Dispatch from Alaska: The Lost Boys, NeverLand, so where is Captain Hook?

The Day is Sunday; we have just had the Empress of the North cruise ship leave the dock. The Empress has been made to resemble an old paddle-wheel steam ship that one would envision on the Mississippi River while Huck Finn and Tom Sawyer floated by on their raft. More appropriately the boat looks like some of the early vessels that brought settlers and miners up to the area during the gold rush. At the height of the gold rush, because of how long news took to travel, the majority of the gold extracted from these streams and mountains had been found by the time the 30,000 plus miners came into the Klondike area. Less than one percent actually found gold, the dry-good merchants made more money supplying the miners than the miners found in gold.

Due to the 17+ hours of daylight here in this part of AK, with the days continuing to get longer by the day until the Summer solstice on June 21st people tend to be up late. Today, work and the bi-weekly company BBQ/meeting . . . I mean cookout( Being from the South I am always quick to point out that unless there is a pig slow cooking in the ground its not a BBQ) ends around 8 pm and we are off to the disc golf course for 18 holes. Since Haines was the last place I thought would have a disc gold course I did not bring my discs, but quickly pick a few up in town.

The course uses empty beer kegs with the bottom cut out mounted on a 4x4 post, instead of “ringing the chains” all one must do is hit the keg and a ringing similar to a bell sound rolls out. One of the directors for AMG is playing with us, and the rest of the players range in number of seasons spent in AK. I am watching this group of guys running from hole to hole and realize that the time is approaching 10 pm and it feels like 6. Along with the side conversations and friendly competitive spirits I think to myself, “We are like the ‘Lost Boys’ with Drasie as our ‘Peter Pan’ and Haines, AK is our ‘NeverLand’”. There is no Tinker Bell, with her magic dust, but the sunlight all day long is invigorating and makes most feel compelled to stay busy since the winter will be spent mostly dormant due to 6 hour or less of sunlight. With the Lynn Canal and the glaciated mountains surrounding town there is adventure to be had where ever you look. Many peaks have not been climbed, salmon can be pulled from the ocean and rivers with your hands at certain times, Dungeness crab can be caught just off the shore daily. The climate is to cold for the Crocodile with the ticking clock inside it to be here but rumors of the rare “glacier bear” a silver colored brown bear in the area are the talk at the Bamboo room some mornings. So if this is Neverland, where is Captain Hook? The character of Captain Hook is played by the lone DMV employee here. I have been working on getting my Commercial Driver’s License. The process is time consuming, the tests are meticulous, and the hours of the DMV ridiculous. So ‘Captain Hook’ a.k.a, the DMV employee does not have a hook-hand, nor does she wear a pirate hat, but like the O.G Hook constantly sought Peter Pan, she seeks to make getting a CDL in Haines harder than remembering how to fly without pixie dust. After three attempts at the written tests and 2 attempts at the practical I am only continuing for the license so that I win and she loses and 3 times is supposed to be the charm right?

Call me crazy, but because there is nothing to do here in Haines compared to that of my former residences, Atlanta, Charlotte, Boone, and Asheville, the lack of resources seems to free a person up to do, think or create almost anything. Most people here relish in the idea that they build there own house, catch, kill, and grow there own food. There are no strip-malls or traffic to waist time in.

So while Desoto, Cortez and the rest of the disease carrying Spaniards searched endlessly for “Eldorado” and the “fountain of youth” the Tlingets and other native tribes where living in the land of gold and benefiting from the vast days of sunlight. Ah, if only they had sailed up the Lynn Canal, managed to elude the sirens of Seduction Point, bush-whacked through the dense forests covered with devil’s club and brown bears they might have found “Neverland” and avoided turning St. Augustine, FL into a tourist trap.

All the best,

Mike

Dispatch From Alaska: "Do you want a rattlesnake to the face?"

As my friend and former co-worker at SNBR, Craig put it, “GORP attracts a mouse, and the mouse attracts a rattlesnake, the mouse runs near your head while you sleep, then the rattlesnake strikes you in the face, point being don’t sleep with food in the woods”. This was the way a struggling teen might understand why staff did not want them taking food to their shelters at night. As I mentioned earlier in one of my “Dispatch” letters, I tend to be a “believe it when I see it” guy on some topics, a part-time skeptic you might say. With that in mind, I am awoken this mourning by an animal walking around my tent.

