Serene but deadly

Pietro – un’uomo perduto alla montagna

I can’t believe it. It is horrifying, sad, incomprehensible. A young man so full of life, killed by the vagaries of weather. An aesthete who shared so many interests in common with us. A lover of art, food, wine, Italian, outdoors.

I saw Peter Noble in Italian class every week for many years, but our friendship did not go much further than that. He was among the best students. Whenever it was his turn to read aloud we had to sit up and pay attention because he would read as if Italian was his first language. He was well-read, unassuming and always present.

Peter died last weekend at Yosemite after a successful climb of Cathedral Peak. I wish I had gotten to know him better. We grieve for him.

A tranquil stretch of road. But is all as it seems?

Why are we so eager to believe the worst?

Driving along Canada Highway 16 we came across a curious and ghastly billboard that proclaimed it the Highway of Tears. Pictures of young girls, “Killer on the loose”, and the Highway number surrounded with little cartoon tears, attract the attention of the passing motorist. We stopped immediately to contemplate the happy smiling pictures of the victims whose young lives had taken such a turn and were saddened by the fact that such a tragedy could be enfolding on this beautiful, remote, and scenic road.

Its on a billboard, in two foot letters, so it must be true.

As soon as I got to my hotel room in Vanderhoof, I started my research into the subject and found that the case was much more complicated and colored with grays than black and white. The first red flag was the fact that there were five disappearances over a period of eighteen years, which got me thinking “I wonder how many people disappear on an average highway over the course of almost two decades?” I realize that one disappearance is one too many but given such a long period to time some are inevitable. On the whole good roads are a good thing but sometimes the price is exacted in human blood.

Another aspect of the case(s) is that these people are missing, so they might have met their end far from this BC location, in some distant city, town, or suburb. So many things we don’t know – were some of these girls simply escaping small town life? Parents don’t like to think that their children would flee the life they have built for them. When doubts like these begin to accumulate the data support for the serial killer premise begins to crumble…

The majestic stage for tragedy.

Why is it that we are so ready to believe the worst of people? Serial killers represent the low point of humanity and a handful of disappearances over many many years leads us to the most horrible conclusions. I am not a religious man but I believe that most people are honest, kind, and helpful. The above premise has been verified over and over during this trip. But, in the true spirit of Thomas Aquinas, I had the conclusion before I started. If I believed otherwise I would have never left my safe and comfortable home in San Francisco.

*According to the good people of Stewart, BC, the damage is the result of excessive snow-load, not avalanche. (Map this!)

Avalanche! Click on the picture for a close up of the destruction

Scenery along the Cassiar Highway

The Cassiar Highway comes with high recommendations and high expectations. But is winter the right season to drive it?

It is perfectly clear that we are here in the off-season – many shops closed for the season, inns are shuttered, gas pumps switched off. This is a harsh and remote land and coming here in the winter makes it more so. We need to be more independent, more self sufficient. Up North, by Dawson City and the Dempster the winter scenery has been spectacular and what is more, it has been clear that it NEEDS to be winter to get that imagery.

Winter colors dominate the landscape.

On the Cassiar Highway heading South, it is clear that the scenery would be better in summer. I can imagine that the numerous lakes along the road would be bright blue instead of a frozen white and the woods a verdant green instead of a dark gray. I feel like I am traveling in a black and white universe instead of a colored one. So after patting myself on the back for traveling the Dempster in winter I feel a twinge of regret for not doing the Cassiar in the summer.

The FJ looks like it belongs in a winter setting.

The first fifty miles of the Cassiar out of Watson Lake were not very scenic – nice woodsy terrain but not spectacular. At Good Hope the views improved but the driving conditions remained difficult. With our new found off-road winter driving skills we made good progress despite very slippery and icy conditions, even though the locals still blew past us at 110+ kph.

Sunset on Dease Creek.

