So after spending the night at a campground just west of Watson Lake, right at the juncture of the Cassiar and Alcan, we got an early start southward. The road is not terribly bad, really. There are places before you get to Dease lake that are under construction, but it's passable. The only real problem, especially with afternoon showers, is mud. Mud, mud and more mud. It's not the deep kind that you risk getting bogged down with. No it's the kind that splatters everywhere.
Some short sections are a little rough, mostly a washboard kind of rough. So prudence dictates that you take it easy, slowing down to a sensible 35 miles per hour or less. It's folks who think they are still on a US. freeway that ask for (and often get) trouble.
We stopped after passing one fellow parked at the side of the road. Up there it's just common courtesy to see if someone needs help or perhaps a lift to the next town or hamlet. Well, this fellow was pulling a good-sized fifth-wheel trailer behind his pickup truck. And as I walked back to see how he was doing, I noted that he had the left side of his trailer jacked up. He was doing something, which I could not readily tell, under the axles. It turned out that he was changing a leaf spring, replacing one that broke completely on those bumpy roads. To my complete surprise, he actually carried a spare set of springs and was just changing the left side ones. Now how many folks have you ever met that just happened to have a spare set of leaf springs? Tires, sure, but hardly ever springs. He didn't want or need any help, so we continued down the highway, very slowly.
It was late afternoon by the time we got to the turn-off for
Stewart, British Columbia. The provincial park and campground
there is on the shores of Meziadin Lake. That's a beautiful
place, so we made it a stop-over for the night. And besides, I
wanted to paddle my kayak on yet another body of water. Great
fun.
Next morning we headed west toward Stewart. It was raining pretty hard, helping to wash some of the mud from my truck. We'd unhitched and left our trailer at Meziadin. Along the way we passed magnificent scenery, including Bear Glacier. It comes right down near the roadway on the south side. Very impressive.
Stewart, B.C. is a nice little town. It's got all the necessities for residents and travelers alike. The town is at the head of the fjord called Portland Canal. That narrow and deep waterway to the Pacific Ocean is about 85 miles long. It's deep enough for good-sized ships to navigate and thus serves as an important harbor for Canada and southern Alaska. For you see, Alaska's panhandle ends at the south end just a few miles from Stewart. The tiny hamlet of Hyder, Alaska is the southernmost part of that state reachable by road.
Probably the most exciting part of our visit to Stewart and
Hyder took place outside a little store in Hyder. We'd gone
inside to look around, hoping for a coffee pot to be perked and
ready, and were told by the proprietor to just "Make yourselves
at home. I'm stepping outside for a smoke."
But in a few seconds he returned, saying "Hey, folks. C'mon out
here. You've just got to see this."
Curiously we followed him out the front door and around the side
of the store. Pointing skyward, up to some tall fir trees near a
high cliff, the store keeper exclaimed, "Look up there. I'll bet
you've never seen bald eagles giving their young flying
lessons." And he was right.
Up above us, some 150 feet up and atop some tall trees stood three young fledgling eagles. A mature male circled over them, perhaps fifty feet away. The female, likely the mother, jumped off a branch and swooped down, arcing over us and back toward the tree. She screeched sounds that meant nothing to us, but probably meant, in eagle talk, "Okay boys, come on. It's your turn, You can do it."
Soon one, and then a second young eagle gathered up enough courage to try their wings. We could tell that they were very tentative and not at all sure about this flying stuff. One fell almost straight down, before spreading his young wings and flapping like crazy. He finally got the hang of it and avoided disaster at the last second. His sibling did much better and began flying shortly after leaving that safe perch. The third youngster took more coaxing, but soon he too was airborne.
We watched several short flights for each of them. The parents were right there to help, but in minutes they were all flying like pro's.
That was our most memorable part of the Stewart-Hyder visit. And, oh yes, here is something else we remember about our trip down the Cassiar. Mud and more mud.
