29 July - 5 August 2022

• 29 July - Whitehorse to Wild Camp at Wolf Lake (65.7 mi, 105.7 km)

• 30 July - Wild Camp at Wolf Lake to Teslin (48.6 mi, 78.2 km)

• 31 July - Rain Day in Teslin

• 1 August - Teslin to Wild Camp near Swift River (66.3 mi, 106.7 km)

• 2 August - Wild Camp near Swift River to Continental Divide (11.1 mi, 17.9 km)

• 3 August - Continental Divide to Wild Camp on Alaska Hwy (64.8 mi, 104.3 km)

• 4 August - Wild Camp to Watson Lake (21.0 mi, 33.8 km)

• 5 August - Layover in Watson Lake

Yukon’s “Southern” Lakes

For the first two days out of Whitehorse, Yukon, we cycled on the Alaska Highway through the Southern Lakes district. Of course, “southern” is a relative term. This region lies north of all of the capitals of Scandinavian countries like Norway and Finland. But to get there from Whitehorse, you head south.

The Watson Highlands ecoregion, which encompasses the Southern Lakes, stretches the whole distance from Whitehorse to Watson Lake. It is characterized by broad valleys that cut deep fissures through the highland plateau. But the glaciers that emanated from the St. Elias Mountains only reached the southern parts of the ecoregion. There, gravel and silt deposited by the glaciers blocked the flow of rivers to form long, narrow, natural lakes (reminiscent of the Finger Lakes in New York). All of the Southern Lakes are found along the Yukon River or its tributaries, and thus they form the headwaters of one of the most important waterways in North America.

Leaving Whitehorse, our route generally followed the Yukon River upstream for about 40 mi (64 km). But the road does not stay close to the river. Instead, immediately after leaving Whitehorse it ascends sharply up onto the surrounding plateau, climbing several hundred feet with a grade of about 7%. It’s a tough way to start the day, but the views back toward Whitehorse from the top of the escarpment were worth the effort.

About 1.5 hours into the ride, we stopped at the Wolf Creek Chinook Salmon Fishway. Wolf Creek is a small tributary of the Yukon River where salmon spawn in late summer. We checked out the fish-viewing platform and information provided, but we didn’t see any salmon. Perhaps our timing was just off. But salmon runs throughout the Yukon River watershed have been very low for more than 10 years, leading to the closure of all salmon sport fishing on the river and its tributaries. So, it wasn’t a big surprise that the only fish we saw were some brightly-painted cutouts of salmon created by local kids.

The scenery along this part of the route was impressive. Several sections were bordered by tall cliffs that rose steeply up from the river valley. This far north, the mountains still have quite a bit of area above tree line. The effect of the white cliffs rising above the dark green conifer forests was strikingly beautiful. Yet we’re far enough south now that the spruce trees of the boreal forest are starting to give way to other species. The lower elevations of the Watson Highlands are dominated by lodgepole pines - a species that was rare where we traveled in Alaska, but is now very common along the highway.

On our second day out from Whitehorse, we cycled for 33+ mi (53+ km) along Lake Teslin, one of the larger water bodies in the region. It actually stretches on for a total of 78 mi (125 km), with its upper reaches in British Columbia.

Even though the day’s ride was only about 50 miles total (80 km), we rode into a stiff headwind. We were both wiped out at the end of the day, and were glad to finally reach the small settlement of Teslin (pop. 240).

While we were stopped at the town’s grocery, another cyclist rode up. Robin was cycling from Deadhorse, Alaska to Whitefish, MT. She was also looking for a hotel room because rain was in the forecast for the next 24 hrs. But after we checked into our room, we didn’t see her again.

The Nisutlin Trading Post Motel had blazingly fast wifi, so we passed the time easily in our room while we waited for the rain to pass. But we did go out a couple of times. We enjoyed a visit to the free “museum” of wildife dioramas at the Yukon Motel across the road. The displays were very nicely done, with some interesting information about the animals. It was here that we learned that the biggest predator of black bears in western Canada is the grizzly bear. Hmmm.

