Number 5, What's in a number?

What makes number five so special to the Dorias?  Sutton was able to have it in 15, Burke was lucky enough to have it all four years, Levi started with it, then had 38 (8-3=5), then he got it back, Carlisle had it.  I think we actually have more 6s and 8s in our lives than we do fives.  We are a family of 6.  There are three 8s and two 6s in our phone number, two 6s in our street address, two 8s on my car license plate, so why 5?  I clapped my hands a few months ago when Levi and Joanna received their new VT phone number and it contained a 5. It had two 6s, but the fact that it had one 5, made it a good number to have.  And, their getting married in May, the fifth month of the year, that had to be lucky. And, their post office box is 75!  Five has always seemed more perfect, more desirable, even luckier despite being odd. 

This was our fifth drive to Alaska. Right around five thousand miles to our cabin in Talkeetna, there it is again, another 5.  For nine days, and over four thousand miles all had gone smoothly.  We are always prepared for a break down, but have never had so much as a flat.  Leaving the Kluane region and heading for the Alaska border, Bucky and I spoke of perhaps even getting to Talkeetna on the ninth day, a feat equal to last summer.  It would be very late, but we could do it, when suddenly,
"Did you hear that?"
I had heard it, something like metal hitting the pavement.  Definitely not a good sound.
Bucky was quick to pull to the gravel shoulder and upon inspection there was no doubt as to where the sound originated.

We had no choice but to leave the trailer on the side of the road and drive the Hawk to the nearest town, Beaver Creek, YK, about 20 miles ahead.  Despite its small size, Beaver Creek has a Westmark Inn to accommodate tour buses as well as a nightclub called, Buckshot Annie's.  What was more helpful to us, was Far West Auto, a service center manned by Walter, 88 years young and his son-in-law, Carl, both with years of experience helping folks in need like us.

Walter was able to weld the tongue of the trailer, bringing it back to its original strength.  By stopping quickly, it had not broken all the way through.  Bucky and I felt incredibly fortunate that this happened when and where it did, We spent just a little over two hours at Far West and some of that time was while Walter went to lunch!

                                                        88 years young, with a story of his own

Bucky, Fisher and I were so happy to be back under way.  The border now lay less than 50 miles north.  It shouldn't be long now.  The further north we headed, the poorer the highway became.  The huge rollers caused by perma-frost were a bit better than last summer, but despite Bucky's keen eye, looking well ahead and at times taking the oncoming lane, there was just no avoiding the quick up and down of these huge frost heaves.  I was busy planning how to position Fisher and I for our picture in front of the Welcome to Alaska sign.

                                   Fisher is distracted by another dog coming for its photo op.

Finally, number 5, five trips across the US and a good portion of Canada and we're in Alaska.  Now, if we can be so lucky as to finish strong and most importantly safely. 

Alaska's roads are constantly under repair in the summer.  Pilot cars are used to guide large strings of traffic from one end of the construction to the other.  The wait for a pilot car can often be quite long, up to 30 minutes.  Bucky is forever shutting the RV down, getting out of his seat and heading back to the bathroom, leaving me to fret that I might have to actually get behind the wheel and pilot the Hawk behind the pilot car! 

It was after having passed through US customs, and not far from Tok, the first major town after entering AK, that Bucky again pulled quickly to the shoulder.

"What happened!", I asked.

"We blew a tire on the trailer."

By carefully monitoring the side mirrors, Bucky had seen the tire explode and the rubber fly.  Sitting on a very dangerous stretch of highway with huge trucks thundering by, was not the best place to change a roadside flat.  Within minutes, perhaps only 1 minute, a father and his son stopped to help.  With flashers on and the Dad flagging people to slow down, Bucky and the son were able to get the tire changed.  The son was on his way to Kodiak to the Air Force Base after having been stationed in Charleston, SC. I thought, quite a climate change!  Despite offering maple syrup, bottles of booze, and money, there was no way these two good Samaritans would take anything from us.  We were quickly able to pay it forward outside the small village of Christochina.  Here, we saw a young native woman with her thumb out walking the shoulder, her Jeep with a flat tire off to the side.  She hopped into the copilot seat and seemed to enjoy the attention that Fisher immediately gave her.  I felt badly that she wore black pants.  They were covered in white hair when she got out to leave.  We dropped her at her work, a brand new clinic, for the native residents of Christochina.  She told us that she drove each day from Nebesna to work at the clinic, a 45 mile trip one way.  It felt good to be able to help.

Despite the mishaps we experienced, I would like to think that 5 is still lucky.

Mile Zero

The Alaskan Highway begins in Dawson Creek BC, a bustling prairie town.  The highway ends in Delta Junction, Alaska.  You can read more in the archives, "Part 2, Alaska, Wow, How Long Will That Take?"  Bucky and I rally when we reach this part of our trip because cities are left behind and the wildlife viewing picks up.

