Alaska Road Trip Adventure

By Allan G. Miller

A fast moving and informative account of an RV Road Trip to Alaska, Yukon, B.C., and the Northwest Territories. The destination is one of the world's last great wilderness areas, a region renowned for its spectacular mountains, abundant wildlife and stunning scenery. Along the way, the author and his wife experience this and so much more.

 

They expected Alaska to be a once in an lifetime experience, but had no idea at the time that the journey would also encompass a month living in a log cabin in the Yukon; driving the Dempster Highway, 458 miles (737kms) of gravel road through spectacular wilderness to Inuvik in the Northwest Territories; crossing the Arctic Circle; paddling a kayak down a portion of the historic Yukon river, and flying by small plane to an Inuvialuit (Eskimo) community on the Arctic Coast, but it did and much more besides. They thought it would take about two months, ultimately it took almost five.

 

The author's objective is to take you along for the ride, to experience the thrill of a 10,000 mile Alaska road trip; to see the wildlife in all it's glory; to meet interesting characters along the way; dip a toe in the Arctic Ocean and thrill to the remote beauty of the unspoiled landscape. You will learn about the history of the Alaska Highway, the Klondike Gold Rush, the Mad Trapper of Rat River and The Lost Patrol of the Northwest Mounted Police. Included are accounts of kayak sailing and paddling on the pristine lakes and rivers of this fascinating part of the world.

 

The book includes maps, photographs and a useful information section covering the complete itinerary, including the Alaska Highway, Cassiar Highway and Dempster Highway, the distances driven and suggestions including recommended tires, vehicle servicing, health care and more. Whether you are an armchair traveler, or thinking of experiencing the trip for yourself, this book makes a great read and will provide a detailed insight into what awaits those adventurous enough to head north to Alaska "The last frontier".

• Language: English
• Publisher: Allan G. Miller
• Release date: Nov 25, 2020
• ISBN: 9798201462383

Book preview

Dedicated to Maggie

My wonderful wife,

Best friend and companion.

Always at my side

Through life’s journey.

Table of Contents

Chapter 1: The Adventure Begins

Chapter 2: Skagway and the Coast

Chapter 3: Alaska the Great Land

Chapter 4: The Kenai Peninsula

Chapter 5: Denali and Northern Alaska

Chapter 6: Dawson City

Chapter 7: The Dempster Highway and the Arctic Coast

Chapter 8: The Cabin in the Woods

Chapter 9: Atlin Lake

Chapter 10: Heading South

Useful Information & Itinerary

Thank You

Chapter 1

The Adventure Begins

The scene was enchanting, towering snow-clad mountains pierced a cobalt blue sky, in the center of the spectacle stood four magnificent caribou; a bull with an impressive rack of antlers and three females, each licking salt from the road surface. Like a living landscape, they froze at our sudden appearance. Then, breaking the momentary spell, the bull raised his head and with a high stepping gait, common to caribou, led his herd back into the forest.

It was as that moment, just beyond the hamlet of Toad River in British Columbia, that we seemed to cross an invisible line between wilderness and civilization. We were driving the famous Alaska Highway through northern British Columbia (BC), en-route to the Yukon and Alaska. Our destination was one of the world’s last great wilderness areas, a region renowned for its spectacular mountains, abundant wildlife and stunning scenery. Along the way, we experienced all this and so much more. We had no idea at the time, that our journey would also encompass a month living in a log cabin in the Yukon; crossing the Arctic Circle on Canada’s most northerly highway; paddling a kayak down a portion of the historic Yukon river, or flying by small plane to an Inuvialuit (Eskimo) community on the Arctic Coast, but it did and much more besides. We thought it would take about two months, ultimately it took almost five. It was April 2001, and although we didn't know it at the time, the last day of our trip, September 11, was to be just as unforgettable as the first.

Prior to the trip, my wife Maggie and I had been experiencing burn-out from our high-pressure jobs running a tour company. After much soul searching, we decided to extricate ourselves from the business and take a sabbatical. Normally, we would head south, seeking the sun and warm temperatures. But with time to spare, we decided to explore a part of North America previously too distant and too time consuming to enjoy during a typical short vacation.

