Find My Country

My experiences in the Yukon Territories has been nothing short of fascinating. I started off by selecting the Canadian capital I knew least about (Whitehorse) and took a 7 hour flight to get here. With nothing except some book reading about the place – and the knowledge that my favourite Canadian author (Pierre Berton) was born here – I found myself in a tiny airport with no separation between arrivals and people waiting. Getting my bag, I hopped into a cab with the front window smashed – and said to myself “Oh God, I made a big mistake”. Then he proceeded to get me to my hostel without a problem, with no “scenic tours”, and helped me with my bags. What??

My first inkling of the helpfulness and kindness of the locals was when I went to go get my rental car. I had booked the wrong dates and had to make some changes. The girl at National changed the dates, changed the car on my request, and spent 20 or 30 minutes explaining the various places I might want to go and see.

I went back to the hostel and talked to my hosts a bit. I was staying at the Hyde on Jeckyl, which is owned by a German man and his Austrian wife. They leave the building itself in charge of other drifters like me who agree to stay for a while, in exchange for room and board. I can’t vouch for the people you will meet, but Elena (the person who was mainly responsible while I was there) was very professional and very hard working – too hard working even. Always greeted me with a smile and always was wonderful to talk to. Incidentally, she has a website at www.tierracirca.de to cover her journey by bicycle. The other people at the Hostel were great too – everyone was friendly and upbeat about how things were going. Other people I had met who were fantastic were the American med student who took my blood pressure 3 times in one day (practice she claims), the two Japanese travellers who were helping Elena who ALWAYS went out of their way to converse with me, and George, a black American who had come to meet his Internet girlfriend.

Within Whitehorse, I had the opportunity to walk into this charming antiques store that was run by a young (at heart) lady named Fran. Sick of the stress at her old government job, she decided to take a leap into retailing and started her own boutique called “Frantiques”. Running under the idea of selling antiques at rates low enough that anyone can afford them, Fran only started two weeks ago. Eventhough I only spent a dollar, she spent quite some time talking to me about business and how things were in the city – definitely a fun time when you consider how lonely a long trip can get. If you want to stop by, look for the Log Cabin sky scraper on 6-210 Lambert Street – and tell her I say hello.

At the tourism info desk, I had the opportunity to say hello to Linda, who turned out to be from the same suburb of Montreal as I was (!). She went to great lengths to explain the various parts of the route, and even gave me names of people to meet when she found out about my site. Oh Linda, I’ve already met some of those characters you were talking about…

At the same time I had the opportunity to meet Nora, who runs a PR company. She was off to Dawson City the next day – and had only been given one day’s notice. We spent a few hours roaming around Whitehorse and talking about stuff, ranging from politics, religion, and travel. It was an eye opening experience for me, since I don’t get to talk to people involved in her field very often – nor do I often meet people who have an open mind. Definitely a wonderful touch of serendipity, as she put it.

Kindness can descend into, uh, creepiness at times. This poor native american fellow at Pelly River was hanging around the general store. Smelling of alcohol he shook
my hand, gave me a hug and asked me if I could come and photograph his parents’ 50th anniversary celebration. I was too scared to tell him that I was too busy checking my pockets to make sure he didn’t take anything. (He didn’t – and I’m a bit embarassed to admit my reaction.).  I blurred out the face of his nephew who asked me to do so.  I don’t blame him really.

On the verge of something great.

Hush up and gather around children – I am about to tell you a secret that Bill Gates doesn’t want you to know about.

The Yukon is a beautiful place. The locals are the friendliest people I have met anywhere in my life, and the scenery is breath-taking. In the process of getting my car, I heard about this one twisting road off the Alaska Highway, just 5 or 10 kilometers out of town. It wasn’t on Microsoft Maps – nor was it part of the normal tourist experience. The nice lady at National rent-a-car told me about it in a conspiratorial voice, and I decided to take her advice. I’m glad I did.

There are a lot of trails down old Fish Lake road. This one is actually part of the Trans Canada Trail and is next to a Marsh. The cloud cover was so awful that one couldn’t tell the difference between the snow caps and the clouds themselves, go figure.

As a Biologist (if I can be permitted that title with a mere B.Sc), I always found it funny that a marsh (like MacIntyre Marsh, above) is considered a symbol of death. In reality, Marshes are a large source of biodiversity, with some of the most complex ecosystems around.

On the map at the top you will see a splitting path. This is where it happened – the right side leads to Johnson lake, over some testy dirt roads, while the other one goes to Fish Lake.

Despite the lack of infrastructure and roads, people still build houses here. I don’t blame them – this area looks as beautiful as any part of the Rockies, without the fake people.

You pretty much need 4WD to reach this point at this part of the year because the road sides are soft and it is easy to skid off the road. It is hard to reach a speed over 40 km/h if you are not used to the area.

This sign is so dilapedated that someone could be excused for trespassing by accident. I saw it and turned back, as the roads beyond this point were worse than quicksand.

An example of the “roadway”. You need some decent clearance to go over this. I am glad I didn’t come with my Mustang

I retraced my steps and drove down until the terminal point of Fish Lake. I passed by some Ranches and a tourist destination (“Sky High Wilderness Ranches”). It is theoretically possible to go further, but you’d have to be stupid to do so in a car. I did explore the area a bit on foot though.

This area is blissfully quiet, with very little noise except for the crows.

I wonder if this scenery will still be there when my kids will be around. I pray that it is the case – but global warming doesn’t make me confident. The Taxi driver told me there wasn’t a single day below 40 in the Yukon this winter.

Did you ever hear the call of the wild?

The Whitehorse Rapids once brought strong men to their knees. One of the most difficult parts of the route through to the Yukon gold, the prospectors desperately tried to pass them at Canyon City. In their haste, hundreds of boats were laid waste, with their crew condemned to a horrible death. The law was changed so only experienced crews could carry passengers – and as a result, a tramway was built between Canyon City and the foot of the rapids – present day Whitehorse. Once a railway was built to Whitehorse, it became a staging area for entering the region.

Nothing remains of these rapids. Once compared to the hair on a white horse’s mane, they were “tamed” to provide electricity for our purposes.

The once terrifying crossing is now accomplished in seconds over this bridge, which is a part of the Trans Canada trail. The area is still dangerous, but for other reasons – the dam can release water at any time for the purposes of modulating power generation, and as a result, water levels can change rapidly.

Upon your rocky shores, fools met their fate for gold. How, do I daresay, do they differ from the river that became a stream for the same reason? Weep for Whitehorse – its name is no more.

Texas is known for its obsession with trucks. Eventhough the environment is wholy unsuited to the usage of trucks outside the obvious situations where hauling cargo is a necessity, Texans go on using it. Whitehorse too is a truck town – for completely different reasons.  Four wheel drive is a practical neccessity in a territory where unpaved roads are a fact of life.  I nearly got thrown off the road twice today when my SUV got bogged down in the mud – fortunately four wheel drive is a standard for cars and trucks up here.

Despite having a high medium income, Whitehorse is a haven for old truck fans. Somehow defying the conventional wisdom that the northern climate would destroy these vehicles, there are old trucks everywhere – even outnumbering the number of SUVs I saw on the road.

For those of you looking for a good deal, feel free to look around Whitehorse – they have plenty of these antiques for sale. In case you think this is an example of poor northerners, you couldn’t be further from the truth – Whitehorse has a mean household income of over $60k.  Montreal, on the other hand, has a mean household income of $47k.

And a new adventure starts here – I think.