Written by Elissa Ebersold on August 18, 2018

Mission Impossible

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Wednesday, August 15th 2018
I can’t say anything exciting or new happened, since it was another easy drive and day of rest. The calm before the storm so to speak, since tomorrow is 12 hours of driving to our next destination. Without any of the stops we’ll need to take. We slept late, and eventually got in the car and drove to Fort Nelson, being met with the smell of smoke that we thought we had left behind in Fort St. John. Along the way, we passed many trucks, moving slowly in steep grade hills on the road that took us north. We passed thousands of acres of trees scored by past wildfires, the charred brittle skeletons swaying awkwardly in the breeze. The sheer amount of death in these sights was a spectacle to behold, but it was amazing to sometimes see a single thriving tree, green and very much alive, tucked between the singed trunks.

In Fort Nelson, we hung out in our hotel room for a while before heading to dinner and catching a movie. Cameron and I walked to this theater, one that shows one movie at a time at one time a day. The screen was a blow-up one atop a theater stage. We enjoyed it, and when we left at close to 9:45, there was still light in the sky. Dusk was rapidly approaching, but it was light enough to easily walk the sidewalks and not trip on any upended stones. 

Tomorrow’s drive seems like an impossible mission to accomplish. Long and cramped and sleep deprived as we drive through the middle of nowhere. Seems a bit like a ticking time bomb if you ask me. 

Strangle count: 8

Thursday, August 16th 2018
Up, out, and shoving Tim Horton’s egg sandwiches in our mouths by 7am, we left Fort Nelson in the rear view and charged on towards our next hotel a couple hours outside of Whitehorse, Yukon. A 12 hour drive. I behind the wheel, we were only about 20 miles outside of the city when we saw our first wildlife sighting: two beautiful, large, baby moose munching on a breakfast on their own on the other side of the road. I swung the car around in hopes of capturing a photo, but the tires on the loose gravel shoulder spooked the two magnificent beings and they galloped off into the woods. 

It didn’t take long before we spotted our next set of animals. Trotting in the middle of the road was yet another pair of hoofed animals: a mother and a baby reindeer. I did manage to capture a photo with my phone this time. The caribou, as they are known in North America, seemed to have no care in the world as they walked down the double yellow and then onto the shoulder.

The animals were definitely a highlight of the day. Not only did we see a pair of moose and a pair of reindeer, but we saw a herd of wild bison and a herd of mountain goats. As you can see from my photos, we were able to get quite close to these. 

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Our Historic Alaskan Highway wove us through mountain majesties with aqua-colored rivers, such as Stone Mountain, and past slumbering ancient volcanoes like the cinder cone in Watson Lake. Each was stunning in its own way. As we weaved, ascended and descended, our visibility narrowed and our noses were assaulted with the thick smell of smoke. It was definitely at its worst, almost suffocating at times even with the windows closed. In and out of the smoky fog we went, but at some point we saw blue skies again. 

Cameron pointed out the window and said, “Look at that cloud!” I immediately knew what he was talking about. In a sky of cirrus and stratus clouds, there was a single ginormous billowing black cloud. It only took me a moment to realize, that with its darkened color and its underbelly an odd mixture of purples and oranges, we were staring at the ashy atmospheric flares of a distant wildfire. Perhaps the one that has been causing the haze and smoke and smell our whole trip. We watched it change for a minute or two, amazed at the blanket it made over everything downwind from its wrath.

We stopped now and again to top off the gas, and perhaps more importantly clean the windshield. It’s buggy in British Columbia and Yukon. Bugs splatter against the windshield with the intensity, size, and frequency of raindrops. There isn’t enough wiper fluid in the world to clean the yellow insect insides away. Instead, it’s just streaks of guts arching across the glass, with bee bodies trapped in the wipers and twitching ever so often. It’s both very amusing and very gross.

Our longest stop of the day was at the Watson Lake Sign Post Forest. It was exactly as it sounds. We didn’t spend too long there, but we loved weaving through the posts of signs from all over, of any kind. Voting signs, license plates, homemade plaques, name plates—you name it. Even found some familiar places like Lake George, NY, and Rensselaer. 

Upon weaving in and out of British Columbia and Yukon several times, we got stuck in a single lane traffic stop somewhere on the highway. A young construction worker named Cody came over and chatted with us while we waited for our pilot car to escort us to the other side. We had a wonderful conversation, one which lasted a good ten minutes. He’d never seen a New York license plate before. As our pilot car started to lead us away, I stuck my head out and waved at Cody, shouting that it was nice to meet him into the wind. 

Cameron had asked how much longer to Whitehorse, and Cody had told him that it was another two hours or so, depending on how fast you drive. We were told that after the next town, there probably wouldn’t be any police. (Though, to be honest, we haven’t seen any since we got on the Alaska highway). Both of us, at one point or another, took this as the opportunity to indulge in lead feet, with a average cruising speed of anywhere between 85mph and occasionally, 110mph on long stretches of straightaways, with a setting sun and towering mountains as our guide

Hours later, I sit in a hotel just outside of the Kluane National Park. It’s 11:15, and it is still a dark teal in the sky after the sun set at 10:04. Tomorrow we explore the National Park and its beautiful glaciers, and then we move on to our penultimate stop in Beaver Creek, right on the border of The Last Frontier.  

Strangle count: 12

Friday, August 17th 2018
I woke up in bed in our “Sam & Dean Hotel” (some people may know what that means) warm in bed but freezing in room. Our window was apparently open, and the temperature outside was 32F. Something I did not prefer for in my packing. But a change of real clothes and a hot shower made it all okay. Our destination today was Beaver Creek, a little town right on the Alaskan border. Not terribly far away, as the crow flies, but you have to go through the Kluane National Park to get there. That’s exactly what we did. The highway took us through some amazing landscape views, each Glacier-topped peak more stunning than the next. At one stop, the people we pulled over behind happened to be New Yorkers, driving their own NY car! How amazing is that? For the next several hundred kilometers, we played a game of tag. It’s an easy game to play with straightaways and pushing the accelerator down to 110mph. We passed them, we’d stop, they’d pass us, we’d pass them. We’d stop, they’d pass us, etc. etc. We probably passed them four or five times in total, and at a construction zone with a bit of a wait for the pilot car, we actually chatted some more standing outside of our cars.

We stopped to take pictures at several different points along the Alaskan Highway, and while I have many photos I also feel like it’s too few. I could take different pictures at every mile on that road. The road takes you around green and lush mountains, or bare brown ones, to glaciated majesties, sometimes stacked right next to each other or encircling a glittering lake. Yukon is a stunner. 

Our final meeting with our fellow New Yorkers (that we know of) happened to be at our destination in Beaver Creek. They ate at the same cafe we did. Maybe we’ll run into them again, since their destination is also Anchorage.

I now sit in the cutest of the hotel rooms we have had so far, but by far the foulest smelling. It smells a lot of cat urine, and I’ve had to open the windows to air it out…but I also think that this smell is in the bones of the room and it’s not going anywhere.  The day isn’t over yet, but I can’t imagine much else changing. 

Strangle count: 14

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