A Flash in the Pan

Occasionally Sophie and I put on our real tourist hats and set off to see the sites. Fairbanks offers a couple of things you just know are going to be a little hokey but hopefully still a lot of fun. One company runs two of these tourist attractions so credit card in hand we signed up for a tour of Gold Dredge #8 in the morning followed by an excursion on the Riverboat Discovery in the afternoon.

Gold Dredge #8 is similar to the type of mining activity that caused all the piles of rock and gravel around Fairplay, CO. A dredge is a pretty simple concept. It resembles a boat, or rather more a floating barge, located in what is often times a man made lake or pond. At the front end are a series of large ore buckets that eat into the bank ahead of the dredge. The buckets carry the material into giant sorters on the dredge which sorts out the large rocks from the smaller stones and sand which is where the gold, if there is any, will be found. The excess rocks and material are then dumped off the back of the dredge. The lake or pond stays about the same size  but continues to move forward as the dredge processes what's ahead of it.

Dredges can efficiently process a lot of material and can find a lot of gold if any is to be found. In its heyday Dredge #8 was processing up to 4,000 ounces of gold a week making its owners a lot of money while it was operating. The modern-day miners featured in the shows on the Discovery Channel would feel like they had died and gone to heaven if they recovered anywhere near that quantity.

All that is very interesting for engineers and history buffs but for most of the tourists the fun factor came in the form of holding a 10" metal pan and panning for their own gold. I had never panned for gold before and it actually was kind of fun as you swirled and strained the material hoping to catch that glint of real gold. Now to be honest, the material they give you has been "salted" with flakes of the real thing so everyone is guaranteed to, if not strike it rich, at least feel the thrill of catching a flash in the pan.

Combining our finds Sophie and I went into the conveniently adjacent  gift shop to have it weighed and valued. Our combined yield? $36 for about 15 minutes work. So you might be thinking, how can this operation stay in business giving away  real gold? Here's how - in that friendly gift shop they have lockets you can buy so you too can display those beautiful golden flakes you panned yourself. Cost of Sophie's  locket (you really thought there was any real chance of escaping without one?) was $109, thank you very much. I felt like I was at Kohl's  where at checkout they say things like "that'll  be $119, but you saved $230!". When they do that I always expect the difference  back in my pocket but it never seems to work out that way.

Still, Sophie had so much fun and was so excited panning, and actually finding, gold that I went to a Sportsmans Warehouse  and bought my lovely locket-wearing wife her very own gold pan. While there I tried to ignore the bundles of dirt  guaranteeing $XXX amount of gold for $19.99 hanging just above.

When we get back to Denver and check out at Kohl's I'm looking forward to handing the clerk a bag of gold my wife panned out of all the rivers and lakes we passed on our way home. "Here you go young lady, it looks like $119, but it's really $230; can I have my change in small bills?"

Bike to Work Day Alaska Style

One thing I miss about working is that I had the chance to occasionally commute to work by bike. Much to the annoyance of the ever-increasing number of its motorists, Colorado is one bike crazy state. Bike to Work Day, held in June, sees thousands of cyclists head off on their trusty two-wheeled steeds along a system of bike paths that would confuse any cartographer.

People in Colorado actually use their bikes to get around town and to run errands to the store, to Starbucks, to McDonald's.  Many of the large towns have Bike Share programs where you can, armed only with a credit card, use a snazzy looking cruiser bike to remind yourself what painful leg muscles feel like.

Here in Fairbanks they also have a Bike Share program with racks of what appear to be new shiny red bikes just itching to be taken out for a spin. I'm not sure if these bikes are really new or just never used because in our time here I never did see one being ridden. Still they pose nicely for a great picture.

Being retired and visiting the great State of Alaska I wasn't really tuned in to whether they participate in the annual Bike to Work ritual. I'm assuming at least one intrepid Alaskan braved the one day of sunshine by getting out of their truck to attempt this novel way to commute. No excuse for not having the time what with the 24 hours of daylight and all.

