, plus there is coffee and butter and juice and other staples), and because she was going to the liquor store herself she gave us a lift down there where we picked up some wine and Yukon Red beer. We walked back from there; everywhere is walking distance in Haines Junction.
The town is smaller than I thought it would be, and the main food store has recently closed down (is it right that the food store closes down but the liquor store is doing great business?). We ate tonight in the Northern Lights restaurant. You wouldn't know it was the Northern Lights restaurant because the sign's fallen off, but it's associated with the Alcan Motel which I remember when I was looking for a place to book, and my gosh I enjoyed the chicken curry and a couple of beers.
Tomorrow we'll head over to the Visitor Centre to see what's what, but I've got some walks planned. They're easy ones, don't worry.
The section of the Highway that we were due to drive today runs from Beaver Creek to Haines Junction, a distance of 180 miles. It might have been further in 1942; the Alaska Highway today is over 300 miles shorter than when it was first constructed, as it has been straightened out a lot over the intervening years. Polly Evans, who wrote the Bradt guide to the Yukon without which this holiday would have been infinitely more impossible to plan, begins her Haines Junction to Beaver Creek section on the Alaska Highway with the words, "Oh you lucky, lucky thing". That sets an expectation in a man's mind.
It was bright sunshine when we checked out of our basic accommodation at the 1202 Motor Inn (basic it may have been, but I had the best night's sleep there that I've had for the whole holiday so far). We drove down to the Beaver Creek Visitor Information Centre, where we listened to the two attendants there telling us terrifying bear-encounter stories until we made good our escape. Heading south down the Alaska Highway we could again see the snow-topped Saint Elias Mountains to our right, marching into the distance as if they were leading to Gondor: with the morning sun shining on them, they were even more spectacular than yesterday.
The road was proving to be an interesting drive; once again a mix of surfaces, sometimes paved and sometimes gravel. In its Yukon stretch, the Alaska Highway mostly follows the Shakwak Trench, and the eponymous Shakwak Project is an agreement between the US and Canada to maintain this stretch of road... with the resultant construction and variable road surfaces. It keeps a driver on his toes.
We passed over White River, which wasn't really a river at that point but more of a sandy bed - every year, when the snow melts, this river deposits millions of tons of sediment into the Yukon - and were approaching a bridge before a wide place in the road called Cook's Koidern River Lodge, when something bounded out in front of us. My first thought, and Sandra's, was that is was a fox or even a wolf, but as we got closer I said, "that's a lynx". We couldn't get a decent photograph of it other than its backside, but it was obviously a big cat of some sort. We slowed right down and it cut across the road and into the undergrowth, out of sight.
Still moving slowly, we drove over the bridge and further along the road, but we didn't see the cat again. Your heart beats faster when you see something like that, especially something you've not seen before. Your senses come alive, the day seems brighter and more exciting. And it was in that state that, just a mile or so further along the road, we got our first sighting of Pickhandle Lake. The bear-story ladies at the Beaver Creek Visitor Centre had told us of a family of ducks at this lake which had taken to approaching visitors in order to be fed on bread. Um... we're from England, we've been feeding bread to ducks since we were children, it's not something we find exciting any more, and I had no intention of stopping at Pickhandle Lake.
But I just couldn't help myself pulling into the side of the road as the lake came into view. Maybe we were just lucky with the time of day, the angle of the sun, the lack of breeze to ruffle the surface of the lake, I don't know, but it knocked everything we've seen so far into a cocked hat. Lake Louise, when I first saw it in 2008, became the benchmark by which I measure the beauty of a view: this easily equalled it, and bettered it in the fact that there were no other people around, just the two of us. I've used a lot of superlatives over the last few days to try and describe what we've seen in the Yukon, but when, a few minutes later, another vehicle stopped and the driver got out, the only thing I could think to say was, "it's quite something, isn't it?" He responded, "it sure is beautiful".
