The generator on one of our neighbor’s coach woke me at seven. After a little rolling around I got up and started the coffee and tea. Onie followed me when the coffee was ready.

We were on our way to Whitehorse as soon as we finished our quick breakfast. With no landlines or slides to contend with our morning getaways are quick.

Why we were so anxious to get back on the horrible road is a mystery to me unless it would be to get it over with. True, the scenery is stunning but then so is the road. In fact after fifteen minutes on the road one is totally stunned. It was hard to believe that after all the bad road we had already covered there was more. It was kind of like swallowing a pint of Castor Oil only to find you had another half gallon to go, stunning.

If we’d had whole milk for breakfast we would have had butter in our tummies by the time we stopped for lunch.

The salmon salad Onie had made and put into fresh Bell Pepper was just what we needed after the jostling we had endured. Parked on a turnout we enjoyed the lack of motion and relished our meal. With nerves settled once more we pulled back onto the road.

Kluane Lake is a beautiful jewel in the Yukon. When we came up a few weeks ago it was but a chip of a jewel due to a lack of water. Today it shone in its entire aquamarine splendor having benefited from some glacial melts. The road around the lake even seemed a little smoother with the sun reflecting into the coach.

Somewhere along the way we picked up a wind called Mariah. This was a wind that whistled up behind us and pushed us along or screamed down a gulch and tried to shove us off a bridge. When we least expected it, a frontal blow was delivered that caused the coach to shake and the Cummins to labor. Yes, this was a Texas sized blow, in the Yukon.

We rode the wind right into the Wal-Mart parking lot in Whitehorse. We would boondock here along with about three dozen other rigs. Normally we wouldn’t put the jacks down on a Wal-mart parking lot for fear of damaging the surface. Tonight we put them down just enough to make contact with the surface but not level the coach or lift any weight. The wind was blowing so hard the coach rocked like a boat on the ocean. We wanted a little firm floor after a day of rock and roll. While we were here we would get the tires on the toad balanced and rotated. Onie also contributed a little inside the store.

Our view of Whitehouse WalMart

Ricky’s, a diner across the parking lot, beckoned to us and we obeyed the call. Salads, onion rings and baby back ribs were our last meal out, for a while. The food was good but the service was marginal. All in all it was okay but Onie could have done better. We will be taking the road less traveled, beginning day after tomorrow, and it is also the road less populated. That means Onie won’t get a break from the kitchen unless I cook and that might not be nearly as good as hers’.

We fought the wind to get back to the coach and once inside buttoned up for the night. Then we settled down to the domino table. When we found we are still well matched we headed to our bed.

Today is my youngest sister’s birthday. Martha came into our lives a few years ago and has been an integral part of our family ever since. She has shared many happy and sad times with us and through it all she has kept her sweet disposition and smile, a testimony to her faith, no doubt. Surely heaven will have a special place for her someday. We wish her the very happiest of days as well as many happy returns. We wanted to call today but couldn’t get a cell signal and then it was to late to use a pay phone.

Mariah had calmed somewhat this morning but a nice breeze of twenty-five kilometers was still blowing as we left Wal-Mart and climbed the hill to the Alaska Hiway and headed south.

We weren’t out of the woods yet, when it came to bad road, but every now and then we caught a glimpse of what we knew was in store. From time to time we rolled along without so much as a ripple or bump to disturb our ride but bad road still laid before us. The Cummins ran below normal operating temperature in the cold air and what heat it did generate we bled off via the dash heater to warm our feet and legs. The wind, which was picking up again persisted in blowing at ninety degrees to the roadway no matter which way we headed. The bumps in the road and the crosswind kept me on my toes.

I kept asking Onie when the good roads began and she kept telling me soon. The road did improve and we got some respite from the bumpy ride.

The pull out at Swan Lake served as our lunch break spot. More green pepper and salmon salad satisfied us. We stretched our legs and Onie took a picture or two before we started our journey, again.

Just down the road from Swan Lake we stopped for fuel. I visited with the gentleman pumping the fuel. Of course we discussed the weather. Heavy clouds hung over the mountains, to the north, and the cold wind brought a few big drops of rain. The first snow should arrive here around the first of October but could be sooner if the cold didn’t break. Just down the road at Pink Mountain they had five inches of snow last week. Fifty-five gallons of fuel later we were ready to get back to driving and riding.

