Two years ago, I caught a 50 minute flight from Dawson City to Whitehorse and I think it cost me about $100. That included airport shuttle.
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Happy Marine Mammal Rescue Day! 🐳🐬🦭🦦
Yukon River 2019
- Thread starter PaddlingPitt
- Start date
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- Mar 20, 2013
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There was no official ice bridge for the last 2-3 years, but people have built ice bridge up stream on the yukon where they have been crossing... As for Ferry not crossing, the must be at least 100 river boats of all shape and size in the dawson area so getting across the river isn't really an issue for pedestrians. I'm assuming that Husky Bus have his vehicles on the town side!!
As for the channels on the river, when and of the river stays that low, the main channel is usually really define and side channels sometime have really little flow or no flow so pretty easy to know where you are!
Sucks for theYRQ and Y1K. With experience, many normally planned shortcuts outside of the main channel can each save up to a couple of miles and much time. With experience and the right kind of water flow you can really blow away your competition.
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Thanks for the invitation, YC, but I don’t need to travel so far to enjoy insects. Tick season started here last week, and we are picking them off our dog, and us, on a daily a basis. Mosquitoes will join the party soon.
In my experience, the bug situation in the Yukon is not nearly as severe as our trips out onto the tundra in the NWT. We leave now for the Yukon in only four more weeks. Kathleen prepared three more dehydrated meals yesterday. The excitement builds.
Interesting, VernAK, about the flight from Dawson to Whitehorse being only $100. We are paying that much each for our bus trip. Too late now, though. We are committed to the bus. We look forward, sort of, to bouncing down the highway,
- Michael
Kathleen and I arrived in Dawson City this morning, after 14 days from Whitehorse, one day earlier than planned. Lots of headwinds, and lots of smoke from forest fires. Enjoyed meeting and talking to other paddlers on the river. Reading about the history of the Yukon River, while seeing it in person, was a highlight. Still nine days until we get home to Preeceville, where accumulating tasks lie in wait for us. Full TR probably in late August or so. We pick up Shadow from the kennel on Wednesday, after two days in Dawson. Am expecting a joyous reunion.
Glad you enjoyed the trip. I was on Atlin and Tagish lakes and bugs were nil......how for you?
Same here, Vern. Virtually no bugs at all. A very pleasant surprise. It was low water, and we had no rain for the entire two weeks. Dry conditions. Don’t know if that explains it, but I’ll take no bugs whatever the reason.
So Kathleen and I have been home since July 18, and I have finally written up my notes from our Yukon River trip this summer. I tend to write these notes as short stories, as reminders for ourselves of what we experienced. It might be too long for this site, but I thought I would post to get a reaction. This summary includes a lot on the background for the trip. The worries about the trip. And the travelling up and back from the trip. These are all important aspects of any wilderness trips. Maybe superfluous, or more than people here want. Maybe not. We'll see how it goes.
Sunday, June 16. Way back in 1987, when Kathleen and I were buying our first canoe, a Clipper Tripper from Western Canoeing in Abbotsford, British Columbia, Marlin Bayes, the owner of Western Canoeing, asked us what kind of canoeing we intended to do. “Are you interested in paddling whitewater?”
Nearly in unison, Kathleen and I replied, “No way. Not a chance. We don’t think we’d ever want to run rapids. Way too dangerous. We’re interested in canoeing serenely on calm lakes. We want to paddle with the loons. Maybe we would paddle something like the Yukon River. We have heard that it doesn’t have many rapids.”
“OK, then, the best boat for you is my Clipper Tripper. It’s fast, stable and tracks very well. It’s ideal for lakes.”
After our first trip down the South Nooksack River in Washington State with our canoe club in 1987, however, we discovered that we actually enjoyed paddling whitewater. We now looked forward to developing our skills at canoeing down rapids. The next weekend, Kathleen and I bought a canoe a little more appropriate for wilderness rivers—a Royalex Mad River Explorer. I declared that Kathleen and I would save the Yukon River for when we got old. Until then, we would focus on paddling more challenging northern Canadian rivers. And that’s what we did: South Nahanni in 1990; Thelon in 1990; Coppermine in 1995; Seal in 1997; Anderson in 1999; Snowdrift in 2001; Arctic Red in 2004. Shorter trips were sandwiched between and after these more extended trips.
In 2017, Kathleen and I paddled 17 days and 330 km (205 miles) in the East Arm of Great Slave Lake. On our return flight from Pauline Bay to Yellowknife, Mike, our float plane pilot asked, “So what is your next trip?”
“I don’t know. I haven’t really thought about it. I once said that when I get old I would paddle the Yukon River. Maybe I’m old now. Maybe the Yukon River is next.”
Kathleen and I were tired. We were tired physically. Great Slave Lake is a very big lake. We were tired of battling wind and waves as we rounded points. We were tired of searching for elusive sandy beaches. Maybe I was old. Maybe I was finally old enough to paddle the Yukon River.
So that’s what we’re doing this year. The van is all packed with gear and food. The canoe is tied onto the rack. We are ready. Tomorrow morning we leave for our canoe trip on the Yukon River. We are planning 15 days to cover the approximately 740 km (460 miles) from Whitehorse to Dawson City. It should be mostly a float, with short paddling days. A person on the canoetripping.net website, using the name “yellowcanoe,” has paddled the Yukon twice, and she said that “it would take you 15 days if you do a lot of back paddling.” She also indicated that the Yukon River makes a good seniors’ trip. That sounds good. Kathleen and I are seniors. And, as I have mentioned, I have been saving the Yukon River for when I am old.
Nevertheless, I spent that last night at home, lying awake, worrying about the trip. I always worry about named rapids, of which there are only two between Whitehorse and Dawson City. The first, Five Finger Rapids is the most famous of the two. Four islands divide the river into five channels. Everyone says to paddle through the far right channel. Should be easy. Madsen and Wilson’s book, Rivers of the Yukon: A Paddling Guide, says “Five Finger Rapids are at most class II, although drownings have occurred here in recent years.” Drownings? In class II water? Why would that be? I decided to call two of my friends from the Beaver Canoe Club who had paddled the Yukon River on separate trips. Their trips likely had different water levels. This would provide a wider perspective. They were also familiar with our paddling skills, so could provide a relevant opinion.
“So, Juerg. What did you think about Five Finger Rapids? Were they difficult?”
Juerg pretty much scoffed. “You and Kathleen will have no problem, Michael. Just stay right.”
Carol had the same response. “You and Kathleen will have no difficulty, Michael. Just stay right.”
“What about Rink Rapids, Carol. Are they difficult?”
“Not at all. As you approach, they form a line that looks to go all the way across the river. But just keep heading right. There’s plenty of room on the right.”
“OK. Thanks.”
But I was still worried. Those rapids have names. Most rapids don’t have names. I always worry about rapids that have names. I didn’t used to worry so much, when I was younger, though. Perhaps I really am old.
The Klondike Highway between Whitehorse and Dawson City goes right by Five Finger Rapids 34 km (21 miles) downstream from the town of Carmacks. A platform at the Recreation Site provides a direct view of Five Finger Rapids. Stairs leading down the bank, nearly to the water’s edge, offer an even closer view of the preferred right finger. I viewed several YouTube videos of canoeists going through this right finger. Videos taken both from above the rapid, and from other canoes going through the rapid. Most of the canoeists had poor or weak paddling skills. Gear was often piled way above the gunwales. They were always sitting up, rather than kneeling. They never had spray decks on their canoes. Yet they all made it. Always yelled out the seemingly necessary “Yeehaw” at the end of the run. None of them ever drowned or even capsized.
Many people paddle the Yukon River. It is very popular. Several companies in Whitehorse rent canoes to anyone who wants to paddle to Dawson City. Several hundreds of canoeists with minimal skills or experience successfully negotiate Five Finger Rapids every year. In fact, you don’t have to make any canoeing moves in Five Finger Rapids. Just ride the water straight through the middle of the right finger, and bounce through the haystacks at the bottom of the run. Easy peasy. Bob’s your uncle. Nothing to it. OK. So I will try not to worry any more about Five Finger Rapids.
But there were two other matters the I can worry about. There’s our Ford Econoline van. Like me, it’s old. 1990. Nearly 400,00 km (250,000 miles). It broke down twice on our 2017 Great Slave Lake trip. Brake line rusted out on the way up to Yellowknife. In line fuel pump died on the way back from Yellowknife. Had to be towed both times. Transmission fluid leaks out over winter. No one seems to be able to fix the problem. I just have to live with it, and regularly check the fluid. It seems to stay in the transmission during summer when I’m driving it. The van will likely give us at least one more trip. I hope so. It’s the vehicle we use for wilderness trips. It accommodates all our gear. Kathleen and I sleep in the back. It’s what we do. We gotta have the van. Without the van, there is no trip to the Yukon River.
OK. Now I’ve worried about the van. Time to worry about Shadow, our rescue Siberian Husky. We adopted him 18 months ago, after he was found abandoned at a nearby farm. He arrived suffering severe separation anxiety. He was afraid of everything, and everybody. Hid under chairs when people came to the house. Afraid when I or Kathleen opened a door or a cupboard in the house. When he was in the kitchen, the toast popping up sent him fleeing from the room. He would not go voluntarily into any rooms in our house other than the kitchen for treats, or the sun room, to lie in his bed. Would not get into the car unless we lifted him in. Would not get out of the car unless we lifted him out. Would not go into any buildings, unless we dragged him in. Went camping with him last summer, and he ran away with his tail between his legs when a little dog barked at him.
Shadow comfortable in his bed.
Since then Shadow has made significant progress in all facets of his life. Still a long way to go, though. We certainly would not put him in a kennel for the month while we are gone. Besides, there’s no kennel in Preeceville except for a few cages in a back room at the veterinary clinic. Shadow would not like that. We have a friend, Sue, who lives on Vancouver Island. She loves animals, and has met Shadow. She and her friend Henry volunteered to come stay at our house while we are away. Shadow will like that. He will be in his own place. He will feel comfortable. We believe that Shadow will quickly learn to trust Sue and Henry. Kathleen and I felt very good about Shadow’s situation.
But only two weeks ago we received a call from Sue. Bad news. She had been diagnosed with a tumour, and will be having surgery. She and Henry will not be coming to look after Shadow. What do we do with Shadow now? We don’t want to cancel our trip. We have a life too. We need to go on this trip. We hemmed and hawed. I don’t actually know what hemming and hawing look like, but that’s what we did. Eventually we decided to take Shadow with us, and put him in a kennel in Whitehorse while we are on the Yukon River. We called Graham Riske in Whitehorse, the brother of Marilyn Fehr, one of our best friends here in Saskatchewan. Graham recommended the Tails & Trails Dog Hotel: “I’ve taken my dogs there. They’re very good. When are you guys planning to be in Whitehorse?”
“We plan to arrive on Saturday, June 22. We’re going to leave our gear and canoe with a canoeist who lives very near the Yukon River. We will then drive up to Dawson on June 23. Stay overnight in Dawson, and then take the Husky Bus back to Whitehorse on June 24. That way our shuttle will be complete before we put on the river on Tuesday, June 25. We plan to put Shadow in the kennel on our way up to Dawson.”
“Sounds like a good plan, Michael. You could stay with me, but Amy and the girls are away when you will be here. I will probably be kayaking on Atlin Lake, so won’t be here either. Too bad. It would be great to see you guys again.”
“That is too bad, Graham. But this guy from the canoetripping.net website invited us to stay with him. So all is working out.”
So the next day we had some excellent emails and phone calls with Nina at the Tails and Trails Dog Hotel. We made reservations for Shadow. Now we come to the part where I’m worried. Shadow is not going to like being in a kennel. He does not really like being pestered by other dogs. He doesn’t like barking. He doesn’t like new people and new situations. He’s not going to like the kennel.
