2025 Northbound Tour, Part Three

Burns Lake, BC to Watson Lake, YT

The next two days would change us. It has been hard to find words for what we saw and the connection to the earth that we felt, and photos simply are not adequate.

We left Burns Lake in search of coffee, only to be disappointed by Tim’s again. They were even out of bacon for our breakfast sandwich. I cried actual tears, and Daphne blurted, “Doesn’t this country have a bacon named after it?”

Back on the road, farmland gave way to mountains. The forest closed in, and the roads narrowed. The air was sweet and untouched. Neither of us wanted to sleep for fear of missing something.

We stopped at the Bulkley River in Witset, frolicked barefoot, and took in the sound of the water rushing over the rocks.

The joy gave way to silence as we approached the junction to the Highway of Tears. A sign read, “Girls don’t hitchhike on The Highway of Tears.” Eighty women, mostly Indigenous, have gone missing or been murdered along this stretch of road in my lifetime.

Stop signs in First Nations languages reminded us where we really were.

The miles between gas stations stretched to 160 at times, and we topped off at every chance so we would never have to worry about running out of fuel. Daphne was still recovering from being sick, so we stopped at a roadside market for cold medicine. The package was printed in both English and French.

As we pushed further north, the wildlife came out to greet us. We saw a fox unlike any I had ever seen, a handful of rabbits darting through the brush, and eight bears, including a family of black bears crossing the highway and a massive grizzly standing in a stream with a fish hanging from its mouth. It was surreal.

Our last lake stop was the stunning Good Hope Lake, about an hour from the Yukon border. The water shimmered with colors I did not know existed. Lakes had become a theme and by the end of the trip I had seen more natural lakes in a few days than I had in my entire life.

We crossed into Yukon Territory around 7 p.m. and found our motel thirty minutes later. It was called 'A Nicer Motel.' On the outside, it was not. For a moment, I genuinely feared for our safety, and in hindsight, I am glad I did not look up local crime rates until later. But the inside was absolutely adorable.

At 11:00 pm, in broad daylight, not realizing we wouldn't see the dark of night again for over a month, I stood alone on the side of the only road connecting the lower 48 to Alaska through Canada. We had made it to the AlCan Highway.