I am stopped waiting for the highway crew to clean up a terrible accident on Highway 37A in northern British Columbia. The accident involved a car trying to avoid a mama bear and cub and consequently hitting another car in the process. As I pass the accident scene, there is a highway worker that looks more like a wild animal than a human being. He waves our car ahead, and our destination of Hyder, Alaska, is less than an hour away.
Hyder is not your quintessential tourist destination. There are 90 or so permanent residents, one hotel, two campgrounds, one restaurant, a general store and a gun store. By road, Hyder is a dead end, only accessed by BC Highways. There is a small dock that accesses the rest of rural Alaska.
We set up camp at the only campground that, due to the large grizzly bear population, allows tenting. Conveniently, the campground is right behind the only open restaurant and bar. The mountains engulf Hyder and our campground. We look straight up at 5,000-foot mountains. The general store owner drives by and notices our starry-eyed glares toward the top of the mountains. He tells us, some winters, there is over a hundred feet of snowfall.
We are now at the Sealaska Inn eating and drinking. After a while, we try the local shot famously known as the Hyderizer. This is not only a shot, but a challenge. The rules are: you can’t smell it or taste it; there are no chasers other than water; if you don’t finish it or if you spit it/throw it up, you have to buy a round for the whole bar and clean up the mess you made. Luckily, Frisco, Colorado’s Moose Jaw gave me training for these types of situations. My shot — which ended up being a double dose of Everclear — is successful, with a not-surprising firey tingle in the esophagus.
Shortly after, a local in the bar offers me some smoked salmon from a small Tupperware container. I tell him it’s the best fish I have ever had out of plastic Tupperware and maybe ever. As we continue to speak, the wild animal from the highway crew walks in and sits next to me. It turns out he is a very nice man and the sit-in mayor for the town of Stewart BC, right across the border from Hyder. Then again, I have always preferred people more like Wolverine from the “X-Men” than your typical Boulder Hipster.
As the night turns into the early morning, the bartender and I speak about Hyder. She informs me that, during the summer months, bikers like to come into town and follow no laws or ethical principals. This is the reason there is a double-barrel shotgun behind the bar. With no police in town, there are only citizens and guns to keep the peace. Before I head for my tent out back, the bartender makes sure I have bear spray. I respond with an affirmative shrug. “Good,” she says, “because, not too long ago, a friend of mine passed out behind the building and was eaten alive by a grizzly.”
“Yes,” she says with sadness in her voice indicating sincerity.
The next few days, we hike and explore the Coastal Mountains. Salmon Glacier might be the most beautiful sight I have ever seen. We skinny dip in glacial lakes, marvel at the enormous size of the grizzly bears and bald eagles and soak in the rawness that only wild Alaska can still offer.
Looking back at my visit to Hyder, the highway worker/mayor is a metaphor for the Last Frontier. Rural Alaska has a stereotypical gruff exterior, but once unraveled, the magic of such a magnificent place is revealed.
Pete Richmond lives in Frisco, Colo. This is his first story for the Gazette.