And, what if the van breaks down on the way up to or back from the Yukon? Shadow won’t get into the front seat of the tow truck. And where will we stay while our van is being repaired? Is it easy to find a motel that accepts dogs? We’ve never tried to check a dog into a motel or hotel. Even if there are such motels, Shadow won’t go into a strange building or a strange room. He’s only recently learned to go up stairs to the second floor in our house. And he still won’t go down the basement stairs. He probably wouldn’t go up the stairs in a strange place, with all sorts of strange smells, like a hotel. And I know he won’t go into an elevator. He’s afraid of doors that open suddenly. This plan is fraught with potential disaster. But we have no choice. Besides, it will probably work out. Things always seem to work out for me. At least that’s what I used to say. But now, I worried for most of the rest of the night.
Monday, June 17. We finished organizing and packing the van, including Shadow’s crate if we have to sleep in a motel room. In his crate, he would not be able to cause any damage, or have accidents on the floor. Motel managers might even require a crate. We don’t know about these things.
For the past week I have been putting air in the van’s tires about every two days. I fill to 35 PSI, but a couple of days later it has fallen to 30 PSI. They looked down again now. I plugged my compressor into the cigarette lighter, and screwed the other end onto the valve stem. Yep. Only 30 PSI. Must be a slow leak. Seems strange that all four tires would have a slow leak at the same time; but that seems to be the case. I refilled to 35 PSI, and put the compressor in the cardboard box that contained transmission fluid, engine oil and pre-mixed coolant. Also checked to make sure that the jack and tire iron were in the van. Sometimes I used them for either my RAV4 or my GMC Sierra truck. We seem ready to go.
Shadow and Kathleen hopped in, and we headed toward Innisfree, Alberta, 670 km (415 miles) away. We planned to stay in the Innisfree Municipal Recreation Park, the same campground where we stayed the first night out on our 2017 Great Slave Lake Trip. We planned to stay in the same campsite, #13, where our brake line rusted out on the way up to Yellowknife. We’re happy to tempt fate.
We're ready to head North!
For the last few months, Shadow has actually enjoyed riding in the vehicle, and leaps right in. He curled up on his bed, and more or less went to sleep.
An hour later, we stopped in Wadena, Saskatchewan, at the Co-op gas station, to fill our new five-pound propane tank.We prefer this smaller tank for car camping, compared to the larger twenty-pound tanks. We also don’t want to accumulate all those one-pound tanks that just end up in the landfill. These off-size tanks are more expensive than the larger tanks, but, as I said, we prefer them. We had tried to fill the tank in Preeceville, but were told by the attendant that the sticker on the tank said to purge before filling. “We don’t have the purging equipment anymore. Sorry.”
Well, the Co-op gas station in Wadena served a larger community. Surely they would have purging equipment. I walked inside and asked if there was someone who could fill our propane tank. “Sure. I can do that now.”
She followed me outside, and looked at our tank. “Wow. I haven’t seen one of those in a very long time.”
She held the tank up, and looked at it very suspiciously. “The tag says that the tank must be purged before filling. We haven’t had purging equipment for a long time.”
“What does it mean to purge at tank?” I asked.
“I don’t know. We just don’t do it anymore.”
“Can you fill the tank without purging.”
“I don’t know,” she said. “I’ll go make a phone call.”
I followed her back inside, feeling just a little dejected. I didn’t expect this kind of problem. She hung up the phone, and reported that “They said it’s ok. Go ahead and fill it.”
That was good news. I need that tank. Two attendants then marched out to study my five-pound tank. They seemed worried. After some discussion, they filled it. “Thanks very much,” I said. “I appreciate it.” I loaded the tank in the van, and we headed on down the road.
(Note: After returning home from the Yukon River, I googled purging of propane tanks. Here’s what I found.
All new propane tanks must be purged of air and moisture before being filled for the first time with propane. The purging process, which must be done by a trained propane service professional, requires that a small amount of propane vapour gas be injected into the tank and then evacuated. This process is performed 3-4 times. Do not attempt this purging on your own. Always have a qualified professional purge your tank. Propane is heavier than air and will force the air out of the propane tank during the evacuation of the vapour. Filling with propane can then proceed. If the tank is not purged, then air is the first gas to exit the propane cylinder and your appliance will not function properly.
That was interesting. Despite that serious sounding warning, we had no problems with our un-purged tank on the trip. I have bought lots of new propane tanks in my life, and never had to purge them before. Maybe they were already purged and filled with propane before I purchased them. Anyway, there you have it.)
Two hours later we stopped for lunch at Tim Hortons in Saskatoon. We always like to stop at Tim Hortons. Inexpensive. Reasonable food. And Kathleen likes their lattes. They also have free WiFi. We check our emails and the news. Very comfortable and familiar. For those of you who might not know, “Timmy’s” is an iconic Canadian fast food enterprise. People even get married at Timmy’s. We’re Canadian. We like Timmy’s. If possible, we always stop at Timmy’s. And, fortunately for us, Timmy’s outlets are pretty darn ubiquitous.
We pulled into the Innisfree Municipal Recreation Park in the late afternoon. Shadow did very well throughout the day. Periodically we stopped near open fields, facing away from the road, so that he could hop out and do his business. He generally won’t hop out if he can see roads or other vehicles. He knows the routine. Wanders for a few minutes, pees, and then turns to trot back to the van. Hops right in. He is doing very well, indeed. Kathleen and I are proud parents.
Relaxing with a drink at the Innisfree Municipal Recreation Park
Relaxing with a drink at the Innisfree Municipal Recreation Park
Winding down after a long first day.
We shared the campground with only one other camper, other than the caretaker. The evening was cold and windy. Kathleen and I were tired. Too tired to cook. We didn’t even set up our new five-pound propane tank. Cheese, crackers and white wine for supper. We moved packs and other gear out of the van, inflated our Therm-a-Rest mattresses and made up our beds. All three of us turned in early. It was a good first day of our Yukon River adventure.
Sunday, June 16. Way back in 1987, when Kathleen and I were buying our first canoe, a Clipper Tripper from Western Canoeing in Abbotsford, British Columbia, Marlin Bayes, the owner of Western Canoeing, asked us what kind of canoeing we intended to do. “Are you interested in paddling whitewater?”
Nearly in unison, Kathleen and I replied, “No way. Not a chance. We don’t think we’d ever want to run rapids. Way too dangerous. We’re interested in canoeing serenely on calm lakes. We want to paddle with the loons. Maybe we would paddle something like the Yukon River. We have heard that it doesn’t have many rapids.”
“OK, then, the best boat for you is my Clipper Tripper. It’s fast, stable and tracks very well. It’s ideal for lakes.”
After our first trip down the South Nooksack River in Washington State with our canoe club in 1987, however, we discovered that we actually enjoyed paddling whitewater. We now looked forward to developing our skills at canoeing down rapids. The next weekend, Kathleen and I bought a canoe a little more appropriate for wilderness rivers—a Royalex Mad River Explorer. I declared that Kathleen and I would save the Yukon River for when we got old. Until then, we would focus on paddling more challenging northern Canadian rivers. And that’s what we did: South Nahanni in 1990; Thelon in 1990; Coppermine in 1995; Seal in 1997; Anderson in 1999; Snowdrift in 2001; Arctic Red in 2004. Shorter trips were sandwiched between and after these more extended trips.
In 2017, Kathleen and I paddled 17 days and 330 km (205 miles) in the East Arm of Great Slave Lake. On our return flight from Pauline Bay to Yellowknife, Mike, our float plane pilot asked, “So what is your next trip?”
“I don’t know. I haven’t really thought about it. I once said that when I get old I would paddle the Yukon River. Maybe I’m old now. Maybe the Yukon River is next.”
Kathleen and I were tired. We were tired physically. Great Slave Lake is a very big lake. We were tired of battling wind and waves as we rounded points. We were tired of searching for elusive sandy beaches. Maybe I was old. Maybe I was finally old enough to paddle the Yukon River.
So that’s what we’re doing this year. The van is all packed with gear and food. The canoe is tied onto the rack. We are ready. Tomorrow morning we leave for our canoe trip on the Yukon River. We are planning 15 days to cover the approximately 740 km (460 miles) from Whitehorse to Dawson City. It should be mostly a float, with short paddling days. A person on the canoetripping.net website, using the name “yellowcanoe,” has paddled the Yukon twice, and she said that “it would take you 15 days if you do a lot of back paddling.” She also indicated that the Yukon River makes a good seniors’ trip. That sounds good. Kathleen and I are seniors. And, as I have mentioned, I have been saving the Yukon River for when I am old.
Nevertheless, I spent that last night at home, lying awake, worrying about the trip. I always worry about named rapids, of which there are only two between Whitehorse and Dawson City. The first, Five Finger Rapids is the most famous of the two. Four islands divide the river into five channels. Everyone says to paddle through the far right channel. Should be easy. Madsen and Wilson’s book, Rivers of the Yukon: A Paddling Guide, says “Five Finger Rapids are at most class II, although drownings have occurred here in recent years.” Drownings? In class II water? Why would that be? I decided to call two of my friends from the Beaver Canoe Club who had paddled the Yukon River on separate trips. Their trips likely had different water levels. This would provide a wider perspective. They were also familiar with our paddling skills, so could provide a relevant opinion.
“So, Juerg. What did you think about Five Finger Rapids? Were they difficult?”
Juerg pretty much scoffed. “You and Kathleen will have no problem, Michael. Just stay right.”
Carol had the same response. “You and Kathleen will have no difficulty, Michael. Just stay right.”
“What about Rink Rapids, Carol. Are they difficult?”
“Not at all. As you approach, they form a line that looks to go all the way across the river. But just keep heading right. There’s plenty of room on the right.”
“OK. Thanks.”
But I was still worried. Those rapids have names. Most rapids don’t have names. I always worry about rapids that have names. I didn’t used to worry so much, when I was younger, though. Perhaps I really am old.
The Klondike Highway between Whitehorse and Dawson City goes right by Five Finger Rapids 34 km (21 miles) downstream from the town of Carmacks. A platform at the Recreation Site provides a direct view of Five Finger Rapids. Stairs leading down the bank, nearly to the water’s edge, offer an even closer view of the preferred right finger. I viewed several YouTube videos of canoeists going through this right finger. Videos taken both from above the rapid, and from other canoes going through the rapid. Most of the canoeists had poor or weak paddling skills. Gear was often piled way above the gunwales. They were always sitting up, rather than kneeling. They never had spray decks on their canoes. Yet they all made it. Always yelled out the seemingly necessary “Yeehaw” at the end of the run. None of them ever drowned or even capsized.
Many people paddle the Yukon River. It is very popular. Several companies in Whitehorse rent canoes to anyone who wants to paddle to Dawson City. Several hundreds of canoeists with minimal skills or experience successfully negotiate Five Finger Rapids every year. In fact, you don’t have to make any canoeing moves in Five Finger Rapids. Just ride the water straight through the middle of the right finger, and bounce through the haystacks at the bottom of the run. Easy peasy. Bob’s your uncle. Nothing to it. OK. So I will try not to worry any more about Five Finger Rapids.
But there were two other matters the I can worry about. There’s our Ford Econoline van. Like me, it’s old. 1990. Nearly 400,00 km (250,000 miles). It broke down twice on our 2017 Great Slave Lake trip. Brake line rusted out on the way up to Yellowknife. In line fuel pump died on the way back from Yellowknife. Had to be towed both times. Transmission fluid leaks out over winter. No one seems to be able to fix the problem. I just have to live with it, and regularly check the fluid. It seems to stay in the transmission during summer when I’m driving it. The van will likely give us at least one more trip. I hope so. It’s the vehicle we use for wilderness trips. It accommodates all our gear. Kathleen and I sleep in the back. It’s what we do. We gotta have the van. Without the van, there is no trip to the Yukon River.
