One of the things that I wanted to do on this trip was to take the Alaskan Ferry System. I thought it'd be a great idea to take a break from the riding for a couple of days, and my loose plan was to take the ferry from Haines (or so) down to Vancouver or Seattle (or so). I had read a lot about the ferry, and notwithstanding their insanely difficult-to-use website, it seemed like an amazing way to see the Inside Passage. I got varying recommendations, everything from "don't bother with getting a cabin, just pitch a tent and sleep on the deck because that's where the real interesting people are" to "make sure you get a cabin because you'll want to get away from all the interesting people on the deck".
It looked to be expensive, but in the spirit of "*&^% the cost", I decided I wanted to make it happen. However, it was not to be. The ferry ran on a weekly schedule, and I would have had to either not spend 3 days in Dawson City (which clearly didn't happen) or kill a couple of days in Alaska.
I don't do well "just hanging out", and while
The Hammer Museum in Haines came very highly recommended to me, I decided instead to carry on. I figured that it gives me another excuse to come back, besides the continuation of the Dempster from Inuvik to Tuk in a couple of years.
Bobbie had been yammering at me about going to the
Liard River Hot Springs, and so since that was more or less in the direction that I wanted to go, I decided to
make it so.
On the road that day I saw a bunch of wildlife, including a bunch of bear cubs. Unlike the cagers, who inevitably bunch up like they've never seen a live animal before, I wasn't interested in stopping. Where there are bear cubs, there's a momma, and I can't roll up my windows for safety.
I had an old friend who lived in Edmonton, a friend that I haven't seen in close to 20 years. We were thick as thieves in first year university (college for the 'Muricans) but since about 94 or so, we hadn't really had much contact. He and I had reconnected on Facebook, and I dropped him a line to see if he'd be interested in hanging out. If so, I'd route myself through Edmonton.
He was up for it, but it seemed to me like he was a bit reserved - probably thinking the same thing I was thinking. How would we have changed? Did we have anything in common any more? Would this just be weird?
I had this on my mind as I made my way towards Liard Hot Springs.
At this point, not only have I stopped writing in my journal, I've stopped taking pictures. The scenery is all beautiful, but as happens so terribly quickly, I'm used to it, and it all seems same same.
Looking back, what a terrible shame that is. I'll not make that mistake again. But as you're following this trip, and seeing the mileage each day, day after day, I think you can start to get a sense of the fatigue. This trip really is a marathon, and there's so much mileage to make every single day that I become focussed on where I'm going to end up. In particular in the North, where there's such great distances between outposts, with nothing inbetween, I'm focussed on getting somewhere, and I'm often faced with a choice between stopping earlier than I want to and doing more mileage than I should. I've started missing the forest for the trees.
As I'm writing all this from memory, I'm promising myself not to make that same mistake again. I WILL write, and I WILL take pictures, even if they seem stupid at the time. It's important, because in time those pictures are what's going to prove that Grampa isn't making stories up again.
So no pictures from the road today. Everything was fine, weather was great blah blah blah.
So I end up at Liard River Hot Springs with lots of daylight left, and make camp.
And then it's off to the hot springs!
So, my previous experiences with hot springs tell me that
a) they smell like rotten eggs
b) the local Nicaraguans who are doing their laundry will treat you like you're from outer space.
A bit of a digression, but my only other real experience being in a hot springs was in Nicaragua. A friend of mine and his new bride had sold everything they owned and bought a Ford Ranger with a camper, and went for a little drive. On their way home, they ended up in Nicaragua at a surfing camp, and I decided to go and visit them.
It was paradise - remind me to tell you the Beach Cow story sometime - oh, and the Crazy Canadian Beach Bonfire story.
But one of the things we did was go to a local hot springs, where my buddy assured me that we'd have a great time. They had been the week before, and it was amazing.
Only when we got there, it was the night when the whole village showed up. There were several pools, all lined with concrete, with spillways connecting the one to the other, so that water flowed from the most hot close to the source, to cooler a bit farther away. The bottoms of the pools are mud. I hope. Truth be told, they had a consistency that made me very uncomfortable...
So 6 Canadian gringos show up, the girls in bikinis, and there must have been 40 villagers there, just going about their lives. We are suddenly very, very self conscious, and we looked at each other as we tried to decide if we were intruding. After some back and forth we decide we're going in, and the girls strip down to their swimsuits as we head to the hottest spring.
Where the men are. Only the men. The next pool down is where the washing of clothes is done, the next one is where the washing of still fully-clothed bodies is done, and the next one down is where some women and girls are hanging out.
We show up and just tromp all over their system. We were polite, but we must have seemed like a circus...
Anyway, this was not like that.
Firstly, there's a long, long boardwalk over the marsh to get to the springs.
At the springs themselves, it's built up with great changerooms and a lounge area. The source is over on one side, and there's a waterfall into the cooler pool. It's quite civilized, and really quite a treat. Everything was very Canadian - clean and orderly, and I really wish that I had had the ability to relax a little bit. I felt a bit pervy taking pictures, but I tried to avoid taking pictures of people.
The water was amazing. A local told me the trick to swimming in the hotter water is to dive to the bottom, or circulate water from the bottom up to the top. The colder water is more dense, and sinks to the bottom. The stuff on the top is the agonizing stuff, and by mixing it becomes tolerable.
Back to the tent site, and in bed with the sun still high in the sky...