Seattle to Hay River -- June 22-27

We left Seattle Friday morning and drove north into BC. We overnighted on the North Thompson River north of Kamloops. Even though it was Friday night we had our pick of the sites and chose one right on the broad, fast river.
Saturday we crossed the Canadian Rockies into Alberta at Yellowhead Pass, between snow covered peaks. We raced through Banff (great scenery, lousy tourist trap) and stopped in Hinton, our first taste of the northern prarie. Like a small town in western Nebraska, shadowed by a shorter growing season but just a few hours west of Edmonton.
We spent the night in Grand Cache -- many early trappers/explorers were french, so are older place names. After getting settled we were surprised by the repeated sounds of helicopter traffic. Lots of returning heavy lifters, it sounded like. A local explained that they were sitting on a massive oil and gas field, and that the heli's were part of an effort to define the perimiter before largescale exploitation. He was ambivalent about the coming pipeline. The countryside would be raped, but the town's economy would be on stearoids. He also spoke knowledgably about a secret agreement between their PM and our president. I guess we don't have a monopoly on paranoia?
Sunday we drove through Grand Prarie, the hub of northern Alberta (pop.10,000). The supermarket we stopped at rivaled the best we have in Marin foe freshness and selection. The weather was mixed drizzle and clear,and we pushed on to Twin Lakes to camp. Here we found our first bad mosquitos of the trip, but this backwoods subspecies has not yet developed an immunity to our premillenial repellant, so we slathered up and hiked around the lake. Caution: bears be here!
Monday we stopped in High Level, Alberta, for gas, postcards, cash, and exercize. This is the northernmost town of any real size (pop. 3000) in the prarie, and very pretty on the day we saw it. Crisp and sunny, but easy to imagine at 40 below (that's celsius or farenheit, take your pick).
The far northland was still calling us (away) so we pushed on across the 60th parallel. We camped at Twin Falls Gorge Territorial Park. We had been following the Hay River north, and here it produced two impressive falls about two miles apart. Louise is no Niagara, but shares the same right angled zig-zag shape. Alexandria was a beautiful two mile hike away along the river. Even though it was 9 am at one of the most accesssible and prominent sights in the Territory we saw not one other soul the whole time.
Tuesday we drove up to Hay River (the town). This is the upriver shipping terminus of the Mackenzie River, up and down which shallow draft barges travel five months pf the year. It is the hub of a large commercial fishing operation on the Great Slave Lake, about which more later. These days the fishing is done from floating factorylike behemoths in the summer, and through the ice in the winter.
Surrounded by weeds in many back yards are winter vehicles the locals call "bombardiers." Looking like refugees from Hitler's Russian front, these utilitarian runabouts have 40's styling and are about the size of a Suburban. They are driven by cat tracks at the back and have skis steering at the front. Perhaps a preserved lumbering ancestor of today's snowmobiles.
The entire middle school was at the town beach, thinly supervised by teachers and office staff. The Great Slave Lake is big -- 150 miles across, she said. I will check. At the beach the shore was sandy and shallow. If the temperatureof either the air or the water had been over 60 I might have wanted totgo in. The local children were undeterred. Sunny and 60 is the height of summer for them.
I used the free internet access at the library to try to fix my jammed pocketmail. Teach me to change the configuration just before leaving town. I am still optomistic. We are far enough north now that it doesn't get completely dark at night. The sun doesn't get very high in the sky. I figure 29 degrees for the latitude and 23 for axial tilt makes 52 degrees above the southern horizon at noon. Conversely it only dips 6 degrees below the northern horizon at maximum dark. I will report again after we cross the arctic circle in a week or so. Oh, and sleeping is a challenge. It is easy to stay awake late, and to ignore the prompts of morning. Pity the poor roosters!

