Haines, AK

I wasn't in any hurry to get to Haines, Alaska. I was expecting the replacement glycol pump for my heating system, but I had read that mail heading to Juneau and points farther north was delayed because of a sorting issue in Seattle. There wasn't much point in rushing.

The place where I had spent the night sat beside a stream. I never found its name, but it made for a relaxing stop. Even with the cold temperatures, I left the door partially open and listened to the water while drinking my coffee. Before leaving, I wandered along the bank with my camera and noticed large hoof prints in the sand. A moose seemed the most likely explanation, though I couldn't be sure. Whatever had made them had come down to drink recently.

I finally left around 10:30 a.m. and headed south. The speed limit was 100 kph, but I spent much of the drive around 80. There were simply too many reasons to stop. Snowfields covered the mountains, streams ran through the valleys, and the views seemed endless. At one point I drove for nearly an hour and saw only three other vehicles. I lost count of the pullouts but stopped at least ten times trying to capture the mountains, the rivers, and the sheer scale of the landscape.

One stop turned out to be more memorable than the rest. I pulled into a scenic turnout beside a guardrail and walked to the front of the van to photograph a panoramic view. I slowly worked from left to right, taking a series of images that I planned to stitch together later. When I lowered the camera to review the shots, I noticed movement. About 30 feet to my left was a cinnamon-colored black bear feeding on the hillside.

My heart rate immediately picked up.

The bear seemed completely unconcerned by my presence. Every so often it would stop eating, look in my direction, and then return to grazing. This time of year, bears spend much of their day feeding on fresh grasses, sedges, and shrubs after a long winter. The hillside was full of new growth, and the bear was taking full advantage of it. I quietly walked back to the van for my longer lens. When I returned, the bear was still there. That's when I noticed a second bear farther down the slope. This one was larger and darker. It looked at me a few times but seemed just as interested in eating as the first bear. I took about 20 photographs before deciding I'd pushed my luck far enough. The whole encounter was a reminder that while I had been focused on distant mountains, two bears had likely known I was there long before I knew they were there.

As I continued south, I crossed from Yukon into British Columbia. The rest stops seemed nicer and there were more scenic pullouts. The road gradually descended, the valleys narrowed, and the forests became thicker. At one stop I stepped out of the van and was struck by how fragrant everything was. Pine, wet earth, grass, flowers, and something else I couldn't quite identify, almost like an herb. Birds were singing everywhere. I opened Merlin to identify them, but despite all the noise it only came back with one species: Wilson's Warbler.

Before long I reached the border. I passed the Canadian checkpoint and about a mile later arrived at the American one. I was the only vehicle there and had to wait for someone to come outside. The questions were straightforward: where had I entered Canada, how long had I been there, did I have any firearms, had I purchased any produce, and how long was I planning to stay in Alaska. Three minutes later I was on my way. Why can't all border crossings be that easy?

The change was noticeable almost immediately. It felt significantly warmer than it had in the Yukon. The temperature had already climbed to 58°F and was still rising. The terrain also changed. A broad river valley opened beside the road, with the river repeatedly narrowing and spreading into wide gravel flats. Eventually I reached a construction zone and joined a line of vehicles waiting for a pilot car.

A cheerful woman holding a stop sign explained that the road had suffered significant damage over the past few years and was being rebuilt. She wasn't kidding. For roughly ten miles we followed the lead vehicle along a dirt roadway while crews worked on a massive project. New bridges were being installed, riverbanks rebuilt, sections widened, mountainsides reinforced, and large drainage structures added. Looking at the amount of work underway, I found myself wondering if everything would be finished before winter returned.

By early afternoon I reached Haines. My first stop was the post office. I needed an envelope for a future shipment and wanted to mail a letter. When I asked to purchase the envelope, the clerk simply handed it to me and said I could pay for it when I was ready to ship. That isn't how post offices usually work. Everywhere else I've been, they want payment immediately.

Then I mentioned that I was expecting a package but doubted it had arrived because of the delays in Seattle. "Oh, I think that came in over the weekend," she said. "That name is easy to remember." A minute later she handed me the package. The replacement glycol pump had arrived.

I also started noticing something else about Haines. Everyone seemed unusually friendly. A boy who looked about ten years old held a door open for me and said, "Have a good day, sir."

The trend continued at lunch. I stopped at The Rusty Compass Coffeehouse and ordered the soup of the day, a toasted turkey and Swiss sandwich, and a latte. The woman behind the counter noticed my camera and asked whether I had been getting any good photographs. A girl at a nearby table said hello. A few minutes later someone spilled water and she immediately jumped up, found a rag, and helped clean it up. The barista thanked her and told her that was very kind.

Later, while buying a postcard at a gift shop, I mentioned to the owner how friendly everyone in town seemed. She agreed and suggested the nice weather probably helped.

My next stop was the ferry terminal. I had seen wildly different estimates online for taking the ferry to Juneau with the van and had mentally prepared myself for a painful conversation. Instead, I got good news. There wasn't room for the van on that day's sailing or the next day's sailing, but they placed me on the standby list. Even better, the one-way fare for me and the van was only $178. I had been bracing for something far worse and left feeling ecstatic.

From there I headed to Oceanside RV Park. I accidentally walked into what I thought was the office and found the manager leaving with his three-year-old daughter, Ruby. "Hi! I just got a cookie!" she announced. I told her I liked cookies too.

Her father asked if I needed a site for the night. I explained that I didn't need hookups. He laughed and said every site had hookups, but they'd figure something out. The office was actually at the other end of the campground, and Ruby talked to me the whole way there. By the time we reached the office, he had knocked $25 off the price. They also had a nice clubhouse with showers, which sounded pretty good after so many days on the road.

Later that afternoon I walked toward the water to photograph the mountains and noticed a man standing near the clubhouse with binoculars. Curious, I asked what he was looking at. He pointed offshore and explained that several species of birds were feeding on Pacific herring and herring spawn. Through my binoculars I could see Surf Scoters, Harlequin Ducks, and gulls packed tightly together on the water.

The scene was fascinating. Large groups of birds floated on the surface and then, almost on cue, hundreds would disappear beneath the water. A few minutes later they would pop back up, regroup, and do it again. It looked almost coordinated. The man explained that the annual herring spawn is one of the major wildlife events in the area. Large schools of herring gather in the shallow coastal waters around Haines to reproduce, attracting birds, seals, sea lions, and occasionally whales. What looked at first like a random collection of ducks turned out to be part of a much larger feeding event taking place just offshore. With snow-covered mountains rising behind the inlet, it was one of those scenes that would have been easy to miss if I had simply taken a few mountain photographs and walked away.

Later I stopped at the IGA for groceries and was reminded that Alaska is not a cheap place to buy food. I had planned to grab a beer at Haines Brewing Company, but they closed at 7 p.m. and I arrived about 30 minutes too late. Instead, I headed back to the campground, made a salad for dinner, and took an evening walk around the marina with my camera. A cruise ship drifted slowly south while the evening sun illuminated its white hull.

Back at the van, I finished the blog and got ready for what I hoped would be a ferry ride to Juneau the following morning. One final thing struck me before going to bed: it actually got dark. After spending time in the northern Yukon, where there was still plenty of light at midnight, darkness felt almost unusual.