From hybernating in Idaho to a summer of field work in Alaska, I have driven from Sandpoint, ID to Fairbanks, AK three times and stayed at 11 campgrounds. This is a summary of these places (updated annually), driving reflections, and wildlife photos.

The Alaska-Canada highway (Alcan) is a mostly empty road, but crucial as a connection between Alaska and the rest of the continental United States. The Alcan is the most famous way to drive to Alaska, but there is one alternative route to the west – the Stewart-Cassiar Highway – which connects to the Alcan close to Watson Lake in the Yukon territory.

Long drives are a great opportunity to let feelings pass in and out of awareness without the distraction of having to interact with anyone for days on end. The ture, non-staged, Instagram-imperfect result is an overarching yey strangely comforting melancholy, interspersed by brief moments of manic singing and pointing wildly at things. 

Wildlife seen along the route

Honeymoon Lake Campground, Jasper, Canada
This campground is shaped like a little Jewish penis so I walked it for Strava, giggling all the way, but no-one seemed to think it was as funny as I did. Fires are allowed and split wood is provided at the entrance, next to the self registration desk. $31,25 seems steep and oddly specific and since I don’t have change I put in $40,00. But then I remember it’s only Canadian money. That’s when I notice a handwritten note way down with a rock that helpful informs.

WARNING
black bear on site
Wednesday

It’s Wednesday.

In 2024 it was reported that “the entire town of Jasper was destroyed”. This seems to be a great exaggeration. It looks like two residential neighborhoods burned up, but the main strip and all municipal structures were saved. It was a very fast event with high shock factor, resulting in complete evacuation of 25,000 persons. In Jasper, parking costs the same as a coffee; about four dollars.

I wonder if those Dutch, Germans, and Belgians who occupy 98% of all Cruise America campers realize how different Banff National Park at 6,600 feet feels compared to the Schwartzwald (Germany) or Vlissingen (Netherlands). But I’m excited for them – it is an especially intense experience to drive through a National Parks in the dark. Tonight, there’s no light pollution, minimal signage and to other cars – absolute quiet. You know large landscape stretch out in all directions, filled with wildlife, but you cannot see any of it. All alone driving a dark stretch now, I turn off my lights and open the window. Perfection…

Kager Lake Campground, Burns Lake, BC.
Since 2026, BC parks is charching C$20 a night extra for non-residence, making a one-night stay C$40. This campground is low profile, well maintained with lots of trails, lakes, and happy families on mountain bikes. Also, there is a picture of Trump that says “No tariffs on camping and trails”. Coyotes howl. A loon dives. I walk around the lake.

On Highway 16 (aka Yellowhead Highway, aka The Highway of Tears), a bear crosses just behind me. A deer crosses just in front of me. I test the brakes. They work really well. Everything is in one side of the cooler now. A few hours later, something fast and large is launched by oncoming traffic. I hear the sound of shattering glass but don’t see any damage. A few minutes later the cracks begins to creep into view, and they keep expanding like aviral infection. The helpful lady at the Glass Center in Prince George basically says I am screwed. Her exact words are “Well that’s a doozy!”, with a bright smile.

Kitseguecla Lake recreation site, BC, Canada
I am all alone with the beavers 20-minutes from the main road. The Taltzen Rec site nearby is prettier but I’ve committed to sleep here. I take a side trip to “The Nipples”, a stunning jagged ridge that reminds of the Tetons.

Rainy Creek Campground, Stewart, BC
I didn’t know much about the town of Stewart before turning onto the dead-end Hwy 37A (a spur off the Stewart-Cassiar Hwy 37). The drive from Meziadin Junction is truly spectacular. Steep mountains perpetually gush water vertically from an unseen place while ice hangs overhead to crash 1,000 feet into a pile near the road. There is a significant lack of signage because signs, trails, and most infrastructure get demolished by winters and spring run-off. I learn from a local that Bear Glacier used to run across the access road so that each winter a trail had to be cut, with 10 feet tall ice walls. The town feels quiet, rustic, authentic. Many stop here, but not most people. For its setting and apparent climate, I’d compare it with southern Chile and imagine some of Norway might look similar.