From Hay River we drove west, on NWT's only paved highway, intending to drive around the Great Slave Lake to Yellowknife. We camped Wednesday night by Lady Evelyn falls, where the mosquitos were still a problem. The territorial campgrounds are all nestled in trees, as much as possible. The only mosquito free zones we found were in open areas in a breeze. And dusk is a bad time . . . which can last all night here.
Thursday morning we crossed the Mackenzie River -- a small ferry across a large, fast flowing river. The next 100 miles were posted for bison on the road, and we encountered two herds and numerous detached singles and mother/daughter pairs. Their hindquarters were relatively tiny; their shoulders and chests were enormous; but their heads were huge, like small, dorm room sized refrigerators. Each was escorted by many huge horseflies (bisonflies?) which occasioned much swishing of tails but little consternation.
We arrived in Yellowknife at four. We had come 300 miles through the territory's most populated area and has passed four communities of 100+ inhabitants. Probably there were numerous tiny settlements scattered in the woods, accessible by dirt tracks, if at all by road. Most all of the residents outside the larger cities (I use the term advisedly) are aboriginal peoples, what Canadians call First Nation citizens. Roads are a relatively recent invention here. Before WW2 one got around in boots, boats, or on floats. The road to Yellowknife, the capital, still is not paved for the last 60 miles.
Even though I fancy myelf a seasoned long distance driver, I found myself mesmerized by the hours of uninterrupted stunted forest on either side. Here it is discribed as "boreal forest," but in Alaska we learned to call it "taiga." Some places it is barely more than tundra with a few skinny, scraggly stick pines about 8 feet tall. Richer areas sport dwarf white birches intermixed with the pines, maxing out at about 3 inched in diameter, or about 15 feet high. Yellowknife is a gem. Built when gold was discovered nearby, fueled by recent diamond discoveries, and peopled by bush pilots and wild women. Okay, that's my fantasy, but it withstands casual inspection. The boom town feeling pervades everything. Like San Francisco 100 years ago. Of course, I haven't seen it in the winter....
We did laundry and chores, and watched the seemingly chaotic comings and goings of myriad floatplanes. Now we are one day down the Mackenzie, where it merges with the Liard river (say lie 'ard) and becomes as wide as the Mississippi. Barges and tugs, but we've seen no riverboats, yet.
Respectfully submitted, this 1st day of July. Happy Canada Day, y'all!

After Yellowknife we retraced our path around the GSL and headed west to Fort Simpson. There we celebrated Canada Day with a small town atmosphere and cute parade. Along the way we visited more waterfalls and saw more wildlife. Jane says that the score is now black bears, 6; moose, 2; bighorn sheep, several; caribou, lots; and bison, too many to count.
Now we had finished the 'warm up' part of the trip and were on our way to the real midnight sun. To go north, though, we had to go south, back into BC and west and north into the Yukon. There just aren't many roads up here.
In BC we crossed the Rockies, the Barricade Range. Spectacular scenery, mountain lakes, snowcapped tops, etcetera. We stumbled upon a natural hot springs, preserved by the provincial government in a beautiful forrested setting. The coutinual bubbling of hot water has created a microclimate where unusual flora flourishes, looking much more temperate than its surrounds.
We usually tried to stop by a lake for lunch. Our second night in the Yukon we spent near Whitehorse, the capital. It doesn't share Yellowknife's extraordinary setting, but Whitehorse has a freshly scrubbed, earnest excitement which is very appealing. We stocked up on groceries, took in a movie (don't ask) and spent the night at a campground next to a commercially developed hot springs. Not as nice as the earlier one, but a pleasant way to start the morning nonetheless.
A day and a half later we are in Dawson City, the site of the Klondike gold rush of 1898. More faithful readers of my journals three summers ago will remember my excitement at discovering that a Klondike is more than a candy bar. It is in fact a tributary of the Yukon River, as is Bonanza Creek, both sites of early strikes in the gold rush here.
Parks Canada has done a lot to reatore many of the original buildings and make It a sort of Williamsburg without the tourbusses. Okay there are a few busses, but it is a few per day, not per hour. And the whole place is so rough and hardy. I mean, even without the town (pop 1300 by the way) the wide, very fast moving Yukon River framed by tall rocky cliffs is hewn with a chisel, or maybe a chain saw....
Anyway we depart tomorrow on the Dempster Highway. Today we talked to two girls who had just driven it who said it wasn't terrible at all. My experience is that the roads most warned about are benign. Some others, however, have surprised me. At the end of the Dempster is Inuvik. We have read the guidebooks. I will let you know what's really there.
- - - more next time- - -