Ninety miles down the road was the junction with the Cassiar Hiway and the rv park where we would spend the night.

The park had a spacious pull thru site for us sitting among the spruce, pines and aspen. After hooking up our first priority was rub a dub dub. When we boondock we watch our water, carefully. That means showers with a gallon or two of water. Tonight we both showered for twenty minutes or more.

Onie served up a dinner of salad and gumbo with blueberry muffins for dessert.

After that feast it was all I could do to write while Onie prepared week twelve for the web.

Tomorrow will be another day. We should be good and rested for our next adventure. The Cassiar is four hundred forty eight miles of pavement, gravel and oiled road. There will also be a ninety mile round trip off the Cassiar down to Hyder, Alaska to watch bear feed on salmon. With good luck and the Good Lord willing we will spend tomorrow night in Hyder.

Onie is anxious to get on down the Hyder Hiway. As a result she was up at 5:15. When I woke at ten to seven the biscuits were almost ready and the bacon was already draining. The table was set with the butter, figs, coffee and tea. With the sun streaming through the windshield it was a truly delightful Sunday morning and a great day to be alive.

After breakfast we changed our bed linen, wrote a few emails and then Onie was off to the web modem. I stayed and wrote a bit, I’m trying to stay caught up, before tackling my preboondocking chores. Onie was back sooner than I expected. There was no modem. We thought last night when we pulled in that it looked like the place was dying on the vine. The restaurant/saloon was closed as was a filling station and auto repair garage. What was open was suffering from benign neglect at best and complete abandonment at worst. The web update and email would have to wait for another day.

It was 55 at 8 o’clock this morning and it was still crisp when I went out to do the flushing and disconnecting. The flushing is a necessary evil of coaching. We only have to disconnect when we are connected and want to move. That is kind of like only having to exercise on the days you want to eat. Anyway we got disconnected and were ready to move along. A caravan in the park with us had pulled out an hour earlier so we weren’t concerned about catching them. Besides, they had overtaken us yesterday and were driving with wild abandonment over the rough roads. Where we went fifteen they went thirty or more so we felt we had seen the last of them.

British Columbia 37, BC 37, runs down to BC 37A, which takes one to Stewart, BC that is just two miles from Hyder, Alaska. We pulled on to BC 37 to begin another piece of our continuing adventure. The road was nice, it was relatively wide, it was straight, it was pretty smooth and it was a lie. Farther along, but not much farther, we came to our first pavement break. One might ask what a pavement break is and that would be good information to have if you ever drive the Cassiar Hiway. In plain English a pavement break is a place where the asphalt has been replaced with stones, gravel and washboard. One can only assume the reason these places exist is to test the construction of the various vehicles navigating the roadway, for tested they will be. Blowouts occur, wheel covers are lost, windshields are broken, nuts and bolts come loose and/or shear off leaving something drooping that should be standing, welds separate and these are just the obvious. Perhaps the most curious part of the whole affair is that folks subject themselves and their property to these rigors just for the delight of seeing beautiful scenery, wild animals and other souls who enjoy the same.

We were on the Cassiar and committed, some would say should be committed, to getting to Hyder to see bears in a creek feeding on salmon that had but one thing on their mind, spawning. That seems a little morbid to me, watching something being murdered and eaten while the thing only wants to procreate. I just wonder why P.E.T.A. members aren’t out in the creek talking to the bears and reminding them of how painful it must be for the salmon to be caught, have their skin ripped off and their entrails removed while they are still alive and then finally having their heads ripped off all in the name of feeding the bears. Let the bears eat greens! P.E.T.A. members should heed this call to arms and step between the bears and the helpless fish. There can be no ethical treatment of animals until all animals are protected ethically.

Well, we were on the road and doing the pavement breaks with an extraordinary amount of composure and aplomb. We were right where we wanted to be and doing just fine, thank you. Then the pavement and pavement breaks came to an end and we were on gravel and rock. It was rough but somebody has to do it and we volunteered. We looked for moose, which would be eating greens, and bears but saw neither. We visualized bears eating salmon and shuddered. What a waste. We love salmon, to eat.

The dust rolled out of the rear tires of the coach and up into the radiator and charge air, clogging both. This was just another price we pay for boosting economies wherever we find them. The toad was covered with dust and rocks but it never complained, following along silently, as we watched through the TV monitor on the dash of the Marlin. Showers came and went and in between the sun shone down on us warming us in our comfortable leather chairs. We had nothing to complain about.

