Lyle poked his head in the CLAM just as potato curry was coming off the stove. “Time to go,” our Eagle Plains parking lot partner and retired Dempster road engineer, urged. We woofed down half of the Indian spiced blend, packaged the rest and decamped in record time. The Eagle Plains lot had filled as word spread that the Peel River was retreating and the running of the ferry was imminent. We were trading on insider Lyle information. It was a late afternoon departure but in the land of the midnight sun, time has no meaning. And as everyone else scrambled to land a shower from Laura who was managing the quickly diminishing water supply at Eagle Plains Hotel, we got a three hour head start.
Retracing the Dempster drive from our reconnoiter, the crust coated semis heading south in 20 minute intervals were a dead giveaway that the Peel ferry was up and running. We arrived at the ferry just second in line behind a reefer hauling food to Inuvik. Even though everything about the crossing is odd to us outsiders it is routine for the locals. There are no instructions, no payments, no signs, just a dirt road running into the river that a ferry rams into and drops its ramp. Put it in 4WD through the newly constructed mud ramp; up, on and away the ferry goes. A week ago the ferry was careening unattended down river. Tonight we drove on.
There is a time phenomenon that occurs in The North where folks forget to go to bed. Before you know it, it is 3 a.m. We got stuck in that time warp and moved from the Peel to the mighty Mackenzie River. The Mackenzie was famous to us from its starring role in the Discovery series, The Last Alaskans. We were crossing the same river Heimo Korth navigates hunting moose. Cool! The powered Mackenzie ferry (no cable) was never out of service and the crossing took all of 8 minutes. Two rivers, two ferries, twenty minutes.
Finally north of the Mac, there were no more obstacles between us and the Arctic Ocean. The evening landings exuded an eerie vibe as jagged trees gave the illusion of spiked mountaintops and mossy treed hobbit hamlets whispered our name. Dead tired from the late start, our spirits nevertheless soared realizing that we would make Inuvik the next day, just a day late. Round midnight, a camping spot overlooking a wild creek beckoned. As we parked and leveled and started to celebrate our idyllic find, the mossy trees shapeshifted into mosquitos and attacked, like zombies in the apocalypse. Even though they felt life threatening, we reasoned the T@G would be our protector and all would be fine in the morning.
Sheri exited the truck to aid in the backup parking then opened the door to the T@G, slammed it shut and came running back to the cab crying, “We can’t sleep here … We have nowhere to sleep! It’s so bad!”
There’s a point of anguish where it is easier to laugh than to cry. We weren’t there. We were still crying. Even though we could not decide if we were more hungry, tired or road sore, we thought that six hours of rest would fix everything. Now that was gone. If suns set, this one would have hours ago. The 250 mile ride that had rollicked the T@G also loosened the overhead vent, leaving it partially open to the dust. The leaky doors that let in a little rain had let in all the dust of every passing truck on the Dempster. The interior, all of the bedding, all of the clothes, every horizontal surface was coated in a thick layer of microfine dirt. We seriously considered unhitching and leaving T@G right there.
We left zombieland for the side of the highway, 20 miles short of Inuvik, we stripped the beds, took the covers off all the cushions and pillows, shook out our sleeping bags, and tried to find a solution in our punch drunk state. The truth was that there was no getting into the T@G absent six hours of cleaning with vacuums and brushes that we did not have.
Packing up, we continued north finally arriving in Inuvik at 2 a.m. It was an odd feeling finally arriving at our long sought destination in such a state. As our phones came out of SOS and picked up a bar of LTE, we googled hotel options. Capitol Suites Hotel bypassed Google and flashed an OPEN sign on the front door. We took the last room available. A Japanese geologist had cancelled at the last minute. As the attendant took our credit card and swatted the mosquitos we dragged through the door, we thankfully asked if they happened to have laundry. “Yes, it’s free but it doesn’t open til 7am.”
Our permafrost studying friend from Asia had reserved a room with a kitchenette. In the morning we made good use of it, cooking breakfast sandwiches on a couple of hours of sleep and running four loads of laundry before check out. Later, the local hardware store supplied a dirt devil and other assorted cleaning supplies.
Our first full day in Inuvik was spent on a total teardown of T@G. We had lost some electronic equipment to dust and vibration, like the essential overhead fan, but by the end of the day we again had a place to sleep. Happy Valley Campground, a Northwest Territorial park in downtown Inuvik, supplied 30 amp electric service, potable water and hot showers.
We made the 8pm fashion show at the Sportplex, showcasing locally made parkas, hats and gloves for 40 below temps, which it’s hard to believe they actually need. When we got home thankfully the T@G air-conditioning unit switched on; the same a/c unit we had replaced in Florida after it breaking on the Texas T@G trip, even though we were sure we would not need it in The North.
The temperatures remained in the high seventies in a bright sun that shines all day/night while the T@G interior dropped to sleepable digits. The flying insects patrolled the screened perimeter of the CLAM and the dirt leaky doors of the T@G. 5000+ miles and 41 days later, we discovered that life above the Arctic Circle is a lot like Florida, except with caribou.
