Dawson Creek: Mile "0"

Passersby photographed us under the Mile "0" sign in Dawson Creek, BC

A batch of unemployed firemen came up to Hope, B.C., from San Francisco 155 years back. They came by canoe up the Fraser River. Based on what we saws of the Fraser, it must have been awfully quiet back then. Today, this week, the Fraser is a roiling, angry river that whirls its way down to the Pacific. The firemen stopped on an island across from Hope and they idly panned for gold in the gravel there. Eureka! They started to pull out nuggets from the gravel and the rest is history for this quiet little corner of the world.
Thirty thousand gold miners descended on Hope and built their tatty shacks along the river. They never did find the mother lode. But they took lots of gold out of these parts. The Indians were friendly, not knowing what lay in store for them. They traded for metal axes, rifles and other goodies. But the white guys did what they always have done: they grabbed the Indian lands.
Now Hope is a peaceful place that makes its reputation from outstanding chainsaw carvings. There are about 60 carvings all over town and the quality of work is world-class.
We left the town in a pouring rain. Jo and I dithered back and forth about which road to take to the north. Advice from our friends suggested we go the Provincial Highway No. 5. It is essentially a limited access road through the mountains with limited pullouts. Our book about driving to Alaska suggested Route 1, which runs up the Fraser River Canyon, through Hell's Gate and on northward. It is much narrower. While we were unplugging the rig at our First Nation campground, we still had not decided. Then, when we pulled out onto the highway we had to decide to go right to PH5 or left onto Highway 1. We went left. As Robert Frost said about coming to where two paths diverged in the woods, we took the path less traveled – and it made all the difference.
The rains disappeared. The sun broke through and we came through this delightful highway with only one incident while Jo was driving. An oncoming truck pushed her over to the edge and I saw my life flash before my eyes as we came within two inches of touching the rock face at the edge. We came out onto a high plateau at Cache Creek. This is described as desert-like. But the farmers here have spent a fortune on irrigation and the fields were thick with healthy alpha-alfa and other crops.
We rested in Cache Creek for the night and met up with a pair of campers from North Carolina. They described their adventures thus far: coming farther west than us, through Nevada and California. We told them we'd see them along the route north.
Tuesday morning, we awoke to blissful sun and headed out for Williams Lake. Lots of construction along the highway.
We came to 100 Mile House. Now, you might imagine this is a lonely outpost in the wilderness. But no. It was at one time, of course. Now it is a thriving little town, with gas stations and three supermarkets. Along the route, we see ranches that are named 103 mile Ranch, 108 mile Ranch. 100 Mile House used to be a way station for fur trappers coming down to trade their catch. Now it services anyone with a need.
We came to Chief Will-Yum's Campground on the outskirts of Williams Lake and were delighted to stay again at native American RV parks. We perched on a hill overlooking the lake. The chief sells gas below the camp.
Now we are beginning to experience the long twilight of the north. There's still light in the sky at 10:30 at night. And dawn breaks awfully early.
We parked at Prince George, one of the few places we will see coming and going on our trip. Prince George is a city of 80,000 and has all the supplies anyone would need. We drove right on through, since we are as well equipped as we can be. We climbed through the Canadian Rockies and ran into slow traffic because of construction on the highway. But to park in a rest area with the vista of the Rockies out our side window is really something special. We are high in the mountains and we look down on a pristine lake with Douglas Firs covering the little islands in the lake. We had this million dollar view to ourselves before descending into Chetwynd to the east.

Friday, June 11
Chetwynd looks like a million other little towns in North America. But some smart guy thought about holding a chainsaw wood-carving contest each year and the place has built a reputation for quality work. As a result, chain-saw wood-carvers come from Japan, Germany, Slovakia, as well as places like Connecticut, Oregon, Massachusetts and British Columbia.
We are lucky to have been able to stop on Day 2 of the 4-day contest. As a result, we were able to watch the carvers working away on the initial shaping of their designs as well as photograph the results from earlier contests. It really is quite astonishing to see the amount of detail and expression these guys are able to coax out of the trunk of a tree. You can see the work at our photo album site.

We drove for an hour to Dawson Creek, which is designated as Mile “0” on the Alaskan Highway. This 1,543-mile road was built in eight months back in 1942 when the U.S. realized it needed to protect its Alaskan frontier from the Japanese who had already landed on some of the islands near Dutch Harbor in the Aleutian chain. The Army Corp of Engineers brought 11,000 men up to Dawson Creek and rammed the road through in record time. It was essentially a winter road because, with the melting ice of summer, many of the bridges were knocked out. But this remarkable feat opened up the Alaskan frontier. They continued to strengthen the road during the next two years and made it an all-weather highway.
Dawson Creek is a funny little town. It used to have a population of 400 before the highway was built. Now there are thousands of people here. Lots of supply stores to cater to the needs of the travelers. You see license plates from all over the lower 48 states. Prices are ridiculous, however. A small bottle of Goslings rum goes for $32.99, instead of the $13 I've seen it for in Florida. Wine is prohibitively expensive. Even boxed wine sells for $45 up here.
We are in a campground that calls itself Mile “0” even though it is actually one mile up the road. It is full because there's a caravan of RV-ers leaving in the morning on a guided journey to Alaska. These tours costs around $8,000 per RV and are designed to give comfort and support to those who are nervous about making the journey from the more populated south. But many folks are just like us. They are striking out on their own and we expect to see them along the route.