We love to watch wild animals and as a result are always on the alert for them. Today we had seen two ground squirrels and some free ranging horses. It would be unfair to say the horses were tame as no one was around to attest to the fact that they were saddle broke and without such an attestation it must be assumed they are "wild", untamed. Now as we rocked along in the comfort of our home on wheels we saw a BIG Black bear in the right of way. He was headed for the road. We quickly slowed to a stop; Onie grabbed the camera and begin shooting pictures. He turned this way and that, posing for her, showing us his good side, before heading back to his home in the bush. We were happy, he was happy.

Onie is a lover of all things good and that includes huckleberries. As we rode along she read her Milepost and told me how we were about to enter British Columbia’s biggest huckleberry patch. I knew we should stop. When we found a pullout we put the Cummins to rest and lit out for the huckleberry bushes. I know I mentioned bears eat salmon but did I mention they also eat berries? They do, blueberries, huckleberries and any other berry that can’t defend itself so I guess that would be all berries. Onie was anxious to get to the berries and left the coach even before the engine died. When I got out to join her I could hear her singing, announcing to the bears that we were coming to get their berries and they should not worry but be happy. We looked on our side of the road and found not one berry so we crossed the road, holding hands and singing. If she’d had schoolbooks or a lunch box I would have carried them for her. On the other side of the road we found ripe huckleberries. Onie tasted a couple and pronounced them good. We kept picking until the cold rain drove us back to our driving.

In the early afternoon we caught up with the caravan as they pulled into an rv park. It was too early for us to consider stopping and besides we weren’t to Hyder. We motored farther along and the clouds that soon began delivering a steady rain finally hid the sunshine. Wind whistled through the canyons the road followed and soon the temperatures began dropping. We motored on. It became late afternoon and we were chilly although we were running the dash heater and wore long sleeved garments. A little meeting of the minds between the navigator and driver determined that God was willing, our spirits were willing but our bodies were unwilling for us to get to Hyder, today.

We drove a little farther before finding a beautiful pullout surrounded by Daisies, green grass and trees nestled next to the road. Farther back from the road the hills rose up to meet the mountains just as they did across the road and past the creek. We pulled in and parked. In the quiet of the still coach we could hear the steady patter of the rain on our roof.

We ate supper. We played dominoes. We enjoyed the sound of the rain thoughout the evening. At ten o’clock we went to bed. Five o’clock in the morning would come soon.

Five o’clock did come soon, too soon. Somewhere in the world someone got up but in the Marlin all was quiet except for the sound of Onie and me sleeping.

When we woke a little after seven the steady patter of rain was still to be heard on the roof. The coach had kept us safe, dry and warm all night. We were thankful. We have spent the night in a similar rain, while biking, where we were safe, cold and damp, in a tent and it hasn’t been that long ago, either.

The drumming of the generator cranking out fresh power to the coffee and teapot drowned out the sound of the raindrops as were started our morning. Blueberry muffins with our hot beverages prepared us for another day of pavement, pavement breaks and gravel and rock. Hopefully we would find a bear along the way and we could chastise him or her for eating those poor little defenseless fish.

The heavy rain stopped just as we left our resting place.

Onie was reading her Milepost again and assured me the worst of the road was behind us. She was right. We did roll over a few more pavement breaks but there was no more gravel and rock. Soon we were zipping along at fifty and fifty five miles an hour on an almost seamless road that had very adequate shoulders. Roaring down one such stretch we saw what appeared to be a big black dog in the ditch. As we got closer we saw it was a small black bear, eating grass. How lucky can a bear be? If that bear had been eating a fish in the ditch we would have stopped and scolded it.

Now we were at the junction of BC 37 and BC 37A. We took 37A and were truly on our way to Hyder. BC 37A is also known as the Glacier Hiway. Almost from the moment we pulled onto it we saw glacier waterfalls cascading hundreds or thousands of feet down mountainsides to the valley below where they joined a creek on their way to the sea at Hyder. At some points clouds hung so low we couldn’t see the blue ice that formed the glaciers laying in the crevasses but we knew they were there. The road to Hyder passes through Stewart, BC and is only about forty miles long. It must have at least two curves per mile as it twists and turns following the creek and then the river through the valley. The scenery is breathtaking and worth the trip.