To get a complete impression of this place it is important to come in both seasons, but with so many other places to go to in the world why come to the same place again and again? Perhaps to see another facet of an old friend or a dramatic contrast that makes it a completely new place? But we have a tendency to not revisit places we have been; as lovely as Northern Canada is, it will be a long time before we find ourselves here again…

The Igloo Church Inuvik, NWT

There is not much to do in the small hamlet of Inuvik. Going to a very invigorating mass at the Igloo Church. (Map this!)

The Peel river politely froze over so we could drive across, but the MacKenzie refused to cooperate and our forward progress was halted at Fort McPherson. We had almost given up on reaching Inuvik until a last minute call to North Wright Air secured us two seats on their British Norman Islander to Inuvik. So it has been a long drive and a wee flight.

The weather in Inuvik was a balmy two degrees Fahrenheit and the locals were overjoyed with the warm spell. Neena and I, on the other hand, turned into human ice cubes on a walk to the MacKenzie river. Indoor activities were very attractive and when we found out about the mass at the Igloo Church we jumped at the chance.

The Igloo Church is a Catholic Church and I have been grumpy with the Catholic Church since the selection of Cardinal Ratzinger as pope. His conservative philosophy and hard line positions point to a smaller, less inclusive, and more zealous church. It would seem that the Catholic church is to become, well, less catholic…

Inside the unique Igloo Church.

The deacon greeted everyone who entered with an infectious smile. The ‘choir’ was a country music ensemble belting out twangy vocals with an informal air and the entire atmosphere was so welcoming that we were immediately at ease. The deacon apologized that the priest couldn’t come and started talking about his God. His God, he said, was a voluptuous and delicious God, not one that punishes because you don’t follow some obscure and ill-defined rules. He talked about letting go of your old comfortable habits to try something new and challenging. “Climb that tree high, and look around to see where you are and where you can go”. He also quoted Nietzsche, he of the God is dead fame.

How different and wonderful the Igloo Church was compared to all those serious and dour-faced priests we listened to on the Camino Santiago. Lot of what he said resonated strongly with me since we are in the very process of taking stock of where we are and what to do next, to build our resume of life. The Catholic religion is vast, for every dour St. Augustine there is a refreshing St. Francis.

“And now the Storm-blast came; And he was tyrannous and strong” – Coleridge, “The Rhyme of the Ancient Mariner” (Map this!)

On the border between the NorthWest Territories and the Yukon lies a dangerous obstacle to the Dempster motorist…Hurricane Alley. This passage through snowy mountains seems to collect winds from all over the territory and funnel it across the road creating whiteouts and heaps of snow for the unwary. Often the reason for road closures in winter, you can see the ominous fog long before you are in it. We have heard bone chilling stories of motorists having to get out in the howling wind and bitter cold groping for the roadside markers on their hands and knees to get a sense of where the road was.
Luckily Hurricane Alley was in a mild mood when we passed by, although it did try to confound Shreesh by creating ice fog that instantly froze on contact with the windshield.

Start of the Dempster Highway

The Dempster Highway is well known for its beautiful scenery and rough driving conditions. They brave blowing snow, white-outs, ice fog, and creepy innkeepers on this stretch.

It seemed like everyone in Whitehorse had come to know that we were going to do the Dempster. And, immediately everyone was full of advice, even though I was very doubtful whether any had attemped a winter crossing. “With that car you’ll have no problems. No way you gonna make it with those tires. I go 80 kph the entire way. Go slow!! This is the fookin Arctic! I have a friend in… Hey, I love San Francisco, I was just there”.

The Arctic Circle

One can say that we drove here to do the Dempster, our first adventure on this trip. In the summer the shale highway is infamous for chewing up tires – one of the people we met takes four (!) spares with him when he goes on the Dempster. In winter the shale freezes and the chances of getting a flat go down greatly but other, more significant problems crop up. Howling winds blowing snow can swallow up a big-rig and if you slip off the road you’ll likely be waiting hours for help.