We drove on another mile to the Pickhandle Lake rest area (the ducks were there - actually a female mallard and a number of ducklings), and again I was moved beyond words by the spectacle. Eventually I said to Sandra, "this is it, I don't want to go anywhere else".
Other people started to arrive, and rather than have the moment spoiled, we reluctantly moved on. Further down the road we came upon a tiny car-gaggle. It's the first we've seen since we've been in the Yukon (probably because there aren't enough people here to make a proper gaggle). We slowed down, and someone told us there was a black bear up on the side of the hill. There was too, going about his business, and his business was - as it always is for bears - eating. We watched him for a while, but he stubbornly refused to pose in a photogenic way, just continued gnawing at leaves and berries and grass, oblivious to the attention he was drawing.
Finally we tore ourselves away again, heading for Burwash Landing. I wasn't expecting anything much of note here, except maybe a decent view at which to stop and enjoy the sandwiches we'd bought at the 1202 Motor Inn, but there wasn't even that. We did visit their Kluane Museum of Natural History, where they had a stuffed Canadian Lynx, which, when compared with our photos of the one we'd seen earlier confirmed the sighting. We also learned that the sighting of such a creature in daylight and at this time of year was quite rare, which made it all the more special.
Pausing only to photograph the largest gold pan in the world, we moved on from Burwash Landing to Destruction Bay, so named because strong winds there blew down structures during the construction of the Alaska Highway. If there was little at Burwash Landing, there was less at Destruction Bay, so, having eaten our lunch in a rest area, we drove on.
Kluane Lake was on our left now, the largest lake in the Yukon. The road pulled teasingly away from it, then swung back and travelled close to it, giving us stunning views of not just the lake but the Ruby Range mountains beyond, and the Saint Elias Mountains curving against its southern flank. We kept stopping to take pictures as each bend in the road seemed to bring more and more amazing views.
But the best was saved until last.
The road sweeps round in a long, slow arc, similar to those we've seen on the Icefield Parkway, drifting over a gargantuan landscape, letting you know how dwarfed you are by the distances and size of the scenery. Then it curves around the bottom of the lake, and presents you with a view of the journey you have just undertaken; the mountains to the left, the lake itself stretching out in front of you, the enormity of the oddly named Sheep Mountain off to one side, dwarfing everything else. It's jaw-dropping. It was one of those moments when we both stepped out of the car and had to move apart from each other to spend some time alone with our thoughts and with the impossible views before us.
I debated not even writing this part up in the blog; I didn't want to share it, I don't want people to know about it, I don't want people tramping up there to be herded into huge car parks by slick attendants, I don't want there to be viewing platforms like they have at Lake Louise. Never have I been so moved by a place. The Yukon finally got to me today.
I don't know how long we stayed there. I do know that starting the car engine took a physical act of will. Leaving that place was like leaving a lover, that's the only way I can describe it. It's corny, but all I could think of was a phrase from The Lord of the Rings, where Gimli leaves the land of Lorien: "I have taken my worst wound at this parting, having looked my last upon that which is fairest."
So, on to Haines Junction.
Another hour of driving, for we had dillied and dallied on the way, and a journey that should have taken just a few hours had taken nearly six. We tumbled into a sunny Haines Junction at 4 pm, and followed the street map in my Bradt guide (there aren't many roads in this town) to the place I'd booked as a last resort when my other Haines Junction booking fell through. There waiting for us by the Aspen Place Suite was Mrs. Erni Watson, the most welcoming and chirpy person we could have hoped for. The Suite is unlike anything we've ever had in Canada: it is in fact a small cottage, with a kitchen, dining area, sitting area, bathroom and bedroom. There's even a deck outside on which to sit in the sun (and we have, and will again).
Supplies were one thing we were short of though, so Erni told us where we could get some milk and cereal (she'd made us some homemade bread for tomorrow, plus there is coffee and butter and juice and other staples), and because she was going to the liquor store herself she gave us a lift down there where we picked up some wine and Yukon Red beer. We walked back from there; everywhere is walking distance in Haines Junction.