We decided to take two days to drive the Dempster. It is a 460 mile dirt highway from Dawson City, YT, to Inuvik, NWT, with a gas station at 230 miles and one town after 340 miles. There was no need to rush, so we got a leisurely start from Dawson City.
I decided to play it safe and gas up at the last possible station before leaving civilization, at the Dempster turnoff about 25 miles east of Dawson. When I got there they had run out of gas and I had to go back almost to town anyway. The distributor from whom I filled-up laughed, and said that they run out almost every week.
It was grey and overcast when we started out for the second time. The past few days had been mixed showers and sunshine, and warm enough for me to wear shorts -- about 60F. This morning was cooler and the sun didn't even threaten to peek through. A steady light drizzle began after a few miles, and it never warmed up above 50F. A light rain can be a good thing on the dirt highways here because they hold down the dust. Over time the development of a layer of mud poses different problems.
The scenery was stark and grand. More mountainous than most of the Yukon, with rocky or gravel slopes above tundra or alpine fields. After a while the drizzle turned to light snow, but it wasn't sticking. Just a little under the wiper blades until I turned on the defroster.
We made the halfway gas station shortly after 6pm, having averaged about 45 mph except for an extended lunch off the road by a stream. We decided not to stay there but to go a little farther to make the next day's drive shorter. We stopped for dinner and the night inside the Arctic Circle with just 180 miles to go. The dirt highway had been in better condition than many others, and not deserving of the ubiquitous warnings published about it. Or so I thought . . . .
The next morning we got an early start. The tops of nearby hills had a dusting of snow, and the drizzle continued. As we climbed towards a pass (not high, about 4000 feet) the snow intensified, and we were soon marveling at the light covering on the ground. After a while the snowfall increased, as did the wind, and I had to slow down considerably due to diminished visibility. Traction was still good, but we didn't know how much farther we had to climb, nor how long these conditions would persist.
We had been seeing about two or three other vehicles per hour, frequently stopped on the side of the road for whatever reason. The road was mostly two car widths of roadbed packed and/or rutted in one single lane in the middle. In other words everybody drives in the middle and uses the shoulders to pass or park. It seems to work, although oncoming large trucks can be scary.
So as the road continued to climb we found ourselves crawling along in near whiteout conditions, following deep ruts in three plus inches of snow. Of course I was too macho to acquiesce to Jane's gentle suggestion that we pull over. I had my winch, but I needed chains or four wheel drive. Finally the Dempster was living up to its reputation!
Of course uphill eventually became downhill, and the snow let up little by little, and eventually our speed got up to 30 and 40 and even 50. We crossed the Arctic Circle and the Peel River (by ferry). The second ferry crossed the Mackenzie River yet again. This time it was not so swift but much wider. A mile or even two? Jane asked why they don't have a bridge. I first answered economics: a ferry is cheaper at low traffic volumes. But I wonder if the technology exists that can place permament bridge footings under a fast flowing river that frezes 10-20 feet thick every winter.
Next: Inuvik, the end of the road. Stay tuned to this station! ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ sent from a pay phone in Inuvik, NWT. . . .