My wife Sophie and I have been riding every chance we get. Biking Alaska is a wonderful experience. I don't think Alaskan drivers are quite sure how to handle cyclists  trying to navigate the same gravel roads, pot holes, and frost heaves they are. Still, they have been very courteous and polite. I haven't seen a single finger salute aimed in my direction since we've been here whereas back in Denver that would be an hourly occurrence.

I guess I shouldn't harp on Alaskans not riding their bikes very often. Between their trucks, snow machines, float planes, dog sleds, paddle wheelers, and railroads who has time to break out the lycra hidden under all that fur.

Ode to the State Bird

"There's not a single mosquito  in Alaska. They're all married and raising very large families."

Alaskan bumper sticker.

'Nuff said.

Farthest North Packer fan?

I come from Bronco country home of the orange and blue superbowl champions.  Alaska doesn't have an NFL team yet and the stores up here seem to stock Seattle Seahawks attire so that must be who most Alaskans root for.

When we were driving towards the Dalton Highway which takes you to Prudhoe  Bay before coming to a rather abrupt end at the Beaufort  Sea which is part of the Artic Ocean, I came across an Adopt A Spot Highway sign that proudly proclaimed that this particular stretch of highway was being kept clean by the "Farthest North Packer Fans". When I took the picture I also checked my GPS  coordinates to document this momentous occasion.

65 degrees 7 minutes North latitude and an altitude of 1,190 feet marks the claim of these diehard cheese heads. Now, Greenbay, Wisconsin has been known to entertain some pretty frosty conditions but it intrigued me to find loyal fans of the green and yellow so far from home.

So it got me to thinking - why doesn't this "Great Land" as Alaska refers to itself not have an NFL  team of its own? The state is chock full of great names for a team. Chicago may have the Bears but Alaska has the Grizzlies and Polar Bears. Denver may have them Broncos, but here they have Caribou and Muskoxen  (OK, even I wouldn't want to cheer on a team called the mighty Oxen). The list goes on and on - there's  Moose, Wolves, Wolverines, Whales, Eagles, and my vote getter - the Halibut. And heck, if the fightin' Alaska Halibuts can't win football games that's OK cause they're still good to eat which is more than can be said for those cheese curd things they brag about in Green Bay.

Still, I don't think Alaska will be getting a pro team anytime soon and it's not just the problem of what to name them. I might have mentioned (over, and over, and over) that it can get a little chilly up here at about the same time the football season commences. I checked to see the coldest NFL game ever played. It is referred to as the Freezer Bowl and took place January 10, 1982 as the San Diego  Chargers took on  the Cincinnati  Bengals in the 1981 AFC Championship game. Temperature for the game? A balmy 9 degrees below zero. Heck, 9 below wouldn't get Alaskans to throw another log on the fire or even close the window. Would the macho NFL be up for something a wee bit colder - say in the 30-60 below range? They talk about it getting so cold tires freeze into squares so I can only imagine what would happen to the poor pigskin at those temps. You think 'Deflate-gate' was bad - just wait for 'Icegate' where receivers are knocked unconscious as the frozen ice football careens off their helmets. Of course I'm being silly, none of this would happen because the QB couldn't get his fur lined mittens off fast enough to actually throw the ice bomb anywhere. And how about the poor cheerleaders? It may be sexist but no one wants to see gorgeous women all bundled up in mukluks and anoraks and bulky fur hats. And let's not forget the fans. Fairbanks, where I am now, boasts about 36,000 folks with a total of nearly 100,000 within a hundred square miles. So they might be able to just about fill a stadium but with that many people all seeing their breath at 40 below forget about  Freezer Bowls, it would be more like the Fog Bowl. The announcers wouldn't even be able to see what was happening on the field.

So I guess Alaska and pro football won't be connecting anytime soon. Those 'Farthest North Packer Fans' can continue to root for their favorite team. It gets me to wondering though; where lives the 'Farthest North BRONCO Fan'? If anyone knows and by chance he (or she!) Is up this way I'd love to look them up. As I close I'll dedicate this to Steven L. who is a part of the wonderful Help Desk at the company I retired from and a diehard Packer fanatic and to Ms. D. Jones, perhaps the best unsung fan in Bronco Nation. If you ever move north there's still some unclaimed stretches of tundra and permafrost available for cleanup.