On entering the NorthWest Territories

Traveling with winter survival gear is essential. Extra food, water, warm clothing, and emergency candles to survive a night out in the arctic are carried by all prudent motorists. In addition to those we have two shovels, satellite phone, and full mountaineering down gear to keep warm.

We got on the Dempster at in total darkness at 8:30am. The first section was very slippery and the going was slow until the sun rose to illuminate the roadway so we could gauge the road conditions. Frequent brake tests further assessed the traction quality. The weather was good and we made the Hotel at Eagle Plains well before sunset.

Peel River Ice Crossing

Out of Eagle Plains the next day the conditions deteriorated quickly with blowing snow forming snow drifts that the FJ had to plow through. At the border to the Northwest Territories we were in a near white-out. Like the Saramago novel “Blindness” I felt like I had been dropped into an ocean of milk where it is hard to tell which way is up.

A new winter horror without a name greeted us – fog with super cooled droplets of water that freeze on contact with the windshield or the road. It was a fog that would have solidified into layer of ice if we hadn’t cranked the heater. So here we were, in the Arctic, and boiling in our car!

The Peel River had frozen and the Canadians had created an ice crossing. The weight limit was 3500kg, but there was no one around to check for Darwin Award candidates who would ignore this. After a tough journey we came to a warm reception from the Gwich’in government office, with warm coffee, smiles, and home-baked snacks…

Happy in Dawson

Dawson City at 64 degrees North – West Dawson and the freeze-up. (Map this!)

We are at a Greek restaurant in Dawson City, 64 degrees North. Dawson is a beautiful little town which hibernates in the winter. It wakes up for the Yukon Quest, a 1000 mile dog sled race from Fairbanks, Alaska to Whitehorse, Yukon in the dead of winter. Nestling along the banks of Yukon and Klondike rivers, it boasts unpaved roads and brightly colored Victorian houses.

Dressed up for the winter

An interesting variety of people live here. One of our Inn’s proprietors is from Vancouver. She thought it would be a blast restoring one of the city’s brothels, with the result that we have a cute little boutique hotel in (what seems to us) the middle of nowhere. There are people from all over who stayed because of an inexplicable pull of belonging.

Dawson on the banks of the Yukon

Then there are the residents of West Dawson. They live on the other side of the river from Dawson proper, eagerly awaiting the “freeze up” This is the special time when the ferry between the two banks is pulled out but the river isn’t frozen yet. There are ice floats making their way along the river making it a hazardous crossing. The residents of West Dawson hole up for the month, celebrating their isolation by throwing big parties. They often have no running water. But apparently they aren’t weird coots that would blow your head off if you wandered onto their land.

The artery of life – holed up for the winter

People are different. I guess we try to achieve the same community feeling at Burning Man.

On the Road

Vast empty spaces make room for contemplation. Some thoughts on lifestyle choices we make. (Map this!)

The drive has taken us through some vast empty spaces. The empty space is like a canvas where humans have made their mark, made according to who they are. Actually I should say who we are, since we are all connected with the common thread of humanity. What we do and who we are is reflected very strongly here in the emptiness, almost in a cartoonish way, with thick Illustrator Beziers.

Teslin Lake welcomes you with brightly painted hand-hewn signs. Surrounded by mountains the lake is dotted with houses, artist shops, and even a small museum dedicated to native history. Who lives here and are they happy? Or do they have that common small town desire to escape, to leave, to be among the city lights? I’m just passing through and I cannot know the answers…

Mile 0 of the Alaska Highway	Perry River Crossing

Fort St. John announces its presence with the stink of natural gas. What’s that stuff they put in gas that makes it reek? Wide roads lead to the gleaming Wal-Mart, Safeway, and other large corporate big boxes. It is a place of progress, a regional hub where the locals from all around can get their Wal-Mart fix. The town seems prosperous, gravid with economic well-being. But is it a fair trade, prosperity for the stink of farts all the time?

Out here the individual communities seem bigger than ever. But so do the corporations.