The town is smaller than I thought it would be, and the main food store has recently closed down (is it right that the food store closes down but the liquor store is doing great business?). We ate tonight in the Northern Lights restaurant. You wouldn't know it was the Northern Lights restaurant because the sign's fallen off, but it's associated with the Alcan Motel which I remember when I was looking for a place to book, and my gosh I enjoyed the chicken curry and a couple of beers.
Tomorrow we'll head over to the Visitor Centre to see what's what, but I've got some walks planned. They're easy ones, don't worry.
Friday, 12 July 2013
Day 15 - The Top Of The World Highway
I'd always known that today was going to be a bit of a slog. It's almost 270 miles from Dawson City in a long arc round to Beaver Creek, which doesn't sound too far, but I knew the road wasn't going to be an easy one. There were two border crossings, from Canada into the USA in the morning, and then from the USA back into Canada later on in the day, having traversed the Alaska stage. But other than going back down through Whitehorse, making the journey over 400 miles, there's no realistic way of getting around to Haines Junction, which is our destination for the last part of our holiday.
What intrigued me when I was planning this part of the trip was the name of the road we were going to be driving on; it's Highway 9, but they call it The Top Of The World Highway. What an evocative name, how could we not take it?
We caught the ferry that operates daily from downtown Dawson across the Yukon River. The road climbs quickly, leaving the small town far behind and giving breathtaking views of the river valley below. Soon the road surface becomes unpaved, like the Dempster Highway, but it's easy enough to drive on if you take it steady. The views from the road are staggering as you look out over the Ogilvie Mountains to the north, and the Klondike Plateau and the Dawson Range to the south. There is, however, a distinct problem in photographing these brilliant views, because there are always trees in the way! The road takes you up ever higher until you are riding a backbone ridge (there's probably a geological name for this) on the top of the mountains, and you understand why the road gets its name. Either side of you it seems the world stretches away forever, as if you can see to the ends of the earth.
After a while we got stuck behind some RVs. We've seen them a lot on our Canadian holidays, and usually you can get past them easy enough, but on this road there are few passing opportunities; you just have to grin and bear it... well, bear it anyway. Soon enough they pulled into a rest area, and we were on our way again.
Our first stop was the customs post on the US/Canadian border. We got through here okay, thanks to the green waivers Billy Belushi had stapled into our passports in Skagway a lifetime ago, and were back in Alaska. Here the road became awful. Really dreadful. The Americans seemed to be digging most of it up. It was as bad as, if not worse than, the road up Keno Hill; poor Arthur was taking a right beating.
Thankfully relief came in the shape of the crazy town of Chicken, Alaska. When researching this holiday I found the place, and was barely able to believe it existed. As most towns are in this part of the world, it's only tiny, and grew up around a mining community; indeed, there's another of those huge dredges here. Originally the town was going to be called Ptarmigan because of the ubiquity of said bird in the region, but none of the miners could spell "ptarmigan", so they called it Chicken instead. This is really true. Everything there is chicken-related. They've just gone bonkers with the chicken motif, even serving a chicken liqueur; thankfully I was driving, so couldn't partake.
We grabbed a chicken and mayo sandwich to go (we've been to a place called Chicken and we've been to a place called Mayo, so it seemed appropriate), and set off, conscious of the fact that we still had a fair distance to travel, and that the border crossings close at 8 pm (that's Alaskan time; they close at 9 pm Canada time, but we were utterly confused at this point as to which border crossings were working to which time zone). Just out of Chicken we came upon a lone moose, tromping about in a pool, lazily gulping down weeds. They're ugly beasts, but so huge and magnificent to watch... from a distance; moose kill more people than bears do.