Overall, town feels authentically rough and slightly overgrown, sustained by tourism and fishing after a brief mining interest in gold and silver faded in the ’70s. Hyder, Alaska is worse off, seriously channelling soon-to-be Ghost Town.

The campground owner is Dutch, from Schouwen, moved here at age seven and been here seventy years. He presents icy blue eyes and a smile, that don’t hide the fact that living out here has given him an edge. He insists we must be related due to proximity (Schouwen is one island away from Beveland, where I grew up). The couple ahead of me are also Dutch, which I had guessed based on the Cruise America camper. They immediately invite themselves to go to the glacier in my car in exchange for dinner. I agree because dinner in Stewart is very expensive.

You can drive from Canada into Alaska without any checkpoint because the only way to get back into Canada is by turning around. We drive 20 miles along a rough dirt road until we hit snow and I quickly lose traction and back out. We walk about half a kilometer and get some decent views of the glacier, but we didn’t really know what we were looking at. Back at the car, another overlander tells us it’s a few kilometers to a viewpoint. Alone I would have gone for it – the blue skies are not common here – but my guests have a bad knee and I’m sure I’ll be back someday.

The Mexican restaurant called ToastMaster is run by a world-class Mexican chef and only open in summer. Their margaritas are killer and Spanish is the language among the staff. It reminds me of a legendary French bakery in Rurrenabaque, tucked deep into the jungle of northern Bolivia. It lives up to its reputation although I nearly faint of sticker shock. C$35 for a quesadilla! My Caesar salad is C$25 and so is my margarita. Afterward, I enjoy the camp showers which are free and hot but the shower curtain could’ve been replaced probably about two years ago. Sleep comes easy.

This is quickly growing into one of my favorite places on this continent and one of the prettiest drives I know. It feels a bit like Kaslo but without all the people, or Clark Fork if Clark Fork was cool. This valley was fully native occupied until the 1890s when only fisherman and explorers and the Army Corps started coming through. If Stewart were public transport accessible, it would be a backpacker’s paradise. At the store I am told about an ice cave and a cheery local cryptically explains how to get there. “You know when you get to the glacier and you’re looking at the glacier… turn this way (demonstrates) and walk one hour into the mountains.”

On another day I am able to drive up a little farther toward the glacier and set out on the 8 km hike in the snow. Uphill in slush is hard work. It soon becomes clear that we had only seen a side arm of the actual Salmon Glacier which had been hiding from our initial perspective. But the closer I get the foggier it is, and soon everything is socked in. Defiantly I sit at the viewpoint alone in the freezing rain, shaking my fist at the general direction this glacier is supposedly at. “It’s just a bunch of ice anyway! I’ve seen glaciers before!” This doesn’t help and after 40 minutes I am getting very cold and decide to head back.

The glacier Inn, Hyder, Alaska
The glacier Inn is an old hotel/restaurant/bar within sight of the border. The popular thing, reportedly, is to go there and get ‘Hyderized’ which sounds like a great idea after a four hour slog in the cold to a glacier that wouldn’t show itself. The bar is empty but for a nice old lady named Carol. This place has been in her family since the 50s and the tradition of getting a certificate for being ‘Hyderized’ goes back to 1956 (as do the smoke-stained dollar bills lining walls and ceiling). Carol pours a huge shot of something hidden in a paper bag below the bar and lays out the rules: No sipping. No smelling. Knock it back in one gulp, place it back on the bar upside down, and then I’ll tell you what it is. I do as I’m told, after which she lights the rim of remaining liquor on the bar top. It was 151 proof grain alcohol. I get my certificate and we talk for a while. She’s lived here her whole life. Nowadays, there are fewer than 50 people left in Hyder. The bar used to be the center of the town’s social scene, especially when the gold mines were in full swing. “This is home”, she explains with a melancholy smile. “And it’s beautiful.” A few more people trickle in. All travelers getting ‘Hyderized’. I staple a dollar bill to the wall and leave.

