Kwatini Creek

An early winter stomp up in Northern BC at Kwatini Creek in search of skiable snow produces little snow but a great hike up Kwatini Canyon past the old cabin there and into the alpine… complete with a mountaineering finish. A perfect day marred only by me pretty much destroying my brand spanking new (first time wearing) Arcteryx bibs…😫😢

 

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Grizz prints on the Haines highway near the BC border
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The old cabin at Kwatini Creek
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Willow-whacking
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Angela busts a sane move crossing in ice bridge sans crampons
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Ice is nice!
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Ice blobules
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Angie bringing up the rear on the “mountaineering finish”
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Nearing the top of the gully leading to the sub-arctic plateau above

Northern BC Canyon

Yukon Gold

“Climb the mountains and get their good tidings. Nature’s peace will flow into you as sunshine flows into trees. The winds will blow their own freshness into you, and the storms their energy, while cares will drop away from you like the leaves of Autumn” – John Muir, 1901.
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Klehini River near the AK/BC Border
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Ghost Forest
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Firefall Tundra and Swirling Mist
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Autumn Colors at Rainy Hollow BC
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Late Run Sockeye at Klukshu, Yukon
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Mush Lake Trail
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Autumn Colorizing and Yukon Mountains
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Yukon Gold
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Stoked to Be…
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Deep Forest
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A Serene and Peaceful Scenario…
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Glorious Yukon Light and Weather
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Fall Aspens…
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Razor Sharpness and Crisp Colors

Northbound: Leaving Haines and Into the Far Yukon

Getting on the road by 10:00 am or so following town chores and paying bills, I am happily cruising up the Haines highway and northbound for the Yukon and beyond. I approach the Eagle Preserve at 20 mile and the engine alternator idiot light comes on… funny, never saw that before on this truck. I pull off the road and pop the hood for an inspection. Using a volt meter, I check voltages of the battery with both with the engine running and not running. A nominal voltage of 12.4 with the engine running indicates that the alternator is not doing it’s job. In fact, it has shit the bed… Reluctantly, I turn around and baby the 30 year old Toyota back to town to re-group. Pulling into the parts store, I am amazed that they have one in stock. 142 bucks and two hours later, I have the alternator installed and the last bolt tightened and I am on the pavement rolling north once again.

At the Canadian the border, there is a length of vehicles waiting I have never seen here before. After an hour wait, I am flagged in and questioned. I am asked to exit the vehicle and wait inside while my car is searched, which the Canadian border cops do with abandon. Again, I have never experienced this before. Another hour and I am free to go after they come to terms with the fact that I have nothing to hide.  Two hours to get into Canada. I am beyond happy to have the Chilkat Valley behind me. Driving over the Haines Summit and into the high country sees me smiling and as the Yukon border comes ’round. I am washed over by an array of mixed feelings; most of me is extremely happy to be on the road and rolling away from Haines, but part of me dreads the inevitable slash of loneliness that will undoubtedly come in short order. In fact, as I near the Tahkini River, the dreaded sensation enters me, invades my space and riddles my ravaged heart with bullet holes. I shuffle this back to a place of inner strength that is there for survival reserves and continue.  I get to the Tahkini and make a fine camp there; it was a familiar camp as I had spent time there on past trips. The evening colors around 1 am filter the sky orange and pink and patches and fills my heart and soul with much needed color and softens the dramatic episodes within me. I sleep.

I awake to the warmth of sunshine and something splashing in the river. I pack up and pull out onto the Alaska Highway again heading towards Whitehorse. These feelings I cannot seem to shake and I hope that once past Carmacks or Dawson, they will fade. In Whitehorse waiting for the Fireweed Bookstore to open, I am accosted by a pair of drunks jabbering nonsense at me. Soon, my maps and food are purchased and I am driving the wide open spaces of the North Klondike Highway bound for Carmacks. A torrential rain storm ensues. The roadway becoming a slab of dangerous water; I slow down but other traffic does not. I won’t be bullied by these vehicles and I pull off when I can, but it is up to them to pass if they wish to drive at unsafe speeds. Camping that night in the Taiga forests among Aspen and Willow, tiny yellow birds flutter my camp and a Red Squirrel chirps in the forest nearby. These trips, when I am by myself, which is 95 percent of the time, tend to promote moving along, bound for a destination and goal. It is sometimes difficult to just set back, especially these past weeks, as the creeping dreaded sensations that have filled me lately prevail when I have come to a stop. So I simply keep moving. Regret is futile, and yearning for an undeniably uncertain future is equally so. I have no past, and working toward the future like some kind of mystic jewel seems pointless; I simply am. My heart and desire are too big for this world and most cannot deal with my intensity and passion… the heart is the only guiding force. Chalk it all up to a lifetime of amazing experiences. I am the wind…

