Chasing Winter Magic along the Alaska Highway, from the Yukon to Alberta
I don’t care that it smells like rotten eggs as I sink deeper into the soothingly scorching, sulfur-rich waters of Liard River Hot Springs at 9 p.m. on a -15 C winter night. Glossy red wild berries gleam in the moonlight while snowflakes fall, like a shaken snow globe. Tucked away in a dense spruce forest, it feels like I’ve stumbled upon a hidden nature gem.
I decided I was long overdue for discovering Canada’s western coast after calling Montreal home for 10 years. My partner Anton and I flew to Whitehorse and set off on a road trip to Calgary, excited about travelling when the world feels blanketed in the kind of quiet only snow can bring.
To kick off our adventure in Whitehorse, we enjoyed a crisp Yukon Gold beer and live music at the packed 98 Hotel and Bar, grabbing chicken wings at the cozy Dirty Northern. A warning to anyone who ventures to the back of the latter: you may encounter “Crusty the Cat,” a feline discovered during renovations and forever on display behind a glass case.
The next day, we headed towards the highly anticipated Liard River Hot Springs. Anton drove while I drifted in and out of sleep. Somewhere along Highway 97 South, I woke to the sting of cold air on my face as my window rolled down. He pointed outside. It was my first time seeing a bison herd, close enough that I could see plumes of steam billowing from their nostrils and gaze at their glassy black eyes. The herd’s strong, musky scent felt oddly comforting, reminding me of the familiar pang that would hit my nose when entering a horse stable as a girl.
The sky had turned black long before we pulled into the parking lot. We bundled up for the 15-minute walk along the boardwalk that crosses a swamp to the springs. Silence had never felt so loud as we trudged across it, broken only by the crunch of snow beneath our boots, making me acutely aware of how completely secluded we were in the vast, icy forest.
The springs, two large gravel-bottom pools stacked atop one another, offered heavenly warmth after peeling off clothes stiff with snow and cold in the outdoor changing room. We stayed for over an hour before walking back across the swamp, cold layers clinging to my skin and cheeks burning. I did it all again without hesitation, in the daylight, the next day.
Our stay that night at the Northern Rockies Lodge, a log cabin the size of a mansion at Muncho Lake, was a welcome luxury of coziness after an evening outdoors. We didn’t encounter any other guests and had the immense dining room to ourselves while enjoying fluffy French toast and crisp bacon the next morning.
Next stop: Dawson Creek. Along the drive, we spotted a family of caribou, a bighorn sheep and a coyote prancing through untouched snow. My favorite part of off-season winter travel quickly became spotting wildlife up close from the car. With so few vehicles on the road, we could pull over and admire them at our leisure, without crowds scaring them away.
We snapped a photo in front of the Mile 0 Alaska Highway sign in town before heading to the South Peace Historical Society Museum. Little did we expect to admire a mammoth tusk and jawbone from the region, along with elaborate historical dioramas depicting the daily life of townspeople over a century ago, and dozens of taxidermy of local animals.
The next destination was Jasper with its small-town feel, kitschy souvenir shops and abundant outdoor art, from vibrant street murals to the 43-foot Two Brothers Totem Pole, which tells the story of two Haida brothers.
Elk seemed to have taken over the town. Each night, we’d park outside the RCMP Jasper Detachment building, where a group of them settled down for the night. Others walked nonchalantly along the main road or pranced from backyard to backyard as locals went about their evenings, walking to their car or chatting at a bus stop. I observed their watchful, curious eyes and majestic antlers for minutes on end.
Less than an hour from Jasper is Maligne Lake, famous for moose sightings. Sure enough, we spotted a mother and her yearling trotting along the road, and another lone yearling awkwardly kneeling in the middle of the road, happily licking the salt without a care in the world for our presence.
There’s nothing like locking eyes with a bighorn sheep just a few feet away or stargazing from a hot spring in freezing temperatures to appreciate how winter has a way of slowing everything down. Pause. Breathe. Listen. That winter stillness sticks with you long after leaving.