OK. Now I’ve worried about the van. Time to worry about Shadow, our rescue Siberian Husky. We adopted him 18 months ago, after he was found abandoned at a nearby farm. He arrived suffering severe separation anxiety. He was afraid of everything, and everybody. Hid under chairs when people came to the house. Afraid when I or Kathleen opened a door or a cupboard in the house. When he was in the kitchen, the toast popping up sent him fleeing from the room. He would not go voluntarily into any rooms in our house other than the kitchen for treats, or the sun room, to lie in his bed. Would not get into the car unless we lifted him in. Would not get out of the car unless we lifted him out. Would not go into any buildings, unless we dragged him in. Went camping with him last summer, and he ran away with his tail between his legs when a little dog barked at him.
Shadow comfortable in his bed.
Since then Shadow has made significant progress in all facets of his life. Still a long way to go, though. We certainly would not put him in a kennel for the month while we are gone. Besides, there’s no kennel in Preeceville except for a few cages in a back room at the veterinary clinic. Shadow would not like that. We have a friend, Sue, who lives on Vancouver Island. She loves animals, and has met Shadow. She and her friend Henry volunteered to come stay at our house while we are away. Shadow will like that. He will be in his own place. He will feel comfortable. We believe that Shadow will quickly learn to trust Sue and Henry. Kathleen and I felt very good about Shadow’s situation.
But only two weeks ago we received a call from Sue. Bad news. She had been diagnosed with a tumour, and will be having surgery. She and Henry will not be coming to look after Shadow. What do we do with Shadow now? We don’t want to cancel our trip. We have a life too. We need to go on this trip. We hemmed and hawed. I don’t actually know what hemming and hawing look like, but that’s what we did. Eventually we decided to take Shadow with us, and put him in a kennel in Whitehorse while we are on the Yukon River. We called Graham Riske in Whitehorse, the brother of Marilyn Fehr, one of our best friends here in Saskatchewan. Graham recommended the Tails & Trails Dog Hotel: “I’ve taken my dogs there. They’re very good. When are you guys planning to be in Whitehorse?”
“We plan to arrive on Saturday, June 22. We’re going to leave our gear and canoe with a canoeist who lives very near the Yukon River. We will then drive up to Dawson on June 23. Stay overnight in Dawson, and then take the Husky Bus back to Whitehorse on June 24. That way our shuttle will be complete before we put on the river on Tuesday, June 25. We plan to put Shadow in the kennel on our way up to Dawson.”
“Sounds like a good plan, Michael. You could stay with me, but Amy and the girls are away when you will be here. I will probably be kayaking on Atlin Lake, so won’t be here either. Too bad. It would be great to see you guys again.”
“That is too bad, Graham. But this guy from the canoetripping.net website invited us to stay with him. So all is working out.”
So the next day we had some excellent emails and phone calls with Nina at the Tails and Trails Dog Hotel. We made reservations for Shadow. Now we come to the part where I’m worried. Shadow is not going to like being in a kennel. He does not really like being pestered by other dogs. He doesn’t like barking. He doesn’t like new people and new situations. He’s not going to like the kennel.
And, what if the van breaks down on the way up to or back from the Yukon? Shadow won’t get into the front seat of the tow truck. And where will we stay while our van is being repaired? Is it easy to find a motel that accepts dogs? We’ve never tried to check a dog into a motel or hotel. Even if there are such motels, Shadow won’t go into a strange building or a strange room. He’s only recently learned to go up stairs to the second floor in our house. And he still won’t go down the basement stairs. He probably wouldn’t go up the stairs in a strange place, with all sorts of strange smells, like a hotel. And I know he won’t go into an elevator. He’s afraid of doors that open suddenly. This plan is fraught with potential disaster. But we have no choice. Besides, it will probably work out. Things always seem to work out for me. At least that’s what I used to say. But now, I worried for most of the rest of the night.
Monday, June 17. We finished organizing and packing the van, including Shadow’s crate if we have to sleep in a motel room. In his crate, he would not be able to cause any damage, or have accidents on the floor. Motel managers might even require a crate. We don’t know about these things.
For the past week I have been putting air in the van’s tires about every two days. I fill to 35 PSI, but a couple of days later it has fallen to 30 PSI. They looked down again now. I plugged my compressor into the cigarette lighter, and screwed the other end onto the valve stem. Yep. Only 30 PSI. Must be a slow leak. Seems strange that all four tires would have a slow leak at the same time; but that seems to be the case. I refilled to 35 PSI, and put the compressor in the cardboard box that contained transmission fluid, engine oil and pre-mixed coolant. Also checked to make sure that the jack and tire iron were in the van. Sometimes I used them for either my RAV4 or my GMC Sierra truck. We seem ready to go.
Shadow and Kathleen hopped in, and we headed toward Innisfree, Alberta, 670 km (415 miles) away. We planned to stay in the Innisfree Municipal Recreation Park, the same campground where we stayed the first night out on our 2017 Great Slave Lake Trip. We planned to stay in the same campsite, #13, where our brake line rusted out on the way up to Yellowknife. We’re happy to tempt fate.
We're ready to head North!
For the last few months, Shadow has actually enjoyed riding in the vehicle, and leaps right in. He curled up on his bed, and more or less went to sleep.
An hour later, we stopped in Wadena, Saskatchewan, at the Co-op gas station, to fill our new five-pound propane tank.We prefer this smaller tank for car camping, compared to the larger twenty-pound tanks. We also don’t want to accumulate all those one-pound tanks that just end up in the landfill. These off-size tanks are more expensive than the larger tanks, but, as I said, we prefer them. We had tried to fill the tank in Preeceville, but were told by the attendant that the sticker on the tank said to purge before filling. “We don’t have the purging equipment anymore. Sorry.”
Well, the Co-op gas station in Wadena served a larger community. Surely they would have purging equipment. I walked inside and asked if there was someone who could fill our propane tank. “Sure. I can do that now.”
She followed me outside, and looked at our tank. “Wow. I haven’t seen one of those in a very long time.”
She held the tank up, and looked at it very suspiciously. “The tag says that the tank must be purged before filling. We haven’t had purging equipment for a long time.”
“What does it mean to purge at tank?” I asked.
“I don’t know. We just don’t do it anymore.”
“Can you fill the tank without purging.”
“I don’t know,” she said. “I’ll go make a phone call.”
I followed her back inside, feeling just a little dejected. I didn’t expect this kind of problem. She hung up the phone, and reported that “They said it’s ok. Go ahead and fill it.”
That was good news. I need that tank. Two attendants then marched out to study my five-pound tank. They seemed worried. After some discussion, they filled it. “Thanks very much,” I said. “I appreciate it.” I loaded the tank in the van, and we headed on down the road.
(Note: After returning home from the Yukon River, I googled purging of propane tanks. Here’s what I found.
All new propane tanks must be purged of air and moisture before being filled for the first time with propane. The purging process, which must be done by a trained propane service professional, requires that a small amount of propane vapour gas be injected into the tank and then evacuated. This process is performed 3-4 times. Do not attempt this purging on your own. Always have a qualified professional purge your tank. Propane is heavier than air and will force the air out of the propane tank during the evacuation of the vapour. Filling with propane can then proceed. If the tank is not purged, then air is the first gas to exit the propane cylinder and your appliance will not function properly.
That was interesting. Despite that serious sounding warning, we had no problems with our un-purged tank on the trip. I have bought lots of new propane tanks in my life, and never had to purge them before. Maybe they were already purged and filled with propane before I purchased them. Anyway, there you have it.)
Two hours later we stopped for lunch at Tim Hortons in Saskatoon. We always like to stop at Tim Hortons. Inexpensive. Reasonable food. And Kathleen likes their lattes. They also have free WiFi. We check our emails and the news. Very comfortable and familiar. For those of you who might not know, “Timmy’s” is an iconic Canadian fast food enterprise. People even get married at Timmy’s. We’re Canadian. We like Timmy’s. If possible, we always stop at Timmy’s. And, fortunately for us, Timmy’s outlets are pretty darn ubiquitous.
We pulled into the Innisfree Municipal Recreation Park in the late afternoon. Shadow did very well throughout the day. Periodically we stopped near open fields, facing away from the road, so that he could hop out and do his business. He generally won’t hop out if he can see roads or other vehicles. He knows the routine. Wanders for a few minutes, pees, and then turns to trot back to the van. Hops right in. He is doing very well, indeed. Kathleen and I are proud parents.
Relaxing with a drink at the Innisfree Municipal Recreation Park
Relaxing with a drink at the Innisfree Municipal Recreation Park
Winding down after a long first day.
We shared the campground with only one other camper, other than the caretaker. The evening was cold and windy. Kathleen and I were tired. Too tired to cook. We didn’t even set up our new five-pound propane tank. Cheese, crackers and white wine for supper. We moved packs and other gear out of the van, inflated our Therm-a-Rest mattresses and made up our beds. All three of us turned in early. It was a good first day of our Yukon River adventure.
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OK, I am hooked, looking forward to the next segment.
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I tend to write these notes as short stories, as reminders for ourselves of what we experienced. It might be too long for this site, but I thought I would post to get a reaction. This summary includes a lot on the background for the trip. The worries about the trip. And the travelling up and back from the trip. These are all important aspects of any wilderness trips. Maybe superfluous, or more than people here want. Maybe not. We'll see how it goes.
Michael,
Please continue to write 'em up and share the way you do!
I for one- and know I'm not alone- love your style. Keep including the background, details and dialogue. They read really well.
The Yukon is on my longish bucket list - along with Nahanni, Churchill and Thelon- so I'm looking forward to next instalment!
Bruce
Michael,
Please continue to write 'em up and share the way you do!
I for one- and know I'm not alone- love your style. Keep including the background, details and dialogue. They read really well.
The Yukon is on my longish bucket list - along with Nahanni, Churchill and Thelon- so I'm looking forward to next instalment!
Bruce
Tuesday, June 18. The next morning we headed west, down Highway 16, toward Edmonton, the capital of Alberta. The highway goes right through Edmonton, with numerous stop lights and multiple lanes crammed full with trucks and cars unyieldingly intent on getting somewhere else as quickly as possible. We had planned to get gas in Edmonton, but had forgotten that there is no gas in Edmonton. Well, I should clarify that. There is no gas station on the highway in Edmonton. You have to get off the highway, and hope that a gas station magically reveals itself.
I glanced down at my fuel gauge. The needle rested comfortably right over the big E. As you know, the big E stands for empty. We need gas now, or so it might seem. But my van is old, and its gauges are somewhat wonky. Especially the fuel gauge, which tends to plummet, even with a quarter of a tank of gas left. But you try staring at a fuel gauge that reads empty, when there is no gas station on the highway going through Edmonton. It’s unnerving. We don’t know Edmonton. We don’t know where to get off the highway.
Kathleen and I don’t have cell phones, but Kathleen had recently purchased a new iPad that included cellular access. This service came with limited gigabytes for only $5.00 per month, and could be cancelled at any time. Moreover, the service automatically provided more gigabytes, with additional fees, if we exceeded the limit. So Kathleen activated the cell service on her iPad, and quickly found directions to a gas station on the south side of the highway. It was kind of nice to join the 21st century technology. We pulled into the gas station, and filled up. Still had almost a quarter of a tank left.
Now Kathleen used the cell service on her iPad to locate the nearest Tim Hortons. As you know, we always like to stop at Timmy’s. Inexpensive. Reasonable food. And, perhaps most importantly, they have free WiFi. We don’t need to use Kathleen’s limited cellular service on her iPad to check our emails and the news.
Kathleen had prepared our road itinerary, and today’s goal was the Kleskun Hill Natural Area Campground, about 20 km (12 miles) west of Grand Prairie, Alberta.