The morning sees me drifting closer to Dawson City; nearing the Klondike river at the entrance to the mind bogglingly beautiful Dempster Highway, I spot a pair of bright blond Grizzlies grazing the grass on the side of the highway. So beautiful these magnificent creatures; I often wonder what attracts them to the highway like this… is there something that grows only near the road that they find edible and tasty? I pass the Dempster and head to Dawson for fuel and a snoop around and maybe a nice espresso drink. It had been 4 years since I had been to Dawson, and not much had changed. That is a good thing. Dawson is a gem in the far north to me; it is a place of historical significance, color and interest. I get an Americano at the lovely Alchemy Cafe and soon I am back down the highway the 25 miles to the start of the Dempster. My plan is to hike into Grizzly Lake in the Tombstone Mountains and spend the night there, taking photographs and shooting video. But when I get to the trailhead, there is a notice that the trail is closed. This is the second time that this happened… I was here in 2013 to not only hike to Grizzly Lake, but to also ride the Ogre all the way to Inuvik in the Northwest Territories. Neither happened on that trip. After pedaling for three days, the road was washed out north of the Ogilvie River, and I was forced by the road crews to turn back. The Grizzly Lake Trail was closed due to high Bear activity in the area at that time; this time it was closed due to heavy snow still on the ground. So in 2013, I stashed my backpack under a rotting Spruce log and continued my bike trip up to Deadhorse and beyond. But today I was in my truck, bound for who knew where. I walk into the forest and immediately locate the pack I had stashed 4 years prior, and skedattled up the gravel Dempster to my favorite section. It is a place where the second of three continental divide crossing occur on the Dempster. A place north of the Blackstone River in the Taiga Range; birth home to Engineer Creek, Mountain Goats, Grizzly Bears, and Caribou. I am looking for a peak to climb in the area, and a ridge leaving the pass right from the road directly on the continental divide leads to an un-named summit of perhaps 6,000-7,000 feet. I decide on it, but first I wish to continue north and do it on the way back. A couple miles down the road is a beautiful alpine canyon situated directly at tree line with the headwaters of Engineer Creek flowing through it’s guts. I find a wonderful camp and set down upon it happily. Glassing the slopes nearby, I spot a heard of a dozen strong Mountain Goats, including several babies who seem to be happy to be jumping around and playing wildly amidst the high and treacherous slopes they are perched. This area north of the Blackstone in the continental divide country is by far my favorite part of the Dempster experience. Late that night, perhaps around 1 am, I awake with a yearning to leave the tent and go on a “night” stomp. I exit the tent and walk across the road and disappear into the muskeg and Taiga. Tussock tundra appears and I run as fast as I can towards a barren hillside, where Willow Ptarmigan scatter. Being spontaneous is what sometimes drives me, for better or worse. It is simply fun, and nothing beats the sensation of just making a snap decision and going for it. I look out over the alpine valley I am in and it occurs to me that every Human on this planet is going through some form of struggle largely unknown to the rest of us. I am not alone…

With my cup of Green Tea in the morning, I make a toast to the South, East, West, and of course, the North in thanks and offering of gratitude. I drive north again, this time paralleling the Ogilvie River at at point further that I got on my bicycle in 2013. A Grizzly slowly walk across the road in front of me a couple hundred meters off and disappears into the Taiga, and more Ptarmigan flutter about at road’s edge.

