Airstreaming to Alaska – Chapter 19: Tok to Haines

Leaving Alaska by way of Haines — worn out by the roads, dazzled by the color, and surrounded by the kind of autumn scenery that makes it hard to keep driving south.

Published on July 9, 2023 – Narrated by Carmen

If we were young, we’d probably sugar-sprinkle our Alaska exit saying, “We’ll be back.”

But as we pulled out of Chena Hot Springs we weren’t whipping up any comeback sauce.

We knew the score.

There would be no reprise of our Alaska overland tour.

We had a wonderful adventure, but the floods, fires, rain, and bad roads wore us out.

We were tired.

The time had come to find a dignified exit while dealing with the fact that Alaska won’t miss us at all.

Oh, it’s true. There’s no denying that feeling when you’ve given it your all. You’re standing there at the door, heart open, and the door slowly closes. The lock turns.

Click.

Alaska and us – it’s a one sided relationship …

with incompatible differences.

Don’t get me wrong. There is love and attraction but, it’s complicated.

For starters, there’s too much distance between us.

And, when we’re up, Alaska’s down.

When we’re down, she’s up.

There’s no level ground.

The stakes are too high …

the field too young and competitive.

We’d never make it as sourdoughs.

There was nothing left to do but grab as many unforgettable moments as possible and get out while we can still hold our axels high.

That’s why we keep this blog – so our King Salmon hearts can beat themselves up on our Living in Beauty river of memories.

Still, it’s not easy to turn your back on Alaska in Autumn.

Heading south, we felt North Country slipping too quickly from our grasp.

The scenery on our four-day, 686-mile journey toward Haines was agonizingly beautiful.

So we sank our eyes deep into every dog leg turn …

peek-a-boo glacier …

and graceful river valley.

The hillsides, graffitied with the colors of fresh kill seemed to read …

“There’s the door.”

We got the message loud and clear.

Yet, we dragged our wheels like a couple of stalkers.

Clearly, we were still love-struck. It could take years to clean the glacier dust out of the rig, and we were okay with that.

Fast Eddies

Pizza and beer is good breakup food.

At Fast Eddie’s in Tok Junction – our first stop after leaving Chena Hot Springs – it took no time at all to polish off a giant His & Her’s pie.

and then sleep it off in the parking lot beside the AlCan.

Next morning, we cranked up The Beast and turned the rig toward Yukon.

“Beauty hurts,” Mama would say while combing my hair back into a scalp-stretching pony tail for grade-school picture day, “It prepares you for love.”

Likewise, hundreds of traveler reviews rate this drive as shockingly painful but beautifully rewarding.

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Proceeding slowly, to avoid impact from snow heaves and pot holes, we covered 126 miles in four hours.

That notorious wormhole, led us into a region which Jim and I christened The Delphic Expanse.

And why not? We felt like explorers. No human life-forms ranged within sight. Playing with the idea of entering a fantastical land of our imaginations seemed the natural thing to do.

Seasonal color accentuated the landscape’s contours.

The work of refracting light revealed what mountain scrub is made of, dipping into carotenoids like a master of wet-on-wet watercolor.

Saffron flowed into magenta, chartreuse merged with amber.

This is Earth on sunlight.

That night we settled near Beaver Creek, Yukon, population 73, on a gravel pullout beside the AlCan.

Beaver Creek

We watched the sky bounce rainbows off the thin cloud cover until darkness put an end to that game.

The creek serenaded us to sleep.

Destruction Bay

The following day we covered 108 miles (3 ½ hours) to Kluane Lake near Destruction Bay, Yukon, population 43.

We hadn’t seen a soul in two days.

The beach was ours …

These fog-crowned mountains …

this blooming rose sunset,

this exquisite tranquility, solo la nostra, ours alone.

The next day, we drove through the north-west fringes of British Columbia.

and re-entered Alaska one last time to say a proper three-day goodbye in Haines.

Haines holds all of our lasts.

Our last Alaska campground,

Our last next door neighbors in Alaska.

Our last charming historic Alaskan village.

Our last art walk …

and historic building tour.

We said goodbye to the last Alaska marina,

dined on the last fish and chips,

toasted with our last Alaska draft brews,

paddled our last glacier lake

and, bid farewell to the bears.

The tiny village of Haines pushed all of our stay-buttons, but from here it was water under the bridge.

In the end, Alaska told us her side of the story.

She’s cool with us, but she’s juggling a lot of important stuff right now, like that crazy salmon run while wrestling with health issues, putting out fires and trying to find balance when so much is completely out of her hands.

She just needs some breathing space.

We parted on good terms.

S’all chill.

Observing the bears bulking up for the coming winter filled us with new purpose. They reminded us of an empty place which yearned to be fed.

We missed our son and his girlfriend. We longed for our clan of friends. And we slavered for a big ol’ juicy grilled snapper fillet nestled into a bed of crispy greens on a handmade corn tortilla topped with fresh pico de gallo and guacamole.

From 4,500 miles south, the faintest whiff of our traditional feeding grounds had captured our attention, calling us home.

Goodby Alaska.

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You can see our exact route on this map.

*Photos in this post, unless otherwise noted, were taken and copyrighted by Living in Beauty.

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