To see how the students at the University  of Alaska/Fairbanks celebrate the cold click here.

Fairbanks reached

Alaskans do pride themselves on an independent nature...

The road into the US  goes through some very pretty country. Both the US  and Canada actually have their border stations somewhat away from the real boundary between the two countries. At the boundary there is a nice display and the border is clearly marked by a clear cut of trees stretching  as far as the eye can see in both directions.  Getting through US customs was straightforward and from there you have a drive

into the town of Tok, Alaska. Fortunately we had beautiful  weather  for this leg. We spent the night at a Alaska state campground just outside of Tok and then the next day moseyed our way halfway to Fairbanks before stopping at Quartz Lake state recreational  area. Quartz Lake is popular with local Alaskans who flock to the lake to fish due to its close proximity to fairbanks  (roughly the same drive, but fortunately not the same traffic, as from Denver to Lake Dillon. We also stopped in Delta Junction which is the technical end of the Alaska Highway.

We're  staying at the Chena River State Recreation Area in Fairbanks which is nice save for its being in close, very close, proximity to the Fairbanks International Airport which seems to be pretty busy with your typical passenger jets along with a lot of vintage, but still flying DC-3's and DC-6's as well as a whole mishmash of private aircraft such as the ubiquitous Piper

Cubs which at this time of year sport big fat balloon tires or floats for landing on lakes and rivers. In a couple of months they'll switch out the floats or wheels for skis and continue to land on the same lakes and rivers once they freeze solid. They tell us a Piper Cub can take off in as little as 140 feet.

The temperature has been anywhere from the 50's to high 70's but I'm not sure I'd want to be here in winter when temps plummet to as much as 60-70 degrees below zero. Google the university of Alaska/Fairbanks and you can see pictures of the student bodies posing in briefs and bikinis next to the UAF temperature sign showing modestly chilly readings in the 40 below range. Either the students are smart enough to not pose at 60+ degrees below or perhaps the temperature sign gives up registering at those frigid readings.

Start of the dirt section on the Dalton Highway

We took a drive north of town to see what the infamous Dalton Highway looks like. It starts out paved but past the town (and I use the term "town" euphemistically) of Livengood it's 456 miles of dirt road until you reach Prudhoe Bay. About a third of the way up you cross the Artic Circle which at a minimum is our goal after experiencing what these dirt roads can dish out. We'll  keep our fingers crossed!

I think this little guy has misplaced his dust goggles

I'm in love...

I'm in love but my wife is OK with it. I've finally found a tire I could wrap my arms around that might stand up to the road conditions up here.

Unfortunately my love is unrequited as the object of my affection just won't fit my current lifestyle choices. She would truly turn my humble toyota  sienna into a monster van but not sure she'd even be considered street legal back home. But take a look; you have to admit that this is what being a tire is all about. What a beauty. I'd have taken her with me but I couldn't even lift the tire iron to remove her lug nuts. Still, she'll remain in my dreams as the tire that got away. May she roll forever in happiness until our paths meet again...

Bear with me...

Prior blogs have featured the ursine cast of black bears that we have seen plenty of this trip. More elusive have been our attempts to view the black bears more formidable relative the grizzly. Brochures speak to there being approximately 6,000 grizzlies in this neck of the woods so we knew if we were patient we'd  eventually catch a glimpse.

The road from Whitehorse towards  Haines Junction and then on to Destruction Bay sees the Vistas become more expansive  with mountains to the left and lake after lake to the right. And yes, finally the anticipated grizzlies.

We were planning on spending the night in the campground in Destruction  Bay but when we pulled in the sign indic ated only hard shelled campers and RV'S were allowed due to lots of bear activity. As we continued on we noticed a blackish bump off to the side and as we got closer saw it was moving. Sure enough our first grizzly sighting was upon us and this time we hit the mother lode as it was a sow with two cubs

looking like they were just a month or two old. They were partaking of the lush grass and dandelion  smorgasbord and really couldn't have cared less that a couple of gawker were being quite rude by watching them eat. Grizzlies are very distinctive up close from black bears having a pronounced shoulder hump and a

somewhat dished face. While momma bear was going back for second and third helpings the two cubs were doing nothing as much as simply playing with each other and enjoying a spectacularly beautiful day.