We arrived in Inuvik around 4pm on Saturday the 7th. We had to scramble to get propane before the sole vendor closed, in fact I had to get him to unlock the gate to help us. We chatted. He had been born in Inuvik, and only away for university, a pattern I found repeated frequently. He was very friendly and curious about our home and our travels.
Inuvik is a Government town, built about 30 years ago when oil and gas exploration in the area brought enough non-native people to demand the services promised by a civilized, slightly socialist, society. So there is a road to get there (see Chapter 5), a hospital, a sort of college, a bank or two, a post office, and about a dozen Ministry of and Bureau of whatever. And there are food stores, hotels, schools, restaurants, bars, and all the rest. The populaton is over 3000, mostly decendents of the original natives.
What is different? Let me count the ways. First, all the buildings are built on insulating pilings, with a cold air space between the floor and the ground. Otherwise the permanently frozen slush which passes for bedrock in these parts would melt and the building would slip and slide around on the mud. All the bulidings are connected to a system of "utilidors," which are elevated insulated passages to carry water and sewer. Burried pipes would either freeze solid or, if heated, would melt the permafrost causing roads and buildings to settle in unfortunate ways. Smaller communities with indoor plumbing have trucks that visit each house DAILY to deliver water and pump out waste. Yup. Otherwise it would freeze.
So how cold is it, you ask? Saturday and Sunday maxed out at 40F,which is unseasonably cool. Summer days can get to the 80's, more commonly 60's or 70's. Because of the long (understatement) days, of course. Winter is commonly 30-40F below, occasionally below 50F. They say things like "but it is a DRY cold, so it's not so bad," or "but it almost never snows much when it's that cold." The sun doesn't rise for 35 days in the winter, but there is usually a few hours of dusk at midday. And it doesn't se for 45 days in the summer. The disparity is due to the fact that the sun is counted as "up" if any part of the disk is visible. In the face of this the locals are cheerily optomistic. They are used to things taking a little longer to happen than planned, making time and schedules less precise, like a tropical island, but there the parallel breaks down.
The locals have contrived a most impressive greenhouse. It looks like a huge quonset hut with translucent panels replacing the corrugated tin over most of the top. I understand it was converted from an (ice?) arena. Mostly it is a wonderful community enterprise, magically expanding a 6 week growing season to 4 months. Cooling is an issue in the summer, as so much heat is trapped in the long days. Plots are freely availible for the tending, and locals grow vegetables and flowering plants. I would guess that the cultivable space is bigger than a football field, and the roof is about 60 feet high at the center.
Monday we wrestled with a minor plumbing problem in (under) the van while waiting for the weather to improve enough to fly to Tuk. In the afternoon we were able to go, VFR under ceilings that decended to 300 feet enroute with 1-2 miles visibility in showers. Good thing the terrain is mostly flat. In Tuktoyaktuk we actually dipped a toe in the Arctic Ocean, which not many of you are foolish enough to have done, I would venture. Oops, here come the emails punishing my swagger.
Tuk is a "native" settlement of about 1000. The oil and gas exploers needed local labor, and seduced much of the local population away from their taditional trapping and fishing with wages and stores selling things to buy with them. Like a ratchet thic change only goes one way. The community is struggling to hang on to at least some of the more valuable parts of their culture. But the kids learn english in school and have satellite TV. This is the last generation of the old inuit culture in this town.
When we returned to Inuvik we prepared to reprise our Dempster torture in reverse. We had heard from others who arrived after us that the snow had melted, but that the resulting mud was horrible. It was okay as long as one could stay in the ruts, but when oncoming traffic necessitated leaving them the mud on the side was deep and treacherous. I planned to take extra time on the return trip, to travel shorter segments and try to spread the stress and fatigue over three days.
So we drove a coupe of hours this evening (Monday the 9th). Wouldn't you know it, just as we left town the sun came out. The roads so far have been really fairly good. (That just prooves the reletivity theory. Me and Einstein.) And tomorrow is another day. Good night.