We carried on until we found a rest area, and ate our sandwiches (along with some fabulous potato salad they'd given us), then carried on our way. The sun was out, the temperature, even in Alaska, even this high up in the mountains, was in the high teens and even hit the twenties at one point. I was starting to watch the fuel gauge, wanting to top up with fuel at Tetlin Junction where the road we were on (now called the Taylor Highway) joins the Alaska Highway. The problem was, when we got to Tetlin Junction, I couldn't see a gas station anywhere.
I was working out mpg in my head, trying to calculate against the "kilometres left" on Arthur's readout (the Americans work in miles, the Canadians in kms), when to my left I saw something which at first I thought was a dog, then realised was in fact a small black bear. Sandra spotted it too, "ooh-ooh"ing and reaching for her camera. We slowed down and watched the fellow as he eyed the road from the safety of the long grass. I'm no bear expert, but I'd say he was either in his first or second summer, probably his second. I couldn't see a mother bear around, so he could have been on his own (he could also have been a she).
He trotted up to the edge of the road and started to walk along it, both of us videoing and photographing frantically, while trying to enjoy the moment; it was, after all, the first bear of this holiday. Then another vehicle came down the road in the opposite direction, and the bear slipped back into the undergrowth. We waited a while, but he didn't come back out.
We started off again. I reckoned we would have about 30 km of spare fuel in the tank if we had to go all the way to Beaver Creek without finding a gas station. Just to be sure, I knocked the air con off. Well, every little helps. We stopped a few more times for photo ops, and just to look at the staggering views (because most of the time they were just too big to photograph). The Kluane Ranges started to come into view, and behind them the Saint Elias Mountains, and behind THEM... well, it was difficult to tell where the snow-topped mountains ended and the distant clouds began.
At a tiny place called Northway, population 71, there was a gas station and we filled up, then headed down the last few miles of Alaska and over the Canadian border... where the road turned awful again. The Canadians are revamping this section of the Alaska Highway, and we had to endure about ten miles of gravel, construction and potholes before finally reaching a paved road again. There it was just a few miles to the Canadian customs post (where Jim Joel's green US visa waivers were unceremoniously removed from our passports), and then a final couple of miles to our accommodation for the night, the 1202 Motor Inn at Beaver Creek. It gets its name because when it was built it was at mile 1202 on the Alaska Highway, but the road has changed a lot since those days, and now it's at mile 1169. Or it would be if the Canadians measured things in miles, so actually it's at km 1935. Whatever, it's got a big plastic polar bear over the door, and it's quiet and got a comfortable bed, which is what we need after our long but satisfying road trip.
What intrigued me when I was planning this part of the trip was the name of the road we were going to be driving on; it's Highway 9, but they call it The Top Of The World Highway. What an evocative name, how could we not take it?
We caught the ferry that operates daily from downtown Dawson across the Yukon River. The road climbs quickly, leaving the small town far behind and giving breathtaking views of the river valley below. Soon the road surface becomes unpaved, like the Dempster Highway, but it's easy enough to drive on if you take it steady. The views from the road are staggering as you look out over the Ogilvie Mountains to the north, and the Klondike Plateau and the Dawson Range to the south. There is, however, a distinct problem in photographing these brilliant views, because there are always trees in the way! The road takes you up ever higher until you are riding a backbone ridge (there's probably a geological name for this) on the top of the mountains, and you understand why the road gets its name. Either side of you it seems the world stretches away forever, as if you can see to the ends of the earth.
After a while we got stuck behind some RVs. We've seen them a lot on our Canadian holidays, and usually you can get past them easy enough, but on this road there are few passing opportunities; you just have to grin and bear it... well, bear it anyway. Soon enough they pulled into a rest area, and we were on our way again.
Our first stop was the customs post on the US/Canadian border. We got through here okay, thanks to the green waivers Billy Belushi had stapled into our passports in Skagway a lifetime ago, and were back in Alaska. Here the road became awful. Really dreadful. The Americans seemed to be digging most of it up. It was as bad as, if not worse than, the road up Keno Hill; poor Arthur was taking a right beating.