A journey has got to start somewhere and there are many places from which to start a road trip to Alaska. Many consider Mile 0 of the Alaska (Alcan) Highway in Dawson Creek, British Columbia to be the only practical starting point. This however, implies the Alaska Highway is the main focus of the trip, which was not the case for us. We wanted to explore as much of the wilderness of Alaska, Yukon, British Columbia and the Northwest Territories as possible and not just that one highway.

With this in mind, we felt Edmonton, Alberta, was our logical starting point. It was the last major metropolitan city we would see for a long time. It was also the main supply center for all points north in western Canada and the final place where traffic jams and congestion marked serious levels of population.

It was in Edmonton, where we first started to tell strangers of our planned destination. Without exception all were enthusiastic. The young lady providing us with maps at the Automobile Association said excitedly Alaska! Well, you’ll definitely need one of these, and a copy of this, and one of those, oh, and this is a must...etc., etc. Before we knew it, we had a bag full of maps, guides, campground directories and a copy of the well-respected Bible of the north, the Milepost. This thick, heavy publication, contained excellent road logs of every major highway in the area we planned to explore.  A bank clerk went into raptures Wow, Alaska, it’s beautiful and the Yukon is so unique. The enthusiasm was contagious and gave us motivation to hit the road as soon as possible.

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We left Edmonton on a fine clear day for the easy drive on mostly four-lane highway, rolling steadily north-west across gently undulating farmland, past ranches and through pine forests. There was one last stop 284 miles (457km) to the North West at Grande Prairie, in the heart of Canada’s oil patch. It was a logical choice to do our final outfitting.

It took a couple of days to go through the preparations – oil change, tire rotation, food shopping, etc., there would be no major cities until Anchorage 1,691 miles (2,721km) to the north. It was here in the RV Park that we met our first Alaskan resident, a bearded, soft-spoken and very polite man in his thirties. A respiratory specialist at Fairbanks Hospital, he was returning from a 3-month assignment in Arizona. While there, he had built a pickup truck from scrap parts. We walked around his creation and looked in wonder as he stated with obvious pride the cab cost me $300 and the flatbed was only $250. I got the engine for $500, etc. His unassuming, can-do, mentality was refreshing and we assumed, typical of people we’d meet in the far north.

Our own transportation was a 4-wheel-drive pickup truck, towing a 26ft fifth-wheel trailer, stowed in the front locker was a collapsible 2-person sea kayak. We had given serious consideration to a small pickup camper, but felt that for such a long trip it would be too confining. The fifth-wheel was fully self-contained, with shower, toilet, queen-size bed, etc, and made the trip pleasantly comfortable, even on those cold, wet days, which occasionally sweep across the north.

The Alaska Highway has a well-deserved reputation for potholes and broken surface. Fortunately, some years before, we had strengthened the fifth-wheel's suspension for a lengthy trip to Mexico. Shock absorbers were fitted, heavy-duty shackles were installed and steel plates were welded on to strengthen the hangers. All this now stood us in good stead for Alaska. However, the trailer leaf springs had never been strengthened and sadly I gave them little thought, something I came to regret later.

At Dawson Creek, we tried to buy a few last minute essentials like stone guards for the truck’s headlights and a bug screen to cover the radiator. Surprisingly they were actually difficult to locate and the few we did find in local parts stores did not fit our vehicle. Looking in the town’s parking lots, I noticed that none of the locals bothered with such things and only the occasional tourist had constructed a screen across the front of his vehicle. I decided if it was good enough for the locals to drive without them, then it was good enough for me.

The Alaska Highway has an interesting history, born of military necessity during the Second World War. It runs for 1,390 miles from Mile 0 in Dawson Creek, to its official end at Delta Junction in Alaska. However, most drivers consider Fairbanks a more logical end, making for a total distance of 1,488 miles.