This 93-ha (230 acres) protected area boasts one of the largest tracts of native grassland remaining in the Grand Prairie region, with more than 160 species of flowering plants, including cactus.
There were only nine campsites, but we were the only people there. Drove and walked around the compound three times just to make sure that we selected the best site. We then strolled back down the lane to register and pay our fees for the night. Shadow seemed confident and comfortable. At least he was until the caretaker’s two large dogs burst out of the house, barking furiously. Even I was a bit worried when the dogs leaped up against the fence. That was enough for Shadow, who turned and scurried back to camp.
We hooked up the five-pound propane cylinder to our portable BBQ, and cooked hamburgers for supper. After cleaning up, and preparing the van for bed, we hiked the trails through the Kleskun Hills, one of which is named Dinosaur Hill. Not because it looks like a dinosaur, but because of the many dinosaur bones found here. The Recreation Area also features many historic buildings and antique machinery. All-in-all, a very interesting and enjoyable place to spend the night. You might want to click on the following link to see more images and detail.
https://www.discoverthepeacecountry....skunhills.html
We ended the evening, which was cool but calm, sitting on our ground chairs at the edge of our camp, sipping wine. Shadow lay between us, resting his head on my legs. A young family strolled past our camp to spend about an hour hiking and playing on the slides and monkey bars. Despite the children’s exuberant running and yelling, Shadow remained relaxed. This was going very well. Also, we’ve been on the road for two days, and no problems with the van yet. This was going very well. Two of my worries were so far unnecessary. Finally, I made no mention in my diary of Five Finger Rapids. So. I seemingly had no worries at all.
Off to register for the campground.
Hiking through the Kleskun Hills Natural Area
Dinosaur Hill
Historic buildings and antique machinery.
Shadow resting comfortably in the Kleskun Hills Natural Area.
Wednesday, June 19. Overnight, the tire pressure had fallen to 30 PSI. “This isn’t good Kathleen. I don’t want to keep refilling every other day. Besides, there might be something seriously wrong. More than just a slow leak. We gotta do something.”
At Dawson Creek, British Columbia, Mile 0, on the Alaska Highway, we pulled in at Canadian Tire. I explained my problem. “I seem to have slow leaks in my tires, particularly the two rear tires. Do you think you could have a look at them?”
“Sure. We’re not busy today. We’ll look at it right now.”
Well, they hoisted the van on the rack, and removed both rear tires. Two guys spent more than an hour brushing on soapy water, and then submerging the tires in a tub of water. Did lots of peering and scratching of heads. Couldn’t find any leaks. Final conclusion was, “Sometimes old rims don’t fit well anymore. I had the same problem. Bought new rims. and never had the problem again.”
Best part of the hour was that Shadow seemed comfortable walking into the waiting room. Even when other employees popped through doors, Shadow didn’t cringe or try to hide. Just sat there between us, taking it all in. This was going much better than either Kathleen or I expected
“Maybe I worry too much about the tires, Kathleen. Let’s just forget about it. They’ve had this slow leak all summer, and nothing bad has happened yet.”
Back on the road, we stopped at Pink Mountain, British Columbia to fill up with gas $1.67 CAN per litre ($4.84 US per gallon). A heck of a lot more than $0.93 per litre CAN
($2.70 US per gallon) that we paid in Edmonton. (Note: These prices were the most and least we paid for gas, respectively, on the entire trip.)
For lunch we stopped at the truly spectacular Charlie Lake Provincial Park in Fort St. John, British Columbia. While I carried our stuff over to the covered picnic area, Kathleen and Shadow romped through the beautifully manicured lawns winding through the forest. It was only after we were packing up to leave that we noticed the sign: “Dogs Not Allowed.” Sorry about that, British Columbia Parks. We’ll try to be more careful in the future. Shadow did love your park, though!
The morning had been overcast, with periods of rain. Back on the road, the rain began in earnest. And when it rains it British Columbia, it rains hard and long. That’s one reason Kathleen and I moved away from British Columbia. I lived there for 33 years, and never learned to enjoy rain. We had planned to spend the night camping at the Buckinghorse River Wayside Provincial Park. Camping in sunshine is fun. Camping in rain? Not so much. The Buckinghorse River Lodge sat on the opposite side of the highway from the Provincial Park.
“Let’s see if they allow dogs.”
The desk clerk said, “Yep. We have some rooms set aside for pets.”
Our room was in an older motel kind of building. That was good. No stairs. Without any hesitation, Shadow walked right in. Surprised us.
Shadow waited for us in the van, while we enjoyed supper at the Buckinghorse River Lodge.
Thursday, June 20. Shadow slept well all night on the floor next to our bed. Didn’t seem concerned by other guests coming and going just outside. After an early breakfast at the lodge, we packed up and drove across the highway to the Buckinghorse River Wayside Provincial Park. Shadow needed to poop, and he generally won’t poop with lots of traffic and noise about.
I stopped the van, and Kathleen and Shadow hopped out. They headed quickly down the lane, turned the corner, and were out of sight. I waited a few minutes. No Kathleen and Shadow. Waited a few minutes more. Still no Kathleen and Shadow. Turned on the ignition and drove down the lane, all the way to the end of the campground, where Shadow and Kathleen were talking to Ben and Emily, from Michigan.
Ben and Emily were on their way to Fairbanks to visit a friend, and didn’t have to be home until Christmas. Good to be young, footloose and fancy-free. Well, they weren’t actually super young. Maybe 30-35 years old. But they were footloose and fancy-free. Ben and Emily had a canoe on top of their vehicle, and we discussed our plans to paddle the Yukon River. “We’d like to do some canoeing in the Yukon,” they said. “Are there any shorter trips possible near the highway?”
“Yeah. There is a guidebook, Rivers of the Yukon, by Madsen and Wilson. You should try to get a copy.”
Shadow had already pooped. So after chatting a few more minutes, Kathleen, Shadow and I headed off down the Alaska Highway. A little before noon, we stopped in Fort Nelson, British Columbia. Care to guess where we stopped? Yes, you’re absolutely right. We stopped at Timmy’s. Inexpensive. Reasonable food. And, perhaps most importantly, free WiFi.
We sat down with our toasted bagels, a latte for Kathleen and a black coffee for me. “You know, Kathleen, now that I think about it, we brought that Yukon guide book with us, because it has a description of the Yukon River. It’s right in our day pack. I could have shown it to Ben and Emily back there at the campground. Too bad I didn’t think of it.”
We got to work looking at our emails and reading the news. I looked out the window toward our van, and just then saw Ben and Emily’s vehicle drive into the parking lot. Wow. This is fortuitous. A few minutes later they joined us at the table. “Good to see you. I have that guide book I told you about in the van. I’ll go get it.”
We spent the next 30 minutes discussing possible three to four-day river trips near the highway, as Ben and Emily took pictures of river descriptions in the guide book. Hope that doesn’t violate any copyright rules. If it does, please don’t tell either Madsen or Wilson. After finishing our lunch, we wished each other well, and Kathleen, Shadow and I continued our journey west, down the Alaska Highway.
It rained hard all afternoon. No surprise there. We are in British Columbia, after all. We stopped for the night at Toad River, where where Kathleen had booked a room before we left Preeceville. She thought it would be a pleasant change from camping. It was particularly so because of the rain. Our reserved room was quite large, and Shadow walked right in. His confidence seemed to be growing every day! The room had WiFi, and we viewed our emails and read the news. We heated up our smokies in the microwave. Kathleen and I both enjoyed a bath. Shadow enjoyed walking along the lake-side trail. Moose foraged on the opposite shore. Swans with cygnets floated contentedly, joined by small groups of Golden Eyes.
When we had checked into the hotel, there was a young First Nations man just outside the front door with a sign that said he would like a ride to Whitehorse. Nothing unusual about that. Except this young man was blind. Just sitting there on the bench. Waiting for a stranger to take him to Whitehorse. Sort of like Blanche DuBois, in A Streetcar Named Desire, who claimed she had always depended on the kindness of strangers. This young man had more confidence in the kindness of strangers than I would. On the other hand, he, like Blanche being led away to a mental institution, was not in control of his own actions or life. He needed to depend on the kindness of strangers. I don’t think I could be so trusting. I would probably not have ventured so far away from where I wanted to be. Probably says a lot about me.
Friday, June 21. We woke to a calm, sunny morning. We wandered over to the restaurant for breakfast, where the blind, First Nations young man sat all alone at his own table. The waitress told him that when he was finished eating, that she would guide him out to the bench in front of the restaurant. Kindness from a stranger.
After finishing our breakfast, Kathleen and Shadow strolled along the lake-side trail.
Shadow stepped out confidently until these three children crossed his path.
He seemed to say, “Yikes,” and turned around to walk quickly back to the safety of his motel room. He didn’t show outright fear. Just being prudently cautious—tremendous improvement compared to how he would have reacted six months ago.
We filled up with gas, and headed out on the highway. The blind, First Nations young man sat all alone on his bench in front of the restaurant. Still depending, very stoically, on the anticipated kindness of a stranger.
Despite the promising sunny morning, the rain resumed its downpour. I turned on the heat to defrost the window, but the expected blast of warm air didn’t happen. We pulled over, and stopped to investigate. Yep, no air coming from the vents. The manual suggested that blower motor had likely stopped working. Not much we could do about it now. We did find, though, that more air came out of the vents at faster driving speeds. Enough air to eventually clear the windshield.
After about 90 minutes we stopped at the Muncho Lake Provincial Park to walk Shadow. He ran joyously along the tundra-like trails. Siberian huskies were bred in Siberia’s taiga landscape. These trails in Mucho Lake seemed to trigger innate, genetic memory in our rescue Siberian husky.
As we were driving out to the park, we saw Ben and Emily camped down at the edge of the lake. We stopped to chat for a few minutes. Turns out that they had stopped for supper at Toad River last night, at about nine o’clock. They saw our van, but wanted to push on, rather than visit. Our Muncho Lake rendezvous was the last time we saw Ben and Emily.
We filled up with gas, and headed out on the highway. The blind, First Nations young man sat all alone on his bench in front of the restaurant. Still depending, very stoically, on the anticipated kindness of a stranger.
Despite the promising sunny morning, the rain resumed its downpour. I turned on the heat to defrost the window, but the expected blast of warm air didn’t happen. We pulled over, and stopped to investigate. Yep, no air coming from the vents. The manual suggested that blower motor had likely stopped working. Not much we could do about it now. We did find, though, that more air came out of the vents at faster driving speeds. Enough air to eventually clear the windshield.
After about 90 minutes we stopped at the Muncho Lake Provincial Park to walk Shadow. He ran joyously along the tundra-like trails. Siberian huskies were bred in Siberia’s taiga landscape. These trails in Mucho Lake seemed to trigger innate, genetic memory in our rescue Siberian husky.
As we were driving out to the park, we saw Ben and Emily camped down at the edge of the lake. We stopped to chat for a few minutes. Turns out that they had stopped for supper at Toad River last night, at about nine o’clock. They saw our van, but wanted to push on, rather than visit. Our Muncho Lake rendezvous was the last time we saw Ben and Emily.
The narrow, twisting highway approaching and through Muncho Lake substantially slowed our progress. We didn’t reach the Liard River Hot Springs Provincial Park until nearly lunch time, only a little over 200 km (120 miles) from Toad River. We hoped that we could use the park’s covered picnic area for our brief stay. I asked the attendant if the $5.00 per person admission fee applied to short term picnickers. She didn’t hesitate: “Yes it does.” I kind of thought so. But $10.00 for lunch? Not gonna happen. We looped around the kiosk, and headed back down the Alaska Highway. Some people say that canoeists are cheap. Don’t know where they could get such preposterous notions.
