Whitehorse, Yukon Territory, Canada. 19 August 2003
Dear Everybody
One of the problems of travelling in an RV rather than a boat is that there are no nice quiet passages when you can sit and write newsletters! Consequently we find that 3 months have gone by since we last wrote to you and it's quite hard to know where to start! We have had the most wonderful summer. Alaska and Northern Canada have exceeded our expectations and we have had (with some exceptions) the same incredible sunny weather that we had last year in British Columbia. We have driven over 6000 miles in Harvey without a single problem and have met some wonderful people. We have walked on glaciers and floated down rivers, climbed mountains and played with huskies, and to top it all, two nights ago we emerged from Harvey at 2315 to find the sky above us aglow with the Northern Lights - something we had both always longed to see. So brace yourselves for a long newsletter - we can't tell you ALL of it, but we're going to try and cover some of the highlights!
Constant companions on our travels this summer have been the ghosts and relics of the 1897/8 Gold Rush. In 1896, gold was discovered in large and easily recoverable quantities in the Klondike River valley close to what would later become Dawson City. It was many months later, with the arrival in Seattle and San Francisco in July 1897 of two ships carrying cargoes of more than a ton of gold each, that the news hit the world headlines. This sparked off the largest human migration the world had ever seen - between 30,000 and 50,000 people from all corners of the globe (though principally from the United States) converging on this sparsely populated and climatically inhospitable corner of the Yukon, all expecting to make a fortune. There were several routes to the goldfields. The wealthy could travel in comfort by ship to St Michael on Alaska's west coast, close to the mouth of the Yukon, and from there by stern-wheel paddle steamer for the 1,500-mile journey upriver to Dawson - only possible during the brief summer months when the Yukon is ice-free. A less expensive alternative started overland from Skagway via the infamous White Pass, where a system of pack-horses and tolls was established. By far the most popular route, however, was the Chilkoot Trail which followed an ancient Native American trading route over the mountains from Dyea, 8 miles to the west of Skagway, and then 550 miles down the Yukon River to Dawson. The attraction of the Chilkoot route was that it was possible for the stampeders to haul their own loads using a combination of sled and backpack. Dyea, situated on a shallow tidal mudflat, rapidly grew into a huge tent city as shipload after shipload of stampeders arrived from Seattle and San Francisco.
On 21 May we arrived in Skagway and, intrigued by the stories and photographs of the hardships endured by the thousands who had set out on this route in 1897, we decided to have a go at the Chilkoot Trail ourselves. With rucksacks loaded with warm clothes, sleeping bags, tent, snowshoes and enough food for four days, we set off from Dyea early on 26 May, apparently the only people on the trail. The 33-mile route climbed quite gently for the first twelve miles through forest, though the walking was far from easy, with many exposed tree roots and rocks along the path. At Sheep Camp, our first campsite, we found a 'warming shelter' with wood stove, provided by the National Park Service - very welcome in the below-freezing night temperatures. Practically all trace had vanished of the small townships which sprang up along the route in 1897/8, to look after the needs of the thousands who were carrying their loads towards the summit, but there are a few poignant rusting reminders - a boiler or a kitchen range standing alone in the forest. The Parks authorities are so keen to retain these that it is the only trail we have ever seen where there are signs imploring you to leave the rubbish where you find it! The second day took us quickly above the tree-line in an ever-steeper climb, partly snow-covered, to the 3,700ft pass at the Canadian border. The hour leading up to the pass was a 45-degree ascent up a massive rock-pile - necessitating the use of all-fours to scramble up it. For us, the rock-pile was clear of snow, but for the Gold Rush stampeders, who were there mainly during the winter months, a snow staircase was carved, and some of the most vivid images of the time are the photographs of the continuous line of men, some women and even a few children each with loads of up to 100 pounds trudging up towards the summit which marks the border with Canada. The Canadian North-West Mounted Police had forseen the tragedy which would ensue if they allowed the stampeders to arrive without the means to support themselves during the months ahead (supplies along the route were not available), and they insisted that each person brought a ton of supplies with them, including enough food for a year. This, of course, meant multiple trips up the trail, taking some people as long as three months to haul all of their gear to the summit. For us, a single ascent was enough!! Once we were over the summit, the snow-clad mountains of Canada stretched spectacularly ahead of us as far as the eye could see. Although the route was mainly downhill from there onwards, the sun had been working hard all day and we were very glad of our rented snowshoes, which saved us from sinking thigh-deep into the soft snow covering the trail to the overnight stop at Happy Camp (well named!!). An early start on day 3 gave us enough time to cross the remaining few miles of snow while the surface was still frozen, so we were able to dispense with the snowshoes and make good time. The Chilkoot