For those who don’t know I am out of the truck, camping at Tanani Point which is 3 miles outside of Haines. I found a windbreak in a grove of Sitka Spruce trees and Alders, which is a hermaphroditic shrub that grows in re-covering areas before the Western Hemlock and the aforementioned Spruce assume dominance of this Temperate Rainforest in S.E. AK. The Point is a former fuel depot for the closed Fort Seward. I am not exactly sure what the squatter rights are here in AK, but the community at Tanani is 5 strong. Our “shanty” town includes a fire pit for evening gatherings and doubles as the kitchen, there is a wood pile, hammock and slack-line (tightrope) for recreation. There are eagles on the rocks in the AM, a Minke whale that comes round daily, sea lions, seals, harbor porpoises, surf scooters, a female Moose and here calf across the road inside the abandoned fuel tank fields and as of this mourning about 7 am a good size bear judging by the butt imprint it left after eating on some fresh greens under my “big blue” tarp about 3 feet away from my head.

As calm as I am in most situations, the idea of having a hungry, fresh from hibernation bear feet away from me while I am zipped up in my tent with rain fly thus not having a line of sight on the animal was nerve-racking. At first I tell myself it is a bird, because song birds have been coming around in the AM, but this is bigger than a bird. Next logical deduction is a stray dog, like the one that came into camp when I was with my Dad on a canoe trip in Michigan at a young age, but dogs tend to run through camp and sniff, this animal came in and took a seat. Is it Abby, Jon, Cory, or Lindsey one of my fellow co-workers and fellow squatters? I decide to make a little noise, with my sounds comes grunts and rustling from the animal. “Is that. . . it sure is a candy bar wrapper in my pocket, this time it might not be a rattlesnake to face but a bludgeoning slap from a brown bear. Damn, I am going to have to wait this one out, “do I have my knife if I should have to cut the tent and run”? “Was that a . . . yep that was a fart”, some large animal has decided to come and sit next to me and rip ass. 20 minutes pass by and the grunting seems to have moved, has the bear or whatever it is left? I grab my hat, put my keys and phone in my jacket, grab my Dickies pants and start to unzip the tent. Alright, no attack or grunting, I get the rain fly open and grab my rubber boots and take a quick look and there it is, the ass print in the spruce duff from a bear, visual evidence and I am on to the beach. Pants and rubber boots in hand I quickly get dressed and make my way to the fire ring and up to the other tents on the point. Turns out everyone is still there, I had thought briefly to text message one of them to come over and scare the bear off, but I figured that everyone was at work. I knock on the truck where one of the squatters is sleeping and ask if they want to go bear hunting? We make our way back through the trees and walk around my camp, no bear in sight, but the ass imprint in the ground is still there. Since my day-off started earlier than I expected, breakfast at the Bamboo room is in order. Once inside I over hear some locals talking about bear hunting season which is still open for black bear and ask if when a bear is seated it will leave an imprint similar to a humans, and his response is a definitive, “Yep” followed by, “where are you camped at?”

The day progresses with a good run, ½ gallon of Haines Brewery beer and a nap in the sunshine. I decide to go back to my tent, curious if the bear has come back. I approach slowly on the beach and whip a couple of rocks into camp . . . no movement. As I make my way into the camp, what could only be described as the smell from the bathrooms outfitted with a urinal trough at Fulton County Stadium in the late 1980’s combined with a Porta-Potty sitting out at the Coca-Cola 600 NASCAR race for 2 weeks has filled my “big blue” tarp. There it lies the fresh scat of Mr. Bear my new roomy, along with more depressions in the duff and paw prints. Abby, one of the tenants of Tanani Point, suggests, “Bears do not like to be uncomfortable where they rest, so let’s put some of the scrap vehicle parts (left on the beach from the military) where it likes to sit . . . maybe that will make it not want to return”. Anything at this point is worth re-claming my Sitka Spruce windbreak tent area. After we haul 6 awkward and discomforting metal objects into the camp, I balance an old Schlitz Malt Liquor can on the camshaft of a piece of heavy machinery and head back for the fire pit. If the bear returns he will have to knock over the can and the “Blue Bull” (Schlitz’s mascot) will stand guard. I decide to stay in the truck so that I am not up wondering when or if the bear will return.

Lesson of the story, general and accepted rules of doing different tasks exist in life because a common trend has been established. You will most likely see exemptions to the rule but not every time. Unless you want to come face to face with a rattle snake do not bring GORP with you to sleep in the lower 48 and there is nothing more comforting than sleeping with a sawed-off shotgun next to you while camping in Alaska as my boss tells me later that day when I talk with him about the morning’s events. Good thing that you can by shotguns at almost all general merchandise stores here in Haines, but I doubt that it will have to come to that. Plus the Canadian Mounties will not appreciate a Yank bringing my sawed-off “scatter” gun into Canada, they tend to belive it might spread American street violence in their peaceful country.