Bison along the Alaska Highway as we approached the town of Coal River, British Columbia. We also saw a lot of black bears along the highway, foraging in the mown grass by the side of the road. For some reason, we didn’t take any pictures. It seems that a career in photojournalism is not in our future.
We reached Watson Lake, Yukon, in mid-afternoon. The Sign Post Forest is Watson Lake’s most famous attraction. Travellers from around the world have been bringing signs from their home towns since 1942. The tradition began when U.S. soldier Carl K. Lindley spent time in Watson Lake recovering from an injury. A commanding officer asked him to repair and erect directional sign posts, and while completing the job, he added a sign that indicated the direction and mileage (2,835 miles; 4,652 km) to his home town of Danville, Illinois. Others followed suit, and the trend caught on. In 1990, a couple from Ohio added the 10,000[SUP]th[/SUP] sign in the Sign Post Forest. Today there are over 77,000 signs in the forest, and the number grows each year. (Image and text from Wikipedia:
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Sign_Post_Forest)
We drove into the large, pleasant Watson Lake campground after covering only about 350 km (215 miles) of slow-going highway since Toad River. The rain had mostly stopped, but we put up a tarp over the picnic table as a precaution. Cooked up a great supper of smokies, onions and bell peppers on the Coleman stove. Four young girls that we had seen at the Sign Post Forest set up camp in a nearby site. Don’t know for sure why I wrote this in my diary. Perhaps because one doesn’t often see four young girls travelling together. Or, perhaps because an old guy (me), like a young guy (used to be me) just generally tends to notice groups of four young girls travelling together.
Setting up the tarp in the Watson Lake Campground. Shadow seems relaxed.
Kathleen scans the sky for rain.
Raising the tarp with my tripod.
You have probably noticed that there are two canoes on our van. So, you might be wondering if Kathleen and I intend to each paddle our own canoe down the Yukon River. No is the answer. In 1989, Kathleen bought a solo, whitewater boat, a Mohawk XL13. At the time we lived in North Vancouver, British Columbia, only 10 minutes away from the lower Seymour River, with Class II rapids. We paddled often after work and on weekends. In 2003 we moved to Pender Island, British Columbia, where we did a lot of tandem ocean canoeing. No more solo white water. In 2008, we moved to Preeceville, Saskatchewan, where there is no white water at all. The Mohawk XL13 has been sitting on sawhorses in our barn all that time, not bringing paddling pleasure to anyone. It was time to turn it over to someone who would enjoy it as much as Kathleen did. So, in June of 2018, we posted it for sale on the canoetripping.net website for only $200.00 CAN.
Kathleen in her Mohawk on the Lower Seymour River in North Vancouver.
The only real interest in Kathleen’s boat came from a guy “recped,” on the canoe tripping site) in Toronto. Too far away for inexpensive shipping. Neither one of us knew anyone who would be travelling between Preeceville and Toronto. So the Mohawk remained sitting on sawhorses in the barn, not bringing paddling pleasure to anyone.
In November of 2018, I posted on the canoetripping.net that Kathleen and I would be paddling the Yukon River from Whitehorse to Dawson City in 2019. One of the site members “Canotrouge,” invited us to camp in his backyard when we arrived in Whitehorse. He lived only a block away from a common put-in on the Yukon River, and would be glad to help us launch our river trip. Perfect. Couldn’t be better. We gladly accepted his offer.
About two weeks before heading north to Whitehorse, I emailed Canotrouge, asking him if he knew anybody who might want to buy Kathleen’s Mohawk. We could easily bring it north with us. A day later, I received an email from Trevor, owner of a canoeing instruction company, saying that he would like to buy Kathleen’s Mohawk. Very good. So that explains why there are two canoes on our van. Kathleen and I will be paddling tandem down the Yukon River in the Wenonah Prospector. Eager students will be paddling solo in the Mohawk XL13.
Finally got the tarp taut, level and somewhat high above the picnic table. Bring on the rain.
Saturday, June 22. I rose before Kathleen and Shadow, and headed over to the outhouse. Halfway there, which was only about 50 metres (50 yards), I met a rather dignified lady returning from the outhouse. We stopped to chat. She wondered, “Did those four drunken girls keep you awake all night?
“No, I didn’t hear a thing. Were they up late?”
“Pretty much the whole night. We were already camped when they arrived yesterday. I began to worry when they pulled out the bottles of rye. It wasn’t long before they were fighting.”
“They were actually fighting?”
“Well, not actually physically fighting. They were arguing about who stole whose boyfriend.”
“Too bad,” I said. “I’m glad they weren’t camped any closer to us.” (Aside: I can say this without reservation. As an old, man, I was glad they weren’t camped any closer to me, Kathleen and Shadow. As a young, single man? If I had been camped right next to four young girls travelling together, I certainly would have made myself conspicuous, angling for an invitation to join them at their table. I would have enjoyed sharing a glass or two, or three, of rye. I have always been a quiet person, though. Once the “fighting” began, I would have slinked away to the privacy of my own campsite.)
Kathleen and Shadow were now at the picnic table, and I prepared a breakfast of scrambled eggs on the Coleman stove. As always, there were a few scraps of eggs stuck to the bottom of the skillet. I scraped then out into Shadow’s food bowl. He enjoyed them. I might even say he loved them. He devoured the egg scraps in only a few seconds. He then looked up at me, as if to ask, “Is that all there is? Don’t you have any more?” This shared egg breakfast just might become a morning ritual when we get back home to Preeceville.
Right after breakfast, we packed up the van. Kathleen and Shadow hopped in, and we headed up the Alaska Highway. It was only about 430 km (265 miles) from the campground west of Watson Lake to Whitehorse, but it seemed like the drive would never end. We stopped south of town to drop off the Mohawk XL13 at Trevor’s house, where there were already a zillion other canoes out back. Never hurts to have one more, though, particularly when it’s a royalex Mohawk XL13. A young guy there, obviously working for Trevor, helped me unload the canoe and carry it over to where the other canoes rested. Kathleen and I stood next to the Mohawk for a few minutes to say goodbye. Kathleen ran her hand along the hull, and said, “End of an era.” Even though we hadn’t paddled the Mohawk for 17 years, we felt pangs of loss when we walked away. Loss of our canoe, and the definitive end of our solo, whitewater paddling days. I had sold my solo Dagger Rival five years ago. And now the Mohawk.
We sighed, climbed back into the van, and headed north, through Whitehorse, and onto the Klondike Highway. Fifteen kilometres (nine miles) later we pulled into the lane leading up to the Tails and Trails Dog Hotel. Shadow was reluctant to hop out of the van. He seemed to know that something was up. Something that he didn’t like. Kathleen and I reached in, and lifted him to the ground. We walked up to the Dog Hotel door, but Shadow wouldn’t go in. Remember, he had willingly gone into our motel room at Buckinghorse River and at Toad River. But he wouldn’t go into the Dog Hotel. Somehow he knew that something was up. Something very bad. We dragged him in, and sat down in the reception area, where we met two young women, Olivia and Mina. The Dog Hotel required that their residents be vaccinated against distemper, adenovirus, parvovirus and kennel cough. An additional vaccination for rabies was strongly recommended. We gave Mina copies of Shadow’s appropriate vaccination records.
This visit was a just trial run to introduce Shadow to the Dog Hotel before we dropped him off tomorrow. After a few minutes, Shadow sat quietly while the girls petted him. We showed Shadow the runs where other dogs were playing. He sat down with a worried look on his face. We discussed Shadow’s separation anxieties, and how he didn’t like to be alone. We were assured that people would visit Shadow at least three times a day. That sounded good.
After about 30 minutes, Shadow seemed relaxed. Nevertheless, when we opened the van door to leave, Shadow didn’t hop in. Rather, he leaped in at full speed, and scrunched down low on his bed. “This doesn’t look good, Kathleen. I don’t think he’s going to like being at the kennel.”
“But we don’t have any choice, Michael. Besides, it might be good for him.”
“I hope so.”
What’s a good way to say that it rained hard all the way back to Whitehorse? How do I convey to you that it poured? That it came down in buckets? That it was a veritable monsoon? That the skies opened up? It rained about as hard as rain can rain.
We were headed to Canotrouge’s house in the Riverdale section of Whitehorse. Canotrouge said that he had cleared an area in his backyard to make room for our camp. Said he would be home at six. When we arrived in Whitehorse, the streets were in flood stage. Twice we drove through deep channels across the road that splashed hard up onto the van. Alarmed, Shadow bolted out of his bed and tried to hunker down between my feet. Hard to drive when a large, frightened Siberian husky is curled across both the brakes and the gas pedal.
We reached Canotrouge’s house at five minutes to six. Good timing. We knocked on his door. No answer. We let Shadow out to pee. He didn’t like the very hard rain, and immediately wanted back in the van. This isn’t going so well anymore. Twenty minutes later, and still no one home. Still pouring rain. Kathleen accessed the cellular service on her iPad, so that we could call Canotrouge. We reached a recording of a woman with a French accent. I quickly hung up. It didn’t occur to me that the woman could have been Canotrouge’s partner. That would make sense. After all, Canotrouge is French for red canoe. So Canotrouge likely has a French background, as well as a French-speaking partner. But I had never met, or actually talked to Canotrouge, so I didn’t know.
I checked my emails, and learned that Canotrouge had been detained, and wouldn’t be home until nine. Very bad news indeed. We were hungry, but certainly weren’t going to prepare supper in the rain. Also, we would need restroom facilities before nine. We could go out for supper at a restaurant, but then what? Come back and set up camp in the rain, or at best a very soggy backyard? Not appealing at all. Still raining hard enough to cause Noah to start thinking about building a second ark.
With her cellular access on her iPad, Kathleen searched on the internet for dog-friendly hotels. Someone would bring us a hot meal. We could sleep in a dry bed. And we could take our gear and canoe over to Canotrouge’s house tomorrow.
We stopped at the nearest of two dog-friendly hotels, and Kathleen went inside. Only minutes later she returned with the bad news: “No vacancy, Michael.” By now our windshield had completely fogged over. Not enough heat coming from the vents because of the broken blower motor. We wiped the windshield with towels, and drove around trying to find the second dog-friendly hotel without any success.
“This is no good, Michael. Let’s call Graham. Maybe he didn’t actually go kayaking on Atlin Lake. Maybe he’s home. Maybe we can call around from his phone to find a dog-friendly motel.”
We pulled off the street and parked. Graham answered on the third ring. “We’re wondering, Graham, if we could stay with you tonight. Where we had planned to stay isn’t available until nine.”
“Sure. Come on over. It’s just me here. It would be great to have company.”
That was fantastic news. It turns out that Graham also lived in the Riverdale section of Whitehorse, only a few blocks from Canotrouge. We knew the way, and headed on over. “You might remember, Kathleen, that I had ordered Mike Rourke’s guidebook to the Yukon River from Mac’s Fireweed Books here in Whitehorse. They were setting it aside for me. I should stop and get it tonight, but I don’t want to drive around in this rain. I don’t for sure where the store is, but I think they are on Main Street.”
I slowed down, and then stopped at the red light. The street sign said ‘Main Street.’ I glanced to the right, and there was Mac’s Fireweed Books. We turned at the next corner, made two more right turns, and angled into a parking stop only steps away from Mac’s Fireweed Books. “I don’t think I need to put money in the meter Kathleen. Wait for me here. I’ll be only a few minutes.”
I scurried into the store. The attendant said that the book was waiting for me downstairs. And so it was. I paid and scurried back to the van.
Ten minutes later we were seated in Graham’s kitchen. “Why don’t you stay here?” he asked. “You can leave your canoe and all your gear in my garage when you go to Dawson City tomorrow. Lots of space. I can pick you up when you get back.”
“That’s fantastic, Graham.”
