The first day that greets me with sun shine already in the morning. The day must be a good one with such a start 🙂 I am heading for the showers (unmetered!) in the middle of the pine trees. Good start, and then reality strikes: hot water becomes warm becomes hand warm becomes cold. Huaaa! And what about this rather refreshing stream of cold air coming down from the ventilation above the shower? Hm, I can’t help developing the suspicion that metering the showers isn’t necessary here: Small boiler + cold air stream = short showers? Must be some kind of camp ground algebra. Breakfast again makes up for this – first time outside, enjoying the warm sun rays on my back.
Finally it’s time to start the engines. 13 miles to Tetlin Junction, then we take the route via the “Top of the World highway” (more technically spoken: Taylor Hwy, closed in winter). From the very beginning the street runs up the mountains steeply, in a very direct manner. Serpentines? Who needs that? The engine roars beneath our feet when it’s time to kick down the pedals to make any meters without being taken over by a snail. Right down at the mountain foot we find black sand dunes left and right , covered by local vegetation.
And the rest of the day equals this first impression. Approximately 300 kilometers, average speed: 30 mph (65 km/h) and most of it right on top of the mountain range. Our view: hundreds of kilometres in nearly every direction, endless hills and mountains full of spruce and pine forests. Not a single sign of humankind’s existence, except they grey and golden band forming our path to Chicken and furthermore to the US-Canadian border. Not a single sign of any animal: no deer, no bear, no fox, no nothing. What we do see: the remains of giant wildfires, tree stems standing tall in the sky, black and silver coloured, no leaves any more. Fireweed and bushes underneath, slowly reclaiming the land that once has been fully covered by forests. Still it doesn’t look devastated, more like a country that does like a phoenix: burning down and grow out of its own ashes again. And then, like drawn with a ruler, a sharp borderline to where the fire hasn’t ruled: green forest and bushes, giving an impression how the country looked like everywhere. Whenever we stop and shut down the engine, the only noise we hear is the wind gently blowing around our ears. In me grows the wish not to travel this country by car but to wander through it, to enjoy every breath, to take in the colours of forests, mountains and the endless sky, to feel the fresh air on my skin and to hear nothing but the wind. If you want solitude, this is one of the places to go.
Only sometimes we meet other vehicles. And only sometimes, down at the river side, where all the gold prospectors (still) have their claims, we come across human beings. Picking up a stone as souvenir? Mate, don’t even think about it! Prospectors here think differently about humour. Approximately half way, we come across Chicken. The place consists of maybe eight houses. 7-8 people live here year round, in summer a bit more. Originally a prospectors’ town as well it should have been named “Ptarmigan”, after Alaska’s chicken-like national bird. The challenge: people weren’t sure how to spell it correctly, so they just switched to “Chicken”. A masterpiece in inherent logic and solution focus.
Gold rush, here we come!
The rest of the street to the Canadian border is gravel and dirt, covered by smaller and bigger potholes. After hours we reach the northern-most frontier passage between the US and Canada: 4,127 ft high, above the forest limits, vegetation is scarce and not higher than 20 centimetres, if at all. What a job for the customs officers doing their duty up here. Paradise, if you like endless views. After a few brief questions we enter the famous “Yukon Territory”: Gold rush, here we come! Jack London, we will join you! On the Canadian side the road improves again. Partly paved, partly also gravel, but a lot more even and broader. Mile after mile we go, still on top of the range. And then, finally, our descent begins: The road brings us down to the Yukon river, a mighty stream, where the road ends. No bridge – but a ferry. The vessel just unloads cars at the other side, then takes its way through the water masses. It stems itself powerfully against the water, looking smoothly, but forcefully pushing the ferry downstream. A few minutes, then the ship is at our side. The ferry terminal: a muddy river bank, like in old times.
And old times is what we get to see at the other side as well. Famous Dawson City, centre of the gold rush times. Nothing has changed in the last 150 or so years. It’s still the same wooden buildings, still the wooden trottoir to protect the pedestrians from the mud of the street. Asphalt or other street coating isn’t anything you find here – if it wasn’t for the few cars in the street, you could picture the coaches and horses coming around the next corners. Fantastic!
Apart from this, life is very simple here. Everything closes at 8 PM, even the office of our camp ground. I like the sign: “Take a free campsite, we will see you in the morning. Motel rooms 111, 112 and 114 (non-smoker) are available, keys are at the outside, please help yourself and see us in the morning.”
That’s what I’ll do.