Blog English – Arminius-on-tour

In Tête Jaune Cache Yellowhead Highway splits into the main route # 16 east to Jasper National Park and feeder road # 5 called Yellowhead South Highway. We are following the southern route.

In the evening we allow ourselves a Caesar. That’s the Canadian national cocktail, not dissimilar to a Bloody Mary. Main difference is puréed clam meat. Ugh, yuk, yuck?!?!?! Not really. First of all clams serve as flavour enhancers, similar to fish sauce or oyster sauce in Asian dishes. Basic ingredient for a Caesar is called clam juice, available in every grocery, consisting mainly of tomato juice and the said clam juice, salt and spices. You add vodka and ice and season with Tabasco, Worcester sauce, and celery salt. Cheers!

British Columbia does a lot of self-advertising. In folders, at signs, and on posters they advertise the slogan “Super, Natural”. That’s a trade mark, believe it or not! Every now and then signs post “BC is idle-free”. During in Europe cars are designed to turn off their engine as soon as the car stops and start automatically on setting off, Canadian drivers keep their car engines running, even when they leave the car for example to go to the washroom. Of course this behaviour requires a low crime rate, since in other places in the world the car would be gone during driver’s absence. The truck driver who arrives at night at the same rest area where we overnight already turns off his engine after half an hour. Unfortunately he decides to leave in the early morning. It seems to be necessary to warm up the engine for more than an hour before departure. Asked about glacier retreat, change in the weather or extreme weather phenomenon most Canadians answer: That’s climate change. Where about does that come from?

Prince George is the only bigger city in the area. There is Wal-Mart, Costco, diverse groceries, fast-food restaurants and whatever you need. Good for shopping, but otherwise you can pass on the main road, there is nothing to see.

Do you know those useless sociology studies that publish some statistical numbers without dealing more precisely with prerequisites or reasons? I’ve read one study about toilet paper. Essential topic. Half of mankind is said to fold toilet paper, the other one crumple it. Europeans tended to fold during Americans would more likely crumple. Who ever visited a public washroom in America or Canada, especially those ones on rest areas, knows that the only option to handle their paper is crumpling. This human behaviour has nothing to do with preference, but only with material texture. North American toilet tissue is not only single-layer, but thin as parchment so that you could read the newspaper through it. At least it is somehow soft. First you are forced to unwind a couple of metres to achieve any effect. Then, it is very difficult to fold this snake especially as you would have to step onto the bog seat not to drag the paper on the ground. Therefore even a European is forced to be a crumpling one.

After oil change and shopping we are meeting two “old” friends we’ve met in the Rockies and getting to know four new German globetrotters. A parade is taking place tonight in Smithers that we want to watch and afterwards we are going to the “Alpenhorn” for dinner. Unfortunately, they do not have German beer, but at least there is a German waitress.

The Yellowhead Trail guides us to the south. In ‘Ksan, a historic Indian village, we are visiting some naves that are built a copy of ancient originals and contain a school of arts for traditional wood carving, a museum, and an art exhibition. A couple of totem poles were erected, some of them copies of historic totems. A few kilometres further, in the Gitxan Indian village Kispiox, you can find 15 more piles carved from red cedar wood. By the way, totem poles are read from solid plinth to the figure on top that points to the sky and unlimited possibilities. Ironically – or shall it express hope? – the upper figure of the totem, erected in remembrance of the open-air museum’s opening 1970 in ‘Ksan, depicts a white government representative in upright posture with top hat and bow tie. Underneath symbols for the local clans like eagle, wolf, fish, and mosquito are found.

35 km south Bulkley River has to pass the narrow Moricetown Canyon. Under a raging waterfall salmon pile up to wait for the right moment to jump upstream. The Wet’suwet’en-Indians living there kept for years their right to stick the salmon with hook-armoured rods. We stay with the salmon fishers for long time but have only once the opportunity to watch the traditional catching method. Even for the First Nations times have changed. The number of fish, especially the popular Jack Sockeye, decreases. The Natives have built a fish ladder to make ascend easier for the salmon. Most fishes are caught today with a dip net; they are weighed, measured, and registered. Only every third fish is intended to be food for the community, the other animals are bundled off into a water container, loaded onto pick-ups and abandoned upstream to improve their chances to spawn. The salmon dedicated to consumption are distributed only among the Indian community members, and they are as well registered to make sure distribution happens justly. There is a single sales outlet where outsiders can buy fresh and smoked salmon for steep prices.

