Expat Bob in Alaska and The Yukon: North to Alaska

The North is different. The air is cleaner, the people friendlier, the scenery dramatic and, in the summer anyway, the days are longer. Just going there gives you a feeling of accomplishment.

Carol and I flew into Whitehorse, Yukon, one August. It’s a tiny airport nestled in mountains. The city has a population of 28,000, significant in a Territory of 34,000. We’d chosen Whitehorse so that we could drive a rented RV (Recreational Vehicle) West into Alaska, then return and take the train South to Skagway and sail the Inside Passage or panhandle. And, we harboured the hope of returning via Dawson City, far to the North, quest of the Klondike Gold Rush stampeders in the late 1890’s. It was a faint hope – the Top of the World Highway from Alaska to Dawson had been washed out and impassable for some weeks…

Our RV home

We picked up our RV only to find that it was a Ford 350 pick-up with a box on the back. The security of a sealed cab was useful, but Carol had hoped for roomier living space. But once she realized how powerful it was, and what a joy it was to drive, I couldn’t pry her out of the driving seat with a crowbar!

Abandoned boat at Burwash Landing

Whitehorse sits on the Alaska Highway 2200 km (1400 miles) built by the US Army in 1942 right after the attack on Pearl Harbour. The initial highway was built by battalions of Black Americans in approximately 6 months and finally provided a land route from the ‘lower 48’ (US States) to Alaska. Nothing rusts or rots in the far North - debris, vehicles and signs can still be seen along the route from that original effort although the highway’s been rebuilt many times since.

Church beside Alaska Hi’way

There are still rough sections, as I discovered on a section between Whitehorse and the US Border. I was trying to maintain a reasonable speed but the vehicle wallowed and lurched through ruts like a boat in a storm. Standing our drinking glasses in the kitchenette closet on a non-stick mat was not good enough – they were all smashed. It felt like I’d failed a test…

But true to the brochures there were very few humans, and scenery to take your breath – crystal lakes, ice-capped mountains feeding glaciers, and all bathed in sunlight until 11pm; we passed Mount Logan, the highest mountain in Canada, to our South.

Finally we reached the US border. No line up here and this was no ordinary border – the guard leaned out through the window and after inquiring where we were from and going, etc., asked but two questions:

“Do you have any weapons?”

“Ah, no.” I said. He looked at me as if he was about to offer me a rifle or a sidearm – you’re unarmed, really?

Then he said: “Do you have more than $10,000 in currency?”

“No.”

He smiled: “Enjoy your visit,” he said.