So I made some dinner in the “shack” I was staying and I changed out of my wet riding gear. It is still very much light out… like dusk, but it gets no darker. There are 2 windows in the shack and I kept an eye on the weather and the workers out on the airstrip. After a quick bite, I made some hot cocoa. By this time the rain had died down to a heavy mist. I took a walk out to chat with the workers loading the trailer onto another trailer. They were driving out tonight back to Ross River. They were bringing back more equipment the next day to pull the semi out of the muskeg. They told me that I was wise to come back to the valley as the tundra above on the NWT side was full of grizzlies. A fact I validated with all the bear scat I witnessed.
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| Old WWII Vintage trucks and equipment at MacMillan Pass |
It was about midnight when I crawled into my sleeping
bag. On a plywood bunk. I was soo tired. Before hand, I secured all my gear and
packed away my trash from dinner and snacks I had for the day. Up in the north,
I normally store all that stuff in a pannier and keep the pannier about 100 yds
from where I sleep and even spray it with WD40 to keep bears from sniffing it
out. I also never make it a habit to cook where I sleep as well. This night I
broke all those rules. All that was in the shack with me. I noted that the
hollow core door wouldn’t latch and had a makeshift wire looped around the knob
(like a coat hanger) with a nail in the wall to hold the door shut. There was a
bottle of bear spray and water bottles half full of water left behind by others
as well. All was well, I was warm, dry and fed. I was asleep within minutes of
crawling into my bag. I knew I had a big day again tomorrow. They ferry
crossing at Ross River shut down at 5:00 pm. I aimed to get up early and
arrive before then.
About an hour and a half later, I was abruptly woken by
heavy scratching on the wall of the shack. Initially, in my half awake state, I
though it was a raven. The scratching got more intense and I noticed the shack
was shaking. I sat up and noted the plywood wall was arcing inward from
whatever was clawing at the wall. OH NO!!! Bear! I quickly got up and banged on
the wall and it stopped. They it began again with more intensity. The wall was
buckling inward and I could feel the creature pushing on the other side. Only plywood separated us. I looked over my shoulder at the puny door
and the wire that secured it shut. Any animal could get in with very little
effort. I was in calm panic now. Yelling and beating on the walls while I put
my riding pants on, my armored jacket, my boots and yes, my helmet. I was ready
to do battle. All the while the creature kept at it, undeterred by my attempts
to scare it off. I grabbed my bear spray and unlatched the door and cautiously
looked outside. It was still wet and
misty. I began to make my way around the shack, hugging the walls with the bear
spray cocked and loaded like a policeman would with a pistol. I could still
hear the creature clawing intently at the shack wall. I made my way pas the
outdoor shower and peered around the corner. I was momentarily relieved, for it
was the biggest damn porcupine I have ever seen. He was HUGE! At least twice
the size of the one I videoed the day before. For some odd reason he was
clawing the shack to shreds. I yelled at it and it turned towards me and
waddled puffed up. I quickly backed around the corner and picked up some big
rocks to chuck at it. I waited, and waited and I waited a bit more. The critter
never came. I went to look around the corner and it was waddling across the
airstrip. Whew!! That was an experience. My heart was racing and I was relieved
to say the least. It could have been worse. I made my way back to the shack,
but first I took my food and trash out of the shack in a secured pannier and
stowed about 75 yards away from the shack. I stack my other panniers against
the door after latching it. Not that it would help, but any critter trying to
come in would make a racket and hopefully wake me long before it would make its
way in. I crawled back into my sleeping
bag, my bear spray next to. I really didn’t sleep much more that night.
Catching the odd 20 minute cat nap every now and then. In hindsight, it all
seems silly, but out there, alone in the north, 160 miles from nowhere, one’s
mind can really let the imagination run free.
The next morning, I found the weather no better. I
retrieved my pannier and made some breakfast in the shack. It was about 10:00
am when I got packed and left the airstrip. I was still lightly rainy, foggy
and cold out. But one thing was going through my mind. I had to get back to
Ross River before 5:00 pm as that is when the ferry stopped service each day.
Now this may seem trivial to many pavement riders, but 150 miles on dirt can be
like riding 300 miles on pavement. It takes more than twice as long to travel
the miles out here.