During the whole day my eyes burn and there is an undefined smell in my nose. 20 km before Watson Lake at Cassiar Hwy junction where we want to finally leave Alaska Highway we are getting a shock. A sign informs that Hwy #37 south is closed. My mobile phone doesn’t work here, so I can’t call the highway hotline, and I have to ask in the gas station. The forest fire rages since nearly three weeks, the gas station attendant informs us, temporarily the road was completely closed. Now it was passable with a pilot car in one lane traffic, the convoy ran six times a day. We hear at the road block that the dangerous stretch is 50 km long. After 45 minutes the pilot car is picking us up. In the beginning the forest fire shows a mosaic-like pattern. It smokes here and there, and burnt areas alternate with green expanses. But then smoke becomes thicker and we are passing big areas burnt down. Clearing is pushed at the roadside. Dead trees that threaten to fall on the street have to be felled. I neither envy the loggers nor the pilot car driver that have to spend the entire day in the dense smoke.

Atlin town, surrounded by mountains, has natural charm. It is still attractive to boat drivers and anglers, but its touristic height is passed. After the short gold rush the railway line Skagway – Whitehorse was used for touristic purposes. In those days travellers were transported between by ship between Scotia Bay and Atlin. Nowadays Atlin seems a bit lonely, deserted, and gone to the rack. But now and then optimistic new buildings strike. Leaving town on Atlin Road, something light-brown with a dark, short, and stubby tail approaches from the right, jumps sleekly across the street in front of us, and dashes further downhill into the forest: a cougar! That’s their Canadian name; in the States they are called mountain lion. We are stopping immediately. Just one more time the big cat dares to come out between the trees to look closely at us, and then it disappears. Despite the prepared camera in my hand we can’t take a picture – it is too fast. In the end of Atlin Road we get back to Alaska Hwy to tackle the last 340 not driven kilometres.

We are continuing on the Klondike Highway north, from BC back to Yukon. The Carcross Desert, one of the numerous “North America’s smallest deserts” isn’t really a desert. It is neither particularly hot, nor cold, and not even dry. But there are a couple of sand dunes partially overgrown with grass, bushes and trees that offer a good subject for photo. The sand comes from ancient glaciers that ground stones to dust and that has been blown over here. Some kilometres further at Emerald Lake I learn that even limestone sediment at the lake bottom in the form of calcium carbonate can cause water’s green shade.

Back on the Alaska Hwy we first turn north not to miss Whitehorse. 24,500 inhabitants, about 75 % of Yukon’s entire population, live in its capital. The city’s name comes from the rapids in Miles Canyon that reminded the former prospectors of the fluttering mane of a white horse. Schwatka Lake reservoir permanently increased water level in the canyon and made the rapids disappear. But it is still an experience to look from the small suspension bridge how Yukon River’s forest green waters squeeze through the dark red-brown vertical rock faces.

Schwatka Lake dam causes a completely different problem: It obstructs salmon migration. To surmount the 20 m height difference the world’s longest wooden fish ladder with 165 m – that’s what is said – was built. As soon as the fishes enter the ladder the constant contercurrent encourages them to continue swimming. Windows were set in the side panel of the fish ladder not only to allow visitors to glance at the upstream moving salmon. Closing some bars the animals are caught for few minutes to identify and count them.

We are following Alaska Hwy south to Jakes Corner, where we are heading into 100 km long Atlin dead end. Atlin Lake is British Columbia’s largest natural lake and known for its beautiful scenery. In Atlin town adjoin another 24 km unpaved lake road. Right before it ends, between 2^nd and 3^rd recreational area, you find on your left hand side the Public Warm Springs that rise from a shallow natural pond. The water is warm with nearly 30°C, but with 8° outside even Joerg’s enthusiasm for a bath is limited. It isn’t good for more than the legs.

Midnight Dome is a 1,887 m high mountain rising behind Dawson City. Via Dome Road you reach a view point 600 m above the town, from where you can see Yukon and Klondike River meeting as well as the damages more than 100 years of digging for gold have left. Gold rush has begun in 1896 when George Carmack has found a gold nugget – there are different stories – but did last only few years. Its peak was soon reached in 1900, when 34,000 tons of gold were washed by hand. That was very hard work due to strong winters, and permafrost had to be thawed first. Even after the first wooden gold dredges arrived, those production numbers were never reached again. Nowadays, in the average 2,200 tons are still produced per year. That’s the official number, at least. All together gold worth more than one billion Dollars was found.