I had thought that driving back down the 'dumpster' would be more or less the same thing as the drive up. I couldn't have been more wrong. Tuesday morning after we started out Jane pointed ahead to the right and asked, "what are those mountains over there?" We hadn't seen them on the way up and they were a beautiful, snow capped, range of peaks. In not too many minutes we saw that we would be driving through these very mountains. Upon reflection it became obvious that this was where we had survived a blizard just four days earlier. The rest of that day, and the next morning, all the way to Dawson, we marveled at the beautiful, stark scenery that had been largely obscurred on our earlier drive. Icy mountain streams gave way to swiftly flowing rivers, and alpine meadows backed up against barren, sharply cut peaks.
We were disappointed not to have seen more wild animals. We did see one lone [sic] wolf walking along the highway. He was scraggley and very large, perhaps 30 inches at the shoulder, but skinny in the chest and haunches. There are herds of caribou, reindeer, and muskox up there, but not that we saw. Did I tell you about the fox that darted across the road a week ago? His (her?) tail was as big as his/her body, and would make a fine trophy, if I beleived in trohpies, that is....
The weather stayed perfect, clear with puffy scattered cumulus clouds, and warmed up from 50 to 60 to almost 70 as we reached Dawson City. We took a long walk and did housekeeping chores.
This morning we met up with Colm (pronounced col'-um), a sort of small time canoe outfitter, who set us up with a canoe, paddles, and a driver to take us about 9 miles upriver. The Klondike River at this point is very fast moving, rapids classified as Class 1, enough to provide us with plenty of excitement. We paddled down to the junction with the Yukon River and beached near the town dock in Dawson in about 1:40. My experience canoeing in New England was helpful, but the rivers here are much bigger and faster. There were many islands and multiple channels in a complex weave.
We had some thrills and chills, but no spills. Standing waves occasionally reached 2.5 to 3 feet in amplitude. We took on some water. Jane squealed, but it was all good clean fun. Once I had to get out to walk us through a shallow strech I had blundered into, and the water was freezing cold. Fortunatly the sun was warm, and we avoided capsizing. The whole time until we got to town we saw not one other soul.
Now we are on the road back to Whitehorse. We will see what adventures await.

P.S. Further exploration of the meaning, and in this case etymology, of "klondike." The word apparently comes from an Athapaskan phrase "Tr'ondek," which means "rock hammer." A local tribe of indigineous peoples found rocks in that riverbed suitable for pounding things.

When we left Dawson City six days ago I became lazy about chronicling our travels. We were heading south, and had accomplished our major goals. After visiting Inuvik and Tuk my personal frontier seemed to shift. The magical "far northland" is somewhere just beyond where one has been. So I guess I felt that our adventures had ended and the rest would be anticlimactic.
In Whitehorse again we did city things, and I built the web page and uploaded those photos. Jane had the canoe bug bad, so we rented a canoe and paddled down the Yukon River 12 miles or so. Where we put in the current was brisk -- 7 knots or so. But downstream it widened and slowed. After the excitement of the Klondike this was a bit of a let down. After we got clear of town the scenery was nice. We saw two bald eagles, majestic and spectacular in flight or scanning for prey from atop a tall pine. Because of the dearth of rapids we were able to enjoy a picnic enroute, and we brought camera and binoculars.
That night fate caught up with me. We stopped for the night on a still intact piece of the Alaska Highway abandoned after the last straightening and repaving. As we often do we just buttoned up the van, made dinner, watched a movie, and went to bed. The next morning the van wouldn't start. I had left the headlights on all night. In Canada one drives with lights on day and night by law. And, of course, you have read my continual comments on how it just doesn't get dark at night. So it was bound to happen.
Anyway we walked down to the highway and flagged down a passing motorist, the second one that passed. With his truck and my jumper cables I started us up and we headed down the road. Tragedy narrowly averted. Oops, I omitted telling you of my curses after I went to the hassle of removing my auxiliary batteries -- which power the household stuff on a separate circuit -- and they failed to spin the engine enough to start. Aaaargh!
Next (Monday) afternoon we started down the Cassiar Highway, the "other" north-south route in northern British Columbia. The best that can be said for it is that it is not as bad as the Dempster. Probably the potholes were worse than normal, as it had been raining foe a week. The scenery was superb, however. I saw black bears on two occasions, disturbed by the sound of the van as they munched berries or whatever by the side of the road. One was small and black, and from a distance reminded me of those little stuffed toy bears.
The first night on the Cassiar we chose a campsite that rented canoes, and the next morning went for a little paddle. Stroke hard up the river, coast down, and stalk ducks in the cove. That was where I discovered that my camera was jammed, so no more pics for a while.
The Cassiar brought us to the "Glacier Highway," which in turn brought us to Stewart and Hyder.
[The next section was written out of order, before this one preceeding]

