Evening hitching turned out to be a charm, and we got 100 miles down the road to a common hitching spot. We camped the night there in a proper final-scene-from-a-horror film abandoned cabin.
Wouldn't have been so bad if someone hadn't woken us up walking by and playing music at half one. He was just walking his dog of course, the music presumably a bear deterent, and he didn't have an axe or a hockey mask or anything. But still.
At eleven the next morning a truck pulled up. We stared confused into the cab and wondered why he'd stopped. But it actually was to pick us up, despite regulations: "I don't give a sh*t, and neither does my boss."
We travelled in his truck for thirteen hours, all the way down to Fort Nelson and into British Columbia. The trip through the Rockies was stunning- there are loads of landscape photos but in this one you get a shot of our ride.
We also started seeing loads more wildlife. We nearly hit a black bear, saw a dead moose, lots of live elk, porcupines both natural and 'au'van', and at one point the road was blocked by buffalo.
Even with the truck bonnet, its hard to appreciate how huge they are. the photo also misses the atmosphere, which was added to by our drivers scraggy little dog hurling herself wildly at the window and yelping to be allowed to go pawo-a-hoofo against this guy.
Our driver was a really interesting guy. He'd spent most of his life cowboying one way or another, so I'm sure you can all picture J's excitement and we managed to bore C to sleep talking about shoeing, bits, rodeos and whether or not Clydesdales are "all show and no go" (for the record, our lift is still wrong, and they're not.)
He'd also been a guide for big game hunting outfits, though apparently doesn't do it any more because he was too good at saying things like "you really can't shoot straight, can you?"
It's serious money up here. So many people we've met hunt- First Nationers, Alaskans, Canadians. All of them eat the animals they hunt, and in some cases its the only way to get meat, especially in the winter. They don't hang horns on the wall and they don't have a checklist of kills. It's been interesting to hear about a totally different way of life, from the people who live here. But there's another side to it. People from southern Canada and the lower 48 pay HUGE amounts of money to stay in lodges, get taken out with a guide, led to the animal, have their shot lined up with an experienced hunter stood beside them just in case, and then have the kill cut up and taken back for them (often they don't want, or can't take, the meat.)
We're talking $50,000 to kill one of these
(Which as you can see we were close enough to to HARPOON IT- C.)
People holiday in what is a way of life for some people, and seem to be consumers of places and livelihoods, rather than living them. The same goes for the RV tourists, taking hundreds of pictures by the entering The Yukon sign and not talking to anyone but hotel receptionists. Yes, we're bitter because they haven't picked us up (despite having vehicles so large that in the UK they'd have a POSTCODE- C). But our point remains valid.
We're not trying to be the smug 'we're not tourists' bunch. We're visitors here and know nothing about whats around us, and have dozens of naive questions for everyone. But that's why we want to actually learn. So far, where we've been has been shaped by a combination of geography and industry. The Alaska Pipeline stretching the length of the Dalton, reminding us why the famous highway is there at all. The Alaska Highway built in 1942 (so that if duty called North Americans could all physically charge Russia, we think), and now surrounded by mining and oil outfits. Talking to people who work on these roads and drive them all the time gives you a sense of what these places are actually like. But you can't really visit towns that are built on lives and livelihoods, not buildings and ancient history.
Ok. Ramble over. Rant, however, just coming.
At one truckstop, we came across this:
OK. Things can't just call themselves "World Famous". This is a far too often abused term and like 'revolutionary' and 'hero' humanity has forfeited the right to keep abusing them the way they have. We are taking these words away. The Taj Mahal is world famous. Uluru is world famous. This is not. Your local chip shop is not. Even the Alaska Highway is not. If people ever do think about it, (which they don't) they only think it exists on the assumption that Alaska must have at least one road in it. Then, THEN, its a HAT COLLECTION. About 100 or so trucker caps, not even all of firms to do with the highway, just trucker caps. I own one hundred books. I do not call this the 'World Famous Back of the Closet in my Mother's House Book Collection' . Because I have to look at myself in the mirror. And so should that toad. Thats all I'm saying - C
We camped near a dump (no one seemed to care) at Fort Nelson and in the morning quickly got a lift all the way to Dawson Creek. This was the end/start of the Alaska highway and we celebrated this section of our trip with the remaining Yukon beers.
One more lift took us to Chetwynd (near Macleod lake, which is funny for us and the three people reading this who will know why. Not important if you're not one of them.). The weekend before there had been Chainsaw carving competitions, which they have every year, leading to a huge collection of amazing sculptures like this:
One last ride took us all the way to Prince George. We made over 1,000 miles in about 50 hours. Not bad going for hitching. We camped last night and today have started to explore, and are hoping to meet up with a friend of a friend.
Well, we'd best go do that...
We`re perusing the map to see where you`ve got to - will have to get one on the wall I can plot with little flags. Loving the blog.
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