 This cow and calf were quick to leave the wonderful green grass they were munching when we slowed to try for a picture.  Young moose are often targets for bears so they stay close to their mothers. 

The first part of the highway is focused on oil and gas exploration with oil field camps off on gravel side roads.  Occasionally, there will be an open camp providing lodging for oil workers traveling to or from the fields.

 

It's a long road, sometimes straight, sometimes curvy, mostly paved but sometimes covered with chip seal which appears as gravel. It is like tar with stones placed on top which turns into a hard surface after traveled upon.  This process takes time and can be very dusty until the loose stones are embedded or bounced aside.

 

Seeing Black Bears feeding on new grass is a common sight.  Getting one to lift its head away from feeding, to allow for a good shot, does not often happen.  We can pull to the shoulder and sit, viewing bears for a long time without them ever lifting their heads to look at us.

Relics along the road include motels and service centers needed by travelers when the road first opened to the public in 1948.  Travelers on the then gravel AK Highway, needed food, lodging, fuel and vehicle repair services.  Now, as more and more people travel this paved highway in fast cars or in modern self -contained RVs like ours there is little need to stop.  More modern service centers are available, but they are many miles apart.
 

Stone Mountain Provincial Park always provides us with Stone Sheep to look at.  They are usually noticed standing majestically against the sky on top of the rocky cliffs in which they live.

 

When not looking down curiously from their high perch, they can be found walking dangerously in the middle of this very narrow road winding along the base of the rocky hills.  They spend time licking the pavement enjoying the minerals or whatever it is that they find there.

Fisher's eyes lit up when she saw this delicate morsel!  We spent quite a lot of time pulled onto the shoulder of the road, craning our necks watching these very nimble animals.  Little guys like this one, make it hard to move on.  We were unable to capture a decent shot of the large ram that we saw standing above the others and never venturing near the highway.  His horns were heavy and well curled.

 

 



From sheep viewing to Bison.  We saw herds of Bison laying in dust bowls and in the grass along the highway.  They appeared to be in heavy slumber brought on by the unusual heat found here for this time of year.  The temperatures were in the high eighties which had us running our AC to keep us comfortable and to keep Fisher from panting and subsequently drooling on our shoulders, a most unpleasant feeling !

 

Watson Lake is known for its Signpost Forest which makes for interesting viewing.

 

 

 

Leaving Watson Lake we entered Muncho Lake Provincial Park with its incredible scenery.

 

 

The wildflowers growing along the roadside make the shoulders appear carpeted in color.

Kluane Lake surrounded by snow covered high peaks makes this part of the Yukon as beautiful as any we have seen.  Kluane Lake is the largest lake in the Yukon, but is not a great fishery.

 

 

                                                                         Kluane Lake

 

Yet another head hanging bear more focused on eating than having his picture taken.

 

 

I love this old cabin that we pass each year, particularly the sod roof.

 

At the end of Kluane Lake we were met with a stretch of very rough road.  Here where permafrost exists, the road rises up and down in huge heaves.  We pass by several small hamlets before reaching the larger although still very small town of Beaver Creek.  This trip we would to get to know this town in an unexpected way!  (to be continued) 

 

A Boat or About

Calm before the storm




                                                            A peaceful scene outside of High River, Alberta

 

The view through my camera's viewfinder is one of water everywhere.  Parked cars and trucks up to their roofs in water, cement trucks almost covered and stacked cement culverts performing their jobs while still in the cement yard. 

 

 

 

 

 

 I can't stop clicking as each turn in the road shows more destruction brought on by the rushing waters of the High, Bow and Elbow Rivers, near Calgary, Alberta.  The radio says the river will not crest until noon and that the people of Calgary have pioneer spirits and are resilient.

 

Our crossing into Canada went surprisingly well.  In the past we had worried about having an apple or an orange on board, now there were guns, ammo and our tag along friend .  Bucky's worry that we might be inspected and need to unwrap our carefully wrapped trailer were unnecessary.  Nothing was asked about its contents.  It was also unnecessary to worry about any Vodka that may have been cleverly stored in gallon water jugs, a past stunt that would be just too risky now a days.  Today, we sat slightly beneath the border crossing window, three pairs of eyes looking up as a large smile crossed the border guard's face.   Fisher sat quiet and attentive between Bucky and I , possibly a learned response from getting a biscuit at the bank drive through.  Our papers were reviewed. 

"Who trained this dog?", asked the inspector.

Neither Bucky nor I commented, although knowing that it was Carlisle and I who had taken Fisher to Hand 'n Paw Obedience School.  While there, we were both amazed by her proficiency.  She quickly and effortlessly mastered each command, and when finished, asssumed a look of boredom and distaste for a fellow classmate, a loud Norwegian Elkhund, who required "extra help" learning the simplest of commands.  Empathy has never been a strength of Fisher's.