“Would you like a glass of wine?
“Well, if we don’t have to drive anymore, we would love a glass of wine.”
“How about some cheese, crackers and salami to go with the wine?”
“Graham, we are so happy that you were here when we called. It’s a beautiful end to a stressful day.”
“Well, I’m glad that you did call. Let’s go downstairs before we eat. I can show you some bedrooms. You have two choices.”
Life was getting better all the time. Even Shadow seemed quite comfortable. He had walked right into the house without any hesitation. Even bounded up and down the stairs, except when he saw Graham at the other end. Made instant friends with the two resident house dogs. Maybe Shadow will like staying at the Tails and Trails Dog Hotel.
I glanced down at my fuel gauge. The needle rested comfortably right over the big E. As you know, the big E stands for empty. We need gas now, or so it might seem. But my van is old, and its gauges are somewhat wonky. Especially the fuel gauge, which tends to plummet, even with a quarter of a tank of gas left. But you try staring at a fuel gauge that reads empty, when there is no gas station on the highway going through Edmonton. It’s unnerving. We don’t know Edmonton. We don’t know where to get off the highway.
Kathleen and I don’t have cell phones, but Kathleen had recently purchased a new iPad that included cellular access. This service came with limited gigabytes for only $5.00 per month, and could be cancelled at any time. Moreover, the service automatically provided more gigabytes, with additional fees, if we exceeded the limit. So Kathleen activated the cell service on her iPad, and quickly found directions to a gas station on the south side of the highway. It was kind of nice to join the 21st century technology. We pulled into the gas station, and filled up. Still had almost a quarter of a tank left.
Now Kathleen used the cell service on her iPad to locate the nearest Tim Hortons. As you know, we always like to stop at Timmy’s. Inexpensive. Reasonable food. And, perhaps most importantly, they have free WiFi. We don’t need to use Kathleen’s limited cellular service on her iPad to check our emails and the news.
Kathleen had prepared our road itinerary, and today’s goal was the Kleskun Hill Natural Area Campground, about 20 km (12 miles) west of Grand Prairie, Alberta.
This 93-ha (230 acres) protected area boasts one of the largest tracts of native grassland remaining in the Grand Prairie region, with more than 160 species of flowering plants, including cactus.
There were only nine campsites, but we were the only people there. Drove and walked around the compound three times just to make sure that we selected the best site. We then strolled back down the lane to register and pay our fees for the night. Shadow seemed confident and comfortable. At least he was until the caretaker’s two large dogs burst out of the house, barking furiously. Even I was a bit worried when the dogs leaped up against the fence. That was enough for Shadow, who turned and scurried back to camp.
We hooked up the five-pound propane cylinder to our portable BBQ, and cooked hamburgers for supper. After cleaning up, and preparing the van for bed, we hiked the trails through the Kleskun Hills, one of which is named Dinosaur Hill. Not because it looks like a dinosaur, but because of the many dinosaur bones found here. The Recreation Area also features many historic buildings and antique machinery. All-in-all, a very interesting and enjoyable place to spend the night. You might want to click on the following link to see more images and detail.
https://www.discoverthepeacecountry....skunhills.html
We ended the evening, which was cool but calm, sitting on our ground chairs at the edge of our camp, sipping wine. Shadow lay between us, resting his head on my legs. A young family strolled past our camp to spend about an hour hiking and playing on the slides and monkey bars. Despite the children’s exuberant running and yelling, Shadow remained relaxed. This was going very well. Also, we’ve been on the road for two days, and no problems with the van yet. This was going very well. Two of my worries were so far unnecessary. Finally, I made no mention in my diary of Five Finger Rapids. So. I seemingly had no worries at all.
Off to register for the campground.
Hiking through the Kleskun Hills Natural AreaDinosaur Hill
Historic buildings and antique machinery.
Shadow resting comfortably in the Kleskun Hills Natural Area.
Wednesday, June 19. Overnight, the tire pressure had fallen to 30 PSI. “This isn’t good Kathleen. I don’t want to keep refilling every other day. Besides, there might be something seriously wrong. More than just a slow leak. We gotta do something.”
At Dawson Creek, British Columbia, Mile 0, on the Alaska Highway, we pulled in at Canadian Tire. I explained my problem. “I seem to have slow leaks in my tires, particularly the two rear tires. Do you think you could have a look at them?”
“Sure. We’re not busy today. We’ll look at it right now.”
Well, they hoisted the van on the rack, and removed both rear tires. Two guys spent more than an hour brushing on soapy water, and then submerging the tires in a tub of water. Did lots of peering and scratching of heads. Couldn’t find any leaks. Final conclusion was, “Sometimes old rims don’t fit well anymore. I had the same problem. Bought new rims. and never had the problem again.”
Best part of the hour was that Shadow seemed comfortable walking into the waiting room. Even when other employees popped through doors, Shadow didn’t cringe or try to hide. Just sat there between us, taking it all in. This was going much better than either Kathleen or I expected
“Maybe I worry too much about the tires, Kathleen. Let’s just forget about it. They’ve had this slow leak all summer, and nothing bad has happened yet.”
Back on the road, we stopped at Pink Mountain, British Columbia to fill up with gas $1.67 CAN per litre ($4.84 US per gallon). A heck of a lot more than $0.93 per litre CAN
($2.70 US per gallon) that we paid in Edmonton. (Note: These prices were the most and least we paid for gas, respectively, on the entire trip.)
For lunch we stopped at the truly spectacular Charlie Lake Provincial Park in Fort St. John, British Columbia. While I carried our stuff over to the covered picnic area, Kathleen and Shadow romped through the beautifully manicured lawns winding through the forest. It was only after we were packing up to leave that we noticed the sign: “Dogs Not Allowed.” Sorry about that, British Columbia Parks. We’ll try to be more careful in the future. Shadow did love your park, though!
The morning had been overcast, with periods of rain. Back on the road, the rain began in earnest. And when it rains it British Columbia, it rains hard and long. That’s one reason Kathleen and I moved away from British Columbia. I lived there for 33 years, and never learned to enjoy rain. We had planned to spend the night camping at the Buckinghorse River Wayside Provincial Park. Camping in sunshine is fun. Camping in rain? Not so much. The Buckinghorse River Lodge sat on the opposite side of the highway from the Provincial Park.
“Let’s see if they allow dogs.”
The desk clerk said, “Yep. We have some rooms set aside for pets.”
Our room was in an older motel kind of building. That was good. No stairs. Without any hesitation, Shadow walked right in. Surprised us.
Shadow waited for us in the van, while we enjoyed supper at the Buckinghorse River Lodge.
Thursday, June 20. Shadow slept well all night on the floor next to our bed. Didn’t seem concerned by other guests coming and going just outside. After an early breakfast at the lodge, we packed up and drove across the highway to the Buckinghorse River Wayside Provincial Park. Shadow needed to poop, and he generally won’t poop with lots of traffic and noise about.
I stopped the van, and Kathleen and Shadow hopped out. They headed quickly down the lane, turned the corner, and were out of sight. I waited a few minutes. No Kathleen and Shadow. Waited a few minutes more. Still no Kathleen and Shadow. Turned on the ignition and drove down the lane, all the way to the end of the campground, where Shadow and Kathleen were talking to Ben and Emily, from Michigan.
Ben and Emily were on their way to Fairbanks to visit a friend, and didn’t have to be home until Christmas. Good to be young, footloose and fancy-free. Well, they weren’t actually super young. Maybe 30-35 years old. But they were footloose and fancy-free. Ben and Emily had a canoe on top of their vehicle, and we discussed our plans to paddle the Yukon River. “We’d like to do some canoeing in the Yukon,” they said. “Are there any shorter trips possible near the highway?”
“Yeah. There is a guidebook, Rivers of the Yukon, by Madsen and Wilson. You should try to get a copy.”
Shadow had already pooped. So after chatting a few more minutes, Kathleen, Shadow and I headed off down the Alaska Highway. A little before noon, we stopped in Fort Nelson, British Columbia. Care to guess where we stopped? Yes, you’re absolutely right. We stopped at Timmy’s. Inexpensive. Reasonable food. And, perhaps most importantly, free WiFi.
We sat down with our toasted bagels, a latte for Kathleen and a black coffee for me. “You know, Kathleen, now that I think about it, we brought that Yukon guide book with us, because it has a description of the Yukon River. It’s right in our day pack. I could have shown it to Ben and Emily back there at the campground. Too bad I didn’t think of it.”
We got to work looking at our emails and reading the news. I looked out the window toward our van, and just then saw Ben and Emily’s vehicle drive into the parking lot. Wow. This is fortuitous. A few minutes later they joined us at the table. “Good to see you. I have that guide book I told you about in the van. I’ll go get it.”
We spent the next 30 minutes discussing possible three to four-day river trips near the highway, as Ben and Emily took pictures of river descriptions in the guide book. Hope that doesn’t violate any copyright rules. If it does, please don’t tell either Madsen or Wilson. After finishing our lunch, we wished each other well, and Kathleen, Shadow and I continued our journey west, down the Alaska Highway.
It rained hard all afternoon. No surprise there. We are in British Columbia, after all. We stopped for the night at Toad River, where where Kathleen had booked a room before we left Preeceville. She thought it would be a pleasant change from camping. It was particularly so because of the rain. Our reserved room was quite large, and Shadow walked right in. His confidence seemed to be growing every day! The room had WiFi, and we viewed our emails and read the news. We heated up our smokies in the microwave. Kathleen and I both enjoyed a bath. Shadow enjoyed walking along the lake-side trail. Moose foraged on the opposite shore. Swans with cygnets floated contentedly, joined by small groups of Golden Eyes.
When we had checked into the hotel, there was a young First Nations man just outside the front door with a sign that said he would like a ride to Whitehorse. Nothing unusual about that. Except this young man was blind. Just sitting there on the bench. Waiting for a stranger to take him to Whitehorse. Sort of like Blanche DuBois, in A Streetcar Named Desire, who claimed she had always depended on the kindness of strangers. This young man had more confidence in the kindness of strangers than I would. On the other hand, he, like Blanche being led away to a mental institution, was not in control of his own actions or life. He needed to depend on the kindness of strangers. I don’t think I could be so trusting. I would probably not have ventured so far away from where I wanted to be. Probably says a lot about me.
Friday, June 21. We woke to a calm, sunny morning. We wandered over to the restaurant for breakfast, where the blind, First Nations young man sat all alone at his own table. The waitress told him that when he was finished eating, that she would guide him out to the bench in front of the restaurant. Kindness from a stranger.
After finishing our breakfast, Kathleen and Shadow strolled along the lake-side trail.
Shadow stepped out confidently until these three children crossed his path.
He seemed to say, “Yikes,” and turned around to walk quickly back to the safety of his motel room. He didn’t show outright fear. Just being prudently cautious—tremendous improvement compared to how he would have reacted six months ago.
We filled up with gas, and headed out on the highway. The blind, First Nations young man sat all alone on his bench in front of the restaurant. Still depending, very stoically, on the anticipated kindness of a stranger.
Despite the promising sunny morning, the rain resumed its downpour. I turned on the heat to defrost the window, but the expected blast of warm air didn’t happen. We pulled over, and stopped to investigate. Yep, no air coming from the vents. The manual suggested that blower motor had likely stopped working. Not much we could do about it now. We did find, though, that more air came out of the vents at faster driving speeds. Enough air to eventually clear the windshield.
After about 90 minutes we stopped at the Muncho Lake Provincial Park to walk Shadow. He ran joyously along the tundra-like trails. Siberian huskies were bred in Siberia’s taiga landscape. These trails in Mucho Lake seemed to trigger innate, genetic memory in our rescue Siberian husky.
