Le Junque

Marl Brown is my kind of Guy. He's the founder and curator of the Fort Nelson Heritage Museum. He's got a style with junk. Maybe it is the way his collection is amassed by kind, like a row of old washing machines, all pristine condition, juxtaposed with a collection of drilling heads. Or maybe it is the color combinations, some of them my favorites, like turquoise and purple with a splash of yellow. He has painted everything and maintained it free of rust and dirt. He provides ample seating and boardwalks throughout the collection, some of the seating a collection of its own. Please beware neighbors of mine, my yard may grow more eclectic after this visit. He's got me inspired. Tonight I pulled out my water color pencils. You go Marl! What a gift to the world.

After leaving Fort Nelson, which is nothing without Marl, we drove northward into the Terminal Rockies, meaning the northernmost end. They begin 1850 miles south in New Mexico, and they end, well, about here.

I believe the deer, moose, bear and stone sheep were all put off by the rain, off and on, cleaning the bugs off the windshield but making a mess of the rest of things. Poor Daisy. It's foot wiping time.

We stopped because we believed an ad that claimed that Testsa River Campground is truly the Cinnabun Center of the Galactic Cluster. That raised my expectations, so I must admit it was a comedown after eating Dinner Bell's East Houston working man's giant Hungarian Cinnamon Rolls. But then, Dinner Bell does not also sell muklucks and fur hats....Pink Fox anyone?

We arrived at Muncho Lake, green with copper oxide, and called it a day. In the parking lot we saw one of the sled dog transports, a wooden affair on a pickup bed with the sleds strapped on top and 13 dogs, 6 generations in compartments like a dogcatcher would have, except all homemade from wood. Next thing I knew Carl was petting dogs in their crates and talking to the owners. The owners are moving from Michigan to Alaska. We met great great great Grandma sled dog and the puppy, 9 years separating them. The puppy had puppy breath. So cute.

Muncho Lake is surrounded by 7000 foot mountains and itself is 2,680 feet. Daisy and I set off on a walk and returned pelted with rain. Minutes later it was beautiful again, and so it has gone all evening. After taking my yoga mat 4,000 miles, I finally found the perfect place to stretch: on top of the picnic table. While I was stretching, the float plane returned to the dock with its fishing weary passengers. The establishments in the area seem to struggle to survive. Perhaps 3 months of economy in a remote wilderness is not enough.

We met some folks from Homer; we have just listened to some of Tom Bodet's stories of his time in Homer, the end of the road, that the Stades gave us before we left on our trip. During his stay, Bodet lived with his wife in a tiny house. Some of their rules included: one person must stay in bed until the other one is completely showered, dressed, breakfasted and either gone or sitting down quietly. Another rule was no unnecessary motion. Don't get up to get something, just ask the other one to pass the item you want. If you get up, the dog gets excited and wags its tail, and somebody's juice gets spilled.

Sounds like life in the RV. However, after three full weeks we are doing much better in the domestic relations department than I would have anticipated. Maybe we have the space thing down. This much I know. When traveling and choosing a hotel room every night, when you pick wrong, it can be an uncomfortable night. When you pick wrong with an RV park, you just put down the shades and pretend you are not there.

Tomorrow, we are off to Liard Hot Springs, where we plan to parboil all morning, or maybe all day, then to Watson Lake in the YUKON. Another territory! Another set of wildlife! I really want a moose, and I have only seen the ones that met the bad end of an automobile. Yick!