I returned back to the trucks assembled in the mouth of
the pass and spent some time there, cursing the rain while looking through the
old trucks and equipment. I made it a point to enjoy what I was seeing, knowing
that I may never be back. The very thought of this this made me sad as I felt
cheated by the weather and it was obvious that this is a very special place on
the planet. I made a vow then and there to return.
Going back out the Canol wasn’t as exciting as it was
coming up. Time constraints, and the rain just dampened the mood. It was
turning out to be a very wet summer up here. The Yukon interior is usually
pretty dry and arid in the summer. Perhaps climate change was the reason. This
type of weather would haunt me for most of time on this trip.
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| Back on the Robert Campbell Highway |
I did make it back to Ross River in time (4:42 pm) was
the time I read on my dashboard. 18 minutes to spare. J I stopped in the little village store to get
a weather report….not good, more rain for the foreseeable future. I had a
decision to make. Head over towards Faro and up to Dawson City, OR ride the
South Canol and pray for little to no rain. I decided to do a little praying.
South of me, I could see some blue skies. Maybe, just maybe I could skirt on
through and enjoy the treasures of the Lapie Lakes area. My friend at
Whitehorse had told me about a road just south of the lakes that made its way
up into the mountains that would be worth checking out. So that is where I
headed. For the next couple of hours, It was heavenly.
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| The Lapie River as seen from the Robert Campbell Highway |
I arrived at the Lapie lakes and there was a hole in the
clouds and glorious sunshine came through. However, it wasn’t going to last.
South of me and North of me dark clouds were coming it with a wall of rain.
Fierce winds were swirling about. It seemed that the polar weather gods were
arm wrestling over who would get to piss on me first.
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| High canyon bridge crossing the Lapie River on the South Canol |
I pulled in to one of the lakes that had a boat launch
and some picnic tables. Nobody was there. I helped myself to a campsite and
quickly put up my rain tarp and then my tent underneath. All the while the
skies were spitting bits of rain, but nothing major. In fact the wind would dry
the rain pretty quickly after it fell.
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| The South Canol has magical beauty to spare. |
Sometime later, in between squalls, I made some dinner
around 10:00 pm. As I was enjoying my late night meal, I heard familiar sounds.
The same sounds of heavy clawing and scratching on plywood like I experienced
at the shack the night before. WTH!!! I grabbed my bear spray and went to
investigate. I soon discovered a plywood outhouse in the bush with another huge
porcupine tearing up the walls. What is it with these critters? They are worse
than termites. I tossed a couple of stones on the roof of the outhouse and it
spooked the porcupine. They must not see very well, because it quickly waddled
directly towards me as if I wasn’t there. The spikey critter was nearly on top of me
when it realized I was in his path. Suddenly he puffed up and turned around
slapping his tail violently at me. Fortunately, I was out of his range and I
thoroughly enjoyed his fit.
I finally went to sleep. But deep sleep evaded me. It
may have been the pitter-patter of rain on my tarp all through the night, the disappointment, the
cold, the ride out on potentially muddy road. Whatever it was, I just didn’t sleep
well. Morning seem to come as quick as an eye blink. It was still raining when
I awoke. I waited and stalled as much as I could in the comfort of my dry and toasty
warm sleeping bag, but, mother nature was calling. So I dashed out of the tent
into the morning misty rain. I came back in and slept (if you can call it that)
until 10:00 am or so. At which point I decided that it was time to nut up or
shut up. So I began slowly packing my gear up within the tent. Amazingly, the
rain stopped during this exercise. I quickly made hay while the sun didn’t shine
and packed my bike. I even found some time to enjoy a little bit of breakfast.
From there I headed out and took a side road just south of Lapie Lakes to some old
mines that a friend of mine in Whitehorse told me about. However, the weather
deteriorated and I turned around and continued my journey down the south canol.
I did make a few stops along the way. Quiet Lake is a must see place and I met some
canoeist launching to paddle the Big Salmon River. A must do trip for me that I
added to my expansive bucket list. But,
other than that , it rained off and on until I popped out on the Alaskan
Highway at Johnsons Crossing. I made tracks to Whitehorse to meet up with my
friend and recharge. Hoping for better weather in the days to come.
My next destination… Dawson City, The Dempster Highway
and Tuktoyuktuk.
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