As we were driving out to the park, we saw Ben and Emily camped down at the edge of the lake. We stopped to chat for a few minutes. Turns out that they had stopped for supper at Toad River last night, at about nine o’clock. They saw our van, but wanted to push on, rather than visit. Our Muncho Lake rendezvous was the last time we saw Ben and Emily.
We filled up with gas, and headed out on the highway. The blind, First Nations young man sat all alone on his bench in front of the restaurant. Still depending, very stoically, on the anticipated kindness of a stranger.
Despite the promising sunny morning, the rain resumed its downpour. I turned on the heat to defrost the window, but the expected blast of warm air didn’t happen. We pulled over, and stopped to investigate. Yep, no air coming from the vents. The manual suggested that blower motor had likely stopped working. Not much we could do about it now. We did find, though, that more air came out of the vents at faster driving speeds. Enough air to eventually clear the windshield.
After about 90 minutes we stopped at the Muncho Lake Provincial Park to walk Shadow. He ran joyously along the tundra-like trails. Siberian huskies were bred in Siberia’s taiga landscape. These trails in Mucho Lake seemed to trigger innate, genetic memory in our rescue Siberian husky.
As we were driving out to the park, we saw Ben and Emily camped down at the edge of the lake. We stopped to chat for a few minutes. Turns out that they had stopped for supper at Toad River last night, at about nine o’clock. They saw our van, but wanted to push on, rather than visit. Our Muncho Lake rendezvous was the last time we saw Ben and Emily.
The narrow, twisting highway approaching and through Muncho Lake substantially slowed our progress. We didn’t reach the Liard River Hot Springs Provincial Park until nearly lunch time, only a little over 200 km (120 miles) from Toad River. We hoped that we could use the park’s covered picnic area for our brief stay. I asked the attendant if the $5.00 per person admission fee applied to short term picnickers. She didn’t hesitate: “Yes it does.” I kind of thought so. But $10.00 for lunch? Not gonna happen. We looped around the kiosk, and headed back down the Alaska Highway. Some people say that canoeists are cheap. Don’t know where they could get such preposterous notions.
Bison along the Alaska Highway as we approached the town of Coal River, British Columbia. We also saw a lot of black bears along the highway, foraging in the mown grass by the side of the road. For some reason, we didn’t take any pictures. It seems that a career in photojournalism is not in our future.
We reached Watson Lake, Yukon, in mid-afternoon. The Sign Post Forest is Watson Lake’s most famous attraction. Travellers from around the world have been bringing signs from their home towns since 1942. The tradition began when U.S. soldier Carl K. Lindley spent time in Watson Lake recovering from an injury. A commanding officer asked him to repair and erect directional sign posts, and while completing the job, he added a sign that indicated the direction and mileage (2,835 miles; 4,652 km) to his home town of Danville, Illinois. Others followed suit, and the trend caught on. In 1990, a couple from Ohio added the 10,000[SUP]th[/SUP] sign in the Sign Post Forest. Today there are over 77,000 signs in the forest, and the number grows each year. (Image and text from Wikipedia:
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Sign_Post_Forest)
We drove into the large, pleasant Watson Lake campground after covering only about 350 km (215 miles) of slow-going highway since Toad River. The rain had mostly stopped, but we put up a tarp over the picnic table as a precaution. Cooked up a great supper of smokies, onions and bell peppers on the Coleman stove. Four young girls that we had seen at the Sign Post Forest set up camp in a nearby site. Don’t know for sure why I wrote this in my diary. Perhaps because one doesn’t often see four young girls travelling together. Or, perhaps because an old guy (me), like a young guy (used to be me) just generally tends to notice groups of four young girls travelling together.
Setting up the tarp in the Watson Lake Campground. Shadow seems relaxed.
Kathleen scans the sky for rain.
Raising the tarp with my tripod.
You have probably noticed that there are two canoes on our van. So, you might be wondering if Kathleen and I intend to each paddle our own canoe down the Yukon River. No is the answer. In 1989, Kathleen bought a solo, whitewater boat, a Mohawk XL13. At the time we lived in North Vancouver, British Columbia, only 10 minutes away from the lower Seymour River, with Class II rapids. We paddled often after work and on weekends. In 2003 we moved to Pender Island, British Columbia, where we did a lot of tandem ocean canoeing. No more solo white water. In 2008, we moved to Preeceville, Saskatchewan, where there is no white water at all. The Mohawk XL13 has been sitting on sawhorses in our barn all that time, not bringing paddling pleasure to anyone. It was time to turn it over to someone who would enjoy it as much as Kathleen did. So, in June of 2018, we posted it for sale on the canoetripping.net website for only $200.00 CAN.
Kathleen in her Mohawk on the Lower Seymour River in North Vancouver.
The only real interest in Kathleen’s boat came from a guy “recped,” on the canoe tripping site) in Toronto. Too far away for inexpensive shipping. Neither one of us knew anyone who would be travelling between Preeceville and Toronto. So the Mohawk remained sitting on sawhorses in the barn, not bringing paddling pleasure to anyone.
In November of 2018, I posted on the canoetripping.net that Kathleen and I would be paddling the Yukon River from Whitehorse to Dawson City in 2019. One of the site members “Canotrouge,” invited us to camp in his backyard when we arrived in Whitehorse. He lived only a block away from a common put-in on the Yukon River, and would be glad to help us launch our river trip. Perfect. Couldn’t be better. We gladly accepted his offer.
About two weeks before heading north to Whitehorse, I emailed Canotrouge, asking him if he knew anybody who might want to buy Kathleen’s Mohawk. We could easily bring it north with us. A day later, I received an email from Trevor, owner of a canoeing instruction company, saying that he would like to buy Kathleen’s Mohawk. Very good. So that explains why there are two canoes on our van. Kathleen and I will be paddling tandem down the Yukon River in the Wenonah Prospector. Eager students will be paddling solo in the Mohawk XL13.
Finally got the tarp taut, level and somewhat high above the picnic table. Bring on the rain.
Saturday, June 22. I rose before Kathleen and Shadow, and headed over to the outhouse. Halfway there, which was only about 50 metres (50 yards), I met a rather dignified lady returning from the outhouse. We stopped to chat. She wondered, “Did those four drunken girls keep you awake all night?
“No, I didn’t hear a thing. Were they up late?”
“Pretty much the whole night. We were already camped when they arrived yesterday. I began to worry when they pulled out the bottles of rye. It wasn’t long before they were fighting.”
“They were actually fighting?”
“Well, not actually physically fighting. They were arguing about who stole whose boyfriend.”
“Too bad,” I said. “I’m glad they weren’t camped any closer to us.” (Aside: I can say this without reservation. As an old, man, I was glad they weren’t camped any closer to me, Kathleen and Shadow. As a young, single man? If I had been camped right next to four young girls travelling together, I certainly would have made myself conspicuous, angling for an invitation to join them at their table. I would have enjoyed sharing a glass or two, or three, of rye. I have always been a quiet person, though. Once the “fighting” began, I would have slinked away to the privacy of my own campsite.)
Kathleen and Shadow were now at the picnic table, and I prepared a breakfast of scrambled eggs on the Coleman stove. As always, there were a few scraps of eggs stuck to the bottom of the skillet. I scraped then out into Shadow’s food bowl. He enjoyed them. I might even say he loved them. He devoured the egg scraps in only a few seconds. He then looked up at me, as if to ask, “Is that all there is? Don’t you have any more?” This shared egg breakfast just might become a morning ritual when we get back home to Preeceville.
Right after breakfast, we packed up the van. Kathleen and Shadow hopped in, and we headed up the Alaska Highway. It was only about 430 km (265 miles) from the campground west of Watson Lake to Whitehorse, but it seemed like the drive would never end. We stopped south of town to drop off the Mohawk XL13 at Trevor’s house, where there were already a zillion other canoes out back. Never hurts to have one more, though, particularly when it’s a royalex Mohawk XL13. A young guy there, obviously working for Trevor, helped me unload the canoe and carry it over to where the other canoes rested. Kathleen and I stood next to the Mohawk for a few minutes to say goodbye. Kathleen ran her hand along the hull, and said, “End of an era.” Even though we hadn’t paddled the Mohawk for 17 years, we felt pangs of loss when we walked away. Loss of our canoe, and the definitive end of our solo, whitewater paddling days. I had sold my solo Dagger Rival five years ago. And now the Mohawk.
We sighed, climbed back into the van, and headed north, through Whitehorse, and onto the Klondike Highway. Fifteen kilometres (nine miles) later we pulled into the lane leading up to the Tails and Trails Dog Hotel. Shadow was reluctant to hop out of the van. He seemed to know that something was up. Something that he didn’t like. Kathleen and I reached in, and lifted him to the ground. We walked up to the Dog Hotel door, but Shadow wouldn’t go in. Remember, he had willingly gone into our motel room at Buckinghorse River and at Toad River. But he wouldn’t go into the Dog Hotel. Somehow he knew that something was up. Something very bad. We dragged him in, and sat down in the reception area, where we met two young women, Olivia and Mina. The Dog Hotel required that their residents be vaccinated against distemper, adenovirus, parvovirus and kennel cough. An additional vaccination for rabies was strongly recommended. We gave Mina copies of Shadow’s appropriate vaccination records.
This visit was a just trial run to introduce Shadow to the Dog Hotel before we dropped him off tomorrow. After a few minutes, Shadow sat quietly while the girls petted him. We showed Shadow the runs where other dogs were playing. He sat down with a worried look on his face. We discussed Shadow’s separation anxieties, and how he didn’t like to be alone. We were assured that people would visit Shadow at least three times a day. That sounded good.
After about 30 minutes, Shadow seemed relaxed. Nevertheless, when we opened the van door to leave, Shadow didn’t hop in. Rather, he leaped in at full speed, and scrunched down low on his bed. “This doesn’t look good, Kathleen. I don’t think he’s going to like being at the kennel.”
“But we don’t have any choice, Michael. Besides, it might be good for him.”
“I hope so.”
What’s a good way to say that it rained hard all the way back to Whitehorse? How do I convey to you that it poured? That it came down in buckets? That it was a veritable monsoon? That the skies opened up? It rained about as hard as rain can rain.
We were headed to Canotrouge’s house in the Riverdale section of Whitehorse. Canotrouge said that he had cleared an area in his backyard to make room for our camp. Said he would be home at six. When we arrived in Whitehorse, the streets were in flood stage. Twice we drove through deep channels across the road that splashed hard up onto the van. Alarmed, Shadow bolted out of his bed and tried to hunker down between my feet. Hard to drive when a large, frightened Siberian husky is curled across both the brakes and the gas pedal.
We reached Canotrouge’s house at five minutes to six. Good timing. We knocked on his door. No answer. We let Shadow out to pee. He didn’t like the very hard rain, and immediately wanted back in the van. This isn’t going so well anymore. Twenty minutes later, and still no one home. Still pouring rain. Kathleen accessed the cellular service on her iPad, so that we could call Canotrouge. We reached a recording of a woman with a French accent. I quickly hung up. It didn’t occur to me that the woman could have been Canotrouge’s partner. That would make sense. After all, Canotrouge is French for red canoe. So Canotrouge likely has a French background, as well as a French-speaking partner. But I had never met, or actually talked to Canotrouge, so I didn’t know.
I checked my emails, and learned that Canotrouge had been detained, and wouldn’t be home until nine. Very bad news indeed. We were hungry, but certainly weren’t going to prepare supper in the rain. Also, we would need restroom facilities before nine. We could go out for supper at a restaurant, but then what? Come back and set up camp in the rain, or at best a very soggy backyard? Not appealing at all. Still raining hard enough to cause Noah to start thinking about building a second ark.
With her cellular access on her iPad, Kathleen searched on the internet for dog-friendly hotels. Someone would bring us a hot meal. We could sleep in a dry bed. And we could take our gear and canoe over to Canotrouge’s house tomorrow.