"She is so quiet", continued the inspector.

Bucky and I both commented on her noticeable lack of barking, a howl now and then, but rarely a full fledged bark.  We were appreciative of this at this particular moment. but could clearly remember a time when a small bark would have saved much time and energy. 

Carlisle had suggested that we exercise Fisher by running her attached to the 4 wheeler as neither of us are much for jogging.  So, one summer night, just before dark, Bucky hitched her to the handle bars and set off.  Without warning, as if posessed by the devil, Fisher left the road, sending both Bucky and the 4 wheeler into the ditch.  She was gone, dragging her length of rope with her.  Bucky returned to the house for his head lamp and began his search.  Calling her name as he went, he headed in the direction where he had last seen her bushy white tail disappear into the night.  When he did find her, it was only by luck as his head lamp hit upon her eyes in the darkness.  There she sat, quiet as a mouse, wound tightly around a maple tree.
 

The inspector went on to tell of his dislike of yappy "travel" dogs, leaning out from the driver's window, barking loudly making it impossible for him to converse with the occupants of the vehicle.  With this said, our papers were returned to us and we quietly drove into Alberta.  When out of sight, I walked to the back of the Hawk and took a treasured Beggin Strip from its pouch and handed it to a quietly waiting Fisher. 

 

Moving up the highway we pass High River, Alberta where the High River (hmmm) has left her banks leading to an evacuation of the town by helicopter and, what else, but farm combines.  Two confirmed dead.

Outside of Calgary, I click pictures madly as we pass the Bow River with her nonexistent banks.  The radio says that not since 2005 has anything like this been seen. 

                                                       A deer lies stranded on a watery island.

 

 

Traffic is crawling along and most exits into the city are closed.  I mention to Bucky the dedication of these Canadians to be heading into work when the city is in such a state.  As we crawl along, a pleasant looking man in a white pick-up pulls up next to us and lowers his window.
"You should have brought a boat !"  A comment clearly referring to the trailer we're dragging but one to which Bucky would like to respond, "About what?"  (I guess you really had to be there) 
He speaks of having never seen anything like this in all the years that he has lived in Calgary.  Memorial Drive running through the heart of the city is flooded, over 100,000 people already evacuated, the Stampede grounds underwater with the Calgary Stampede less than two weeks away.  The radio warns people to stay home and not to go into the city.  Restaurants are offering free meals to those in need and the people of surrounding towns are offering rooms to those in need.  I watch as the white pick-up speeds away as traffic starts moving and notice cars looking boat like exiting, heading for downtown.

                                                                        Forlorn and stranded

 

 

 

Heading into Calgary !



Montana

Today finds us traveling from Billings to Great Falls, MT.  From there we will cross into Canada at the very small border of Sweet Grass, Montana.  The drive between these two cities gives us a chance to see the many faces of Montana.  We chose to leave the bigger highway and to travel instead N on rt 87, W on rt 12, then N again on rt 89 through the Little Belt Mountains and Lewis and Clark National Forest.

This route provides us with everything Montana has to offer, gorgeous ranchland, beautiful cattle and grasses.

I'm hoping that I will soon be able to post some wildlife pictures.  We have seen some antelope, sandhill cranes and one small deer walking on the edge of the Missouri River in downtown Great Falls, but I was slow on the shutter.  I guess it's a good thing I wasn't a cowboy.

  I found my eye drawn to the rocky outcroppings as we climbed in elevation.

 

                                                                            

 

As we enter the Little Belt Mountains, we watch the ranch land fade into the distance.  We climb the windy road reaching Show Down Ski Area at 7500 feet.  A temperature drop from 90 degrees yesterday to a breezy 45 degrees makes the light drizzle resemble snow, causing a hasty retreat to the back of the Hawk for long pants.  Fisher lifts her nose with ears back and takes in the cold air,  reacting like a lung patient placed on oxygen.  Her pleasure is hugely apparent!  Getting her back into the Hawk requires opening the precious Begging Strips being saved for a dreaded Fisher "escape". 

 

Those of you who know me well, also know that I love all things with age to them.  This is not a recent interest brought on by by own increasing age, but rather one that I inherited from my antique obsessed folks.  It's not a bad liking, but does cause for a somewhat cluttered house!  Montana, in comparison to VT, or to the Eastern US is a relatively new state.  I'm not sure where they rank, but I do remember enough history to recall the wagon trains heading West with its many promises.  As Bucky and I rolled along, I was continually drawn to photographing the weathered structures I see.  Each seems to have a story to tell, but no voice with which to do so.  No doubt the folks living within the towns where these buildings stand could speak volumes about them.  Maybe Bucky and I need to slow down and spend some time with the folks of Broadview, Checkboard or Twodot Montana.