Al-Can Archives | Carol L. Douglas

“Tamarack bog,” by Carol L. Douglas

While painting the bogs along the boardwalk to Liard Hot Springs in British Columbia, I was interrupted by a park vehicle that needed to pass. The driver and I peered at each other and realized we’d met last year. He’d given us a ride back from the hot springs in the middle of the night, stopping to check for bears frequently along the way.

“Good thing he did,” his brother told me. In 1997, a bear attacked four people at the hot springs. Two died and two were horrifically injured before the animal was shot. The park remains a hot-spot for bear-human interaction, and this year was particularly hard. When the blueberries are bad, the bears come down the mountain and enter the human areas of the park. The average tourist is clueless about bears, as I was reminded when I saw them exiting their cars to take photos of bears on the side of the road.

A black bear looking for clover in the Liard River Basin. “Bears are like hairy pigs,” a naturalist told me. “They’ll eat anything.”

These are not our eastern black bears. “People tell me that they saw a ‘little’ bear,” the park worker told me, “and when they’re trapped they turn out to be 350 pounds. That’s 350 pounds of muscles, claws and teeth.”

Right now, they have the bears pretty well cleared out of the area, but they’ll inevitably be back. The park is full of warning signs about them (“A fed bear is a dead bear”) and instructions on what to do if you encounter one.

The Liard River basin is known for its wandering herds of bison. They own the road, and this big bull was disinclined to let us pass.

The brothers are busy with chainsaws and weed-whackers, cutting the brush back from the boardwalk. That cuts down on surprise encounters.

Even though this is by far the best hot spring I’ve ever visited, I’ll never walk down to it in the middle of the night again. And in fact I didn’t visit it yesterday, either. Instead, I set up on the boardwalk to paint the tamaracks turning color along the bog.

Tamaracks, or larches, are deciduous conifers. They shed their needles in the fall.

In the east, we call this tree a larch; either name is correct. Although conifers, larches are also deciduous, meaning they lose their needles in autumn. I’ve been watching the spruces give way to them as we’ve traveled east. Their yellow is a more delicate color than the blazing golds of birch and aspen.

Watson Lake's signpost forest was started in 1942 and now has over 70,000 signs from all over the world.

West of Liard River is Watson Lake. Its signpost forest was started in 1942 and now has over 70,000 signs from all over the world.

There are two more subjects in this part of the world I’d like to capture. One is the vastness of wildfire; the other is the color of water containing rock flour. Being ill, I haven’t done justice to this part of the trip. So I plan to backtrack today, toward Muncho Lake and the fast-moving waters of the Toad River.

Yesterday was a mixed-weather day, alternating between a fine, misting rain and short bursts of sunlight. Autumn in Alaska is markedly advanced, although they haven’t had what they call “terminal dust” yet in Anchorage. That’s the first snow on the tops of the mountains. The aspens are gleaming yellow against the distant blue mountains, and it’s cold by Lower 48 standards. However, this year I am prepared.

We took the Suzuki out for several short jaunts around Eagle River: to buy camping equipment, to get an oil change, and to the auto-parts store for a set of universal cargo crossbars. The old-timer ran like a champ.

I audited its deficiencies in my head. There was a small chuffing sound on acceleration, but it faded quickly as the car warmed up. I bought a can of gas additive, since the car has been sitting since May. An occasional thud from the back sounded like a stiff rear spring.

There is also a small exhaust leak, and I planned to take the car to a garage in Anchorage this morning. I know the muffler shop; they fixed a sheared bolt on the same car last August. They did a good job at a fair price.

I was fighting a battle with my own impatience. All day I debated whether I should keep that appointment or just leave Anchorage at first light.

I usually paint in winter in latex gloves with chemical hand-warmers. I bought these in the fishing department, and I think they will be warmer.

This is a small SUV and we plan to sleep in it as well as work out of it. Every square inch needs to be packed intelligently. We finished this task in the late afternoon and headed to Anchorage on AK 1, Mary driving.

And that’s when all hell broke loose. The car started to misfire and decelerate. “Feel that crosswind,” my daughter said, fighting the wheel. I was baffled, because the trees were standing straight. A moment later, the rear end started swaying like an old cow. A rear track bar had snapped.

So we sat on an expressway, surrounded by our meagre worldly goods, waiting for AAA. This morning I will go to the shop and explain my troubles. Then I’ll look for a welding fabricator to make a new track bar.

This is what we call “not good.”

I’m only a little worried. OK, I’m a lot worried.

Meanwhile, there was nothing to do but go out to Lucky Wishbone for dinner. This drive-in was founded in 1955 by George and Peggy Brown. She has since passed away; he is now in his 90s and still overseeing his establishment from a centrally-located table.

Modest in design, the place is basically unchanged except for the hundreds of old photos adorning the walls. They serve real malted milkshakes, good burgers and great fried chicken. That included giblets, which our friend promptly ordered and devoured.

Giblets to the left, other parts to the right. Delicious!

I am profoundly grateful that our breakdown happened in Anchorage, where we have friends and the city has good restaurants, garages, and mass transit. That is so much better than being stranded on the Al-Can, munching on beef jerky and praying that someone comes along who can help.

Category: Al-Can

Little bear

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