Tonight it is dark enough for stars. For the first time in about three weeks, for us. I can't see any right now, but it is nice to know that I could if the clouds and trees and mountains would cooperate to let me. Although we have been away from the midnight sun for over a week, the midnight dusk thing has persisted. Finally some releif (as if I wasn't loving it!).
I thought we weren't going to make it to Alaska this summer, but no. We came as far as Stewart, BC, at the head of the Portland canal (a fiord, not a canal). Stewart is Canada's most northerly ice free port. If you can't find it look about an inch to the right of Ketchican, AK, on the map, and up a little. About 5 mles along the shore of the 'canal' past Stewart is the town of Hyder, Alaska. These two towns grew up together, sharing the same mining discoveries and shipping opportunities. But they are different in the way two brothers in a family can be. And they reflect and magnify some of the basic differences between the US and Canada.
At the tourist information kiosk in Stewart a woman told us that we just had to continue along the main road through town and we would find ourselves in Hyder. Then her tone changed to thinly disguised contept as she explained that in Hyder the road wasn't even paved. Can you imagine? We had been in Canada for 24 days, and Hyder's unkempt apearance was a refreshing shock. Yes the road was unpaved, but adequately maintained. And instead of quaint, neatly groomed cottages were haphazzardly strewn cabins, shantys, and single-wides. On one level it was appalling, but it definitly felt like home.
Before we crossed back into the US we checked to see that we could put our hands on our passports, in case they were needed. There were no border formalities. At all. Not even a building where custons and immigration might maintain an office. In Hyder we asked why there had been no border check. They answered, "Why should there be?" Hyder is at the end of a dead end road. Pretty much anything and anybody who comes down the road from Canada has to go right back the same way. They suggested that the relevant question was rather just why Canada does have a customs and immigration stop at the border. Pretty much everyone in Hyder (pop 100+) has to go to Stewart (pop 600) for all their supplies. Okay, there are a store and two saloons, but no specialty shops.
But I forgot to tell you why we are here. There are 19 glaciers hererabouts. We drove by one on the way in that was calving right into a roadside lake. This 1/4 mile lake has bergs floating in it like icecubes in my soda. Snow covered mountains disappear into the mist. Everything is crisp and clean smelling. So most of the time we don't notice the differences that mark a place as belonging to one country or another.

Thanks for all the feedback.

1. Mosquitos
You have heard the complaints. Here are some facts. In Inuvik they were flying and biting when the temperature didn't get above 40F in the day. I used to think that when it got cold enough they went dormant, or something, but the arctic subspecies have adapted. Beware.

2. Midnight Sun
One thing that confuses the day/night issue in Inuvik is the fact that they use Mountain Daylight time, like the rest of Northwest Territories. If you look at a map you will see that Inuvik is geographicly about an hour west of Seattle, or a third of the way from San Francisco to Hawaii, longitude wise. So sunset appears to happen three hours later than expected anyway, not accounting for the longer days issue. One hour for daylight saving time and two for the westerly location. Another way of saying this is that sidereal noon occurrs around 3pm in the summer there. Just thought you'd like to know.