Trail ends at Lake Bennett, the southern shore of which was covered during the spring of 1898 with the tents of the thirty thousand or so who had made it that far, all frantically building boats from the rapidly-diminishing supplies of wood in the nearby forests - boats which, as soon as the ice on the lake had thawed, would take them on to the Yukon River and the hazardous but far less strenuous 550-mile river trip on to Dawson. We left the trail four miles short of the lake, taking another route which leads back to the highway via five miles of White Pass and Yukon Route railway line. The WP&YR, an amazing feat of engineering which took the railway from Skagway over the 3,300ft White Pass, was built between 1898 and 1900 (too late, of course, for the original Gold Rush) and, until 1982, carried both passengers and freight between Skagway and Whitehorse. Part of the line from Skagway was reopened in 1988 (summer-time only) to provide a spectacular ride for tourists, mainly from the cruise ships which call in almost daily at Skagway, and for trekkers returning from the Bennett end of the Chilkoot Trail. We were two weeks too early for the train, so it was with some surprise that, just as we reached the railway track, we heard the unmistakable rumble of a diesel engine in the distance, soon followed by a series of loud blasts from the whistle as the train came into view. This turned out to be a maintenance train, collecting trackside rubble from an excavation site further up the line. It stopped a short distance from us, to refuel a digger working beside the track, and we (jokingly!) asked if we could hitch a ride. No problem, came the response, and we found ourselves on board the WP&YR for the next couple of miles - a great experience and a relief to weary bones! After that, the final three miles to the road seemed a lot easier. The last part of the adventure was the 30-odd miles back to Skagway, when we found ourselves on the receiving end of the North American aversion to hitchhikers. We stood forlornly beside our ruckacks for over an hour and a half , thumbs at the ready, as car after car swept past, until at last a couple from New Zealand stopped and very kindly made space for us.
Much of Alaska's and the Yukon's recorded history centres on the search for gold, and the Klondike Gold Rush and the boom towns which resulted are well documented both in words and photographs - making it far easier to visualise the harsh conditions of the time. Dawson City, at the confluence of the Yukon and the Klondike, was the centre for the gold discoveries along the Klondike River, and at its peak during 1898, had a population of between 30,000 and 50,000. Sadly, nearly all of the 1898 arrivals found that all the claims had already been staked, and very few made the fortunes they had struggled so hard to find. Dawson's population rapidly diminished and by 1900 it had developed into a small settled community. Today it has around 2000 inhabitants - many of them involved in mining the gold which is still to be found in the area. We were there last week - back in Canada after nearly three months in Alaska, and it was fascinating to see the other end of the journey that we had started back in May. Many of the original buildings in Dawson have been restored, and strict planning controls on new buildings, gravel roads and boardwalks make the whole town look very much as it would have done 100 years ago. It even boasts a small casino and floor show at Diamond Tooth Gertie's - after an enjoyable evening out we managed to turn a small profit of $5 (Barbara's version is that her $15 profit covered John's $10 loss)!!
In the twentieth century, oil replaced gold as the catalyst for a fresh boom period, after its discovery in commercial quantities under Prudhoe Bay in 1968. The problem then was how to transport the oil from its largely ice-bound Arctic Ocean location to an ice-free port. After much legal wrangling, involving both the environmental lobby and Native Alaskans who had claims to the land, approval was given by US Congress in 1973 for the building of a pipeline to Valdez, 800 miles to the south, on the Gulf of Alaska. Our first encounter with the 48-inch pipeline was just north of Delta Junction, on the way to Fairbanks, where an impressive suspension bridge carries it across the Tanana river, but it was to feature in much of our route over the next few weeks. At the time of the pipeline approval, there was no road connecting Fairbanks and Prudhoe Bay, and without a road there was no way of moving the men and materials required to build the pipeline. Oil money can work miracles, and construction of the 400-mile long North Slope Haul Road (later to be named the Dalton Highway) was completed in just five months during 1974 - a mind-boggling feat given the topography and climate which had to be overcome. Completion of the pipeline itself followed nearly 3 years later - another quite staggering engineering achievement. The pipeline follows the road from Prudhoe Bay to Fairbanks, then continues south to Delta Junction and Valdez, the tanker terminal. Because of the problems of permafrost over much of the route, the pipeline is elevated on special cradles for more than half its length (the rest being buried underground), and along most of the Dalton Highway it can be seen snaking its way across the landscape. The Highway itself is mainly gravel-surfaced, and it wasn't until 1994 that it was opened to the general public. Today, anyone is allowed to drive as far as Deadhorse - tantalisingly, a few miles short of the Arctic Ocean itself. We asked at the Visitor's Centre in Fairbanks whether they would recommend the trip, and their advice was a very firm 'NO' (too much risk of punctured tyres, smashed