A Quick Dip Into British Columbia

After spending a rainy day in Teslin, we were eager to get back on the road. The weather forecast called for one rain-free day before the storms would return. We decided to put in a long day of cycling so that we could have a short ride the next day, to reach another lodge where we could dry out.

Immediately after departing Teslin, we cycled across the Nisutlin Bay Bridge. At nearly 2,000 ft (584m), it’s the longest bridge on the Alaska Highway. With its steel trestles arching overhead, the bridge had the feel of cycling through a long tunnel of interlaced metal beams.

On the far side of the bay, the highway launched up a 3-mile long (4.8 km), steep climb over a mountain ridge as it turned away from the shores of Lake Teslin. It took us nearly an hour to reach the top of that ridge. But the scenic views back towards the lake were beautiful once we reached the top. At a rest stop part-way up the climb, we stopped to read more about the salmon that spawn in this area. It’s amazing to realize that the fish travel 1,840 mi (2,970 km) from the Bearing Sea, through all manner of obstacles, to reach this spot.

One anomaly about this section of road is that between Teslin and Watson Lake, the Alaska Highway dips into British Columbia for about 40 miles, before returning to the Yukon Territory. There are no towns or services along this part of the route, just endless forested hills and scenic lakes. In fact, the provinces don’t even bother to set up “Welcome to…” signs along the road. If you didn’t look at a map, you might not even realize that you were driving through different jurisdictions.

Our wildlife sightings have decreased since departing Whitehorse. We’re not quite sure why, since we are still cycling through fairly vast areas of sparsely-populated wilderness. There are very few dwellings, and even fewer towns along the highway. Perhaps it is the time of year (animals tend to be more active and visible earlier in the spring). Roadside signs still indicate that moose are common in the area, but we haven’t seen any for quite a while.

Regardless of the reason, we’ve turned our attention to the smaller life forms we encounter along the road - especially the emergence of familiar species that indicate we are moving further south. We’ve now seen our first chipmunk of the trip. We’re also focusing more on plants, as well as signs left by animals (like footprints in the sand, or a beaver lodge along a stream).

We ate our dinner in British Columbia not far from Swan Lake, then set up camp shortly after crossing back into the Yukon Territory.

Crossing the Continental Divide

As expected, it was raining when we awoke the next morning. We packed up in a light drizzle, but fortunately the rain ended before we hit the road.

Just a half hour into our ride we crested a ridge along the Continental Divide. It’s not the continental divide that most people from the lower-48 states think of (which separates water flowing to either the Atlantic or Pacific oceans). Up here, the divide is between the Arctic and Pacific oceans. We had been riding upstream along the Swift River, which empties into the Yukon River, and ultimately into the Bearing Sea (part of the Pacific Ocean) to the west. But upon crossing the top of the ridge we would leave the Southern Lakes district and the headwaters of the Yukon River behind. Going forth, we would follow the Rancheria River downstream towards the Mackenzie River, which flows north into the Arctic Ocean.

From the top of the ridge, we hustled to get to the Continental Divide Lodge because the sky looked increasingly unsettled, and we wanted to reach our destination before the rain came back. We just made it. A light rain began to fall as we checked into the motel.

The Continental Divide Lodge provides very modest rooms inside a building that looks like a glorified shipping container. Our room had a table and a TV, but the TV did not receive any signal, and it was not hooked up to a cable. For entertainment, it was connected to a DVD player, and a small stack of DVDs was provided that included the full range of genres from comedy, to documentary, to horror. There was no wifi. PedalingGal decided to make a few repairs - like tightening the doorknob with our cycling tools - so that everything basically worked.

On the bright side, the Continental Divide Lodge has a restaurant, so we were able to enjoy a hot brunch after arrival. To pass the time we walked around the grounds between rain showers. The campground associated with the Lodge looked particularly nice, with shaded sites that were spaced apart for privacy. We had fun watching the graceful coming-and-going of the abundant barn swallows that called the eaves of the lodge home.