Stewart is a pretty little town with good paved tree lined streets where neat homes are the rule. The business district, while small, seems affluent and stable. We motored right through it waiting for Hyder.

We found Hyder just past the Canadian U.S border, Hi-De-Ho. Potholes big enough to lose a small sized elephant in occupy most of the nearly deserted streets. None but tourists dare brave these streets. Pedestrians’ biggest fear is falling into one of these caverns and breaking a leg or of becoming lost and never finding their way out. Lest you think I exaggerate I will admit there are bigger potholes in some urban areas but these are the result of politicians and not the work of tires and nature. Most thinking folk will admit that a seasoned politician can muck up things much worst than nature and a tire. As soon as opportunity presented itself we made a big U-turn and headed back to Stewart, B.C. We will visit Hyder again but next time we will drive the toad and be sure it has a transponder on it so we can locate it should it sink beneath the muck and grim in a pothole.

In Stewart we checked into the Bear River RV Park, a place with satellite TV and a modem hookup and where they honor you, by giving you a discount, for just living a long time. We liked that.

After we were all hooked up I cleaned up the tow shield from the toad and visited with our neighbors, Fred and Steve. They are here from Nevada. Thousands of Rvers have been to Alaska and they each have their story to tell. They had theirs’, full of fun and equipment that failed under the Alaskan strain. They told me all about it with a sense of resignation along with a smile as they talked about the enjoyment they had while in Alaska. Unfortunately they didn’t have enough time to hear ours.

After webbing things up Onie went back to the motor home where she got us a snack so we could hold out ‘til suppertime and Alaskan King Crab.

While we waited for suppertime we noticed that the devil is still a bad man. He beat his wife all afternoon with a frying pan. Onie played spider and watched CNN while I pecked away.

When the stomach could no longer endure the hunger pangs we set off to score some King Crab. The crab was preceded by a Greek salad and accompanied by fresh new potatoes, broccoli, carrots and bread. It was another feast. When the feast was ended we drove back to the coach for a movie and writing. Onie watched Tripfall on channel 4, KOMO, Seattle while I wrote a little more.

The rain that had been with us off and on during the day kept us company while the temperatures fell into the low fifties.

When the movie was over at eleven we watched the news before going to bed.

Rain fell all night and continued after we got up. With it came cooler temperatures and later they turned cold. Single layers of clothing had to give way to shirt on top of shirt and then a jacket. We didn’t need anyone to tell us that fall will soon be followed by winter, here.

The local bears know winter is just a few short nights away, too. Then they will have to den up and their bodies will have to sustain themselves on the salmon they are eating now, sometimes up to twelve hundred pounds a season. They are spending their waking hours mainly in Fish Creek where the Chum Salmon are running, returning to the place of their spawn. Here they wallow depressions in the creek bottom where the females will lay their eggs and the dominant male salmon will fertilize them before the female scoops gravel over them to hold them in place and protect them. Soon after that they will die of starvation, rot and become food for the young fry that will soon hatch. But not all fish that die become food for the fry; some are eaten by the many seagulls that attend this annual ritual of mating, new life and death. Bears eat some and some never make it here because they are caught in commercial nets, by sport fishermen, seals, eagles or one of many other predators.

In the afternoon we drove to Fish Creek to watch this drama unfold before our own eyes, and perhaps see a bear or two. What we saw was a creek teeming with fish, alive, dying and dead. This year over a hundred thousand chum salmon came into Fish Creek to spawn. This was after spending their adult lives in the salt water of the Pacific Ocean. While there their internal organs adapted to the saline solution that was their home. Back in the fresh water of the creek those same organs that adapted to salt water couldn’t handle the fresh water nor could they digest the organisms in the fresh water so death was only a matter of time, dictated by how quickly the stored fat in their bodies was used up and that was dictated by the strength of the tides, currents, difficulty of nest building and for the males the struggle for dominance over other males.

Standing on the enclosed boardwalk next to the creek we watched some males joust with one another while others courted a female, lightly biting her tail or hovering next to her while fluttering fins to entice her to lay eggs, in the waiting nest. Some fish were waiting in the quiet shallows near the bank for death to claim them while others still struggled to get further up the creek to their final destination and many, their life over lay in the still backwaters, covered with silt and stacked like cordwood. We stood, fascinated, for quite a long time before we went back to the Forester where we headed up the road for a self guided tour.