All the best,

Mike

Alaska: The Land of Runaways, Rogues, & Roust-abouts. . . "Greenies".

The bumper sticker on the rusty 90’s Dodge truck sums up the local’s opinion on this town, “Haines, a quite drinking village with a Greenie problem”. I have been in Haines for 3+ weeks now and like any small town there exists dynamics between the ones born or raised in AK and the transplants that have moved here full time or seasonally mid-life. The “natives” like to portray themselves as runaways, rogues, and roust-abouts of which many are. After spending mornings and evenings in the Bamboo Room/Pioneer Bar listening to the “good ole boys” talk shop, one thing is evident, if you are Alaskan by choice you are in. One does not have to be born in AK to fit in, since many are not according to their stories of youth that range from all over the Lower 48. It helps to have a gruff disposition and be able to bust someone’s balls upon entering a watering hole because their gas is too expensive or their wood cutting services have increased. The mentality of the “good ole boys” here is like the “locals only” attitude that surrounds surf breaks, fishing holes, and many other pristine outdoor spots that often get overrun with outsiders.

The “Greenies” are those who have moved to Haines for the remoteness and unspoiled beauty compared to their previous towns. They are artists, listen and support the NPR station, run the galleries, health food store, retired, etc. According to “John-O” who moved here from Juneau, and runs the Power and Telephone Company, the “Greenies” are also the group responsible for running the cruise ship industry out of Haines for many years by protesting, throwing food and spitting at people departing the ships and so on. The “Mud Bay” crowd as he calls them. “John-O” is the first to describe his birth state as a frontier still, where, “cold water bodies sink, they don’t float”. There is a lot about this town and the people that remind me of Boone, Clayton, and Asheville regarding the mix of locals and transplants. It must be a strange feeling when you come to a place to escape and hide while others come to vacation and recreate.

I have not figured out where the final segment of Haines residents fit in, the seasonal employees that consist of guides, heli-skiers, etc. Since Haines has become a world-class destination for helicopter access only skiing and boarding, there is no shortage of the “Spicoli” character played by Sean Penn from “Fast Times at Ridgemont High”. The common site is a big truck with snowmobile or “snow machine” as the locals call them, in the bed outfitted with boards and skis. I have met a few who have made Haines their home, working and scouting during the summer and then guiding and filming all winter long. From the looks of them you would think normal local, old Cartharts, rubber boots, hoodie, but watch one of the videos filmed here and these guys are hucking 5000 foot glaciated peaks. If you are not able to afford the helicopter or ski plane access there is the analog way, detach the heal of your ski/board and climb the peak by foot and ski down. The later know as ski/board mountaineering involves the ability to ski steep and technical terrain, but also a sound knowledge in ice climbing and mountaineering to get to the unnamed peaks of the Chilkat Range.

This week the first of the 3 cruise ships that will be coming to Haines each week arrived. This season is the most active Port Chilkoot has been in a number of years. The local native tribe, Tlingits (pronounced Clingits) tour company folded this winter with everyone in town scrambling to figure out who is going to run the ferry system and many tour companies that they use to operate. The weather has cleared temporarily, really showing off for the first round of tourists. I am finally recovering from the “crud” as the local nurse/practitioner called it. I have been sick with an upper-respiratory thing for over a week. With a brief stint in an apartment, which had water damage and mold/mildew, I am back in the truck. The last place that I need to be feeling the way I do. I would be lying if I said that the thought to just crawl into the cab of the Tacoma and drive home to the hot and humid South had not crossed my mind on several occasions. The average day has been low 40’s, windy and rain, miserable even when you are not sick.

While out on a sea kayak tour with some clients we saw 10-12 humpback whales breaching the water. The most asked question is, “what elevation are we at in Haines”? The response is, “ how tall are you”? Being that sea level does not rise just because one is in Alaska. The eagles are down feeding on the hooligan fish and fresh seal carcasses and there was a bear sighted eating a family’s goat in their back yard this week.

