The view from our trailer
Stewart Cassiar, is another of the remarkable highways built through the Canadian North West. The Klondike, first put through for a winter route to Dawson City, the Alaska Highway built by the US army in 1942/43 after declaring war on Japan and the Stewar Cassiar highway was also put through these mountains and endless forest about the time of the gold rush. We had been told by people who lived in Dease Lake, about half way down the 735km highway to expect about 80km of gravel.
Well we drove along the good, smooth road, the usual twists and turns, both sitting in silence, waiting for the worst. That whole day, about 360km, we found the roads to be as good or better than the Klondike to Dawson City and certainly as much traffic, which was still not much. The scenery was as promised, spectacular, as the mountains were growing higher as we drove south.
Our park for a night was in Iskut. When you travel the north, you never know what parks will be like. Well this one had the typical old log lodge on the highway, large front gravel lot full of huge potholes, and because of the rain, mud everywhere. No comments from my copilot, but I knew the thoughts well by now. I went in to register, I had made a reservation back in May, this was late August. Lucky I did, as we were the only ones staying there that night. I paid for one night only as it was still raining and I could not see us sitting around there the next day.
Once the trailer was set up, we left Cassie and walked up to the lodge with the laptop. I had been invited to come and set up anywhere. There was a fire going, a big old lounge area and lots of cozy soft chairs and couches and tables to set up for internet. On the other side of the large room, beyond the fireplace, was the restaurant. On one of the couchs a woman was sound asleep under a big quilt. We spoke to a young man, also doing email. He told us he flew out every day to drill for ore samples high up in the mountains. Apparently there are three shifts up there, he was getting ready to fly up for his shift, 4pm to midnight.
A young Indian (First Nations) fellow, mid twenties, said he flew into the bush every day to cut trees. He was called a line cutter. He would follow a man that was called a flag marker. The flag marker would mark the line through the bush, probably with a GPS and this fellow would cut a line of trees behind him. I would think they were marking their claim for exploration. Northern BC is one of the most active areas in the world for mineral explorations.There were quite a few of these young men around, but few actual guests, who were staying in little log cabins. On my daily 7am walk with the "dog", I spoke to several of these fellows as they made there way to the two helicopters, that would whisk them off to the mountains to work.
When the lady on the couch awoke, she went to one of the tables, which had a lap top and numerous papers. It was obviously her office. As we got to talking with her, she told us she had owned the Lodge for five years and was trying to build it up. Guests could hire a guide to take them hiking in the mountains, or they could be flown in to other lakes to fish or canoe, with or without a guide. This was truly a remote northern experience, which was far more interesting than just going to a "nice" park and watching TV. We sat and talked with people in the lounge long after we had finished the email replys.
Great rafting rivers
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