Salmon Glacier, the fifth largest glacier in Canada, was our intended destination, but we would see many things along the scenic twenty-three mile drive before we got there.

We had left from our camp in Stewart, British Columbia, a small town big in history, originally founded as a mining camp by sixty-eight prospectors in 1898. Two brothers named Stewart formalized the town in 1902.

At one time there was a Hyder, B.C. It is said that it was born due to the Volstead Act in the U.S. Many thirsty Alaskans wanting an alcoholic beverage would simply walk across the international boundary, drink their fill, and then walk home. When prohibition ended it marked the beginning of the end for Hyder, B.C. Today all that remains is a few pilings that once supported businesses and homes.

Past the remains of Hyder, B.C. we passed The Storehouse, Eagle Point, which was one of four built in 1903 by the U.S. Army Corp of Engineers, to house supplies. True to form they mistakenly built two of the storehouses on Canadian soil. Some entities seem to make a history for themselves through their bungling misachievments.

We had driven though Hyder, Alaska to get to Fish Creek. The potholed streets couldn’t distract from the beauty of the majestic glacial peaks that surround the small struggling town.

Just outside of Hyder we entered the Tongass National Forest, established in 1902 by Teddy Roosevelt. The entire park is 16.7 million acres, about the size of Maryland, New Hampshire and Vermont combined, and has approximately 11,000 miles of coastline.

Moose Pond, just about six miles for the coach, is the home of Canadian geese, ducks, porcupines, spotted frogs, red squirrels, beaver, eagles and bear but no moose.

Just past Moose Pond was where we were leaving from, Fish Creek Wildlife Viewing Area.

A fire scarred chimney and fireplace marked where Fish Creek Roadhouse stood prior to its burning in 1962. Originally constructed to house workers who were building an aerial tram to haul ore. When the construction was completed it became a roadhouse serving beverages to quench the thirst of the miners. Reputedly other desires could be satiated there, also.

Horse and mule trains used to use the five-mile long Titan Trail to carry supplies to miners but it is now maintained by the U S Forestry Service for recreational hiking.

A couple of miles further up the road we passed the remains of the sixty ton mill that once operated at the Riverside Mine, the most important mining property in the Hyder area. Buildings and other evidence of the mining operation were washed away in a flood in 1987.

Still further up the road, at Nine Mile, we crossed the Texas Creek where it flows into the Salmon River. At one time a bridge had spanned the Salmon here but in 1961 a Jokulhlaups (pronounced Yuk-a-lups) occurred resulting in a flash flood that destroyed the bridge. It wasn’t rebuilt. Had we wanted to hike up Texas Creek, three miles, we could have seen a covered bridge spanning it. We just kept driving.

Prior to 1903 the international boundary between Alaska and Canada was a bone of contention between the two neighbors. That year a commission decided the boundary. Fourteen miles from the coach we went back into Canada at what is known as the Premier Border Crossing. There are no customs officers here only a swath of clear cut that is renewed every ten years.

In 1910 another mine was established just up the road. The Indian Mine was worked from that time until 1963 when production was stopped.

Sixteen miles from the Marlin we paused to look at the only operating mine on our route, the Premier Mine. It to was started in 1910 but continues today due to the richness of its deposits. In 1921 it shipped one and a half million dollars of gold, at 1921 values, but was devastated by a fire in 1928. Although severely damaged mining continued while the camp was rebuilt. What fire couldn’t accomplish government could, and the mine was closed from 1953 to 1955. Today the mine is operated by Westmin Mines as an open pit operation.

We had been climbing steadily as Onie shifted gears to maintain speed on the increasingly steep road. Now we had reached the toe of the Salmon Glacier, three miles wide and thirty-five miles long. We stopped to take pictures and try to grasp the true size of this huge chunk of ice, rock and gravel. We looked at the terminal and lateral moraines as well as the Kettle lakes formed by the retreating glacier before climbing back in the Subaru for the rest of the journey to the top.

Five miles later we were standing on the road looking down onto a large portion of Salmon Glacier. Usually the only way you can look down on a glacier is from a flight seeing plane. We were doing it standing on solid ground and enjoying it all the more for that reason.