John Muir wrote that once a person sees this part of Alaska, they had better stay or know that every place they see for the rest of their lives will be a disappointment. The fact that access to the world was different during Muir’s lifetime does not entirely discredit his statement. I will most likely run into a brown bear while running this summer and that is a testament to the scale of this wilderness. I have bought my rubber boots that are the staple footwear here and I should be in an apartment by the end of the week but skeptic I remain. While I am not a native Alaskan, nor consider myself an uber “Greenie”, I am finding out what it takes to live more comfortably here in Haines and anticipate an eventful summer with lots of good stories.

Thanks for all the encouragement to keep writing, Happy Memorial Day, and safe travels this summer.


More to follow from Alaska,

All the best,

Mike

Dispatch From the Alaska Hwy. Day 2

Dispatch from the Alaska Hwy: Day 2

You will have to excuse some of the grammar from Day 1, typed after 12 hours of driving and wanting to get the details down before they were lost to sleep. So if yesterday was Days of Thunder, today would have to be Cannon Ball Run or Rat Race for you younger people. I retired to the bed of my truck last night in the church parking lot of Watson Creek, YT. As I am climbing over the tailgate, I can feel someone walking towards me, I turn around to see a hitch-hiker that I had passed earlier that day. He is a young guy, turns out he is German and has been hitching from Argentina. He left July 2007 and is wondering until he needs to be somewhere else. He asks me, “Do you know who runs the church?” I assume he is thinking there might be a hostel there or at least is friendly to travelers as many are along bike routes, hiking trails, etc. As for the Yukon I cannot say. He is trying to get to Whitehorse, the capital of the Yukon Territory, I offer a ride if he is ready by 6:30 am. I am thinking that he could play Dom DeLouise to my Burt Reynolds or Sammy Davis Jr. to my Dean Martin on the last leg of the Alaska Hwy version of Cannon Ball Run.

I say this could be the Cannon Ball because of all the personalities that I have passed all headed for the same place. Couples in RVs, redneck Canuks, families in mini-vans, young couples in Subaru’s, the locals, etc. However, the prize is not the money of a Sheik or underground fame like in the movie, but the Final Frontier, Alaska . . . I mean the Last Frontier, don’t want to offend the Trekkies! I am up around 5 am, since the sun rises between 4-5am. Get my sleeping roll put away and the truck bed organized. Where is Sammy? Looks like the German will be thumbing a ride later in the mourning, oh well. I get some gas and wash the windows, all these towns are filled with dust from the “slag” put down throughout the winter. The day is overcast and the not as cold as the last few nights. Today is going to be 600 miles into Haines, AK where I will be working for the summer. I originally planned on taking the Alaska Marine Hwy from Skagway to Haines, but early season does not have a ferry leaving until Monday at 4:30 pm and I need to start punching the clock. Besides what is another 250 miles when you have drove 3700+.

The Hwy winds through the Canadian Rockies in and out of the Yukon and BC. The mountains are huge and snow-covered. My camera hardly does them justice, as I am stopping frequently to get some pictures and take in the views, unlike yesterday. There are very few people heading north, maybe 10-15 vehicles pass all day. I am after mile marker 985, Haines Junction, YT where the Haines Road will take me into Alaska. All day long I am waiting for the scantily clad women driving the color-change Ferrari from Cannon Ball to whip by me or the Christie Brinkley character from National Lampoon’s Vacation series, but to no avail, just Maud and Wilber “Local” of the Yukon. The farther north I drive, the rivers and lakes of which there are countless numbers are all frozen with snowmobile tracks crossing them.

Wanting to talk with friends and family, but without cell reception, I bust into laughter thinking of the show Arrested Development and the “surrogate Dad” where the father has a stand in man with a camera mounted to his head and a mic in the ear so he can talk through the “surrogate” and see what the stand in is looking at while he sits in prison. That is exactly what I need, one in Asheville and one in Marietta, oh the calamity that would ensue. But I digress.

I am starting the climb into the Haines range, from where I will drop into the Valley of the Eagle and into Alaska. The fog has set in and the sun and snow combination make the glare intense. No contacts, not vehicles on the road, so the glasses come off and sunglasses on. The mountains are socked in so there is nothing to see, I will have to drive back out that way, I am sure to have missed some amazing sights. I reach the US/Canadian border. Now for those of you, who do not already know, at the Canadian/North Dakota border my vehicle was tossed and a dog sent into smell for drugs and guns. No other vehicles were asked to pull into the garage doors, just the guy who was planning on driving through half of Canada in 3- 4 days to work as a “mountain guide” for the summer, maybe random selection, more likely I was profiled as a pot smoking/meth taking wilderness instructor who may or may not be transporting firearms into Canada. So this time around, the US customs guy asks for my passport and license, where I am from and where I was born (the pieces they get from the license and passport to attempt to catch people who are traveling under false documentation without memorizing the info). “No I do not have over 10,000 US with me, no, I am not carrying anything for someone else, etc”, I am back in the US, where miles are not km, gallons of gas instead of liters, no “ehh”, and most of all I am in ALASKA! The goal is accomplished, 40 miles to Haines and I am home for the summer.