Many miles after leaving the high country, the road drops into river valley’s and enters First Nation native hunting lands. The Dempster at this point climbs to a high point on Ogilvie Ridge, where unobstructed views of the Ogilvie and far, far off, the Peel River, heading to the great und vast McKenzie River flowing to the Arctic Ocean. The road continues along this high Taiga bench for many, many miles. It is dry up here. And exposed. And monotonous… till finally Eagle Plains comes around where I gas up the Toyota and continue on. Soon the Arctic Circle appears and beyond are the rounded tundra summits of the Richardson Mountains, which, in essence are an extension of the British Mountains in the Yukon which are an extension of the Brooks Range in Alaska. The Richardson’s are unique in three ways; They are the final continental divide crossing on the Dempster, dumping all water from them on the northeastern side into the Arctic Ocean, they form the border of the Yukon and Northwest Territories, and they are the last formidable geologic uplift barrier between the interior and the arctic plains of the Canadian “north slope”.  Beyond which lie the extremely remote communities of Inuvik and Tuktoyaktuk. The road travels directly north along the western escarpment of the Richardson’s for many miles, traversing some of the most incredible Arctic scenery I have ever seen; in fact it equals the Brooks Range in beauty and remoteness.  Although it is not nearly as big as the Brooks, it is even more remote really. Soon the road turn east and climbs over Wright pass at the final continental divide and crosses into the Northwest Territories. This place is absolute magic. It is quite chilly here, this far north at the continental divide. The last time I was in a similar place was in 2013 on the summit of Atigun Pass in the Brooks Range on The solstice at midnight. It was cold then too… The road continues through the Richardson Mountains, revealing tundra, high peaks, wild flowers, and wild rivers. After descending the last great decline out of these magnificent mountains, the Canadian Arctic slope appears in the distance, extending for hundreds of miles to the McKenzie Delta. I pull off the road, some 30 kilometers into the Northwest Territories and notice the immense trail of numerous Grizzly prints decorating each side of the road. At night these massive creatures must use this road as a path. There are more Grizzly prints here than I have ever seen anywhere in my life.

Finally, after saying farewell to the NWT’s and wishing to continue on to the Arctic slope, but becoming increasingly paranoid about the 30 year old Toyota Truck’s engine with a quarter million miles on it, I turn back and drive back to from which I came. Passing once again the Arctic Circle and gassing up in Eagle Plains again, a few hours later I am back in my favorite and stunning alpine valley north of the Blackstone River. I am exhausted and plan on a peak climb in the morning. In the tent, I sleep like a dead man.

After crossing a short bit of tundra in the morning, I begin climbing up the class 1-2 talus of the ridge line to where it nearly flattens out but continues in a westerly stretch for about a half mile before the final summit pyramid rises abruptly and ends. After 4 hours from the truck, I stand on the unknown summit and marvel at the other peaks around me and the strange and unknown alpine valley’s that separate them. I decide to descend a different route in order to walk out one of these valleys following a creek where I hope to see signs of animals. The decent was treacherous; some of the loosest scree and talus I have ever encountered kept my attention level extremely high and after considerable time and effort, I find myself at the head of this glorious alpine valley, flowing within it the beautiful little creek mentioned. On the way down valley, I see no animal prints of any kind, but spot a pair of caribou antlers lying in the tussock. The are from a small and possibly younger animal, with part of the skull still attached; taken down by wolves I imagine. After a bit I am back at the truck and I blast off again, this time bound south for Dawson, where contrary to my intentions to keep this an alcohol free trip, I decide to duck into a tavern and have a beer. I order my beer and when I go to pay for the beverage in U.S. dollars, the First Nation’s woman in the chair next to me starts ridiculing me for being an American. She proceeds to stick her finger in her mouth indicating forced vomiting, therefore expressing her displeasure. I tell her, “I’m not American, I’m Alaskan”; she was not pleased and continued the harassment. After a bit, I told her she didn’t know me and that she was a no good judgmental SOB (as it were). I left my lone beer sitting there on the bar and left. All I wish for is friendship, love, and understanding – hard resources to find on this here planet. Later, at a makeshift camp, the cops show up to kick me out, but tell me where I might go for a low profile and free bivy.

