Matanuska Glacier, Alaska to Beaver Creek, Yukon
(No photos - it was wet where we were)
It didn’t take long to get going today - we were going to get wet (or so we thought). I used that as an excuse not to shower. Debbie did shower, but skipped her normal haircare regime.
We went back to the Nova Tours base camp, where five locals were also on our trip. We’d been told we’d be wearing drysuits, which I’d assumed to mean the waterproof version of a wetsuit, as worn by divers. In fact, our suits were loose waterproof outfits, sealed at the feet, with watertight rubber seals at the neck and wrists, which we wore over our normal clothes. So in fact, even if either of us fell in, in theory only our heads and hands would get wet.
We drove a short way up the road, to Caribou Creek. The rest of the group were in a large raft with another guide, while Debbie and I were in a smaller raft with Craig, the same guide from yesterday. We had paddles, while he had oars. I’m really not sure to what extent our paddling contributed.
On gentle water, moving towards the exciting bit, I saw what I thought might be a bird on the shore. Then I decided it was just a funny shaped bit of wood. In fact it was a young bald eagle, probably on the lookout for fish.
The white water was a lot of fun, perhaps not quite as intense as my previous experience in Switzerland, during which I fell in, but yes, lots of fun. From the spray on our faces, and the water on our hands as we paddled, I could tell it was as cold as you’d expect glacier melt to be, and even fully clothed under my drysuit, I wouldn’t have liked to fall in.
On dry land again, we both commented that we felt as if there was water in the suit - but when we took them off, we were bone dry. Magic, and very convenient, because five minutes later, we were driving away, very satisfied with our experience.
We stopped at the viewing half of last night’s recreation site, made some tuna sandwiches, and ate them while looking down on the glacier, and the spectacular mountains behind it.
After that, we drove.
I find it quite heartening that we drove for seven hours, without passing through anything but the tiniest settlement. We reached the end of the Glenn Highway at Glennallen, then took the Tok Cutoff to Tok. This is the only sensible route from Anchorage to Canada, so it was surprising just how few vehicles there were on the road.
We bought large coffees and nutritious gas station hot dogs, with gloop from all the sachets (mustard, ketchup, sweet relish, chopped onion), in Tok.
From Tok onwards, we were retreading old ground - this was the Alaska Highway again, in the opposite direction. It was a rough stretch, with frequent short gravel sections. These sections are generally just 20 metres or so long, but you have to slow right down for them, which gets irritating.
We were approaching the Canadian border. I realised that we had American currency left over, and it would be useful to use it up. I also realised that it would be a good idea to fill up on petrol, in order to take advantage of the cheaper American price. It was Debbie, though, who noticed the synergy between these two ideas.
We stopped at the second-to-last petrol station before the border (spreading our custom around - we’d used the other one last time we passed). The proprietor liked to exploit his geographical position by selling alcohol and tobacco and anything else that’s taxed more in Canada. Debbie heard him advising two young men to buy Red Bull from him. A couple of minutes later, just before I got in the van, I heard him say to them “They’re like, six dollars each in Canada”. “Oooof!”, they both responded, sounding genuinely pained.
Canadian customs: no problems. We may have sneaked in one more bottle of wine than is strictly allowed. Breakin’ the law!
“Canada’s most westerly settlement”, Beaver Creek’s main reason for existing is to give us somewhere to sleep. So says Lonely Planet, and who are we to argue? So, we parked in the first RV site we saw, which is nothing but a big car park with a few trees, power and water, and a shower block. It was past nine when we got here, so it’s not as if the ambience is all that important.
This place has barbeque grills on legs, and I made a fire that I’m particularly proud of. We cooked reindeer sausages (mostly pork and beef though, according to the label) over perfect flameless hot glowing wood embers. The meal was spoiled by insects flitting around us. I don’t think they were biters (and anyway, we’re DEETed to the hilt), but they were annoying nonetheless. In fact they continue to annoy. One just landed on my laptop screen. They sure do come apart easily.