Homer Bound:
An Account of My Solo Travels to Homer, Alaska in a 1966 VW
Westy Named Clara
September/October, 2009
Page 6 - Best of B.C. and into the Y.T. – Majestic
Mountains, Muncho Lake, and Hints of Winter
The sunrise bloomed, a brisk and golden morning, and I opened the side doors to a stiff wind. The unfortunate proximity to the road and bracing chill motivated me to just get the bus running and head out. I grabbed my camera first, though, in an attempt to capture just a glimpse of the glowing trees across the river. Slanting rays of warmth lanced through the trees in my mirrors as I drove, but as the canyon became darker and a little more confining, dark clouds began to obscure the sunlight with their somber hulking masses. For a time, as I ran this exquisite section of road, I thought I was in for a day of oppressive drabness, but after a spate of raindrops, the clouds began to break up, revealing great mountains.
Having perused the map just
before I took off, I estimated that I was just to the east of
Summit Lake, somewhere along the Tetsa River. The map also
indicated dots, but I musta blinked when I passed those. It was
becoming much more beautiful as I drove, one huge pyramid-like
peak of a seemingly monolithic nature attracted much of my
attention. Slithering betwixt peaks of increasing ruggedness,
there was an entire stretch of fetchingly curvaceous road that I
think of when I consider the name Summit Lake Pass. The downhill
run was more epic than I had expected it would be during the easy
ascent. It was like I climbed over a massive wall into another
land! I did very much appreciate the total lack of guardrails on
the vertiginous edge, as this sharpened my sense of altitude. Far
below the road, and stretching off into the distance, meandered
the sculpted valley of a braided-channel river, flanked on all
sides by towering rock pinnacles, which were girded by dense
forest.
After a brief stop for a
photo or two, I jumped back into the bus, wiggling my
wind-chilled fingers for relief, and was not driving but for the
briefest of moments when a glance to the right caused me to groan
“aaw MAN!” and immediately seek out a safe place to
turn around. A delightfully clear, shallow stream ran amidst
weathered rocks that must have fallen from the massive walls
framing the cleft edifice at the end of the gorge. Not only was
the spot compellingly beautiful, but there was a road! An easy,
sandy/rocky track ran back into the canyon a bit, and the
wind’s ferocity was blunted by the canyon walls. Breakfast
time!
I scooped up some of that
crystalline water for tea, and as it heated, went for a quick
walk amongst the boulders. The stream’s character was
continually tantalizing, but I could not quite get it
photographically. I found myself wishing that I had arrived there
nearer the afternoon, as there was no actual sunlight to be had,
except on the far crags. I’d have bet that the place was
really vibrant when the sun hit it! I offer no excuses for the
bad photography though, except perhaps that I was too cold to
think creatively – I did what I could at the time, OK? But
still, I enjoyed the place, and after shooting a little video of
the creek, I re-warmed up the bus and hit the road.
Not long after my respite in the
canyon, I chanced upon some crazy caribou just as the big rig I
had been watching in the rear view came close enough for me to
have to do the best I could to indicate to him that I was pulling
over and why. The truck slowed, probably more for the idiot in
the Volkswagen than for the family of caribou, but I didn’t
get any bad vibes from him, and the caribou just moseyed off the
road a tad in deference to the possible threat he posed. As the
truck quickly became a memory, the caribou ambled back out onto
the road, apparently curious about the foliage on the other side,
but shied away from me as I crept toward them in low first gear,
camera poised. Ooh! Wildlifes! This was becoming a simply super
day!
So, for no other reason than
to celebrate getting my wish of seeing wildlifes, I dutifully
snapped pictures of the many other caribou I encountered as I
drove. As yet, I had seen little other traffic, and I basically
had all this to myself. The sun was finally coming out in force,
and more of the deep shadows lifted to reveal details of the
astonishing mountains through which I was passing. I was amazed
at the variety presented as the scenery unfolded; it almost
seemed as though no two of these mountains were alike enough to
belong in the same range as their fellows. I wondered at this,
thinking that perhaps I was driving through the result of a
collision between tectonic plates. It is not often that one can
see the power of the earth’s movements depicted so
dramatically! A check of the map later revealed that I was many
miles away from the Continental Divide, so I’m not sure
what to think.
Signs told me that I was
headed for Muncho Lake, but also small settlements, the most
notable of which was Toad River, where I fueled up and chatted
briefly with another traveler who was also headed to Alaska. He
seemed very amiable, and I attributed part of this to the social
privation of the road, which leads to a sense of alienation.
People WANT to make contact after so long humming to themselves
or speaking only to their passengers. Somewhere near Toad River,
whether before it or after, I noticed a spit of land jutting out
toward the river. It took several tries to find it again, as the
entrance to the road thereon was somewhat invisible, and I passed
it up twice before turning down it and driving out to the end. It
was a fine spot, with epic views in all directions. Just a quick
bit o'fun.
Back on the road, which snaked
mostly along the river with a few gentle rises to crest, I found
myself continuing to enjoy the scenery and the road itself.
Muncho Lake was beautiful, a long body of water lined all around
by mountains. Here's where the proverbial picture is worth a
thousand words, so I'll shut up and let the photos do the
work. (Banner/specific gallery link) In the meantime, I enjoyed
getting really close to some stone sheep who were a bit too
relaxed as I drove within ten feet of them (stoned sheep?), and
later, a whole herd of bison, which were kind enough to allow
themselves to be used as a backdrop for yet another bus picture.
As I stepped out of the safety of the bus to take the picture,
however, I became acutely aware of just how big these things
were, and how much I was beholden to them for their good graces,
that they did not seek to flatten me in a fit of pique!