That night, I toss and turn and sleep eludes me nearly completely. Tomorrow I will ferry across the Yukon River and drive the Top of the World road (AKA the Ridge Road) and into the deep interior of Alaska. I had ridden this road on my bicycle a few years ago and found it to be one of the toughest rides in the north. I’m happy that the old ‘Yota and me will be traversing this together this time.

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Tahkini River… Yukon Territory
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Klondike Woods Camp

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Tombstone Mountains, Yukon

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Blackstone River Ice Pack

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The Blackstone uplands and the start of the Taiga Ranges

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The Dempster Highway

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The View From Ogilvie Ridge
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Eagle Plains

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The Beginning of Canada’s Arctic North Slope
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Grizzly Tracks, Richardson Mountains, Northwest Territories

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The Un-named Peak North Of The Blackstone Uplands

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Caribou Antlers

 

Retreat From Kluane

A bit early in the season still, but an escape from town and into the Yukon seems prudent, so I pack the truck with food, water, and gear, point it north and fly up the Haines Highway towards the border. Once past said political nonsensical imaginary line in the sand, I am cruising the upper corridors of the Haines Summit area and whisping down into the interior. I am surprised to find the great and vast Aspen stands here are just now beginning to bud with no leafing yet having occurred. I see three Black Bears between Haines and Haines Junction today… they are out foraging and the roadsides seem to attract them; for whatever reason I do not know.

My mind and heart are a wreck and a good stiff hike into the Yukon wild is in order; I have chose to explore the Slim’s River West trail, which travels up the Slim’s to it’s source at the toe of the enormous Kaskuwalsh Glacier and until recently, was the source for the Yukon’s largest lake – Kluane Lake. The Slim’s native name is A ay Chu, but the english name comes from the name of a horse who got stuck in the river’s quicksand and subsequently died. Poor ‘ol Slim. The Kluane region of the Yukon is much more than just a beautiful and vast place. It is a place of ancient history, eminent cultural treasures of the Kluane, Aishihik, Tutchone, and Champagne first nation peoples, and has been for thousands of years. It is also an enormously beautiful and mysterious place that holds the northern hemispheres largest non-polar icefields, including the remote and seldom seen Mt Logan, Canada’s highest peak at 19,551 feet above sea level. Recently, due to glacial retreat of the Kaskuwalsh, the Slim’s River has changed it’s course and now no longer empties into Kluane Lake. In a short time, the mighty lake has already lost a great deal of it’s holdings.

I head to the visitor center in Haines Junction to buy a map and get some info; an enjoyable and slightly flirtatious conversation with the Kluane woman who sold me the map reveals that the Slim’s River West trail has been closed down due to high Grizzly activity in the area. Apparently, a large boar Griz walked right through two hikers kitchen just a couple days prior. She informs me that the Slim’s River East route is in fact open, but I may have difficulty with route finding this time of year and especially since the geologic upset in the area recently. I ponder this briefly and I am out the door heading north to find my old campsite up on Bear Creek Summit. I had last camped here in 2011 while riding my Ogre up from Moab. A lovely little spot amongst the White Spruce and Aspens with views to the west of the Kluane front range, and to the east, the low sub arctic hills of the vast and wild Dawson Plateau. Later, after my supper of Turkey and avocado sandwiches on home made sourdough, I set up my trusty tent and then set on the tailgate and crack open a beer. Something is amiss here; my mind is struggling, my heart bleeding. I realize that my passion, intensity, and perseverance tend to drive those away that I wish to hold close. This set of traits works great for backcountry trips, mountaineering, and all out survival, but seems to be of little help regarding people. My constant need for self expression seems to always do more harm than good. At 49 years old, I still seem to be learning life’s hard lessons. I am as tough as nails, but have a tender heart; a winning combination it would seem, but it is not always so. I come from a place of only love, but my execution seems constantly in need of improvement. I fear not the furry four legged creatures of this planet, but fear greatly the hostile and unpredictable two leggeds. Melancholy grips me and I am unable to enjoy my surroundings…

I crawl into my tent and ponder the coming the midnight sun. There seems to be too much of it these days. I wish for winters return so I may fold myself into it; all this sunshine is nurturing my sadness. The Slim’s seems a far fetched notion at this point and my alternate, Mt Decoeli is still under much of winters snow. All I feel now, here in my tent is emptiness and without hope. In a flash, I pack my shit into the back of the decrepit Toyota and pull onto the Alaska Highway, and head home.