When I was working at Pinnacol I would share some bear stories with my coworkers.  One, Doretha, who I miss seeing every day, feels that roughing it is when the hotel doesn't have a hot tub and wouldn't be caught dead sleeping in a tent in the woods. I always told her the golden rule is to never hike alone in bear country and that rule number two is that you don't have to outrun the bear, you just have to outrun the person you're hiking with. So for her I'll share this last picture that we took in a gift shop after crossing into Alaska because as much as we wanted to set a spell with momma and her cubs we eventually had to bid them adieu and continue down the long road.

Big Wheels

On our last day in Whitehorse we had the chance to visit the good ship Yukon, a stern wheeler that was used to ferry men and supplies (and yes, the occasional lady) up and down its namesake river for near on five decades beginning in about 1903 if my memory serves me. Steam powered, it was fueled not by coal which was not readily available up this way but instead by wood measured in cords. For those of you who have never had the infinite pleasure of cutting, splitting, and stacking wood a cord is a standard measurement 4 feet wide by 4 feet high by 8 feet long. As a kid growing up in New England, New Hampshire to be precise, I've hacked at enough wood to know the backbreaking nature of the manual labor involved to handle just one cord. The stern wheeler would use 40 cords to get downriver from Whitehorse  to Dawson City and another 140 cords to plow it's way back with its load of ore from the mines.  The downstream trip was about a day and a half with the haul back taking closer to three long days.

There were two classes of passengers on the Yukon. 2nd class rode, slept, and ate on the lower main deck along with the freight and supplies. Sleeping accommodations were a cot and a blanket or you could simply roll your bed roll out on the hard wooden deck. 1st class folks fared much better with private cabins on the upper deck, meals served by white uniformed waiters, and the ability to watch the passing scenery from the cozy and comfortable observation salon far, or at least somewhat, removed from the racket of the steam engines on the main deck driving the huge stern wheel.

I would have loved to have journeyed on the steamship Yukon but alas operations ceased in the 1950's as better roads, trucks, and airplanes stole the business away. It was a very short season as well as each year the Yukon made about 15 round-trips during the 4 1/2 month time frame when the river wasn't locked in ice and snow.

Closing my eyes as we wander the now grounded ship I try to imagine the sound of steam whistles and the hiss, hiss, hiss of the engines but instead all I hear are the sounds outside of the modern automotive era. In my mind's  eye though I can picture the excitement and majesty of seeing this noble vessel rounding the bend of the river as it approached the next landing full of men seeking to make their fortunes  in the great north.

A river runs through it

Up here there are rivers and lakes galore, enough to satisfy even the pickiest of beavers. One of the major rivers of course is the mighty Yukon flowing for 1,900 miles from its source to the sea.

I'm told that the Yukon begins its life only 25 miles from the Pacific way down south in the coastal mountains near Skagway. It then flows north and west until exiting the land near a small coastal village on the Bering Sea called St. Thomas.

One of my wife Sophie's aspirations for this trip was to set the hull of her kayak into this great northern river. In Whitehorse we coordinated a drop-off with a company called the Kanoe People and true to their word they indeed drove us about 20 minutes up river to a put-in below a dam in what felt like the middle of nowhere. Wishing us bon voyage Julie, who had driven us, was off in a cloud of that infamous dust that is so plentiful up here. Maybe that's why the Yukon River is a dark brown as it too chokes on the aftermath of all the road construction.

Anyway, we head downstream and the first thing you notice is this river has quite a current to it and the river is wide enough that there are multiple currents and eddys swirling every which way. Signs in town warned not to swim due to strong eddys and undertows which is reassuring since we are currently dependent on about an eighth inch of polyethylene to keep our body parts safely out of harm's way.

The hours drift quietly by until way too soon we're at the take out where we had parked our car on the way up.

