These strange names describe the waypoints across northeastern B.C. What a beautiful road. Well, there is the obligatory construction here and there. But the beauty is in the surroundings. The Alcan from Watson Lake to Fort Nelson is one of the most scenic routes we’ve traveled. Very different from some of the other northern roads, which often tended to be endless corridors of trees lining the highway, with little else to see. Here, the ribbon of asphalt is eclipsed by the northern Rocky Mountains, rising impressively on all sides. For our journey, they were cloaked in clouds, snow, fall foliage, stark gray rock, and limitless combinations of it all. In short, just plain gorgeous.

This is a topo map of our route from Liard to Fort Nelson, about 200 miles of the Alcan. The road crosses east through the northern Rocky Mountains to get over to the relatively flat plains to the east. I am repeatedly astonished at how the Alcan builders, in 1942, found a route through this maze of peaks, valleys, and rivers. It seems no matter where they would turn, there’d be another bridge to build. And I remind myself, they had eight months. Eight months, not to survey it and stake out a 200 mile route – eight months to survey and build the entire 1,422 mile road and begin military shipments. “Awesome” just isn’t enough to describe it.

Lots of different sights along the road. Some scenic, some just interesting or locally unique.

Two of the biggest weed-eaters we are ever likely to see. These monsters keep the highway margins trimmed. I’m not sure how large a bush they can handle, but it wouldn’t surprise me to see them grind down small trees. They raise the blade, lower it down onto the brush, and it makes a noise like King Kong’s garbage disposal grinding up T-Rex bones. The whole 40,000-pound Cat rocks back and forth like a Tonka toy. Then they raise it and lower it again, a gigantic game of Whack-a-Mole. Men and women drivers grin at us from the cockpits, seemingly happy at their jobs. They should be.

With the highway margins always trimmed and sunshine-grassy, an entire herd of Woods Bison has taken up residence on this stretch of the highway right-of-way. They are more tame than zoo bison, and (to their detriment) will calmly walk in front of vehicles, and sleep on the highway at night. They’re invisible in the dark, just a big brown featureless blob blending into the dark highway. About 20 a year meet their demise this way – but despite the small attrition, the herd is strengthening, a good thing for this threatened species.

All family members were in attendance. The curious teenager – – –

– – – mother and new calf – – –

– – – and of course the patriarch. These guys can top 2,000 pounds, significantly bigger than plains bison. He was giving us the watchful eye as we feverishly snapped pix. But he stayed on his side of the road, and we stayed on ours. An excellent truce.

Liard River has the very last cable-suspension bridge on the Alcan, all others having been replaced. We were pleased to find this one in excellent condition.

Past the bridge, the big river points the way to improving weather. We were all for that.

For those who are really into hot springs, Liard Hot Springs is a popular destination. It’s got the regular “healthy curing” minerals and all, and it is nicely done up with board walks, decks, changing rooms, and what-not. We have kind of lost our enthusiasm for public bathing, so we just looked around and enjoyed the woods.

 

We couldn’t get up the more remote hanging gardens and “pool B”, because there was a bit of a bear problem in the area.

 

 

An ancillary effect of the hot springs – or rather, the environment which creates the hot springs – is the presence of nutrient minerals in the soils and rocks in this area. Many of the herbivores, and specifically the sheep species, will lick at these deposits for potassium, calcium, and other minerals essential to bone and horn growth. This little band of sheep was placidly lapping up nutrients from the ground-rock road bed near a construction zone.

Alaska Highway maintenance is never at a loss for something new and entertaining. Here they had a complete gravel quarry, including crusher, maintenance shack and control tower. It was merrily cranking out tons of sand and gravel as we crawled carefully by.

It takes a lot of that sand and gravel for the nearly continuous roadwork. This guy was blading miles and miles of our road. And doesn’t his color blend nicely with the fall foliage? Very chique.

Of course, once the crews finish and the water trucks go elsewhere, things get a little dusty while the new construction settles down.

In between construction waits and dust clouds, there was always plenty to see. A short, steep loop trail off the highway took us to Trout River Valley lookout. Well worth the effort.

But Muncho Lake was pretty too, and visible from a roadside pullout. This lake is almost eight miles long, with probably 25 miles of shoreline. There is ONE structure on the entire shore, a small lodge. Places along the road provide easy boondock sites – some of the best we’ve seen. But we’re headed a little farther along the road, so we pass them by.

We had to stop briefly at the Toad River Lodge to see their famous baseball cap collection. They have three rooms-full of these things. They also have wifi for $1, such a deal. We collected our emails and moved on.

The road continued to be simply wonderful. The kind of road that you don’t want to get where you’re going, you just want to keep traveling. Weaving through the undulating valleys of the region, there were always peaks and vistas ahead to please and entice us. The road had no horrendous uphills or downhills, just a peaceful winding tour of a gorgeous area. We were charmed, captivated, blissed.

Arriving at our intended camp, even after the beautiful drive, we were just blown away. We’re kind of accustomed by now to forested camps, pleasant sites but surrounded – and barricaded to some extent – by tall trees. But up here at the summit area at 4,500 feet, the camp had few trees and was very open. It was also right on the edge of Summit Lake. And I mean right on, like we launched Bote from our campsite, 30 feet from Howie. Here’s Howie looking out at us as we paddle away from camp.

We had a cool but blissful paddle out-and-back on the two-mile-long lake, paralleling the shoreline. We’d stop frequently and just float with the breeze, marveling at the silence, the beauty, and our great good fortune.

But it was late, and the sun was racing for the western ridgeline for an early sunset. We reluctantly paddled on back to camp, cleaned up, deflated, packed away, etc. etc. We settled in and admired the view from our camp. (We launched Bote from the spot on the shore you can see just below the left windshield wiper.)

That evening, Howie’s dashboard looked like the back porch at a hippie commune. Damp rags, kayak boots and gloves, and forest mushrooms all set out to dry; seed sprouts catching some sunlight; hotspot looking for free wifi. Free love, dude. Peace.

The next morning it was 26F outside, 41F inside, frost everywhere, and a lake of pure glass at our doorstep. The sky was a strange color, kind of blue-like. Very unusual.

Next stop – – – Fort Nelson. Groceries, wifi, crowds. A mixed blessing.