The Far North

Maybe there is only one Road, like a great river, and every path a tributary.  All places lived, men loved, things enjoyed and stolen, built and left behind, pleasures found by accident,; they all merge into this horrendously long Alaskan Highway.  I live these days on the road as though they are my last, for they very well could be. 

The road is gray with morning light, which strikes the tops of clouds, giving only what light the clouds do not absorb—gray twilight lasts a major part of the day.  

Sometimes a break from the cold, given to northern travelers by some hot furnace within the earth, melts a path of ice and snow.  Laird Hot Springs is a public place, a short hike from the highway.  There’s a stairway into the water, where you can soak as if in the tropics.  

Animals on the highway don’t understand fast cars and trucks.  These friendly bison just stood there for the camera.  

Were it not for diligence of Canadian show-plow drivers and drivers of trucks that spread sand, I could not be here.  They come plowing and spreading even when the road seems clear.  But they cannot remove snow that has been packed into hard ice; this remains for me to decide whether it is sanded and relatively safe, or maybe black ice.  

I took two days off in Whitehorse, a respite from the tension of driving to a goal, and transmuted myself into a tourist. The Dirty Northern is an excellent pub and restaurant, though you’d never suspect it from the sidewalk.  And the Miner’s Daughter boarding house next might be a good, long-term residence.   

The Yukon River runs alongside Whitehorse, some of it with visible flowing water, and some covered with snow.  

They’ve built a fancy condo by the river, called River’s Reach, with views of the River and the mountains beyond.  The project must be a success, because beside it, River’s Reach II is going up.  These workers seem quite happy to build it in windy air well below zero. 

On this hill in the city park, sledders enjoy a Saturday afternoon, and skaters cruise along the flooded and groomed pathway.  

I have driven into a world of discovery.  Not the glamour I had thought it would be—skiing in the woods, snowy ventures into the realm of moose and elk.  I predicted my daily schedule on the long drive—daylight for the work of driving, the long dark hours for whatever attracts me and weather permits.  I have had to change my expectations.

Michael Angerman is keeping a map showing all the places where I spend the night on this long drive.  Please view his map at:     Michael's Map  You can pan zoom to see more detail or more area as you choose.