That Everclear hit too hard to try my luck across the border. You see, even though there is no checkpoint from Stewart (Canada) to Hyder (United States), the way back into Canada is sternly guarded by a grouchy woman who seems like she deserved to be sent to the most remote checkpoint of North America. So I drive to Hyder’s deep water dock and cook some food and take pictures of abandoned cars an old buildings. The border lady does not disappoint. After waiting at the border for a few minutes, I get out to find her. She emerges, chewing, and orders me back into the car without making eye contact. Then, she stands in front of my car, looking at her phone for a while. That evening I wonder about the redness in my face. Is it snow burn or the Everclear?

Morchuea Lake Recreation Site, BC, Canada
I have stayed here twice. The free campgrounds in BC are conspicuously signed – these are marked in hand-carved wooden signs ‘Recreation Site’ and allow free camping. There are rudimentary tables and pit toilets, but fall behind the provincial campgrounds in terms of firewood, landscaping, and upkeep.

An hour and a half of driving along the Stewart-Cassiar Highway sees me three cars, one trucker and a horse grazing along the road. And an old man staggering drunk out of Dease Lake wearing a high-visibility jacket and waving apologetically. Then full dark sets and quickly birds – just black shapes – on dark water. I’m alone at Morchuea Lake. Determined to keep a low profile on deserted campgrounds, I briefly walk to the water before turning in. The gravel road simply terminates into the lake after 150 meters. Sure enough here comes a 90s Ford pickup with one headlight out right up to where I stand – blocking me between his bumper in the water. I see a trail to my right that goes into the bushes and might curve up to my car. Escape plan activated. I wait for it to leave. I’ve learned that I can be mistaken for a young man from behind so long as I have a loose coat (check) and don’t show my face (check). Minutes go by. Should I take off down the trail? I decide instead to find eye contact and am greeted by an older couple, smiling widely and waving. Perhaps I’ve been listening to too many true crime shows.

At Jade City – in my opinion one of the best stops on this route – I buy a Coke and chuckled at the overpriced semi-precious gemstones carved in odd shapes like gummy bears or penises. A young Russian woman who looks stolen from the cover of Vogue tells me how to get to Cassiar, the official endpoint of the Stewart-Cassiar Highway.
“It’s the next turn to the left”, she says.
“Will there be a sign?” I asked.
“No. You just drive until you see the asbestos pile on the right, then you go a little further to the broken down cars, and then you’re there.”
Asbestos pile… now that sounds interesting.

Cassiar is an active mine with a helicopter standing by, but I do not see any people. I find a way to the asbestos pile across sulfur ponds that are teaming with pintails, yellow-rumped, warblers, curlews, and spotted sandpipers. Cassiar was a thriving mining town with as many ad 2,000 inhabitants at one point. It is extremely remote and surrounded by mountains. and temperamental weather. They mined for asbestos when it was still a popular building material but closed the extraction in 1992 when its harms became common knowledge. The structures were auctioned off, you can rent cabins there, and some mining activity has since continued for Jade.

Big Creek Campground, Yukon, Canada
A long-haul tanker truck with AVGAS (helicopter fuel) had flipped north of Jade City and was still dribbling fuel across the road into the creek, shutting down the Stewart-Cassiar highway for 15 hours. Simultaneously, the Alcan was also blocked due to wildfires, leaving Alaska roadblocked to the rest of the world for nearly a day.

I eat a burger and fries for $30 at ‘The Shack’ in Dease Lake. The owner is jolly and kind, but as he’s leaving he suddenly looks at me in earnest, locks eyes, and says in a low and serious tone, “You watch out for ravens now.” I’ll have to see what that means when I get back to cell service, of which there is none for close to 1,000 kilometers.