North America’s largest wooden gold dredge, Dredge # 4, can be visited with a guided tour just outside town at Bonanza Creek. Around there you still find many active gold mines. A lot of old stuff like machines and cars, older than most of us, can be found there. Nobody disposes of them. At a plot at Klondike River we are meeting Walter, born in 1937, in Dawson since 1957. A real gold digger. He has got so many old German cars like Unimog, Mercedes, Volkswagen, a BMW and a Moto Guzzi motorbike with sidecars. Nothing works any more; they haven’t been used for ages. “I don’t have time to repair them”, Walter means. Could the reason be all those empty two litres red wine bottles and the empty red wine glass he is holding in his hand when meeting us at four in the afternoon?

Dawson City seems to be a relic from the past. The old wood houses were refurbished and painted in bright colours. Roads aren’t paved; the sidewalks are made from wood. When at Diamond Tooth Gertie’s Gambling Hall Casino revue girls in original costumes swing their legs when dancing can-can, you think you are back to the 19^th century. By the way: Diamond Tooth Gertie really existed. The nightclub girl was very successful and became rich together with some gold diggers. She pinched a diamond between her incisors.

The motorhome is standing with warning flashers on the roadside. Two guys are a bit helplessly watching their burst tyre. They are two Canadians with a rental pick-up with cabin whom we met a couple of times since Inuvik. Actually we agreed at lunchtime “See ya’ in Dawson“, but now, 200 km earlier we stop to assist them with their breakdown. Their emergency manual requests to call the rental station in case of a puncture. I assume this to be a good joke (Mobile phone at Dempster?), but one of the guys has got an ancient huge satellite phone, is catching a satellite and getting reception. The result of the phone call was well predictable: They are requested to better change the tyre themselves. The other Canadian guy is taking his rifle, charging and cocking it – there are so many bears around, he means. I try to imagine how a grizzly is raiding four humans to pinch their spare wheel. Really dangerous area here. Of course, a thunderstorm is starting right now. Joerg is changing the tyre, and in return we may shoot with the rifle some trees to death. One of my favourite activities.

The land in front of Dawson is damaged and far away from scaring over. Every, really every stone was put upside down to look for gold. Gravel and stones as far as you can see. Still today landscape murder is continued. Mountains are pulled down in hope to find a grain of the precious metal. The remnants of the mountains are carelessly tipped out into the nature then.

Arriving in Dawson City, the information centre clerk is confirming, what other travellers tell us since days: The Taylor Highway in Alaska, connection route to the Top of the World Hwy, is closed due to wash-outs. It was closed for ten days, passable for a couple of days, and closed again after new heavy rainfalls. There is no detour except many hundreds of kilometres back to Alaska Hwy. We aren’t in a hurry; we want to see Dawson first.

The snow-white igloo church is the best-known attraction in town. The Our Lady of Victory Church was built from 1958 to 1960 to represent the culture of the North. The Catholic Church was the first building in igloo shape not made from snow. Since there was no way to put it on piles, a deep gravel bed was made with a concrete bowl inside. The round wood building rests only on the edges of the bowl and has got a double wall to allow the cold air from the bowl to circulate upwards and escape. Take a tour with sister Maryjo or one of her colleagues through the church where you can go up into the roof.

One lane of Dempster highway is said to be open, so we are leaving Inuvik. The ferry has got problems to pass the river, whole trees are drifting downstream. Later we’ll get to know that just ten minutes past us the ferry stopped working and the road was closed again! How lucky we are!

Dempster Highway crosses untouched deserted nature – animals’ paradise. But critters are not easy to discover since they are not used to civilisation and timid. The luck is still with us: Numberless caribous are crossing our way, as well as an arctic fox and a pine marten. A deeply dark grizzly bear with a pretty good amount of winter flab is enjoying its berries beside the road. Nothing can disturb it. As we are settling down for the night at the Arctic Circle parking lot, the fur of another blond grizzly is flashing in the sunlight. We are able to watch the beast for hours, just shovelling the berries. I decide not to want to harvest berries today and leave them to the bears. I have a generous day, and they need the fruits for their hibernation more than I do. We are sitting in the sunshine until 1:30 in the morning. What a night!