windscreens and broken headlights). However, talking to others who had actually done the trip, we felt the risk was worth taking, and it turned out to be one of the highlights of our time in Alaska. The road crosses the Yukon River and continues north to the Arctic Circle and Deadhorse, 300 miles beyond. By taking it very slowly (20-30 mph most of the way), we managed to avoid the perils of flying gravel and, having arrived safely at the Arctic Circle, decided to press on towards the Brooks Range - the mountains which stretch from west to east across most of northern Alaska. The guide books implied that good views could be had of the midnight sun from the Atigun Pass (4,800ft), but we found that we had to continue for a further 40 miles before we were out of the mountains sufficiently to get an unobstructed view northwards. On the evening of 21 June (the Summer Solstice), we parked in a layby and settled down to await what became one of the most magical experiences of our lives. Between 1130 and 0330 we watched the sun as it travelled across the skyline from west to east, dipping down towards the horizon, but not quite making it before continuing its upward path into the following day. For both of us, it was the first time we had experienced 24-hour sunshine, and to do so in such a remote and wonderful place, with the plains of the North Slope ahead of us and the snow-capped mountains of the Brooks Range behind was magic indeed - the icing on the cake being provided by the Arctic fox who came casually strolling across the tundra as we were about to go to bed. We were still 120 miles from Deadhorse, but we felt Harvey had suffered enough from the corrugated road, which apparently got even worse further on, so we turned round and headed back towards Fairbanks. More excitement awaited us south of the Yukon. A forest fire, set off by lightning, had been burning in the distance on our way up the Dalton Highway, but by the time we got back, it had spread across a huge area, and in places had jumped across the road. For twelve miles, we found ourselves driving past smouldering spruce trees and undergrowth, with the occasional big blaze right beside the road and smoke billowing thousands of feet into the sky. We were thankful that the wind was not blowing hard - it would not have taken much to fan the flames into an inferno.
The route from Fairbanks to Anchorage took us past Denali National Park, an area rich in wildlife and scenic beauty. Because of its popularity, access is very carefully controlled and only the first 15 miles of the 90-mile road into the Park is accessible to private vehicles. To go further means taking one of the many converted school buses which operate a daily schedule to various points along the road - or walking or cycling. We decided to take our bikes on the bus to Wonder Lake, almost at the far end of the Park, and to cycle back, spending two nights camping on the way. Not quite as easy as it sounds! Formal campsites are few and far between and get very heavily booked - the nearest one with space available was sixty miles from our bus stop. The alternative is 'back-country' camping. The Park is divided into various zones, and in each zone a very small number of campers is allowed per night, provided that tents are pitched out of sight of the road and at least half a mile away from it. Our zone for the first night was a fairly manageable 15 miles from Wonder Lake. Just one small problem, however. Bikes could only be left overnight at designated parking areas (no ditching them by the side of the road or trying to hide them under the nearest bush!), and the closest parking area was five miles beyond our camping zone. So the bike ride became 20 miles instead of 15 (which was fine) followed by a five-mile walk back to our (probably illegally!) cached rucksacks in camping zone 35 (which was not quite so fine), followed by half a mile fighting our way through undergrowth and over bog and tussocks to find a flat, dryish site for the tent (even less fine, at 2130, feeling tired and hungry!). Oh yes, and, for the avoidance of bears, the cook site has to be a further 100 yards away from the tent, while the food itself has to be stashed in bear-proof containers 100 yards from both tent and cook-site. It was nice to stumble into bed an hour later, and to discover that the tent really is mosquito-proof - up to then the little beasts had been very effectively kept at bay by our 95% DEET repellent. After a good night's sleep, undisturbed either by mosquitoes or marauding bears, we woke up to find our world enveloped in thick, swirling fog - not a problem we had envisaged when stashing the food and leaving the stove! Fortunately neither took long to find, and after a quick hot drink we were soon packed up and ready to go - happily unmolested by mosquitoes, which had been blown away by the stiff breeze. We now had the five-mile trek (this time with rucksacks) to get back to our trusty bikes, and at this point the fog gave way to rain as the heavens opened. By the time we got back to the bikes we were soaked to the skin, waterproof clothes nothwithstanding, and had decided to cancel the rest of the day's activities (the 40-mile bike ride and overnight campsite). After a short wait, we and our bikes were able to catch a bus back to the Park entrance, where the warmth of Harvey's propane heater has never been more welcome! You may be tempted to think that we did not enjoy our brief stay in Denali National Park, but you would be quite wrong. The bus trip out to Wonder Lake was great, and we saw nine grizzly bears, including three cubs, plus numerous caribou, Dall sheep, a moose with calf, running from some unseen danger, and plenty of birds - and ever more spectacular