 

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Spontaneity

One of the key players from my “new” life in Alaska as a home owner has been largely absent these past two years. It is something that sparks my soul and makes precious life even more so. It is something to maintain a youthful and vibrant self and outlook. It is spontaneity. Seems these last many, many months, every move in my life needs to be planned, calculated, examined, and inspected, largely taking any playfulness out of it. Spontaneity is what makes trips and adventures youthful and fun.

Spontaneity is what I crave. Adventure is what I crave.

I wake up Monday morning, 4 days before my planned departure date for my two week bike ride into the Yukon. I am not feeling it; I want to go now. I dress for work as usual, but hope that my employer Dave and the rest of the crew will see fit to set me free upon myself so I may leave right away. Everyone at work gives me the thumbs up, wishes me well, and I drive home casually with a grin on my face to pack the bike, smoke some Salmon, shop for supplies, and relax a bit.

The next morning I awake and am totally ready: everything is in order, Angela is coming by at 8 for some coffee and I will hit the road. It is raining a bit, but hey, it’s Alaska in the summer, that’s what is does here! I’ll be out of range for the next couple of weeks; when I return, I’ll do a full write up and photo share here on JRB.

Stay tuned!!

Preparation

The bicycle know to me as the Surley Ogre has been on hiatus for some time now…over two years in fact. Like a horse put out to pasture, she has endured this lengthy time situated in the garage amongst the miter saw, planer, router, and other tools of construction. Not fitting in with these apparatus, she squeals and begs for a letting of road miles. In anticipation of an upcoming trip upon her to the mighty Yukon and beyond, I strip the old gal down to her bones and a cleansing and rebuilding ensues.

It has been far too long since the Ogre and I have embarked upon the open road together, and in a quick fit, I work out a stretch of time off from work and make preparations for us to engage the Alaska Golden Triangle; Riding from my house in Haines to Haines Junction to Whitehorse to Skagway. A 360 mile loop through the northern panhandle and into B.C. and the Yukon, ending back in the good ‘ol AK in Skagway, where a quick ferry ride home ends the adventure. With plans to leave on the 29th of July, and returning on the 13th of August, I must say that these bicycle trip are certainly not about the bike. Or even riding them. These excursions are about being there. Or more precisely, being out there and taking in the tundra, mountains, rivers, and wildlife. If I was in shape and looking to make some quick time, I would theoretically make the journey in six or seven days. I think not. I intend on going slowly and enjoying the vast and wonderful summer in the North. Summertime in the regions of Alaska, Northern B.C., and the Yukon are stuff of fantasy to me. It is a time of exploding life and glorious exploration. There is nothing better on Earth than summer in the North.

Having a couple of weeks lead time to the trip in question, I head out to test the newly constructed Ogre for a quick 20 mile excursion up the wonderful Haines Highway, and as luck would have it, a spectacular day of temps in the 70’s, glorious sunshine, and the glaciers of the Chilkat’s shining brightly.

The old girl, spaced out from many months at pasture, bucks wildly when I attempt to pedal forward. After a rough patch, we hit our stride and suddenly it’s just like old times.

As out of shape as I am, I am looking forward to that big nasty climb up Chilkat Pass and into the Yukon I love so much. Two weeks and counting…

Stay posted friends!

Surley Ogre
The omnipotent Surley Ogre
Rivet Pearl
The Rivet Pearl
Ogre Resting
The Ogre rests by the mighty Chilkat River
Chilkat Ogre
Chilkat Cathedrals and Ogre

 

Run For The Border

Anticipation of the upcoming Sockeye run has been getting me excited. The freezer, now devoid of last year’s catch and sitting unplugged awaits. Set netting these critters opened legally on June 1st and will close again on the 15th for six long weeks in order to protect the mishap harvesting of the rarer and rarer King Salmon.  Just because the season is open, does not mean neccesarilly that the fish are actually running. Truth be told, after spending a number of hours attending the net at various points along the mighty Chilkat, I have not brought home a single fish.

