2015/0910-14: Dease Lake to Nass River, 450 km
Setting out from Dease Lakes, we passed broad wetlands.
A local in a truck called “Didja see any moose?”
“No, just tracks” I replied. We could see that the moose use the gravel shoulder of the road to commute.
The forecast was grim, so we rode against headwinds to the Bear Paw Resort where we were fed a hearty Austrian supper. The following day we rode in headwinds and increasing rain to Kinaskan Lake Provincial Park where we made hot drinks to go with lunch, and then soldiered onward to tuck ourselves amongst spruce for a damp night.
In the morning, the weather had improved a little, but my feet felt permanently soggy and chilled. My bike began to make irregular clicking sounds when I pedalled hard, and we worried might be signs of incipient bottom bracket failure. We made it to Bell 2 Lodge, a heli-skiing base, and dove into dinner and a comfortable (but extravagant) night, where internet access helped us begin to diagnose the worsening bike issues.
Next morning we saw a mother black bear with cubs ahead, and I decided to test my bear banger – something that is impossible to do in the city without the police arriving. The bear trio quickly left the road, and I got an idea of the trajectory of my weapon – a successful test all round. The day’s ride brought us to Meziadin Junction, where the road turns off to Stewart, BC, and Hyder in the Alaska panhandle. The aesthetic is very different to Bell 2, but the Atco trailers were warm and dry and the cook was friendly.
In the morning, we sacrificed a toothbrush to cleaning bike chains, and swapped mine with Chris’s as we reinstalled them. This was to test the theory that grit embedded in what was originally my chain might be the source of the noises. It wasn’t, and my bike continued to complain. A useful diagnostic, however. Heading onward, we stopped to watch salmon spawning. This was a first for me. Many times I’d seen the carcasses of spawned-out fish, but never the actual upstream mating dance. Soon we saw another black bear, well-fed and unhurried.
At Cranberry Junction we turned south to follow the valley of the Nass River on a gravel forest road, stopping after about 20 km only to cook supper. The concept was to better separate cooking smells from where we’d sleep, as a precaution in an area reportedly filled with “bear action.”
An SUV pulled up, and two Korean men in camouflage hunters’ garb asked urgently “Have you seen any black bears?”. We guessed a good part of their urgency came from the price paid for a foreigner’s hunting license.
“No” we answered truthfully, “and not much scat either.” I gestured explicitly so as to help in case “scat” was beyond their English vocabulary. They sped off.
After supper, we cycled a little further and turned up a branch road to an old logging landing to set up camp. Wolves howled nearby as darkness fell.