Weather is still cruel – dark and rainy. A second complimentary ferry is taking us over Mackenzie River. After another 130 km we are finishing Dempster Highway and are reaching Inuvik. At Western Arctic Regional Visitor Center we are getting to know that the road was closed behind us again and that we are stuck here. No matters, we want to visit town first and tomorrow is another day. At the gas station we are for the first time getting in contact with Inuvik prices. We skip fuelling for 1,45 $/litre. At the grocery, one litre milk is four, five Dollars, a 1-l-glass pickles is nine Dollars and a whole wheat toast 6.50 $. Fresh food is rare and expensive, meat and bread is available mainly frozen. Food is stored in huge refrigerator and freezer houses. Supply is brought by ship as long as Beaufort Sea doesn’t freeze, by plane, and by truck when Dempster Highway is open. In summer you cross the two rivers on a ferry, in winter you drive over the ice. But two times a year traffic stops when the ice isn’t thick enough, but the ferry can’t go – in autumn for around two, in spring for one month. Then prices rocket in hours.

Inuvik is a neat, proper town with colourful wood houses and 3,500 inhabitants, mostly Inuit, Indians, and Whites. Building on permafrost is very difficult. Soil in Inuvik is constantly frozen between 90 and 300 cm, and only the upper layer thaws and freezes during seasons and lifts the soil. To prevent buildings from destruction they have to rest on piles, deeply anchored in the permafrost. There has to be a distance between ground surface and house floor to allow heat from the building to disappear. But of course, there is the other Inuvik as well with seedy cabins and an above-average number of people under the influence of alcohol – concededly of all skin colours.

At night we are going a couple of kilometres outside Inuvik to a pick-nick area where even complimentary firewood is available. Many locals harvest blueberries and cloudberries here. Men protect their harvesting wives with rifles or axes. Two women walk at least with a bear bell. They tell me they never saw a grizzly while collecting berries, but you never know…

At 1:42 a.m. sun is finally setting in Inuvik – and we can see it! It will be for few hours only, sunrise will be at 4:17 a.m. some degrees further east, but daylight stays with us all the time.

If you believe Canadians and tour guide books Canada has super summer weather. It has 30°, even in Yukon, and there is very little rain. Really! In the last days it rained at least once per hour, interrupted from short cloud-free periods with sunshine. Today it is raining since hours, the thermometer doesn’t’ even reach 7°C. Probably no summer day. Just accidentally. The tundra landscape is fantastic anyway. High valleys, hills and mountains are completely overgrown with low brush and grasses. Clear creeks wind in-between, getting a red-brown colour from iron oxide. They flow to Ogilvie River that accompanies the road for a while and grows constantly. The loveliness of the landscape is misleading: You can’t put one foot beside the road without sinking to your knees in the swamp. The non-frozen part of the permafrost ground acts like a sponge. Below 1000 m you will find trees again, if you want to call them so. The cute conifers are neither high nor thick and consist mostly of a thin black trunk. On the outside a few thin needles are arranged from top to toe. The trees do not widen downwards and look like outsized pipe cleaners. Rainfalls are filling the plains more and more, trees seem to grow out of lakes. The river beside the road is coming frighteningly close. It got an enormous speed and is building up waves of likely one meter. From the slopes beside the road falling rocks and landslides are coming down. Waterfalls are building up, flooding the road and starting to wash it away. Some parts of the road have already broken out. We are catching a moment with less rain for a photo at the absolutely beautiful bird-eye’s view from Ogilvie Ridge Viewpoint. A Swiss guy from Alaska is informing us that the road has been closed due to wash-outs yesterday, but we have been lucky to pass.

Road condition is getting worse. The surface is slowly exchanging to soft soap and deep ruts are wearing out. The trip becomes a mudbath. I’ve never seen so many so dirty cars. Next we are driving into the clouds, even we aren’t that high. We are in the middle of the rainclouds now and are having fog and rain at the same time, that’s really rising our mood. It is cold, it is wet, and we can’t see anything.

At kilometre 406 we reach 66°33’ northern latitude: the Arctic Circle. From here on we are driving in the Arctic. That’s not only an imaginary line, vegetation changes immediately. Big areas are covered with yellow-green grass, and less trees, bushes, and even “pipe cleaner firs” grow until they disappear nearly entirely. The road is built on a three metres thick insulating gravel layer above the permafrost. When discovering the Richardson Mountains we are crossing the border to North West Territories. There is suddenly a wild run on the left. We found a part of the huge Porcupine Caribou Herd that lives up here in the North. We are descending from 500 m elevation to nearly sea level to cross Peel Rivers by complimentary ferry. At midnight, rain is stopping and clouds are diminishing. It hasn’t been so bright for the whole day.