The Dawson Creek Art Gallery had a display of photographs depicting the highways construction. Costing US$115,000,000, it was completed in a staggering 8-months, with work proceeding from both ends simultaneously. The break neck speed of construction, which began on March 9, 1942, was due to a perceived threat that Japan  would soon attempt an invasion of Alaska. The following June that threat was realized, when the Japanese invaded Attu and Kiska islands in the Aleutians, adding renewed impetus to the construction. The two work crews joined up at Contact Creek on September 25. By October, vehicles were able to travel the entire length of the gravel highway.

The selection of black and white photographs provided a glimpse into the life of hardship endured by those 10,000 US soldiers and engineers during the Herculean task. Working seven-days a week, they endured bitterly cold weather in winter and swarms of biting insects in summer.

While it's not the hardship it was 50 years ago, the long trek north is still seen as a journey for those with a spirit of adventure and garners pride in those willing to undertake the trip. Some of the RV's on the road had signs taped to their rear windows declaring Alaska or Bust!, or North to Alaska!.

Today, over 200,000 people a year drive the Alaska highway, some having made a life altering decision to move permanently north, but most being vacationers making the big trip - a once in a lifetime experience which they will never repeat. Time and again locals urged us to take it slow, don’t rush, you’ll enjoy it more. Fortunately, we had plenty of time, but that’s not always the case. We met a family from San Francisco, who were planning to take their minivan and trailer tent on a 3-week vacation to Alaska. With Anchorage being a 7,400 mile round trip from their home in San Francisco, it sounded absurdly optimistic and more like an endurance test than a vacation.

There’s nothing quite as exciting as starting a long journey and we were both primed and ready for whatever was to come. After taking the mandatory photographs of the Alaska Highway Mile 0 sign, we departed Dawson Creek on April 25, 2001. On a bright sunny day, with a blustery headwind, we slowly left the world of shopping malls, fast food and convenience stores. Our truck’s stereo played Glenn Miller tunes as we rolled along, much the same as the GI's would have enjoyed in 1942.

We crossed the broad Peace River Valley at the small community of Taylor, before arriving in Fort St. John. A typical northern working town, its main drag was lined with heavy machinery of every kind, from cranes and backhoes, to forestry equipment and large trucks. Company names like Grizzly and Arctic Construction predominated. Ahead of us lay only small remote communities and sweeping expanses of untouched wilderness.

At the north end of town, was the still frozen Charlie Lake, where in 1942 12 American soldiers drowned while attempting to cross the lake aboard pontoon barges. At one time during construction, Charlie Lake was designated Mile 0 of the Alaska Highway, as a road already existed between Dawson Creek and Fort St. John. The day was cold and snow still lined the west side of the highway where it lay in the shadow of trees, but on the sunny eastern side, bare brown earth had made an appearance – the first sign of spring. Continuing on, past occasional ranches and expanses of pine forest, we eventually dropped steeply to the Sikanni Chief River Valley and shortly afterwards, noted the first warning signs for moose on the highway. At this stage, the road surface was in excellent condition and we cruised effortlessly northward, catching our first glimpse of the snow covered Rocky Mountains in the distance.

Bucking Horse River Provincial Park sounded good for an overnight stop, so we pulled off the highway looking forward to an evening of silence in a wilderness setting. The river was still mostly frozen and near the deserted camping area, we could see that ice had caused the river to overflow its banks, flooding the campsites. Fortunately, there was a large open area beside the park’s entrance, which made a good alternative. Our campsite was overlooked by a collection of portable cabins, abandoned shacks, a rusting bulldozer and a grader.

As we took our usual evening stroll, we met and fell into conversation with a couple from Colorado, who had parked their motorhome across the road. Surprised to see fellow travelers so early in the season, they explained that they were heading to Matanuska Glacier in Alaska, where they were to be camp hosts for the summer season. Padding along beside them were two dogs; a pretty little creature of unknown origin, which yapped perpetually and a strikingly handsome white mutt (mongrel), which tagged along behind. Apparently, the white dog was part wolf and did not belong to them, something the yapper seemed to resent, as it constantly showed aggression to the larger more placid dog.