At the junction with the Alcan, just west of Watson Lake, there is a pump and a store, covered in travelers’ stickers. The ‘open’ sign is on but the doors are locked and the lights are out. The pump has only one button, ‘Regular’ and once payment goes through, a loud pump kicks in at the break-neck speed of 30 seconds per liter. This will take half an hour to fill up so I get 20 liters, enough to get me to Whitehorse. 3 km from my campground I see a work truck on the roadside with a guy peering into the engine. Dave is tattooed all over and a trainwreck of a human being and I help him troubleshoot the issue – blown head gasket. 10 minutes later a native family checks in and promise to activate a tow truck from Watson Lake while chain-smoking. It would take about an hour, and I decide to wait until Dave is on his way. Not another car passes for two hours. The tow truck never materializes, which makes sense because they demand payment when you call. It was getting cold and I had poured all my water into his radiator. Around 8 PM we decide to drive 65 km to Watson Lake. He fills my tank in gratitude and gets the towing dispatched. The Watson Lake gas station reminds of a warehouse filled with apprehensive people, some wearing their helmets into the store. I grab beers ($23) and water. The bathroom stall has a condom on the floor. On the drive back to his truck, he talked about his struggles with addiction. I get to my campground at 10:30 PM and it is still light. It’s a busy campground framed by creek sounds and semis bouncing off the Alcan washboard. At 1:40 AM I finally get to sleep

Eclipse Nordic Hot Springs, Yukon, Canada
I chat for a while with a motorcyclist that passed me a few times. He’s on a solo road trip from Pennsylvania. “The wife is probably waiting for a sign of life after three days without service.” We remark on the masochistic insanity of the cyclists, especially with today’s headwinds. Later on the radio, I hear of a local Paralympics cyclist sho got nailed along the Alcan the previous night by a motorist who never slowed down. Aside from being paraplegic he’s now lost the use of one arm and broke some ribs.

I pass towns than I recognized from Jesse’s chikldhood stories. In Whitehorse Jesse‘s father’s ashes stir under the passenger seat and I run into the Dutch camper couple again. They’re also headed to the Hot Springs Campground. We have tea and cake in their camper. The Eclipse Hot Springs is quite beautiful and good for road-weary muscles. I spend two hours hours trying all the pools, sauna, cold plunges and the lovely relaxation room. At first I was turned off by the resort-feeling, but eventually deeply enjoyed it.

Teslin Lake government campground, Yukon, Canada
Yukon campgrounds have a normal flat rate of C$20.

Lake Creek campground, Yukon, Canada
A nice quiet campground along a creek with mountain views. Close to the highway, so road noise is common.

Snag Junction campground, Yukon, Canada
The campground is on a small lake with distant snowy peaks. It’s raining and a French cyclist has claimed the covered picnic area and made a fire. I give him a cold beer and we chat. I split some of the campground fire wood supply, realizing how many cyclists might want a fire to warm and dry themselves but don’t have a way of splitting wood. At this point an older – and very small – woman walks by to get water from the lake. She is very impressed by my wood splitting, crowing “you’re so cool!” so I offer to show her how and she wants to learn. She even keeps her first piece of split wood to show off at home (in Seattle). I would like to be that open and enthusiastic when I am older! Another cyclist from Anchorage shows up and we all sit around and eat and I share whiskey. They both drink theirs really fast. The French guy says I’ll be mentioned in his travel journal. Later that summer, I will meet him again, sitting by the Dalton highway, a few hundred miles from his destination at Prudhoe Bay, with two friends. One of them fell and hurt his shoulder, and I give them a ride back to Fairbanks along with their bicycles and cold beers.

Continuing west through the Yukon, the road is rough and slow and tiring. Grizzly as well as black bears wander along in and out of view with astonishing frequency. At any stop, people make small talk. Many are a bit – let’s say – eccentric and so are the flaggers as RVs barrel past, sounding in need of having multiple screws tightened. It’s getting cold and the weather along the tall and icy peaks of Kluane National Park is temperamental and violent.

Alaska, at last!
There is a 30 km stretch between the Canadian and U.S. checkpoints so neither are too far from a domestic town. The road improves dramatically and exactly at the ‘stop’ line at the U.S. border control point. The frost heaves still remind you of riding a rollercoaster, but road maintenance is done with more fervor and financial support than the lonely pickup with two guys, a bucket, and a shovel who were in charge of patching the Canadian sections.

Lakeview Campground, Alaska
Free campground and a stunning sunset on Yarker Lake with otters swimming close by. It’s nice to sit at the lake’s edge.