3. Pingos
Up around Tuk there are several hundred hills sharing a distinctive shape, like a rounded volcano or a conical hemisphere. Some are several hundred feet high, this in an area that is mostly flat. They occur only a few places in the world, and we saw either the second or third biggest, depending on whom you believe.
They are formed when a lake in the permafrost dries up What happens is that the water (or ice in winter) has been acting as an insulator. When it is gone the cold freezes the underlying permafrost, which expands as water always does, creating these anomalous hills. What good are they do you ask? The local kids use them for sledding, and you have a new scrabble or crossword word.

4. Hyder, is it Alaska or Canada?
The pay phone is Canadian, it takes Canadian money and has a Canadia area code. Prices in the fish restaurant and market are listed in both currencies. Coin op showers (common rip-off "water savers" at campgrounds) take loonies (Canadian pone dollar coins). The poor folk there have to pay taxes in US $$ which they buy at a premium. It's all messed up.
- - - - - - - -

The Salmon Glacier

From Hyder we drove up a road built for the now defunct Grand Duc gold mine (actually on the Canadian side, but accessible only from AK). The road now serves as access to the Salmon Glacier. It provides views of the foot and of a crest in the valley, where an eastward flow splits into two, going both north and south. I broke out the backup camera, a disposable, so maybe we will have pictures of this one too. Words will have to suffice, becaise I don't think pictures could do it justice. The Salmon Glacier was the most impressive we have seen, not that we are connosiurs yet. (I don't have spell check, in case you hadn't noticed) Just as we approached the summmit we broke out of the dreary cloud cover into brilliant sunlight, shining as if to highlight the glacier. It was simply beautiful.
[Okay, I had to try. Here are a few pictures: one,   two,   three ]

Aboard the M.V. Queen of the North, somewhere in the Inside Passage.
( Here is her sister ship, M.V. Queen of Prince Rupert)
My father is quite fond of reminding me that, on a ship, higher is better. He is a seasoned veteran of many cruises, and sensitive to the nicities and protocol of ocean travel. What he means, of course, is that the more one pays, the better service one expects to receive, the highrer up one's accomodations will be found. So when we climed four (4) flights of stairs up from deck three where we left the van to find our cabin -- and I use the term loosely -- we thought we were going in style. As indeed we are. Last night we parked in the ferry terminal's boarding line and slept there in the busy lot, pending a 6:30am boarding call. Three years earloier, almost to the week, we had embarked from the same terminal on a ferry of American flag north to Alaska (hey, catchy title). This time it is a Canadian boat (ship?), operated by BC Ferries, headed southward through the Inside Passage to Vancouver Island. We are pleasantly surprised, and a little dismayed, at the difference.
Both ships are approximately the same. This one is 410 feet long and holds about 170 vehicles on two decks. So was the American one. But this one is better appointed, better run, and less expensive. The Alaska boat had one cafeteria serving a deep fried, inferior selection. This one has a cafeteria with burgers and fries & cetera, and a selection of interesting and heallthier fare. AND there is another restaurant serving three meals by buffet, each sporting outrageous menus! Jane and I, relying on our earlier experience, came prepared with two meals preparedas picnics, and will feast at dinner. Apologies to those of you who rankle at my continual pejoritive comparisons of things American. I am reporting my experiences. It is also true that Canadians now buy US greenbacks for about $1.50 each. And their currency continues to decline. Perhaps these differences come at a cost.
So. Down Vancouver Island (see Summer 1999 travelog) then two days with my friend Peter Binner at his home on Pender Island. Then two short ferries to Seattle and the Far Nothland portion of our summer is over.