scenery as the clouds lifted and we got closer to Denali itself (the Native name for Mount McKinley, North America's highest peak). The 20-mile bike ride back was good too, especially the bit where the caribou with magnificent head of antlers came trotting along the road towards us, and then, clearly aware of Park regulations concerning proximity of humans to animals, turned off the road about 25 feet away from us, to reemerge 25 feet behind us and continue on his way! We were thrilled to have seen the mountain in all its glory - it spends a lot of its time shrouded in cloud and many visitors to the Park come away without seeing it at all. By the time we reached Talkeetna, 60 miles to the south of Denali, the weather had cleared again, and we had more wonderful views of the mountain, with the Alaska Range stretching into the distance on either side of it. In Talkeetna we were treated to small-town USA 4th of July celebrations, with a delightful ramshackle parade through the town, headed by half a dozen bearded war veterans followed by the town's fire brigade, police department, snow clearance machinery and a seven-foot tall home-made bicycle! Anchorage was a sort of pilgrimage for John, having been there for four months with BA during 1971. Most big cities are more or less recognisable after the elapse of 32 years, but not so Anchorage, which has grown enormously - the only familiar landmark was the Captain Cook Hotel. The International Airport which was quite new in 1971 had disappeared completely under an eruption of shiny new terminal buildings, and Alaska Airlines is the only one of the major local carriers to have survived - Wien Consolidated and Reeve Aleutian having long since departed. At least friends Bob and Alicia hadn't changed much and they made us most welcome and provided a very relaxing base for us - and Harvey.
You'll not be surprised to hear that we have not lost our interest in the water, and we shall soon be actively looking for our next boat. In the meantime, we equipped ourselves at the beginning of this trip with a new 10ft Portabote folding dinghy, which will stay with us and become the dinghy for the new boat. It folds into a 4-inch thick package which lies very comfortably on Harvey's roof. We have been able to use it to explore several lakes in Canada and Alaska, and we have also been able to do a couple of long river trips. The first of these was on the Salcha River, not far from Fairbanks. Friends Dick and KayD had invited us to visit, and we had four wonderful days up-river, 30 miles from the nearest road, admiring the self-sufficient lifestyle which Dick and KayD have lived for most of their lives. When we left them, it was in the Portabote, to float and row the thirty miles back to where we had left Harvey - a lovely trip.
Our second 'voyage' was even further - 102 miles, in fact. Two weeks ago, we were visiting Eagle, our last stop before leaving Alaska. Eagle is a curious little town on the south bank of the Yukon, ten miles from the Canadian border. It has a very colourful, if transitory, history - for centuries it was a seasonal hunting and fishing ground for the native Han people, then briefly from the 1880s it served as trading post; gold mining community; headquarters for the judiciary and administration of more than half of Alaska; army post, complete with fort (Fort Egbert); terminal for the overland telgraph wire from Valdez; and a landing and supply hub for the Yukon riverboats en route for Dawson and Whitehorse. Today it is a sleepy little town with a population of 150 or so, though much of its history is preserved in the old buildings left behind from its heyday. While there we discovered that, by driving 45 miles back up the road, we could launch our boat on the Forty-Mile River, float down it for fifty miles, then onto the Yukon itself for a further 52 miles, completing the circle back to Eagle. We needed some reassurance about the two or three areas of rapids on the smaller river, and in the event found that we could get out and walk the boat through the worst parts without getting either ourselves or the contents of the boat soaked. We had a long but enjoyable day on the Forty-Mile, passing several abandoned gold dredges and a few houses and cabins - the homes of people still involved in extracting gold from the river valley. After camping for the night on a beach about two miles short of the Yukon, we made an early start the following morning and soon found ourselves being gently swept along at between 4 and 6 mph towards Eagle. Another long day, but it was great to get a feeling for how it must have been for the Gold Rush stampeders all those years ago, on their 550-mile odyssey north to Dawson City.
We could go on - about the gastronomic delights (shrimp, salmon, halibut, even moose), the visual wonders (Atlin Lake, the Lynn Canal, the Kenai Peninsula, the many glaciers, Valdez, the Wrangell Mountains, the Top of the World Highway, the Dempster Highway), the flora and fauna (especially the Alaskan wild flowers, and the lynx we saw at Atlin!!), the snow, the sun, the nights without darkness, the (so far!) unfailing reliability of Harvey the RV - but think we must have overtaxed your patience already. If you have managed to get this far and are interested in seeing some photographs of our trip, Barbara has been working hard to recreate our website, which you will find at:
www.geocities.com/gayfords
Our route back to Vancouver will take us through the Canadian Rocky Mountains, via the National Parks of Jasper and Banff, so there are more treats in store for us - and we promise to try to be more prompt in writing the next instalment!
With our love and best wishes - and hoping to hear what you have been up to.
John and Barbara