Yesterday evening we have left Klondike Highway at Stewart Crossing for a short, 250 km long excursion. On the Silver Trail we are going via Mayo and Elsa to Keno. Until 1989 one of North America’s largest silver mines were run there. After the price for silvers has dropped and the mine was closed, Mayo lost all its economical importance. It was worse for Elsa and Keno, nowadays just a handful people live there, the villages became ghost towns. Keno’s museum reports of better days. Highlight of the trip is a drive up to Keno Hill over a steep, narrow, ten kilometres long gravel road. It is suitable for most cars except bigger motorhomes and trailers. The path zigzags up to the 1,849 m high mountain. The peak awaits you with a terrific view and another well-known photo subject: The sign post, a road sign with direction and distance information to all the big cities of the world. It has only 8° up here, so we are getting our lunch in the cabin. Through the closed mosquito net door we are watching two marmots. One of them is approaching the Unimog watchfully but steadily. At the right rear tire it disappears under the car. Suddenly a rattle. What is the beast doing? It is clattering again and again. The marmot must be investigating our bucket that hangs under the car. Before we start we are making sure that we are not transporting a blind passenger.

On the way back we take the loop from Keno via Duncan Creek Road to Mayo. The old, original Silver Trail is narrow and not in the best condition, but a funny “off-road” drive on-road. Back to Klondike Highway we turn into Dempster Highway 40 km in front of Dawson City. 740 km to Inuvik. This route is a must for travellers seeking the typical loneliness of Canada’s North. Only beginning and end are paved for a couple of kilometres, the rest is dirt road. Dempster Highway is the only road in Canada crossing the Arctic Circle. It was opened in 1979 after 20 years of construction. Constant erosion due to extreme climate conditions still cause problems and needs constant maintenance.

Sergeant William Dempster (1876 – 1964) after whom the highway was named, worked 37 years for the North West Mounted Police in Yukon. Patrols and mail service were standard from 1904 on and were maintained throughout the winter months. Dempster early made a name for himself. He covered the 770 km long dog slide trail not only more often than all his colleagues, he managed in a record time of 14 instead of 20 to 25 days in the average. After weeks of searching he recovered in March 1911 the bodies of a patrol that has been lost in December the year before, he got the order to improve safety of the trail. In the following winters he marked the route and built emergency shelters. The Lost Patrol lies still buried in Fort McPherson where they were found.

The road that mainly follows the old Indian and dog-slide trail goes higher and higher through Ogilvie Mountains. After 75 km you have an incredible view from Tombstone Mountain View Point over mountains and valleys. A few kilometres further you cross North Fork Pass, with 1300 m the highest point of the road and in these latitudes high above tree line. The high plateau and the surrounding soft mountains are grown over with grass and low brush, in-between flower fields are blooming, and brooks and ponds are sparkling in the sunlight. A lovely landscape that might be a bit deceptive. Leaving the highway you have to take care where to go; there is swamp everywhere and you might sink in. A red fox is sneaking along Arminius, and a hare is lolloping behind him to maybe tell him good night.

In the morning upon departure the first shock: We are locked in! Yesterday night we went for sleeping to a gravel pit we pretended to be unused. The gate has been open. We have heard a car stopping there this morning, but there was nothing we could have done. And now that! I am already thinking with which tools I could free us. With the axe? Perhaps with the machete? Or does Joerg have to assemble his chain saw that is somewhere stored in parts? All the excitement was for nothing. The gate is closed, but not locked.

Today’s rain changes the gravel road into a muddy track. Campbell Highway winds its way through the two mountain chains and crosses a number of rivers and brooks. I am glad about the rain in view of many forest fire areas. Just before the highway ends we meet Yukon River. It impresses us from the first moment on. It is green, wide, and fast. The mighty river has created a whole labyrinth of side branches and big wooded islands. In Carmacks we are reaching Klondike Highway. There is nothing than a gas station with acceptable prices and an astonishing well-ranged supermarket. A few kilometres north it’s worth to stop at the Five-Finger-Rapids. From above, they don’t look so dangerous, but many gold miners have died in the rapids on their way to Dawson City. Even the shuffle boats later on really had problems with them.

