Whitehorse- Grey Mt

Whitehorse has a visitor center in the proud tradition of impeccable Canadian visitor centers.  I stopped there to find out about local hiking and was given a comprehensive brochure on treks in the area.  Among the suggested was Grey Mountain, a rounded peak with a grey pate just to the East of the city.  The trailhead marked its summit at 704 meters and about 6 miles from parking to peak.

The steamboat in downtown Whitehorse that has been converted to a museum

 

A service road wound up from the parking area, around a foothill, between tall pines and birch trees, and to the cell phone tower on the lower summit.  As I hiked, the wind whispered through the tree tops and walked behind me so that I had to turn several times to reassure myself I was  alone on the trail. The trees shrank as I climbed and the brush thinned until I was walking along the bare face of Grey Mt.   Patches of snow lined the shaded crevasses between rocks and refused to melt in the hot midday sun.  People and animals had stepped in the snow and the prints had melted and refrozen into soft outlines of tracks in long lines.  Past the cell tower, a path continued along the ridge to the peak in muddy lanes carved out of spongy plants.  These plants dampened the sound of my feet and gave way with a dry crackle that was loud in the still air.

The view from Grey Mt.

 

The peak was a broad expanse of boulders arching their backs from the green like waking trolls and when I sat to admire the view, I noticed a small brass circle hammered into the rock.  “Azimuth mark US Coast & Geodetic Survey” was chiseled into the metal, “For information write to the director Washington DC”.  Under it was inscribed 1943, a token from the survey team working on the Alaska Highway I guess.

Laird Hot Springs and Watson Lake

I saw my first wild Bison munching grass beside the road on my way to the Laird hot springs.  Farther along the road, a group of big horn sheep had come down from the mountain to lick salt off the road and as I drove past, they watched me with bugged eyes. At the Laird hot springs, sulfurous waters bubble up from the ground in large marshy flats where lake chub (a kind of fish) have evolved to thrive in the warm waters.  Even during winter months the marsh doesn’t freeze. According to a sign, moose frequent the area, coming to find marsh greens that are higher in mineral content. I didn’t see any moose along the wooden boardwalk out to the hot spring pools, but I did see more than a few older folks boiled lobster red from a combination of  the hot water and the sun.

The drive after Laird hot springs took me out of the mountains, into the Yukon Territory, and to Watson Lake, the first city since Ft. Nelson.  I was ready for a good meal, having spent the last few days subsisting on a 5 lb bag of granola because I forgot to buy groceries in Ft. Nelson. With a meal of chicken and potatoes and a jaunt around the signpost forest and through the local railroad museum, I was back on the road, heading for the Teslin Lake campground.

Signpost Forest in Watson Lake

Overlooking the city of Teslin

Moberly Lake to Muncho Lake

It was late in the day by the time I reached the Moberly Lake campground, but as far as I could tell, there was only one other group in the facility.  Of all the campsites, this had the nicest location.  Although lacking in showers or even running water, the best spots in camp sat on little gravel platforms with clear views of the lake.  As I set up my tent, the evening sun was still high in the sky and a light breeze picked up tiny waves all across the water. 

The next morning I had a big drive planned.  I was crossing the “boring part,” as a visitor center attendant called it, and cutting through the mountains far to the North, past Ft. Nelson.  As it turns out, today’s drive was probably the most uniform scenery for such a long stretch that I’ve seen so far.  Hill after hill rolled by, carpeted with a continuous spruce forest.  By the side of the road, the cleared sections had giant furrows carved in where spring creeks had run through grassy hills.  I saw some black bears sitting by the road, munching whatever was growing in the cleared sections between highway and forest.  They reminded me of giant toddlers who were perfectly happy sitting almost cross- legged in the grass. 

After Ft. Nelson, the scene changed to Birch forests and more lumbering bears.  According to the man at the info center in Ft. Nelson, there were more bears than people in the Northeastern section of BC and I was about to drive through what he called the “Serengeti of the North.” I was skeptical, but on the road from Ft. Nelson through the mountains, my bear count grew to 14 and I saw two more moose if you count the one keeled over on the side of the road. With the size of that moose, I wonder how the car that hit it looked. At Toad River, I couldn’t find any campsite, provincial or otherwise, so I headed on and landed at Muncho Lake for the night.  This site was similarly deserted, but with a few more RV’s and an even better view than last night.  Before I fell asleep, I saw the snowy mountain opposite my camp was reflected in the perfectly calm water.  According to a brochure I picked up in Ft. Nelson, the electric blue of Muncho Lake is the result of dissolved copper oxide.

Muncho Lake the first evening

 

Muncho Lake the next morning

 

As I woke up the next morning, I could hear what sounded like glass wind chimes or someone sorting through a recycling bin. I unzipped my tent, the chilly air showing my breath and making my nose run, and I saw that lake had frozen over.  When the sun rose, the ice broke apart and thinned with the sound of falling glass.  I pumped up the inflatable kayak I brought and launched into the lake, each paddle stroke through the chunks of ice giving a different  chime.