Mackenzie Trail 2005 - Part 3

I was up with the sun the next morning. The dew was thick and not quite frost, and fog rolled over the meadow around us. It was a very refreshing morning and Oliver and I decided it would be a good time to toss the fishing line in the water again. We had about a half hour of peaceful relaxation sitting on the log bridge fishing. No fish were harmed during the process, much to my chagrin.
We all got under way by 9:30 or so as there were no major repairs required. Bernie's bumper needed some reattaching and from then on he had to get tugged with a strap attached to the frame. It seems that the movie folks he had purchased the truck from had attached the bumper for looks rather than strength, so Bernie will be doing some rebuilding and reinforcing when he gets home.
The trail today skirted the north side of the Blackwater River as it widened into various flowing lakes and narrowed again. We would go past the active Kluskus native village, and also end up on portions of the trail that we hadn't gone through the previous time.
It didn't take long, however to perceive a change in the trail conditions. Yes, there were the regular mud holes, and the tight trees, and fallen branches, and innumerable potholes, but to add to the fun a new feature of the trail presented itself: side slopes. Since the trail was running parallel to the river, on the slope above it, there is some natural side sloping going on. But since last trip, it had become obvious that the primary vehicles driving the trail were ATVs, and ATVs tread quite differently than larger trucks on a dirt road.. ATVs are faster, and tend to take the path of least resistance on any trail. Due to their narrower track, one tire ends up on the hump in the middle, while the other ends up in the track on the low side. This erodes the low side even lower, while not wearing the high side. Thus, after months or years of ATV use, the side slopes along the way end up being amplified.
We started encountering side slopes around 20-35°, which is a rather uncomfortable position. Add a high load, mud and bumps to that and you have a recipe for clenching the butt cheeks way too regularly. In several places Pamela had to get out, and her regular routine was to lean out the window or open the door on the high side — not that it helped, but it gave her a bit more confidence that at least she might be able to exit the vehicle if it decided to go over.
From my viewpoint, it was tense, but one can get used to just about anything. However, there were a few spots where I was sure we were going to tumble, so I didn't hesitate to stop, call for big guys to balance the high side, then proceed. I heard later that one of these spots where I had called for help had weighed in on Bernie's Tipometer at 42°, and I'm told you go over at 45°.
Our morning departure started with a photo opportunity on a log bridge. We encountered a number of these bridges — three or four stringers stretched across a gap, with loose 4-5" logs laid across it. Occasionally a log will be nailed into place to keep the other ones from jumping around too much. One has to be careful that the logs are not rotten, but otherwise they are quite safe. This particular bridge was long, by log bridge standards, about 100 feet, and curved, and there was an earlier bridge along side it, which was beginning to rot. But it made the entire crossing appear like a highway compared to the road around it. All trucks except Mark stopped to get photos. Mark, as usual, was scouting the trail ahead.
As the morning progressed we drove past several dilapidated and rolled over vehicles, standard fare for this trail, and a rotted out mid 50's pickup truck with Cariboo Ranch, Big Lake stenciled on the doors.
Another water crossing, some serious side slopes, some slippery sections, a feww tugs and winching, and it looked like we were approaching some kind of civilization again. There was even a road sign, indicating a mileage of 53 miles(?) to Nazko. We think this was a bit of trail humour, but it certainly could be accurate.
We arrived shortly before lunch at the inhabited Kluskus Native village, only to find that no one came out to check on us. We saw a few heads pop up in the window of their main lodge, and as we gave up and left saw another fellow working on his pickup truck. Some of us ended up taking a wrong turn on the way out of the village and found themselves at an interesting dead end — a pickup truck graveyard. The trail is awfully hard on vehicles and many of them appear to end up here.
An hours or so later we met a fellow on the trail. There were also some rare signs of life, such as signs pointing to various side roads and ranches. The fellow was riding an ATV with his son on another one behind him. He was very friendly and pointed us to where an airfield crossed our path, and told us to take a right turn and go down to the lake. This was Tsacha Lake, according to our maps, and there appeared to be a fishing lodge on it. When we got down to the lake, sure enough we had arrived at the Mackenzie Trail Lodge. Although currently closed to clients, this lodge caters to fly-in visitors providing them a remote catered fishing experience. The owner and his wife were in doing a couple of days of maintenance, and they were quite surprised to see 9 Land Rovers roll in. Just as we were beginning to visit with them, there also appeared 4 or 5 ladies on horseback, who had ridden in from the northwest. They made negotiations for a night's accommodation, and in the meanwhile we did a bit of exploring.
One thing was quite obvious — the main bridge that crossed the creek to the lodge was out. Manny told us it was a vehicle too heavy that finally did in the bridge. All three of the stringers were broken and laying in the bottom of the creek. Our negotiations for accommodation went a little different that the horse ladies. We offered to rebuild the bridge in exchange for our choice of camping spots and we would stay for two nights, thus giving ourselves a bit of a rest before proceeding west. Manny discussed it with his wife, agreed and we took the long route around to the beach on the other side of the collapsed bridge. Although it was rainy, it was really nice to be setting up camp before dark, and to know we could relax for a few hours and unwind from behind the wheel.
Once the rain let up, Mark and I got in his canoe and tried our hand at trout fishing in Tsacha Lake. We hated to admit defeat, but by twilight we were back in empty handed. After dinner we discussed bridge building strategy and the plan was to start the rebuild at 9 AM sharp. So Mark and I had our own strategy meeting, not being happy that the fish had eluded us earlier in the evening. We were going to get up at 5 AM and give it a try for a few more hours.
Everyone fell into their beds quite early as we were all bone tired from the trials of the trail.