The bison bulls already came down from their northern territories to mate with the cows. Still they are peacefully resting on the slopes on the other side of the ditch, breathing so hard that it steams from their nostrils and shake their head from left to right. Such a bull, up to nearly one ton heavy, accepts humans relatively close to him. He patiently lifts his head or sometimes his feet to give more action to the photos.

Contact Creek is the site where both of the construction teams of the Alaska Highway met and connected it with a bridge. The gas station here has the cheapest fuel, and many cars are lining up. 70 km further we are crossing the border to Yukon, one of three Canadian territories. Territories don’t have the same self-governmental rights as provinces do. In Watson Lake is the famous sign-post forest. During construction of Alaska Highway homesick soldier Carl K. Lindley from Illinois posted a sign of his village Danville and animated thousands of other travellers to emulate him. In the meanwhile around 65,000 signs from all over the world are fixed. Since this afternoon, the village of Osterhausen, district Mansfeld-Suedharz, federal state Sachsen-Anhalt, Germany, is among them. Just beside we fixed the sign from welder Melvin from Capstick, Cape Breton Island, who had asked us for this favour.

In Watson Lake we are turning right to Robert Campbell Highway, named after a fur trader of the 19^th century who discovered a canoe route through Yukon Territory. The road follows a valley between two mountain ranges. The scenery of the surrounding mountains, rivers and lakes, forest tundra, grasses and blooming flowers is very pretty. The gravel road is sometimes not wider than a better forest path, but partially already extended. Generally the highway is good for cars and motorhomes, but make sure to get updated information about road conditions.

Alaska Highway is beautiful to drive. The road is curvy and hilly in the northern Rocky Mountains. A very nice part is the highway following the shore of copper oxide dyed blue-green Muncho Lake. We see a black bear today, two caribous, a couple of mountain goats and seven moose, among them a mother with fawn and two bucks with already impressively grown antlers. At 7:30 p.m. we reach Liard Hot Springs. The hot sulphur springs are legendary since they are situated in the middle of the forest and their pools have been kept more or less naturally. Many truckers take a bath here; they recommended us to stop at this point. Follow a boardwalk through the warm swamps in the woods where ample nearly subtropical vegetation grows. We are so late that the rangers let us pass without paying the 5 $ entrance fee. The campground at the springs is mostly full, but it is allowed to overnight at the no-fee parking lot on the other side of the road. There are two pools. The second one is three metres deep and shall have 42°C. While swimming we are overheating quickly and want to try the first pool. I can’t imagine the temperature of 58°C it is said to have is correct. But maybe it is. This pool chain is shallow and you can walk around. The sulphur water is hot, and in some spots it wells unexpectedly from the bottom so that you jump backwards because you nearly scald yourself. There is a spot you can only reach when walking through the area where the very hot water comes out. Brave ones have built a stone man there and everybody who reaches this place puts another stone, accompanied by the applause of the watchers. The secret shall be to move continuously. The first time it works very well, but without camera. We have to repeat the procedure to get a photo of evidence. Unfortunately the water stream changed somehow and I return with legs red like a boiled lobster.

Udo and Ursel from Germany breed cattle in a settlement area that is fittingly called Bonanza. They’ve discovered us yesterday night at the river and invited us to visit their ranch. They came in 1986 to have a big farm. Nowadays they own about 120 cows, nearly the same number of calves, and a couple of bulls. They diminished the amount of cattle after their children left the house and only the two of them run the farm. They don’t officially produce “organic” beef, but they run the farm ecologically. It works without spray and fertilizer, they mean. Only the grasshoppers cause them problems. They eat so much grass there’s nothing left for the cattle. But against the locust that show up every few years there is not much to do. A main problem in this area is lack of water. This is nearly unthinkable in the land of two million lakes. There a few swamps on the plot, but all what is not swampy quickly dries out. The harvest yield is bad, sometimes there isn’t even enough for the cows. Rainfall is weak in summer, there is nearly no ground water and therefore no wells. A cow drinks 70 to 80 litres of water per day, on warm days or in winter when she eats hay even more. Water has to be collected from thaw in artificial ponds. When there is enough precipitation cattle has to eat snow in winter. Ursel and Udo don’t want to let us go without lunch. They have homemade game salami and game liver sausage as well as home-baked bread.

