Back at Dawson Peaks before the Cassiar Highway

One of the pleasures of setting forth in the morning is not knowing where we will stop for the evening. Despite all our maps and the trusty Milepost guide, we enjoy picking and choosing among the provincial campgrounds, the roadhouse wayside spots, and those camps that defy categorization. The past two nights have been a study of contrasts. We planned our departure from Whitehorse to be able to revisit Dawson Peaks Resort, a few miles east of Teslin. You might recall that in late June I had raved about rhubarb pie. Being ready for seconds, we returned to spend the evening with the gracious hosts, Carolyn and Dave, and two slices of equally delicious bumbleberry pie, the rhubarb being too late in the season now. We basked in a rosy sunset, Ray snapping many photos as the golden light set on the Dawson Peaks.

The next noon, arriving at the 37 Junction, we realized that much of the color was from the smoke of wildfires that have been burning along the Cassiar. The road south was closed to traffic, with the slight possibility that a convoy would be allowed through—the following morning. We were number three in a line that eventually grew to over twenty vehicles. And so we set up a block party (a blockade party, perhaps?

Beach chairs and beer appeared, neighbors introduced themselves, turns were taken to harass or share snacks with the solitary blockade guard left behind to control us unruly elderly vacationers. In the cool of the evening, groups strolled along the closed highway, waving to the returning tired and smoky firefighters. Then we all went to sleep right there on the road, in trailers, rv’s, trucks, and cars. Up at dawn, we made bets about the probability of the convoy. Stakes began rising and just as things were about to turn nasty, the pilot car arrived and we became docile followers for forty smoky miles.