There was also the moment I
took to investigate something called "Whirlpool Canyon"
on the Liard River. How could one pass by any such thing so
named? I am uncertain of whether this place was the result of the
confluence of three rivers or if it was one river coming back
together after being split by some hard bit of bedrock. It was
something to behold, that's for sure. The raw power of the
water drew me on as I negotiated the slate-like rock against
which one part of this torrent flung itself prior to merging with
the main body of the river. A network of faint trails guided me
up to a bluff where I was able to see most of the spectacle at
once. Cursing the light, I shot some photos and took another
trail back toward the bus through a lush woodland with mosses,
rocks, mushrooms, and colorful foliage.For the last day I had been keeping an eye out for the folk who sold us their house in Homer. They had departed upon confirmation of the deal closing, and were headed toward their new place in Washington State. Since there was really only one road to choose from, the chance of seeing them was very high. I checked for their truck and trailer at Liard Hot Springs, which looked to be quite popular, and not finding them there, continued on. Eventually I did spot them, and stopped to say hi and bye and all that good garbage, talking about the house and the road and whatnot. They told me that I would encounter snow between Whitehorse and Tok, and also left me with stern warnings about taking it easy on the frost heaves - apparently they got pretty darn severe! We wished each other well, and Paul and Kelly then continued south, while I turned back to the north.
Not much later, I passed once again
into Yukon Territory. The road here wiggles back and forth
between Y.T. and B.C., therefore, this was the second time
I'd been to Yukon! Not much time passed between crossing this
border and arriving in Watson Lake ... at least, that's where
I THINK I was! Given the number of signs posted (a
literal
signpost forest!),
I wasn't sure of much except that maybe I wasn't in
Kansas anymore. Crazy stuff.Making my way back to the road and toward the darkening mountains beyond the town, I began to doubt my decision to pass up the opportunity to fuel up in Watson Lake. One of the chief strategies suggested by those who have successfully navigated the Alcan was to always remain on the high side of half a tank, and to fill up at every opportunity. And so it was that I filled up at an outpost not too far from Watson Lake, despite the fact that I was sitting pretty with three-quarters of a fifteen-gallon tank, plus seven-and-a-half gallons in two spare cans. I kinda wasted my time and energy with those cans, but you know what they say!
I was
experiencing the timelessness of the lengthened daylight hours
that exist in the northern latitudes. I drove west on a long road
toward mountains that were blackened into shadow by the sun
blazing just over and through them. This was one of the longest
sunsets I had ever noticed;the weird thing was that since it was
late in the year, the actual hours were shortening, but the
relative time the sun stayed near the horizon seemed stretched,
which made for long sunsets as long as long mornings. It was kind
of a pain, too, as it not only continually blinded me and gave me
a headache, but it made picture-taking a little more challenging!
Naturally, most of the subjects I wanted were also right between
my lens and the sun.
At long last, the fiery glow I was
waiting for appeared in a break in the clouds on the far horizon.
I had seen another mountain with a curious red glow on its side,
like a focused beam, just as I swept around the base of a
stubborn lump of rock that was keeping me in the dark. I could
now see the source of that beam, but it failed to illuminate the
underside of the cloud cover as I had hoped. This was when the
driving was at its most difficult, as the beam was shining
directly into my eyes, but the road and verge were obscured by a
dread dusk that my headlights could not penetrate. I had to slow
down for a pretty good stretch of time!True nightfall came, finally, and with it the onset of a bitterness in the air, that I could only interpret as the impartiality of the mountains. It was just around thirty-three degrees or so, but I could sense the danger of being exposed for long - I was glad of the protection from the wind in the bus as I appreciated every BTU of the heater's scanty output. Once again, I was wearing my gloves like mittens to keep my fingers warm, and also watching the cell phone, as it was time for the reception game again. I drove on.
I suspected I was approaching the town of Teslin as I began to get intermittent reports of signal. Upon cresting a rise, I turned uphill onto a small forest road that took me up into the woods. Not wanting to get into trouble, I had to take care, as the mud and holes got worse as I progressed. I found a spot that would have been suitable, but decided against it for communication's sake. Back down on the highway, I stopped to talk to Michele at a pullout, and almost slept there, but could not stand the wretchedness of such a spot, and thought I'd just go back to the spot up on the muddy road. However, something turned me back, and I explored the town of Teslin's dump road, being that dump roads generally have offshoots as well as camping spots.
It just so happened that almost immediately I came to a fork in the road. Narrow, lined on both sides with dense willows, it looked passable, and fairly recently used, so I followed it downhill, hoping for that special spot. There was another fork, this one looking like it might be considerably rougher, especially as it got closer to the river, so I stayed on the main road. This got narrower and rougher, and by now the branches were scraping the sides of the bus, but there was no other impediment to my progress. Despite the fairly steep angle, this was a good road.
In the shadows, it was hard to tell what was coming, but I did suddenly start to see signs of a widening; this must be my spot! Just a little further, and I had to chuckle at myself. I had come to the highway! Just beyond the corner I had come out on, I could see the famed Teslin bridge, with the town glowing sleepily beyond. Oh well. Gotta love it. I turned back up my private little road and parked the bus on a somewhat level spot. I was within eyesight and earshot of the road, but I wanted to be up early anyway, and I figured the gendarmes would leave me alone just for the night, so I prepared some dinner, read a bit, and snuggled into the bed for yet another night on the road.
Next: Homer Bound Trip Report: Page Seven
Gene Cornelius
mizamook@geemail dot com
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