Then we finally leave Alberta and ride for a couple of hundreds if kilometres in British Columbia, Canada’s most western province. A small but sturdy tornado is sucking dust from the ditch and shaking Arminius. In Dawson Creek the legendary Alaska Highway begins. The starting point, Mile Zero, is marked by a monument. The road was built in 1942 in only six months due to strategic reasons; later on it was redeveloped several times and even partially moved what caused abridging. Today the track is completely paved and isn’t even a challenge for the numerous motorhomes in summer. Alaska Highway is today only 2230 km instead of 2288 km long. For the moment we will just join a part of it and the rest later respectively on our way back from Alaska to the south. We go first to the north of Canada to Inuvik.

A black bear is eating fervently clover in the ditch. There is nothing to disturb it: No trucks, no squealing brakes, nor clattering car doors, not even a curious human couple making pictures in front of its nose. The bear is grazing like a hungry cow that didn’t get food for three days. It looks very healthy; its black fur is shining. The following moose, the foxes and the deer don’t look worse, as well as the next two black bears that only get a stroke in our statistics.

2900 km to Inuvik. A beating argument to get on the road again. The sky above the prairie is wide; again and again white clouds are piling up into the blue. Canola is blooming yellow, but it is very low. It is already middle July. The measly meadow is maybe 30 cm high but already bleaching. Not a good harvest this year. On the left hand side a domesticated bison herd is grazing peacefully. Our bison demand is met since Archie’s neighbours, bison breeders, well stocked us. Ten more kilos bison steaks are plugging our fridge and freezer.

Peace River is one of these rivers that, invisibly from far, pestered into the prairie before ages – a welcome change in prairie monotony. In the town Peace River the No Frills Supermarket behind Canadian Tire is a good bid. There are good fruit and vegetable varieties and most articles are cheaper than in other supermarkets around.

A dreamlike lonely gravel road is leading us in the evening another time steeply down into the valley. We find a site at the really peaceful but fast flowing river and are enjoying nature and loneliness. Not for long. Nature stays, loneliness goes. The half-moon is setting on the opposite bank and is mirroring in the river water. A couple of coyotes are barking clearly and howling. We probably aren’t that lonely.

We are going playing in the woods today. That is somehow like children doing, but toys are bigger. We are going with one of Archie’s Hägglunds into the mountains, his brother Ron with wife Helen are bringing their own, with it a lot of solid and liquid catering to survive the strenuous day. Hägglunds are double-cabin caterpillar vehicles from the Swedish army that after rejection, restoring, and technical improvement are usually used in difficult terrain where otherwise only helicopters have access. It’s a kind of tank driving, just not armed. In Canada, Alaska or Russia Hägglunds are used for instance for control and maintenance of oil and gas pipelines, but for hunting, getting wood, or simply for fun as well. Archie is one of the main dealers for Hägglunds in Canada. We are starting on an ordinary gravel road, taking a forest path then and stepping up to a cross-woods drive. You just drive through rivers. If a pond is accidentally too deep, no matter, the thing swims as well. The amphibian vehicle is also driven by its tracks in the water. Only once a brook has carved too deep into its bed and created a cliff that seems to be invincible even for a tracked vehicle. A couple of logs remedy things and fill the brook bed to make a kind of bridge. You simply driver over laying logs; standing birches up to four, five metres height aren’t a problem at all, you take them in the middle and drive them over. In the rare event that a taller specimen inevitably blocks the way a chainsaw helps. Probably there are still enough trees left in Canada, but possibly we are leaving a lane of devastation. From now on I will include the god of the trees to my evening prayer. We are dismaying a deer without purpose, startling a couple of grouse and chasing away two clover eating black bears. We don’t see other animals today; no wonder due to the noise me are making. For today, this doesn’t matter.

At midnight, the last evening glow is fluttering over the sky like our campfire that’s going out. The North is calling.

For the second time we are missing a mega party. After Calgary Stampede we are loosing Edmonton’s Capital EX as well. Stampede is said to be the world’s biggest outdoor event (again one of Canada’s beloved superlatives) and attracts up to 1.2 Million visitors. The entrance fees of the monster rodeo are superlative as well. After waiting a week for Arminius to be repaired we didn’t want to spend more time. We left Calgary on Wednesday morning while Stampede started on Friday. For Capital Ex we are a week too early. I wanted to see the spectacular RCMP Musical Ride where you can see Mounties in their parade uniform. Instead we are saying good-bye to the guys of Prestige Auto Repair. Al is putting a bison roast into our hands with important advices how to cook it. Then we are on our way through the prairie that didn’t gain excitement in the meantime. Flat land with meadows and forests, a road without curves, from time to time some canola and wheat fields, a couple of rivers and lakes. Slave lake is final destination today. Archie and Torrie have a beautiful lake plot there and an “entertainment center” called annex with a terrace where the most tender and moist AAA Alberta beef is prepared in a smoker that we ever ate. In the night, little lake waves are lulling us into sleep.