Today, I pack the truck with camera gear and fishing gear and head for the hills, as it were. I decide to drive up to 18 mile where the previous winter I had bushwhacked and post holed into the deepening forest to discover a Salmon stream where Bears had their way with many a Salmon, judging from the months’ old Chum carcasses Lying about. Today, I wanted to see if there were any signs of both Bear and Salmon in this very spot. Once again, I bushwhack into the now overgrown and spooky, and potentially Bear populated forest, bound for said creek. Soon I am billowing through five foot tall grasses and thickets, talking to myself and singing softly in hopes of deterring any Bear encounters. Soon I am at the splendid little creek, running clear and strong. No fish. No signs of Bear. I make my way back to the truck and head north.

This time, I aim to get to the braided confluence of the Klehini and Chilkat river’s where I had fished last year for Coho. At that time, I had seen the biggest Grizzly tracks of my life there and felt a presence of great and large beasts around me. Today, after sifting through the maze of dirt roads in the area, I come to the place where I take off on foot to inspect what the creatures are up to. As expected, I see large Brown (Griz) Bear prints. There are two sets, a mother and adolescent cub I believe. I bounce back to the truck and meander along a series of dirt roads not previously traveled by me, and soon the highway comes round again and it is decided to head up to Dalton Cache at the Canadian Border where there is a beautiful pond next to the Haines Highway and often portraying a pair of Swans I hope to shoot footage of.

Heading up the highway, I spy magnificent views of the peaks of the upper Chilkat and Boundary ranges. The Jarvis Glacier comes to view and I marvel at it’s presence. The clouds have parted just enough to cast an epic nature on the scene unfolding.

I feel blessed, and the underlying nature of these mountains and glaciers become me once again. Summer is unfolding and the Bear and the Salmon are just now emerging in an unstoppable and exponential fashion. It is a glorious time of year in Alaska…

Jarvis Glacier
The Jarvis Glacier at the U.S./Canadian Border

The Cassiar

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When most folks think of British Columbia, they conjure up images of Vancouver, Whistler, the areas around Kamloops or Fernie.  These are all fantastic places filled with the the awesomeness that B.C. has to offer for those seeking beautiful wilderness forest, bears, rivers, or to spend the ever fascinating “Loooney”, or “Tooney” (one and two dollar coins).  There are other (many other not mentioned here) places in B.C. that strike a resonant note with me.  Bella Coola comes to mind, of which I have friends established there.. You know who you are!   Bella Coola is a place I wish to visit sometime sooner than later, but who knows how the cards may fall!

For me, the Cassiar Highway, heading north from Kitwanga and highway 16, is without a doubt, the creme de la creme of northern British Columbia.

The Cassiar, which is an alternate route heading north/south, of the more largely known Alaska Highway,and is a is a fine example of Northern British columbia’s offerings of  beauty, soitiude, and grandiose scenery and wildlife.

Highway 16 which intersects the Yellowhead Highway, is also know by some as the Highway of Tears.  Between 1969 and 2006, some 18 cases of missing persons or homicides of young girls have been reported.  Riding through this section enroute to highway 37, The Cassiar, felt surreal to me, knowing there has been a great mystery here.  My heart goes out to all of the families who are in pain from these incidences.

The last major town departing from the Yellowhead is Smithers, British Columbia.  Smithers is a a fine town, with a strong bicycling community, including a DH and freeride scene upon the local mountains and ski hills.  I spent an entire afternoon here, seeking out bike shops who might have the required length of spoke  that I required.  It was also a great place to get re-supplied for the long length of road ahead of me known as the Cassiar Highway. Just north of the town, lie splendid mountains, sporting moderate looking alpine mountaineering routes that might leave a Sierra climber in awe. A place called Glacier Gulch features two extarodinary peaks with a small glacier at their base. Ice couloirs bearing the gifts of alpine ice lie above, beckoning me.

