Series 2A
Land Rover (note complete lack of rear crossmember)
Monday, August 25th, 1997
The sunrise
as we climb out of the truck is breathtaking.
The air is cold and condensation clings to the inside of the cap when I open my eyes. The moisture obscures my view out of the windows, and I lay quietly for a long time, appreciating the stillness.
It is very light when we push open the hatch and climb out into a brisk morning. Steep mountains bristling with dark spruce pines surround a mile-wide lake (photo above). A 200 foot cliff rises up from the railroad tracks on the other side of the road behind us. Stumbling across this magnificent place to spend the night was one of the things that I will never forget about this trip.
Breakfast is Pop-Tarts and fruit. I scrape and bang my cold hands as I dig out the tools and supplies needed for changing the oil. It has been 5900 miles since the last change- the longest ever.
My hands were abused the last few days before we left while I hurried to prepare the truck. I scraped up pretty much all of my knuckles at some point, and sliced my right index finger open just a bit. That little wound has been very slow to heal. Partially because I can't seem to keep it clean and partially because my lack of sleep hasn't allowed my body to repair itself as it usually would.
Sean drives first as we head east towards the town of Terrace and Hwy 37 north. It will take us all day to travel this partly gravel road towards the Alcan Hwy. We stop to fuel up at the intersection of Fed 16 and BC 37. I snap a picture of an old Series IIA Land Rover parked by a pump that looks particular well suited for this land. Sean empties the water out of our 2nd gas tank and I cover the Hellas to protect them from flying rocks. We didn't ever use the covers during our drive through the states, but they seem a wise option now.
Series 2A
Land Rover (note complete lack of rear crossmember)
Leaving the station, two young Canadian guys ask us if we want to buy a radar detector "dirt cheap." Apparently one of these guys' brother ran away from the carnival and they had to drive up from Kitimat to retrieve him- now they need gas money for the return trip. Not needing a radar detector and not entirely convinced of their story, we wish them luck and get back on the road.
Dry, desolate, gray-brown rock peaks over steep, dense, dark green pine-covered slopes dropping into a narrow valley. A bright blue-green river twists lazily through, and the road gently curves alongside. The sky is a soft light blue and bright white clouds flow around the peaks; pouring over the slopes and sometimes deep into the valleys to settle gently over the wide river. Bald eagles perch on dead trees jutting out over the water. This is how I will always remember British Columbia.
Mountains west of Hwy
37 towards Meziadin Junction
We are awe-struck by the magic and majesty of these mountains all day long. Every turn, every ascent reveals some incredible new mountain wilderness. I am overcome by a desire to climb in these beautiful hills. These mountains are a gift from God and a testament to Him. I make Sean stop the truck a few times and later I even take some pictures while driving myself- steering with one hand and holding the camera up against the windshield with the other.
We drop off
of the end of the asphalt with a crunch while Sean is resting in the back.
The road is hard-packed gravel now with some washboard spots- I finally
figure out it is best taken at about 60 mph. Shortly after the gravel
begins near Bowser Lake we see a young black bear run across the road ahead
of us and disappear into the brush. The novelty of driving on gravel
wears off quickly when you are trying to get somewhere. The surface
is alternately gravel and pavement the rest of the way up to the Alcan.
I pull over around lunch time at Hodder Lake, and back the truck down to the water's edge. A beautiful spot for a lunch of baked beans. We take the time to actually cook them and it's a treat. Sean is tempted to fish but since we've no license, he satisfies himself with just rigging up and cleaning the poles. We discover a broken headlight- our first casualty from the rough roads.
Our lunch
spot on the shore of Hodder Lake
Sean drives us out of there and we continue on at an aggressive pace. After much discussion we basically decide to forego the Dempster Hwy to Inuvik and instead head straight for the border of Alaska. We also decide that we must climb a mountain at some point on the trip.
We don't stop
again until we need gas just south of Istuk. The gas station is interesting-
with large pieces of larger animals the dominant theme. We give our
hastily scrawled postcards to the women in the gift shop/ restaurant to
mail for us tomorrow. As we leave the shop, Sean tells me he wrote
a bunch of stuff on his post cards about how annoying the Canadians were
and how they all talked funny. Great-- I figure the old ladies will
read them and won't send them at all.
I drive on until we stop for gas where the BC 37 ends at the Alcan Highway. There are a few buildings and a small 2-pump gas station in the middle of a desolate gravel parking area. I buy a gallon of windshield washer fluid (which we are consuming at an amazing rate) and Sean gets a bag of Ketchup-flavored Lay's potato chips. When Sean says we have never seen this flavor in the States, the girl working the register laughs and says: "Where are you from, some really small town in the middle of nowhere or something?" We just sort of stare at her.
Sean drives west on the Alcan. The sun is setting directly ahead and it is too bright to see where we are going. The road surface is fresh gravel over pavement it seems- we can't discern any lines and have trouble telling if we are in our lane or not. The glare is incredible and the sun seems to linger above the horizen for a ridiculous amount of time, getting brighter every minute. Sean eventually has to stick his head out of the window and peek at the road under the brim of his hat because the insect-covered windshield is opaque in the setting sun.
Finally we give up and pull off as the sun approaches the horizen at about 8:00. Sean cooks a pot of pasta on some upturned logs as I replace the broken headlight. Amazingly our only mechanical failure so far- the truck is taking a horrible beating. We are parked in a construction equipment holding area- just a gravel clearing in a pine forest alongside the highway. Insects are present but kept at bay by a bit of bug spray. The whole truck is coated in a film of black greasy slime- a calcium solution that helps stabilize the loose road surface, we later learn. As I change the headlight I can't help but stain my clothes and hands with the vile, oil-smelling grime. Spaghetti with onion and green pepper sauce is quite good.
Sean gets us all the way to Teslin by about 11:15. I go to sleep in the back long before he finds us a nice spot on the east side of the Wolf River bridge. Sean parks the truck tight against a line of low, dense trees- just behind the "No Camping" sign. It is chilly as we hurriedly rearrange some gear and climb into the back.
Camping
on the eastern shore of the Wolf River
I am amazed when I think to myself that tomorrow we will drive across this river and be in the Yukon Territory.
During the night some birds alight on the rack and start scratching around overhead. We both sit up, startled. Sean tells me later that his first thought was: "Grizzly!"