There are folks here, just like in Colorado, who are in Colorado, who can take things to extremes and in a couple of days some of the best canoeists in the world will be racing their boats from Whitehorse  to Dawson City. Granted that's just a short jaunt of around 400 river miles which they'll cover in about 3 days time. And if that's not enough I hear tell of another canoe race out of Fairbanks in July that's 800 measly miles. Ah, what fun they think of up here. Nice thing is they'll have 24 hours of daylight to do it in.

For Sophie and I our little trip was a good introduction to this mighty river. Not sure where next our kayak hulls will get wet but any time on a river is good time.

Coming home to a place he'd never been before...

We have two Siberian (or as we refer to them: Suburban) Huskies. Both are rescue pups and one is aptly named Yukon (the other is Bentley). We brought them along for the great ride north and so far they are surviving probably better than Sophie and I. Thus far they have been enjoying the cooler temps and have yet to start shedding.if we were still in Denver they'd be living up to their nicknames of fur balls because as soon as the heat starts the fur starts flying. Most folks have the occasional dust bunny lurking under the bed; we have enough fur to keep a sheared sheep toasty warm.

Huskies are not wolves, or even wolf dogs but everywhere we go, especially up here in the Yukon, people come up and ask if they can pet our wolves. Yukon and Bentley are as gentle as dogs can be and Bentley especially loves nothing more than to give lots of puppy kisses to his adoring fans.

We named Yukon for the Yukon Territory  which is where we've been for the last week or so. We spent several days in Whitehorse, the territorial Capitol. Whitehorse is also home to the Yukon Quest sled dog race which heads out every year in February and covers the distance between Whitehorse and Fairbanks, Alaska. Every other year it starts in Whitehorse,  the other years it begins in Fairbanks.

Yukon  (right) coming home to a place he's never been before

In the winter Yukon and Bentley pull a very small sled just for fun but I have a lot of respect for anyone who can take a sled team of 12-20 canine athletes through some extraordinarily difficult terrain.

We stopped by the Yukon Quest offices to say hello and yes we did bring Yukon and Bentley in to woof their hi's as well. We met Beverly who was very friendly and seemed genuinely happy to put hand to paw with our two pups.  Thank you Beverly, for being so gracious!

While Yukon had never been this way before it really did feel like a homecoming for him as he finally got to visit his namesake. I think it may be tough to drag Yukon, and , Bentley, home when the trip is over but it was special to have them along for the ride.

Yukon came into this world an itinerant traveler having been abandoned as a puppy to a small town in Kansas of all places. Having found his forever home with Sophie, Bentley,  and I he's still traveling. The only difference being he'll  never worry about where to lay his head at night or where his next hug will come from. Welcome home Yukon.

Of flats and men

"This is the law of the Yukon, and ever she makes it plain:
Send not your foolish and feeble; send me your strong and your sane"
The law of the Yukon, Robert  Service

In my last post I mentioned Paul, the caretaker of the Watson Lake Campground. Paul hales  originally  from Vancouver, British Columbia. A friend who was moving to the Yukon asked Paul to drive up with him while the friend drove the U-Haul. Once at their destination, the friend would buy Paul's  plane ticket home. Once they arrived, however, said friend lacked the financial wherewithal  to get Paul  home. Paul was 18 at the time and was now well and truly stranded. He found a job and fell in love with the place so decided to stay. As Paul proudly informed us, that was just 40 years ago.

Meanwhile, out on the road yours truly is changing flat number two. It took about an hour of cussing and fumbling to handle flat number one but it's successor was the beneficiary of that prior roadside school of hard knocks (aka the learning curve) and the old faithful donut was mounted up ready for duty in about 15 minutes. Mind you, Whitehorse was still more than 200 miles distant. You might ask, why not head back to Watson Lake and pick up the delightful match to my wonderful new snow tire. Sorry, but there was no way we were going back. North to Alaska! Well, at least somewhat westerly  to Whitehorse it would be.

To make a long story, or at least a long,slow drive, short, we ultimately arrived in Whitehorse which is actually the Capital of the Yukon Territory. There are not all that many folks who actually call the Yukon home but apparently about 90% reside in Whitehorse. Still, the population of Whitehorse, heck - the population of the entire Territory, is substantially  less than that of my hometown of Littleton, CO which is just a suburb of the much larger Denver area.