Even more fun than watching the orcas swimming circles around the boat, and performing seeming tricks for their audience, is the spectacle of the passengers running from one side to the other of the main lounge, squealing with delight at each new appearance.
We are aboard a Washington State ferry this time, enroute from Sidney on Vancouver Island to Anacortez, north of Seattle. It is late Tuesday morning, and the day of our return to full-on civilization. The ferry's path weaves through the San Juan Islands, which clutter the Straits of Georgia north of Puget Sound. We have spent the last two days visiting friends on Pender, one of the Gulf Islands, which also clutter the same straits, but on the Canadian side of a boundary quite plain on every map, but invisible when we cross it.
Jane fell in love with Pender Island, and spent time exploring real estate opportunities and investigating the community of 2000 residents. This would concern me, but I have seen it many times before. Like the little boy who cried wolf, she has desendsitized me somewhat. As much as we love Canada, I am not sure we want to take up permanent residence.
We went kayaking in the adjacent waters. Because it was Jane's first time, and my first in decades, we arranged for a guided two hour outing. We were in a two holer (that's how I discribed my Stearman!) and our friend Peter -also a first timer - was solo. We were accompanied by a couple from Winipeg, of about our age, who had been regular summer visitors on the island for years. Jane thoroughly loved the experience, except for her thumb blister, while I found that sitting flat with my legs straight out in front of me was not comfortable after long. The views of coves and rocks and beaches were splendid, and the sensation of being right down on the water was more immediate than even a canoe. We saw lots of seals but no whales. Even as I write, though, we are making up for that today. The ferry slows to a crawl as we pass near known orcas. (in case you forgot, "orca" is the proper name for whales of the "killer" variety)
Pender gave us pause again to think about Island living. Being insulated from the world by a ferry or an airplane (think Hawaii) has significant impacts, both positive and negative, I think. The pace is invariably slower: things run on "island time." Perhaps it is a need of mine, but I fear I would feel cut off from the immediacy of the world. I don't know why -- islands have CNN and the internet. I guess it would be an opportunity for growth.... I don't know how to end this chronicle. I have compiled a "best of" readers' letters, going out today under separate cover. I have enjoyed sharing our adventures with you.
Live long and prosper!

Many of you have sent replies to my monologues. I have selected a few to share here. If you don't find yours, blame the postal service!

One of my Canadian friends offered these suggestions after reading an early chapter:
All this and my ranch is not on your itinerary? Inuvik - that would be about as far north as anyone could drive! Don't forget Canadians do not trust anyone without a Canadian beer in hand. If you get in trouble you can always barter for help by offering a six pack on Molson's Canadian.
I could have a lot of fun with the winch. More still with a wench. Still more with a psycho Swedish teenage nymph. Soon enough comes the cedar box.

Sometimes friends shared what it was like at home, for example:
Just another foggy day here,,,,,,ate Thai for lunch,,,,,,abunch of assholes coming over at six for booze then out to diner........have been following your travels on he map,,,,,,,,,god forsaken places you are experiencing,,,,,if something happens to you can I have your car
fat ass
[I swear that is unedited! TMB]

More than one of you knew, like Dorinda, that:
In my experience, Klondike is an ice cream sandwich, round.

But only Chippy Wolfe trumped my myopic concern about this 'Klondike' thing, informing that:
[ . . . ] Athapaskan is a North Amer. language of a group of Indians, including Apache and Navaho, ranging from Alaska, Canada all the way to Mexico. [ . . . ]
[ if you don' remember the connection, see the end of Chapter 7 ]

Regarding our flight to Tuk, Kevin Baines (also a pilot) wrote;
Great! What plane were you flying in, under VFR at a pretty low altitude? Did you handle the controls?

When we headed south from Inuvik, this from Craig Dearr: (whose vicarious enthusiasm was revealed by the frequency of his responses)
When I checked the map to see where you were, I found myself thinking, wow, they are really far south now! Then I realized, yeah, far south in the northwest corner of n. america.
Stay warm and dry, I await your next report.

although Craig is not always beleivable, as:
I have often wondered about Pingos!

and finally, in response to all my (Canadian) flag waving and America bashing, this from Dan De Vries:
Is Canadian pone sort of like corn pone? Just curious.

That's all, folks!
Not to brag, but I think I was able to avoid overt reliance on the many messages thanking, praising, and encouraging my endeavors.
You are all most welcome.
-Tracy

Addenda, comments, or unwanted advice, email tracybrown@bigfoot.com (picture)