The Town of Haines is small. Main St. with 3-4 Avenues and a waterfront road. The town is tucked in a fjord, with steep, snow-covered mountains on all sides. The drizzle, fog and slight breeze remind me of the opening shots of Goonies, if this town has a metaphorical “buried treasure” I intend to find it. Seagulls fly overhead, while I am making a collect call to Mom and Dad assuring them I made it safely. They did not get the Dispatch Day 1 yet. Into the “Fogcutter Bar” for a couple of High Life’s and food, NASCAR highlights, and some rousting by the salty locals for being a Georgia boy who drove to Alaska to take tourists into the mountains. The characters are already coming out of the woodwork. Northern Exposure this will not be.

I might not have won the Cannon Ball Run, but I started another adventure, which of late has been crucial to my understanding of myself and who I am. I am starting to feel comfortable with the fact that I have this “wanderlust” as my Mom calls it. Some say that I can not hold a job, have no direction, refuse to grow up, etc. To that I say I have a job, there is a universal known called the Cardinal directions and I intend on exploring them in my life, and age is just a number. To my friends and family, thank you for your continued support you are all missed. All of life’s experiences are nothing without people to share them with and hopefully by living my dreams, other people I meet will be compelled to get out and attempt their own.

More to follow

All the best, Mike

Dispatch From the Alaska Hwy. Day 1

Dispatch from the Alaska Hwy.

Disclaimer: 2 people were hurt in a single semi-truck accident during this day.

The time is 6:30 am Pacific Time Saturday mourning, the sky looks like the opening scene from Days of Thunder, orange and purple hues. Just like when Cole Trickle’s Chevy has an oil leak before the Daytona 500, the Tacoma had an oil leak about the size of my fist, not good when you are trying to set out on the Alaska Hwy for a 600+ mile day! Bare with the NASCAR references, the day would prove to be one hell of a ride.

After the fine folks at Wal-Mart lube and tire looked at the work they had done the day before, and I know what some of you are saying, “that’s what you get for going to Wal-Mart”, I feel good about leaving town. Since Canada is not as litigious as the US they allow me to go under the car lift and see for myself that everything is tight and leak free. Turns out that the oil is from the spilt oil from removing the filter, but anyway on to the drive.

The Hwy starts in Dawson Creek, BC, Mile “0”. I hit the round-a-bout that leads towards Delta Junction 1390 miles to the North-west. The first 283 miles to Ft. Nelson are a breeze, not the Hwy that I have read about; smooth asphalt, 2 lanes, and passing lanes on the hills. The amount of gas and oil mines in the area indicates what is paying for such a nice road.

Some back story, I left Marietta, GA on Monday with a day layover in Charlotte, NC. So Charlotte to Dawson Creek, BC 2,779 miles, coca-cola did not do the trick, always drowsy from the sugar, big red gum ate up my mouth. The trick to driving and staying awake, sunflower seeds and coffee, along with music that some friends made me. One night at my Uncle Bill’s in Chicago, 1 night in the bed of my truck outside Fargo, ND and another in Loydminster, AB. 12-16 hours driving per day, cake by Saturday, so back to Day 1 on the Hwy.

Obviously my truck is dwarfed by the Canadian rednecks, get this, the preferred way to transport their ATV and snow-mobile is on a platform above the bed as if they might crawl out the sliding glass window and launch off the truck while still in motion. The trucks look like “P.O.Ds” on wheels. That is not “Green”. This would make Early of the Squidbilles turn in his truck-boat-truck. After passing a weasel the size of a Lab I pull into the mining town of Fort Nelson.

The mining communities throughout Canada, Ft. Nelson being not different reminds me of Mos Esley of Star Wars. Am I going to go into the local restaurant and be harassed by the locals because I do not have enough oil on me or because my truck is not dirty enough? I sure as hell do not have Obi Wan traveling with me to cut off the Pig Man’s buddy’s arm should I need. No the people thus far have been great, talkative and tired looking; I guess after a long winter of little sunlight anyone would look worse for ware.