Reaching the Gateway to the Yukon

As southbound travelers, we’re frequently reminded that most tourist traffic heads north (in the opposite direction). We typically end segments of our journey at their official beginnings (like the Dalton Highway). Our arrival in Watson Lake had that “they must be talking to the northbounders” feel when we found out that they refer to themselves as the Gateway to the Yukon - even though we’d been traveling across the territory for the past 2.5 weeks.

But to get to Watson Lake we first had to cycle the 86 miles (138 km) from the Continental Divide Lodge. Although we could have stayed warm and dry in the lodge, we were itching to get back on the road. So in spite of the gloomy weather forecast, we hopped back on our bikes after one night in the motel.

It rained intermittently on us all day as we passed through 4-5 rainstorms. As the day progressed, each rainshower was shorter and lighter. That was a blessing because it gave us the opportunity to dry out in between.

We followed the Rancheria River for most of the morning. Having the river valley so close at hand made the ride much more scenic. There were lots of feeder streams that tumbled down out of the mountains on our left, cascading over pretty waterfalls as they rushed on towards the river.

One of the advantages of the wind and rain was that it helped keep the mosquitoes at bay. But once the rain ended near dinner time, the mosquitos came out in force.

We set up our wild camp in another abandoned gravel pit. These old quarries have turned out to be the ideal campsites along the highways of Alaska and western Canada. They drain well in the rain, they have fewer mosquitoes (due to breezes and the ability to stay away from surrounding vegetation), they’re usually hidden from the road, and they provide a treeless buffer so that we can see any wildife approaching (although that hasn’t been a problem). In most cases, these gravel spaces show no signs of use by bears, moose, coyotes, etc. - unlike side roads that seem to be wildlife highways covered with animal tracks and scat. We certainly like to see wildlife, but not around our campsites.

We awoke the next morning to sunshine warming the tent. It felt great after more than a week of stormy days. We had a short, pleasant ride into Watson Lake.

Along the way, we encountered Robin, the same cyclist we had met in Teslin. She had spent the night in Watson Lake, and was now heading back up the road to cycle south on the Stewart-Cassiar Highway (the same route we would take in a couple of days). We visited with Robin on the side of the road, and learned a bit more about her interesting life. She’d spent a number of years working for the US Foreign Service in Central Asia, where she had cycled in countries like Uzbekistan and Kazakstan. We rarely meet US citizens who have biked in that part of the world.

We arrived in Watson Lake without a hotel reservation, and ended up staying at Andrea’s Motel - a quirky place that has large photos of forests and wild animals covering its interior walls. On the outside, a series of murals depicting frontier life add color to the motel’s facade. We also picked up a “hitchhiker” - a longhorn beetle - in the parking lot.

We spent a relaxing day in town, visiting some of the local sites. The town’s most famous landmark is the Sign Post Forest, an accidental tourist attraction that was begun 80 years ago when a homesick serviceman working on construction of the Alaska Highway nailed a sign with his hometown’s name and distance to a tree. Pretty soon it became a thing, and lots of people passing through town would bring a sign to add to the forest. Now there are over 100,000 signs, and more are added daily.

A more serious attraction is the Watson Lake Visitor Center, which houses a well-curated museum about the building of the Alaska Highway. The museum includes many photo images of the men building the road, with quotes from journals and a video describing how the US Army Corps of Engineers laid out the original 1,600-mile highway in just 8 months with the labor of 11,000 men. It’s pretty incredible, really.

When the Alaska Highway was built, much of it was carved out of forest that was barely even passable on foot. As we have discovered, it still traverses vast areas of wilderness with few human residents. Each small town along the way feels like an outpost on the edge of endless forests and mountains. And at night, when the traffic dies down and your’e lying in a tent far away from any town, the silence is immense.

Click here for quick links to all of our other Cycling the Americas blog pages