Top of the World Highway to Chicken AK

Today we drive from Dawson City YT in Canada to Chicken AK in the US, via the notorious Top of the World Highway.  On the last caravan part of the road was washed out forcing a 500 mile detour.  On another, taken by unit members Kathy and Larry, mud was the main issue.  We've had very little rain so dust could be our problem.

The free ferry from Dawson City, the only way for many miles to cross the Yukon.

Mike catches the ferry.

At last night’s drivers meeting our leader described how we must catch the ferry across the Yukon to get to the Top of the World Highway, but the numbers just don’t add up:  we have 38 rigs, the single ferry gives priority to locals and commercial vehicles, a crossing takes maybe 20 minutes round trip, and considering the local traffic only a couple rigs will make it across per trip, at best.  It is going to be a long day, much longer than he calculates. 

And it is.  Our Dawson City campground is strange, and departing is hard for all if I don’t get my rig out of the way; I use this as my excuse to leave earlier than the suggested time (others find their own rationale), and our four NorCal rigs head for the river.  

Mike gets across about 9 AM having to wait for only one ferry cycle, and we cross on the 3^rd or 4^th; then the delays start building.  Mike doesn’t wait on the other side, so Marcia and I also go on (yes, a bad excuse), and as the others cross our small pod becomes spread miles apart and usually our of radio contact.  This can be a concern because the road is horrible, with alternating stretches of dusty gravel and pot-holed asphalt that has seen little maintenance.   The climb to the top is without relief, which can be a major concern particularly to the gas vehicles.  There are no services or any population for over a hundred miles.  Trucks are coming at us at high speed.  Worse are RVrs coming from Alaska that make no effort to share the narrow road, forcing us dangerously close to the soft edge (there is no real shoulder) and precipitous drop-off.

But what a view!  We could see this road from the Dome yesterday and I expect to have a view back to Dawson City, but this is impossible because the road takes so much attention.  But once to the top the views are almost without end, both to the left and right, uninterrupted by fire lookouts, fire roads, microwave towers, grazing cattle, or any sign of people impact - just, occasionally, a glimpse of our road in the distance.  

Eventually we come to the border crossing and I say good morning to a stern U.S. agent that responds with one word: passports.  But after a few questions and no chat we are again on our way, wondering what he did in Anchorage that led him to be assigned to this remote outpost.

We arrive in our camp at Chicken, Alaska, a little after noon.  The final three rigs arrive about 8:30 PM.  Our trailer and truck are filthy inside, and the trailer looks ransacked, but no damage. 

A caravan parker watches with envy as my personal parker does it right.

What a mess!

Our drinking water hose.

Patti deals with her dust.

I speak with Jim5, one of the last to arrive in Chicken.  Jim abandoned his first trip to the ferry because of lines and went into Dawson for coffee and more sightseeing, a reasonable sounding strategy; but when he came back he had to wait over 5 hours to cross the Yukon.   Worse, he and Debbie left a trailer vent open and fan running, and failed to shut off their water pump.  The road jiggled a faucet on and a stopper into place, and gallons of water pumped and sloshed to the floor, mixing with dust pulled in through his ceiling vents.

The problems of dust and potholes are just part of the game.  The delays at the ferry could have been diminished, for the locals and us, with better planning and coordination, ideally limiting the caravan to 25-30 rigs.  We are finding 38 is just too many, even if Wally did his caravans with 100-200.

Jim5 and the other two late rigs ended up scrambling for dinner in Chicken.  For the rest of us, we have time to leisurely enjoy a camp provided dinner of—chicken.

After dinner a twenty-something girl with twin two-and-a-half year old daughters running marginally in control does an excellent job describing her life in the nearby town of Eagle, raising huskies (and her kids) off-the-grid, save for a couple of solar panels.  Oh, and Internet access allowing her to Skype her family.  She and her carpenter boyfriend also conduct sled adventures in the winter for well-to-do tourists.  She seems happy but thankful for Skype, and will soon move to 100 even more remote acres they bought from a First Nations person.