The lady excitedly pointed out moose tracks in the snow, stating how much she would love to see one, as they had always eluded her in the past (something I had cause to remember later in the trip). We wandered slowly onwards until coming to the flooded campground, where our companions were forced to turn back because of their flimsy footwear. We said goodbye and waded on through the water in our rubber boots. No sooner were we through the flooded area, than the sound of breaking branches caused us to cautiously enter a clearing, where a large female moose stared at us with curious brown eyes. Being spring, we were unsure if she had a calf, so we kept our distance.

The crystal clear evening became a bitterly cold night. It was eerily quiet, when around midnight, I stepped outside hoping to see the northern lights. Instead I found a vast glittering swathe of stars, from horizon to horizon – the Milky Way in all its glory. Suddenly the silence was broken by a flock of Canada Geese, who had settled down to sleep nearby. Becoming aware of my presence, they kicked up the most incredible racket, honking furiously and confirming why in some parts of the world, geese are considered better guard animals than dogs.

The following morning after scraping a layer of ice off the trucks windshield, we departed for Fort Nelson about 9 a.m. The scenery improved steadily throughout the day, with snow covered mountains occasionally raising their heads above the pine forest. Fuel in Fort Nelson was 81.9 cents Canadian per liter, compared to about 60 cents in Edmonton (ouch!). My philosophy towards gas prices mellowed as the trip progressed. I finally began to realize that for many isolated gas stations, fuel revenue is their primary source of income. In comparison, gas stations in the south generally make most of their money from the sale of items in their convenience stores and restaurants. For the uninitiated, there are 3.79 liters to a US gallon and while exchange rates fluctuate, we worked on $1.50 Canadian to every American Dollar at that time.

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Stone Sheep at Stone Mountain Provincial Park.

Lunch was taken outside the closed museum, where we found the only water spigot dry and the sewer dump overflowing. This was another non-descript working town. Later, while driving the Dempster highway, north of the Arctic Circle, we met a young couple who introducing themselves by saying: We’re from Fort Nelson, you probably don’t remember it, because there’s nothing there! Well, it wasn’t quite that bad, we remembered the town as the first community with a large number of First Nations people, one displaying a bumper sticker stating Indians discovered Columbus - Interesting point of view?

Along with the steady improvement in scenery as we progressed northward, was an increase in the amount of wildlife. A pair of handsome male caribou made an unexpected appearance, followed by a rather scrawny female with one of her antlers missing; all were licking salt at the roadside. Later passing through Stone Mountain Provincial Park, we spotted Stone sheep, a darker sub-species of Dall sheep. Pulling over not 20ft from a female, we both grinned at the sight of her delightful lamb. The hair on its head stood straight up like a broom, making it look like a four-legged punk rocker. Further on, a group of six males with large curved horns sauntered across the road, unconcerned by our presence.

Summit Lake campground at 4,200 ft. was still snowed in, so we dropped down to Toad River Roadhouse and camped for C$10, with electric and cable TV. This was undoubtedly a good deal, but the lack of water this early in the season was to become a recurring problem. The usual excuse was that night time temperatures caused the water lines to freeze, but in contrast, the Grande Prairie RV Park had all their water spigots available, simply by using heat tape fastened to each water pipe. It seemed like an obvious, inexpensive solution, but for the next 2000 miles not one single RV Park or campground owner seemed to consider this simple innovation worthwhile.

To cycle from the lower 48 to Alaska is a formidable undertaking but not at all uncommon. It was at Toad River that we met two healthy young guys on bicycles, each towing a small trailer loaded with camping gear behind. They had left early in the season to avoid the heat and bugs of summer they said.

Noretta and Gordie, a retired couple, were returning home to Alaska in their truck and fifth-wheel, after a winter in Arizona and New Mexico. I asked them about road conditions when heading south the previous January, to which Gordie said the roads were dry and clear except for some blowing snow. The biggest problem was the temperature of –20C. To keep their trailer tolerably warm, they had to keep the furnace on continuously - even while traveling - something which depleted a tank of propane every couple of days. Water in the plumbing system of their fifth-wheel was impossible to keep from freezing, so they carried a 5-gallon container in the truck, which supplied all their needs until they got further south to warmer weather.

Our conversation was joined by Sue and Don, a recently retired couple from New Jersey,