Heading north from Smithers, I passed through the ancient Native fishing village of Moricetown, situated snugly against the mighty Salmon festooned river of Bulkley. And on to the hamlet of New Hazelton, which, though a place of unfounded beauty, did not stop raining once. I settled into a cafe there, and ate a magnificent breakfast, re supplied on beer, and headed for the Cassiar of my dreams.

I cross the mighty Skeena River, and upon entering the Cassiar, my mind began to fill with a wonder I had really never known. Of all the adventures taken past, climbing, mountaineering, bicycling, wandering, I had never felt such a presence before.  It was an age old feeling of family and gathering and fishing that caught my imagination as though I had been here before.  I felt strangely at home, yet I also felt an unnerving sensation of detachment that I was not expecting.

All day in the rain, pedaling, thinking, feeling these great emotions of past, I began to become as weary as I had ever been, but pedaled on, in hopes of engaging the Cassiar as fully as she deserved, I finally needed to stop.  The area was festooned with brush so thick, one cannot really camp with any amount of enthusiasm.  I spy a free gov’t campground, but, due to the constant rain, is totally flood out.  I try to ride my feeble bicycle into it’s innards, but am rejected like a vomitous expulsion, that forces my weary body back to the road and onward in search of salvation.

After a couple more miles, desperate, a gravel pit area appears like a welcome wagon from hell, and I pull in.  My first sight? A dead Grizzly, shot, I presume. The image brings an anxiety and fear of the Bears of which I had not come to terms with yet on this journey.  Too exhausted to care, I pull  a  little further in and call it a day.  Cottonwoods bigger than I had ever seen before sprouted the forest around me; I eat a meager supper, hang my food bag in said trees, and crack open a beer and a belt of Rum, and the world washes away, fears dissipate, and I begin to feel like I have finally come home.. The bear spray was not even clutched that night, as it had been so many nights before. The glorious adventure was now in front of me…

The next 24 hours become a mind numbing, but peaceful, pedal, through the boreal forests of the region, that, with the weather now clear, sunny, and glorious, finds my mind at peace once again.

These forests lead on and on toward an area, what one native in Smithers told me, “The Grizzly Bears there will make a small snack out of you”.  The area in question is Meziadin Junction, where the highway splits to go either west, to Stewart, Alaska, or north, further up the Cassiar.  This place, according to the locals, has the greatest concentration of Grizzlies in the central B.C. sub coastal area.  I never saw a one, sadly.

I pedaled for 6 more days through this Alice in Wonderland of wilderness, passing through some of the most heart felt forest and landscapes my heart and mind could conjure up.

Passing through Dease Lake, I find that there is a small town there, and sporting a decent grocery store, laundrymat, liquor store, and cafe. This felt like a miniature vacation of sorts and, camped on the beaches of the local swimming hole and fishing spot, I drink and hang with the local native folks and learn of the long winters and of fishing and the hunting ways of native peoples. This makes me smile and I move on..

North of Dease Lake, I can feel the the landscape begin to change towards a more northerly and remote arena.  I can smell the Yukon from here.

The last night on the Cassiar, I find a serene place next to a fine river and begin to unpack the bike. Seconds later, a van loaded full of Native teens pull in and open the doors; all pour out and declare their victory that day.  They unfold a tarp in the back, revealing a large male Ram, shot on a nearby ridge, and declare that Ram meat is a delicacy that cannot be beat. They say that they intend to gut the creature here, next to the river.  I know that the ensuing gut pile will attract bears for miles and I split.  Later, I find a decent camp further up, next to the same river, but the skeeter’s are the worst I have ever seen.  Welcome to the north!

The next day, I pass through the surrealistic remains of a forest fire, that given the eerie feeling of the last 48 hours, fit’s the bill.  Later that day, I reach the Yukon border and the junction with the Alaska Highway, and already, begin to miss the Cassiar.

All told, the Cassiar highway is a place like no other I have ever been, and hope one day, to experience it’s haunting delicacies once again.  I urge any one who might embark on a pedaling journey to Alaska, consider this as  a superior alternative to the lower Alaska Highway through northern B.C.

And that’s all I have to say about that…

“How Can I Be Lost,  When I have no Where to Go..?”

-Metallica

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