What Whitehorse lacks in population it makes up for in amenities. Remember those two most critical words that can appear on a road sign - TIRE REPAIR? Whitehorse boasts several real tire centers including a Canadian Tire store as well as - dare I say it? - a Walmart. I can hear your gasp of giddiness and I was in TIRE REPAIR  heaven.

Yeah, right.

The illustrious  snow tire that saved our bacon in Watson Lake  turned into somewhat more of an albatross  than it already was. Turns out you're not supposed to drive a vehicle with just one snow tire regardless of the season. The tread of the snow tire is so much more aggressive than that of a normal touring tire that the tire stores wouldn't mount a mismatched set of tires. The plan had been to buy three new tires in Whitehorse as one of my Denver  tires was still in great shape. Two new tires would go on the front of the van, the good Denver tire would go on the rear along with the now infamous snow tire ( ye  of the aggressive tread) and I'd  be good to go. I was also planning on buying a rim for the 3rd new tire so I'd have a full size spare.

Hah!

Two hours later I'm now the most proud owner of a matching set of 4 snow tires. Bring on the Yukon winter with its massive snows and forty below Temps. I'm ready for you! The upside of course is that I'm now another inch elevated away from the gravel thanks to the deep, aggressive tread gracing all four wheels. You'll be proud to know I did also get that full size spare.

Buying tires in the Yukon - priceless. For everything else, there's  Mastercard. As if they gave these tires away. Priceless my...

"This is the law of the Yukon, that only the Strong shall thrive;
That surely the Weak shall perish, and only the Fit survive."
Robert Service

Watson Lake: Twas the best of times; Twas the worst of times

They warn you about the roads. You try to come prepared. It is a paved road mostly but don't let that fool you.

The road into Watson Lake, home to the very famous and now very large 'Sign Forest' is as I mentioned for the most part paved. For the other part it's gravel road made up of some of the sharpest, bone-jarring, car-rattling, tire-eatiing lack of pavement  you could wish for. And did I mention the dust? They have signs, which you quickly learn to dread, telling you of upcoming "loose gravel" sections and warning you of "Extreme Dust Conditions". If you've ever seen YouTube videos of Arizona Hoodoos or other assorted dust storms of Armageddon you have only to double the intensity of E.D.C. You can't see anything when a big rig passes from the other direction but you feel the dust (and rocks aka  'gravel') hitting your car. And you'd  better have rolled up all of your windows and turned your vents to recirculate interior air -either that or don a scuba mask or hazmat suit if you plan to breathe until  the dust clears just in time to see the next semi truck hurtling toward you from down the road.

Our van had good quality tires in good condition when we left Denver. Alas, they were no match for the Alaska Highway. First flat came about 180 miles out of Watson - in other words literally in the middle of nowhere. My mistake was a) believing the road was paved b) thinking it couldn't be that bad and c) not investing in a full size spare tire.   Oh, and d) not having refreshed myself on where the good folks at Toyota went out of their way to hide the little donut spare that came with the vehicle. I can't really be blamed for all of this as I had never experienced  a flat on this car in 90,000 miles. By 90,100 I would have experienced this joy not just once but twice. I consider myself lucky; locals talk of roads up here ( the Dempster Highway is held in awe) where people may experience 6 or 7 flats in a single day.

Watson Lake known for the "Sign Forest"

So on goes the little donut spare (rated for about 90 miles and recommended speeds of no more than 50 mph). Reading the instructions which emphasize the spare is "for temporary use only" we set off for Watson Lake which is not only the closest town but the ONLY town within several hundred miles that boasts those two magical words: TIRE REPAIR.

Of course driving at 50 mph for 180 miles guarantees in particular one thing - you will arrive shortly after the TIRE REPAIR facility has closed up shop for the day. So it's off to find a place for the night. There is an RV park but it doesn't look very inviting (picture row after row of RV'S parked like sardines in a can). Up the road there is a campground so we head out of town and down, you guessed it, another gravel road until we reach the Watson Lake Government Campground and at 2 o'clock  in the morning (which is dusk in these parts) finally put an end to a very harrowing day.