Thankfully relief came in the shape of the crazy town of Chicken, Alaska. When researching this holiday I found the place, and was barely able to believe it existed. As most towns are in this part of the world, it's only tiny, and grew up around a mining community; indeed, there's another of those huge dredges here. Originally the town was going to be called Ptarmigan because of the ubiquity of said bird in the region, but none of the miners could spell "ptarmigan", so they called it Chicken instead. This is really true. Everything there is chicken-related. They've just gone bonkers with the chicken motif, even serving a chicken liqueur; thankfully I was driving, so couldn't partake.
We grabbed a chicken and mayo sandwich to go (we've been to a place called Chicken and we've been to a place called Mayo, so it seemed appropriate), and set off, conscious of the fact that we still had a fair distance to travel, and that the border crossings close at 8 pm (that's Alaskan time; they close at 9 pm Canada time, but we were utterly confused at this point as to which border crossings were working to which time zone). Just out of Chicken we came upon a lone moose, tromping about in a pool, lazily gulping down weeds. They're ugly beasts, but so huge and magnificent to watch... from a distance; moose kill more people than bears do.
We carried on until we found a rest area, and ate our sandwiches (along with some fabulous potato salad they'd given us), then carried on our way. The sun was out, the temperature, even in Alaska, even this high up in the mountains, was in the high teens and even hit the twenties at one point. I was starting to watch the fuel gauge, wanting to top up with fuel at Tetlin Junction where the road we were on (now called the Taylor Highway) joins the Alaska Highway. The problem was, when we got to Tetlin Junction, I couldn't see a gas station anywhere.
I was working out mpg in my head, trying to calculate against the "kilometres left" on Arthur's readout (the Americans work in miles, the Canadians in kms), when to my left I saw something which at first I thought was a dog, then realised was in fact a small black bear. Sandra spotted it too, "ooh-ooh"ing and reaching for her camera. We slowed down and watched the fellow as he eyed the road from the safety of the long grass. I'm no bear expert, but I'd say he was either in his first or second summer, probably his second. I couldn't see a mother bear around, so he could have been on his own (he could also have been a she).
He trotted up to the edge of the road and started to walk along it, both of us videoing and photographing frantically, while trying to enjoy the moment; it was, after all, the first bear of this holiday. Then another vehicle came down the road in the opposite direction, and the bear slipped back into the undergrowth. We waited a while, but he didn't come back out.
We started off again. I reckoned we would have about 30 km of spare fuel in the tank if we had to go all the way to Beaver Creek without finding a gas station. Just to be sure, I knocked the air con off. Well, every little helps. We stopped a few more times for photo ops, and just to look at the staggering views (because most of the time they were just too big to photograph). The Kluane Ranges started to come into view, and behind them the Saint Elias Mountains, and behind THEM... well, it was difficult to tell where the snow-topped mountains ended and the distant clouds began.
At a tiny place called Northway, population 71, there was a gas station and we filled up, then headed down the last few miles of Alaska and over the Canadian border... where the road turned awful again. The Canadians are revamping this section of the Alaska Highway, and we had to endure about ten miles of gravel, construction and potholes before finally reaching a paved road again. There it was just a few miles to the Canadian customs post (where Jim Joel's green US visa waivers were unceremoniously removed from our passports), and then a final couple of miles to our accommodation for the night, the 1202 Motor Inn at Beaver Creek. It gets its name because when it was built it was at mile 1202 on the Alaska Highway, but the road has changed a lot since those days, and now it's at mile 1169. Or it would be if the Canadians measured things in miles, so actually it's at km 1935. Whatever, it's got a big plastic polar bear over the door, and it's quiet and got a comfortable bed, which is what we need after our long but satisfying road trip.
Subscribe to:
Comments (Atom)
