May 27th - June 5th (Entry 3)

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Road miles to date: 2,387

We spent a few days in Whitehorse having a look about and taking a break from the road. The local sports shop selling everything from camouflage paint to fully automatic rifles, got Byron's attention. We were told one particularly hefty gun could split a moose in half from over a mile away. The salesman spent a fair bit of time explaining the local laws to us, hopefully without too much disappointment that we eventually only bought a knife. Non-locals can only hunt with a tourist permit and a local guide, the cost of which is prohibitively expensive so unfortunately for Byron, legit hunting is way out of our means. Poaching is a serious crime, leading to fines and prison sentencing, so that too is unlikely, if Isabel can keep him under control.

In Whitehorse we had heard good things from countless people of more hot springs in a forest near Liard. It would be a long ride away so after a few days in the city had passed, we woke up early and broke camp. Along the way we passed through Watson Lake where, during construction of the Alcan Highway, a homesick GI nailed up a sign showing the mileage back to his hometown. As time passed, others followed his lead and people today still add signs and messages on the posts of what has become the Signpost Forest where the estimated number of signs to date stands at 72,000. Although we didn't have a sign from back home, with a bit of improvisation and the sacrifice of our chopping board we made our own and added it to the jungle. One day we might see it again!

The twelve hour ride to Liard was filled with more wildlife encounters than a trip to the zoo. We lost count of the number of bears, moose, bison, mountain goats and elk by the side of the road and eventually stopped frantically fumbling for the camera every time we saw a black dot on the horizon.

Having set up camp in the deserted Liard Lodge, complete with a lit fire, Byron decided it was time to end the day with some blues harp. No sooner had he started playing than a whole herd of Bison (enchanted by the music no doubt) wandered across the camp. Usually Bison are quite docile grazers however, as with all animals when there are calves with them, they are very protective. Not wanting to be trampled by the herd, he inconspicuously walked up to them to take a few photos before pegging it back to safer ground. As he lay in wait with his spear (a sharpened marshmallow roasting stick), coiled like a cobra ready to strike, a load of bikers pulled up to take photos and scared the herd away, knocking bison burger off the menu, for now at least.

The bikers turned out to be Mexicans on holiday and before long they were giving us advice on the best routes through Mexico ("definitely don't ride after dark") and even asked to buy our bike off us when we had finished the trip.

While this commotion was going on, Isabel had gone into the lodge and got talking to a local who didn't take too much time before telling her all the details of the day in '96 that he got buried alive by a bear. The short story is, he had gone to his friend's house where it turned out his friend was out and a bear was visiting. Because he'd surprised the bear, it attacked and the only defence he had was to play dead, at which point it buried him for four hours while he played dead before he escaped, guts in hand. He took some delight in showing off the scar and the still-cracked ribs.

We still camped that night in the deserted campsite, albeit with our finally purchased bear spray very close at hand. Sitting round the fire the next night with Mike Jones, a fellow camper and Canadian who is cycling 6,300km from Dawson City to Windsor raising money for his local hospital, we came to the conclusion that the locals quite enjoy the notoriety of their bear folk and seem to be in competition as to how many tourists they can put the frighteners up with their attack stories, usually told with a grin and a glint in the eye.

The Liard springs are in a more natural setting, quite a long way along a boardwalk, deep in the forest. They aren't manned and we later found out that they are just as frequented by moose and bears as they are by people. One guy went into detail of the annual attacks by bears on bathers. A woman and two children had been killed on the boardwalk by a bear recently and an English woman we met later on (cycling with her husband from Anchorage to Washington DC) had been followed by a bear on the boardwalk a couple of weeks before. We were pretty pleased to hear these stories after we'd enjoyed a day there.

The water nearest the hot springs outlet reaches the surface at about 53 Celsius - plenty hot enough to get dizzy and to burn yourself if you are not careful. Just as Byron was dozing off in the water a commotion at the other end of the pool brought his attention to what looked like someone drowning. After watching him thrash around, he finally stopped, at which point Byron realised it might be a good idea to go and check if he was ok. Just on cue, the Baywatch theme tune struck up as he raised up from the water. When he reached the guy, he had actually passed out and was unconscious. With the help of another bather, they dragged him from the water and with a quick slap around the face, bought him back to consciousness, but he was very frail and vomiting, so they put him in the recovery position. Naturally to the applause of surrounding onlookers, Byron high-fived himself. Isabel turned up after the commotion so cannot verify the rescue but doesn't doubt the imagined theme tune and the high-five.

Leaving Liard and our favourite campsite attendant to date, we headed south to Fort Nelson. Not far into the journey we had the surprise of coming up over an incline to be greeted by a mountain goat standing in our way and with the option of a lake immediately to the left or a cliff face to the right, Byron did his best to slam on the brakes. Before we knew it though, the goat had run across us and with a hop, skip and jump, had scaled the sheer cliff face directly above us to look down as if to ask what the fuss was about, leaving us no time to whip out the camera.

Later along this stunning drive, signs for 'home of the homemade cinnamon bun - centre of the galactic cluster' stoked the appetite and considering we had no food on us, we stopped to check it out. It's safe to say these were indeed the best cinnamon buns ever tasted and the owner even got round to offering to take us on our own horseback hunting trip, for the handsome sum of nine-thousand dollars. Safe to say Byron's dream is still just a dream.

We arrived in Fort Nelson in good time and had chance to check out the widely recommended Fort Nelson Heritage Museum. Officially a museum of transport, it was started by a local in '85 who was sad to see old means of transportation being scrapped, so he did what any self respecting hoarder would do and started collecting it. Word soon got around about the museum and before long people were donating all manner of things from everyday articles, registration plates, giant pistons of a diesel generator that once powered the town, stuffed wild animals, a hundred year old car, genuine hand crafted first nation canoes and very old tools to actual houses (no joke, there are actually houses that have been disassembled and rebuilt in the yard of the museum). They are also just awaiting a church! It was well worth a visit if only to meet the legendary founder and curator of this epic museum to all things Alcan who had recently driven the hundred year old car the length of the Alcan Highway.

Continuing south the next morning, we reached Dawson Creek, the starting point, and our ending point, of the Alcan Highway. We took a walk about town, had the obligatory photo with the marker for Mile Zero and went to another museum that had more info and films on the construction of the Alcan and the resulting effect on the local populations.

We wish we had known more about this epic route before riding it; the way in which thousands of US and Canadian troops, later joined by civilians, punched their way through the vast wilderness to form this road, originally 1600 miles, in just eight months during a war is fascinating and deservedly referred to as one of the wonders of the modern world.

Finishing the iconic drive has us left us grateful to have travelled the whole length of it without hindrance, but sad to be leaving behind such spectacular country.

We left Dawson Creek for Grande Cache (the best showers on a campsite so far) and then came back into more truly incredible scenery that is Jasper National Park where we will stay for a few days exploring, regardless of the current relentless rain and thunder, before heading down to Banff and then West to Vancouver before we start a long slog West to East across the USA.

(Scroll down to the end of this page for more photos and a couple of videos)

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Comments

[Martin Slade]

Watching you from Wales!
The photos posted and tales from your epic trip so far are fantastic! Keep safe and look forward to reading and seeing more! Love from The Gang in Wales!!