I titled this post the best of times and the worst of times and the Watson Lake Campground was definitely the best. While in town all those RV'ers were listening to their neighbors snores we were tucked into a beautiful pine forest with one other camper in the entire campground. The next morning we met Paul, the gentleman who maintains the campground who couldn't have been friendlier  or more helpful.

First up on the agenda was making good use of the TIRE REPAIR facility which of course couldn't actually REPAIR  the tire but might be able to replace it if they had the right size in stock. They were nice enough to ask if I wanted a new or used tire. I graciously declined used having had my fill of one very used and very FLAT specimen. Thankfully (and I mean down on my knees praise be to God thankfully) they did have one in the right size and as an extra bonus it was a full fledged snow tire (I passed on having it studded what with it being only June). Since beggars can't be choosers I told them to mount that snow tire up and $194 lighter off down the road we rolled.

32 miles later, on the 256 mile drive to Whitehorse, our next destination, on came my tire inflation light and the flat fairy had struck again. But that's a tale for another blog so stay tuned!

For those who see

The wild rose abounds in this great northern land
Cultivated not by the touch of human hand
Can there be beauty where man does not see
Is there sound from an unheard falling tree
Reading Robert  Service into the late solstice night
Walking his trail in morning's  first light
The beauty surrounds you if only you see
The wild rose and the unheard tree

Manna from Heaven

Campsite etiquette  dictates not leaving food out but every year the list of things to keep tucked away gets longer and longer. It's easier to remember that about the only thing you can leave unattended at your Campsite are your camp chairs and even they are on the endangered list.

This is all done of course for the protection of bears. "A fed bear is a dead bear" is camping mantra as bears that learn to associate humans with happy tummies are bears apt to get into serious (as in 3 strikes and they shoot you) trouble.

Sophie and I know all this but occasionally we make a mistake. Last night we pulled into the campground in Dawson Creek (even the names of the towns are starting to harken of the far north) aptly named Mile Zero because  Dawson Creek is the start of the Alaska Highway. The campground is actually in town so this morning when my wife Sophie got up before me to head to the showers ahead of the crowd she left our food bag out in plain sight thinking no bears were nearby. Technically it wasn't "unattended" as it was being watched very carefully by yours truly and two reliable Siberia huskies sleeping most soundly in the camper.

Upon Sophie's return she discovered our food bag had been torn asunder with several delectables now missing including one bag of Grape Nuts cereal. Grape Nuts as you might know is rather high in fiber so the nefarious beast that took it was at least eating a nutritious breakfast.

All in a panic we quickly secured the errant foodstuffs before sitting down to our own healthy breakfast of oatmeal and strawberries. Keeping our eyes peeled for any urine neighbors we did spy a very fat raven circling overhead. Hmm, could this perchance be our food robber?

We'll never know for sure as we never did see an actual bear and I don't have any proof that it was in fact Mr. Raven that had absconded with the Grape Nuts. If it was Mr. Raven be forewarned if you ever visit the Mile Zero campground to keep an eye to the sky because as well fed as this Raven appeared to be you never know what kind of manna from heaven may fall.

12,500 Paddle Strokes gets you where?

Maligne Lake on a sunny, warm, non-binding day is one of the best places on planet earth to be. Don't believe me? Then come see it for yourself. You can take a very nice boat tour every half hour or so that takes you down this gorgeous  lake but being stupid I much prefer to work for my reward. So 12,500 paddle strokes  for me was the price of admission to one of the most spectacular lakes in which to wet your oar.

Spirit Island is what the tourists come to see on their hour long boat tour but as I mentioned in a previous blog for me the journey is as important as the destination. Spirit Island is 8.84 miles from the kayak put-in. You can do the math round trip but either way it's as long as paddle as I care to do in a day. Trying to be efficient I set a compass course of 120 magnetic and headed point to point quickly easing in to a cadence of fifty paddle strokes per minute.