This morning our parcel is arriving that we were expecting so urgently. There are two taps from Germany inside to replace our cheaper leaking and dripping ones. While exchanging the faucets today we will have to hop in and out of the cabin, get the tools and store them back, put on and take off rain jacket. Weather seems to be crazy today. According to my tour guide book warm and mostly dry summer weather distinguishes Edmonton’s prairie climate. Precipitation is rare and connected to short but heavy thunderstorms. Only that in this year the rain-free periods between thunderstorms turn out pretty short.

Wal-Marts in Edmonton are quite recommendable. Grocery department is as big as in other super markets; there are even fresh fruits and vegetables. Edmonton is probably one of the last cities where you can buy food and fuel your car for quite a good price. To the North and even in British Columbia everything is expected to be more expensive. At Superstore’s gas bar we are getting diesel for 80.9 Cents plus a 5.4 Cents voucher per litre for shopping at Superstore. Seems to be worth with 400 l tank capacity.

Today, we wanna know it: We are going to West Edmonton Mall (WEM). Al lent us a car to not have parking problems. Opened in 1981 WEM is and was – allegedly – world’s largest completely roofed mall with 800 shops, 100 restaurants, six department stores, 21 cinemas including IMAX, and 58 entrances. For those needing more there is the absolute entertainment. An amusement park with world’s biggest indoor roller coaster, a water park with artificial beach, surf bath and 14 water-chutes, an all-year ice stadium, a mini-golf area, sea lion shows and shark aquarium, two hotels and many more attractions shall lure the visitor willing to spend money. Upshot? From outside the komplex is an architectonical sin. And inside it’s just a mall, not even a very beautiful one. Most modern Malls in the world’s metropolis probably do not have much less shops but are more attractive. WEM is big but not much impressive. Also the following visit of downtown that is of manageable size is not able to really win us over for Edmonton. The new mall shall be more modern; but for today we’ve got enough malls. We are going back to the outskirts to care for our purchases, but actually the whole city is a single mall. You don’t know where one ends and the other starts. Somehow everything seems a bit scruffy.

Today I’ve got squared eyes. Not from watching TV due to there is no TV, but from working on my computer. To make you watching pictures and reading articles. The weather doesn’t encourage to any outdoor activity anyway.

In the very early morning a thunderstorm is starting. Also in the following hours we hear again and again rolls of thunder and scatters pelting down. Not a good day for a hike above the tree-line. It is chilly, even in 1500 m elevation it is just above zero, you’ll get soaked and above tree-line you don’t want to repel flashes like a magnet. We are cancelling the hike to Sulphur Skyline. We are driving the few kilometres up to Miette Springs anyway, the actual trail start. Clouds are hanging so deep to entangle in the treetops. Scatters are accelerating to strong continuous rain, there is even hail. Miette Hotsprings are sulphur containing thermal springs, the hottest in the Rockies. Not astonishing on a day like that and a glance over the parking lot is revealing: There are too many people in a single tub. I’ relinquishing.

We are leaving the park to the east, direction Edmonton. You can safely mark up the drive as “boring”. We are going through a plane, slightly hilly prairie landscape of meadows, just interrupted by few forests and canola fields. Edmonton is capital and second largest city of Alberta with 730,000 inhabitants in city area. In the beginning of the 19^th century the town came from branches of the two big fur trade companies and profited in the end of the decade by the Klondike gold rush. Later on Edmonton continuously developed as traffic junction in western Canada and province’s capital.

Now we stand here in 10° and ugly continuous rain penned in a barbed wire fenced area, surrounded by many different Mercedes Benz models of many different years of manufacture, and a couple of Hägglunds caterpillar vehicles. It is the plot of Prestige Auto Repair, and that belongs to Al. Al deals with Mercedes and repairs them. He owns one of the Canadian agencies of Hellgeth Engineering in Germany that have adapted our Unimog. No, we don’t want to try curing Arminius again. But Hellgeths brought us in contact with Al; he warmly welcomed us and allowed us to camp on his fenced company plot to remain undisturbed. Well, then: Good night!