The brisk wind that blew around us made the forty-seven degree temperature feel like thirty, or less. I snuggled down into my coat as we walked and took pictures. All memories of the Cassiar Hiway faded as we looked at the magnificence of God’s handiwork. Wherever we looked our eyes were filled with beauty. It was the wildflowers growing in the rocky terrain, the rills tumbling over the rocks, the clouds enveloping the mountaintops and the glacier stretching over the horizon, there it was, awesome, stunning beauty. We drank in the beauty until our visual senses were sated and we knew staying longer would not increase our appreciation for what we were seeing.

We headed down the mountain with me driving and Onie taking more pictures as we stopped along the way.

At Fish Creek we took the last available parking place. We took the fenced boardwalk, fenced to keep out the bears, to the viewing area which was already filled with other folks who had come to watch bears feeding on spawning salmon.

The light was fading as the clock neared seven o’clock but we found a place at the fence rail and watched the salmon in their spawning ritual. Half an hour later someone spotted a grizzly feeding in the creek. He was visible for only a few minutes before he worked down creek. With his leave taking many of the bear watchers on the boardwalk left. We stayed. Light was fading at eight thirty when we saw another grizzly walking up the creek. He was chasing salmon, walking from side to side on the creek as he came toward us. In almost dark conditions we saw him chase a salmon and then catch it in his jaws. With his next meal assured he walked into the brush that lines the creek.

The next few minutes, while darkness fell, we visited with a ranger about the habits of the grizzlies and black bears that feed here as well as the salmon that are their meals. When darkness assured that we would see no more bears we went to the car and headed for the border and customs.

We cleared customs for what seemed like the tenth time in two days and then went home to a meal of venison sausage before watching a little TV and then turning in.

When we woke rain was still falling. We rolled over and went back to sleep. When we woke again the rain had stopped.

I turned the furnace on as I fixed coffee and tea and it immediately roared to life chasing the cold and dampness from the coach.

Later we re-upped for two more days then watched TV, played spider or solitaire and I wrote for a few hours.

Onie went grocery shopping while I stayed at the keyboard.

Salad and salmon was our dinner.

Full of bear food we headed off to Fish Creek to watch grizzlies.

Did I mention it started to rain again this afternoon?

We drove to Fish Creek in a steady rain and when we got to Hyder we got a nice surprise, they had graded the road and it was fairly smooth. We could go the speed limit, 20 mph, without shaking all the filings out of our teeth.

We got out into the fifty-five degree rainy evening with umbrellas and cameras in hand. The boardwalk had a good number of people on it but not as many as last evening. They had gone on to other interests or the rain had kept them home. Either way we were happy. We hoped the low hanging clouds and the low light would encourage more bears to show themselves. While we waited we took some video of the spawning fish. An hour of standing in the rain was rewarded when a grizzly boar waded into the creek downstream from us and started our way, fishing. With the video camera running and with Onie snapping stills the bear came on. We watched while the bear chased fish until he caught one in his mouth and then carried it out of the creek. There he skinned the fish and ate part of it before wading back into the creek where he fished a little before vanishing into the creek side brush. We had recorded most of it on videotape.

The rain continued to fall and the temperatures kept falling as we waited in the rain for the grizzly boar to return or for another one to replace him. At ten minutes till ten we agreed it was time to go home and get warm and dry. Before we went in to bed the temperature had fallen to fifty-two.

We started our day listening to the rain that was still falling. Higher up on the mountain above the park it had not rained last night, it snowed. The furnaces heated the coach while the coffee and tea made.

We fortified ourselves against the day’s exertions with the last of our wild blueberries buried in whole-wheat pancakes topped with warm Muscadine jelly, thanks to Patty, and bacon.

When breakfast was dispatched we tackled the kitchen cleaning from top to bottom and then hustled off to the web modem to check email and pay bills. From there we moved on to the wash that had been accumulating for many days. Yes, it was a day of high adventure in the lives of Onie and Pawpaw.

When the high adventures had tried us to the point of exhaustion we took ourselves off to downtown Stewart and the King Edward Hotel and Restaurant, for dinner. I won’t bore you with the details of our meal but suffice it to say the name relates to Alaska, royalty and crotchety old men.

We read our email when we returned and went to bed early. We were going to get up early in the morning to keep a date with a grizzly fishing for his breakfast, before heading on toward the lower forty-eight.