The tour boats are very courteous slowing to wake speed as they pass hand powered craft. Still,the boats are big enough to send out some nice rollers of waves which distracts from the quick reintroduction to paddling and the realization that I haven't been out in the boat often enough this year. But that always seems to be the case. The lake's surface, in between tourist boat wakes. Is so smooth it's hard to think I'm moving at all. Looking over the side of the kayak the water vanishes as all I see is fluffy white clouds and stunning mountain Vistas reflecting back at me.

Two hours and six minutes later (thank you Garmin GPS  bike computer which is just at home on the water as on my handlebars) I arrive at Spirit Island. The tourist boats all stop here but your technically  only half way down the lake. There are only a couple of places to camp on Maligne Lake - Spirit Island is one and another is at the far end of the lake. We've amped at Spirit Island before but next time we're  up this way we'll  take a couple extra days and include a paddle of the entire lake.

For today Spirit Island is the planned turnaround but having been here before I know a secret. Another half mile paddle around a point of trees and you are in a section of the lake that I can only call one of nature's  cathedrals. I'm not religious in the traditional sense but coming round the point and having the lake all to myself made me at peace in the moment like I too seldom get to experience. Resting the paddle on the deck of the kayaks I just sat and absorbed my surroundings. Not a breath of wind to disturb the surface of the lake and not a sound at all to disrupt a perfect spot at one of its most tranquil  moments. Far from feeling like a visitor I felt at one with the world  around me. Before we started this trip  my wife Sophie had given me a new sweatshirt with John Muir's timeless words "the mountains are calling and I must go." I don't know if John Muir  ever sat in a canoe in a place such as this but his words were meant for Maligne Lake on a day like today.

Of course I still had to paddle back and ultimately I spun the kayak's nose around and headed  back the way I had come.

Maligne Lake is about 30 miles from Jasper and the drive alone is worth the time. You're perhaps getting tired of hearing about our bear sightings but on the drive back to town we did see another bear. Actually two, a momma and her baby cub, high up in an aspen tree eating it's leaves. As many bears as we have seen this trip that was pretty special. All in all a perfect end to a perfect day...

Ice fields to Sunny (finally!) Days

After a couple of days in Banff we finally gave up on the cloudy rain-soaked skies knowing the sun couldn't hide forever. Or could It?

While in Banff we did have the chance to ride the Bow Valley Parkway which is a beautiful stretch that goes to Lake Louise. The Trans-Canada highway is used by those in a hurry to get to places north but for the tourists, animal watchers, and yes, lowly cyclists, the Parkway is a slower and more relaxed path. The rain was with us for parts of the ride but it didn't dampen spirits as we reached Lake Louise. Much like the Maroon Bells outside of

Aspen, Lake Louise is a gem albeit with a five star resort attached. While we didn't have time this trip there is a wonderful  series of hiking trails that takes you from one teahouse to another as you climb higher and higher above the lake.

Next up was the Ice Fields Parkway where at the top you can take massive tundra buses up and onto the Athabasca Glacier. While politicians debate the nuances of global warming the receding glacier makes the tundra buses have to drive further every year just to reach the ice.

There are signs as you approach the glacier marking where the ice started year by year and you walk for what seems a mile or more passing all the signs standing as testament to the vanishing ice. When we were in Glacier National  Park  they were forecasting there would be no remaining glaciers in the park in as little as 10-15 years. Will they have to rename the National Park at that point? And where will the tundra buses go when there is no more ice?

On down the road we finally reach Jasper and though it might jinx me, the sun actually made an appearance and all of a sudden people weren't dressed in their Nanook of the North outfits. The bears too seem to relish basking in the sunshine and we saw another three black bears doing whatever bears really do. Tomorrow  we break out the kayaks for an excursion on breathtaking  Lake Maligne. That name might not ring a bell but odds are you've seen pictures on calendars, greeting cards, etc. You can take a tour boat down the lake or do the 16 mile round-trip in your own human-powered  vessel. Weather willing (hopefully no wind) it should be about a 4-5 hour paddle. On our last trip we kayak- camped down the lake and it's pretty remote and lonely once the last tourist boat finishes up at 4 p.m.