So from Ft. Nelson, the Hwy. according to the book is “rough” in places. Few vehicles follow me out of town, except a Hwy patrol car passing at Mach 1 and another following a few minutes later. Domestic call or something I think. The high plains are great, rolling hills; the Rockies will not come until later in the day. The sky is blue without a cloud. Only about 25% of the service stations and stops are open, so I am cautious as to how much gas I have. For 2 hours I have the road to myself, what better than driving to Alaska, but to feel as if no one else is going. I am whizzing along at 70 mph when I come up on Toad River station and I top off the tank, $1.43 CA about the same US/ liter and I am off. A few miles down the road, traffic is stopped. Apparently a truck has rolled over in a sharp curve. Everyone is out of the cars and trucks talking, waiting for the accident to clear. I run into a guy moving to Homer, AK for retirement. He is driving a 1969 Ford 250 truck pulling a home made trailer with a Kubota Tractor on board. 8 mpg he has been getting, smoking hand rolled cigs stored in a home made case, a life time of timber trucking has made him “grizzled” in his brown coveralls and nicotine stained mustache.

A guy from Washington is driving a big rig behind me and explains why he was not trying to block me from passing earlier but merely avoiding fallen rocks. I heed his advice and let him know that as soon as I saw the rocks I got it. The traffic starts moving and as I round the corner I see the worse jack-knifed tractor trailer accident. The truck has rolled over with the cab swallowed in a ditch, destroyed. 2 helicopters have been in and out already. The next 70 miles would prove to be the best driving experience I have had since I first got my license.

The entire drive thus far have been signs warning of bison, elk, caribou, moose, and rams crossing the road. Now we all have seen signs warning of deer, etc, but how often do you actually see them? I think to myself. “When I see it I’ll believe it”. Turns out the signs were not warnings but aluminum premonitions, like reflective Yodas. The road is clogged with back traffic due to the accident. I am making my way pass slower moving vehicles, old man “grizzled” waves me by. I find myself behind a rig towing 2 trailers of gas. The ass end of the trailer is throwing up gravel and dust so I keep my distance. After 20 miles of this I am ready to pass.

I approach the side of the tanker and what is that! I can not see a thing; he has fish tailed into the gravel. It is like when Cole Trickle and Rowdy Burns tangle during Days of Thunder. I do not have a spotter to talk me through the dust. I can not see the rig and there was a Ford behind me and I can not see him, the dust is that thick. I quickly think to go for the pass anyway, but just as quickly decide against that, are my lights on? If they are then maybe the rig and the Ford can see me and make the proper adjustments. Is there a Bison standing in the road in front of me like the reflective Yoda stated? Is there another vehicle coming from the other direction, there was not before? Finally I slow down enough to duck back in behind and rig let some space clear the dust. That was close, my heart is beating and I could use a change of shirts, but there are miles to cover.

I finally approach a down hill and hit 85 to pass the truck all the time worrying if there is going to be loose gravel, sheep sleeping in the road, bison grazing, or any other animals out to destroy me? If I hit a bison while doing 70 mph, hopefully it is not one of Ted Turner’s because he will have put a disclaimer on the menu stating that, “this bison may or may not contain trace amounts of a 28 year old male and Toyota truck”. The pass is successful. In NASCAR a rookie gets yellow tape put on the rear bumper of the car to warn others of their inexperience. That trucker might not have been a rookie on the Hwy but his near rollover shortly before passing him is an indicator of how tricky this road can be. My “yellow tape” is my Georgia plate. The next 50 miles are crazy and hectic. I am pinned in by trucks on sections of road without guardrails, feet from cliffs and semi-frozen water, waiting for more animals to be in the road. I come around a corner, a family of sheep, miles later is that, yep a bison that has been turned inside out by a semi, then group of rams, 3 caribou and 3 moose. The only animal, which has not decided to try and stop my truck, is the elk and deer and I am sure that will happen by the end of this trip. I can not pull off since the road is narrow and turn-offs not marked. I am taking pictures on the road, through the windshield, holding the camera out the window etc. Finally, I am able to get out of the trucks way and pull off for a few pictures and a break. The valleys and mountains are covered in snow with much of the rivers still frozen. The road opens up after the steep and curvy mountain section. A few hours to Watson Lake for the night and I am enjoying the Pink Floyd play list recounting the days events. A greasy gas station burger and 2 Labatts and I am going to retire to the truck bed for the night.

More to come,

Mike