We stopped at the nearest of two dog-friendly hotels, and Kathleen went inside. Only minutes later she returned with the bad news: “No vacancy, Michael.” By now our windshield had completely fogged over. Not enough heat coming from the vents because of the broken blower motor. We wiped the windshield with towels, and drove around trying to find the second dog-friendly hotel without any success.
“This is no good, Michael. Let’s call Graham. Maybe he didn’t actually go kayaking on Atlin Lake. Maybe he’s home. Maybe we can call around from his phone to find a dog-friendly motel.”
We pulled off the street and parked. Graham answered on the third ring. “We’re wondering, Graham, if we could stay with you tonight. Where we had planned to stay isn’t available until nine.”
“Sure. Come on over. It’s just me here. It would be great to have company.”
That was fantastic news. It turns out that Graham also lived in the Riverdale section of Whitehorse, only a few blocks from Canotrouge. We knew the way, and headed on over. “You might remember, Kathleen, that I had ordered Mike Rourke’s guidebook to the Yukon River from Mac’s Fireweed Books here in Whitehorse. They were setting it aside for me. I should stop and get it tonight, but I don’t want to drive around in this rain. I don’t for sure where the store is, but I think they are on Main Street.”
I slowed down, and then stopped at the red light. The street sign said ‘Main Street.’ I glanced to the right, and there was Mac’s Fireweed Books. We turned at the next corner, made two more right turns, and angled into a parking stop only steps away from Mac’s Fireweed Books. “I don’t think I need to put money in the meter Kathleen. Wait for me here. I’ll be only a few minutes.”
I scurried into the store. The attendant said that the book was waiting for me downstairs. And so it was. I paid and scurried back to the van.
Ten minutes later we were seated in Graham’s kitchen. “Why don’t you stay here?” he asked. “You can leave your canoe and all your gear in my garage when you go to Dawson City tomorrow. Lots of space. I can pick you up when you get back.”
“That’s fantastic, Graham.”
“Would you like a glass of wine?
“Well, if we don’t have to drive anymore, we would love a glass of wine.”
“How about some cheese, crackers and salami to go with the wine?”
“Graham, we are so happy that you were here when we called. It’s a beautiful end to a stressful day.”
“Well, I’m glad that you did call. Let’s go downstairs before we eat. I can show you some bedrooms. You have two choices.”
Life was getting better all the time. Even Shadow seemed quite comfortable. He had walked right into the house without any hesitation. Even bounded up and down the stairs, except when he saw Graham at the other end. Made instant friends with the two resident house dogs. Maybe Shadow will like staying at the Tails and Trails Dog Hotel.
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Michael (and Kathleen) I'm enjoying all your trips and especially as they are told in long story format, and the excellent photos are an integral part of these stories. I've grown fond of your van too despite its troubles. And now I love your dog too. Best of luck with Shadow's improvement.
Waiting for the next installment with trepidation. You've got me worried about the 5 fingers, and I can so relate to the moody vehicle thing.
Waiting for the next installment with trepidation. You've got me worried about the 5 fingers, and I can so relate to the moody vehicle thing.
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Pook and Odyssey. Your encouragement is much appreciated. New instalment coming. Probably tomorrow.
I am captivated and spell bound. Thank you!
Odyssey;n98323 Waiting for the next installment with trepidation. You've got me worried about the 5 fingers said:
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What a jerk that canotrouge to not show up when a friend need him... Sorry man! Happy you had a friend in town that was there for you!!
Sometimes people just get detained, Canotrouge. We appreciated your offer!
Thanks for such a detailed story, a fun read and I too am worried about the rapids and the van. Thanks for taking the time and effort to share this with us all.
Sunday, June 23. Kathleen and I spent a very comfortable night in a warm, dry bed. Shadow slept beside us on the floor, breathing softly. We dressed and went upstairs to the kitchen to enjoy coffee, tea and toast with Graham. We unloaded all our gear in Graham’s garage, and leaned our canoe against a house wall in the backyard.
We thanked Graham, and headed over to Canotrouge’s house. We had emailed Canotrouge last night to tell him that we had found alternative arrangements, and that we would be stopping by this morning to give him a present from “dougd,” the administrator of the canoetripping.net website. I knocked on the door, and waited for a few minutes for it to open. Perhaps no one was home. Perhaps I came too early. But eventually Canotrouge opened his door. We said hello, and shook hands.
“Good to meet you, Canotrouge. Here’s a canoetripping.net t-shirt from dougd. Also, yellowcanoe extends her regards. Thanks again for your invitation to camp. Kathleen and I really appreciated it.”
“Are you here alone?”
“No, Kathleen’s in the van with Shadow. We gotta get going.”
“When will you be back in Whitehorse? Maybe we can get together.”
“We plan to be back on July 11. But if I remember correctly, you’re planning to be on the Wind River then.”
“Yeah, that’s right. Maybe some other time. Michael”
Kathleen and I filled up with gas, and headed out of town, to the Tails and Trails Dog Hotel. Shadow seemed to recognize that he had been here yesterday. He walked into the reception area without having to be dragged. We were greeted by Nina, the young woman who we had originally contacted regarding Shadow’s visit to the kennel. Olivia came over, sat down next to Shadow, and stroked his head. And then, something quite unbelievable happened. Shadow rolled over on his back so that Olivia could pet his tummy. He had never before rolled over for anybody other than Kathleen or me.
I went back to the van to get Shadow’s belongings. “Here’s his bed, Nina. And he gets two cups of this kibble, mixed with one-third of a can of dog food. Just add a little water. There’s plenty of food here. I measured it all out before we left Preeceville. We feed him just once per day, usually in the evening. But you can feed him whenever you want.”
“OK. We’ll feed him at the time he’s used to. I think it’s time for you to go, now. Let Olivia lead him to his room.”
Kathleen handed the leash to Olivia, and she started off down the hallway. Shadow hung back, not wanting to follow. Kathleen said, “Come on, Shadow. Let’s go.” Kathleen took only a few steps before Shadow started following Olivia to his room. He never even looked back. “Maybe he will like it here, Kathleen.” My voice cracked just a little. “Let’s go before I cry.”
Kathleen and I climbed back into the van, which seemed so very empty without Shadow. We headed up the North Klondike Highway in a warm, sunny day. We rode along mostly in silence, trying hard, unsuccessfully, not to worry about Shadow.
About two hours later we stopped at Braeburn Lodge for coffee and their somewhat famous giant cinnamon bun ($10.00 CAN; $7.50 U.S.). I’ve stopped here several times before. It’s what one does. I always say I will never do it again. The cinnamon buns have never been all that good, and way too big, even for two people. I’ll probably stop again, though. It’s just what one does when travelling the North Klondike Highway.
There was no WiFi at Braeburn Lodge, so we stopped again at the hotel/restaurant in Carmacks for more coffee and a plate of fries. But mainly we stopped for the WiFi. We had to know how Shadow was doing. Kathleen emailed Nina.
“Hi Nina. We are in Carmacks. Hope all is going well with Shadow. Is he settling in ok?”
Nina responded right away. “Yes, it seems like he is pretty relaxed and opened up to me as well, so he got his first dose of good cuddles. This afternoon he will meet some of the dogs in the outside pen and probably make some new friends! Have a good day!”
Great news. We were starting to feel a little better.
Out in the parking lot there was a young woman puffing on a cigarette. “I like your van,” she said. “I need a van like that. I’ll give you a thousand dollars.”
“I need my van. I can’t sell it.”
“Well, I need a van too. Just something cheap that I can haul supplies up here from Whitehorse. My car’s too small.”
“My van is old. Has a lot of mechanical problems. Why don’t you buy a newer van?”
“Nope. A thousand is as much as I want to pay.”
“Sorry. My van might not be worth as much as a thousand dollars. But I can’t sell it.”
Besides, I thought, other than the conked out blower motor, the van has been performing quite well on this trip. I had pretty much stopped worrying about it.
You might remember that the night before we left Preeceville, I lay awake worrying about three things: the van, Shadow and Five Finger Rapids. I’m not worried about the van so much, anymore. And I’m not worried about Shadow so much anymore. Only one worry remains: Five Finger Rapids. We should be able to get a better view of them at the Five Finger Rapids Recreation Site less than 30 km (20 miles) away.
Our Yukon River itinerary calls for us to stay at the Coal Mine Campground on our seventh night of the trip, about halfway to Dawson City. The campground is only a few minutes by highway below Carmacks, and we stopped to have a look. Plenty of campsites adjacent to the river, a concession stand, showers, laundry, flush toilets and a large dock for easy landing and launching. Wilderness camping at its best.
A few minutes later, we stopped at the Five Finger Rapids Recreation Site, where we enjoyed reading about the history of this most famous rapid on the river. Four rock outcrops have formed five channels or “fingers,” with the right finger being the preferred route. We hiked down to the lower platform, directly above the right finger, for a better view. The videos we have seen show standing waves on the left side of the entry to the right channel, with standing waves deflecting off the right side further down. Canoeists normally just run straight down the centre, avoiding the highest waves on both the left and right sides. Even from the lower platform, we couldn’t see the waves on river right. There seems to be plenty of room, though. Now I wasn’t worried too much about Five Finger Rapids anymore. We should be able to run them easily.
Me, at the Five Finger Rapids Recreation Site.
Five Finger Rapids
View upriver from Five Finger Rapids
Right "finger" from lower platform.
So back on the North Klondike Highway, headed to Dawson City. We Parked in front of our previously-booked Paris du Nord AirBnB at 6:15 p.m. Our host, Debbie, along with her French poodle, Marcel, showed us to our room. After Debbie’s description regarding our room’s amenities and procedures, I asked her if she had ever been to Paris.
“No, I haven’t,” she said.
“I’m just wondering then, why you call your B and B Paris du Nord.”
“It’s because during the gold rush, Dawson City was often referred to as the Paris of the North.” (Note: I had forgotten that little tidbit. For those of you who might not know, at its peak, 30,000-40,000 people lived in Dawson, which, in 1898, was the largest city west of Winnipeg and north of Seattle.)
After bringing in our luggage, what do you think we did first? Yep, that’s right. Kathleen emailed Nina at the Tails and Trails Dog Hotel. In response to Nina’s email a few hours ago in Carmacks, Kathleen wrote, “That sounds great (about Shadow) Nina. We are in Dawson and will be able to relax (somewhat!) knowing this. Give him a cuddle for us when you see him.”
Kathleen then showered, and we walked down the hill to the Drunken Goat Taverna for supper.
Debbie, our host at the Paris du Nord AirBnB, recommended the Drunken Goat Taverna for supper. Image from the Dawson City web page.
Kathleen and I began our meal with a half-litre carafe of white wine, and then shared an excellent appetizer platter for two: dolmades, spanakopita, cheese stuffed pastries, pita bread, rice, tzatziki and Greek salad. It was almost too much to eat. In fact, we finished the wine while we still had food on the platter. Had to order a second half-litre to finish off our meal. A somewhat expensive night out at $104.10 CAN ($78.00 US), but it was likely our last opportunity to splurge for several weeks. It seemed like a long walk back up the hill to the Paris du Nord.
Kathleen checked her emails, and read the much anticipated response from Nina at the Tails and Trails Dog Hotel.
“Hi Kathleen. You can relax even more! We introduced him to some dogs today and he did great, just like all the other dogs, not scared or anything. He came up to me, sat down and received his cuddles and walked back into his room as if he knows the procedure already! He will have a good time at the hotel! And you have an amazing trip!!”
That was very reassuring. My original three large worries had pretty much disappeared. The van made it to Dawson City with no problems other than a broken blower motor. Pretty darn good. Five Finger Rapids appeared easy and straightforward from the viewing platform. And, most importantly, Shadow will likely enjoy his stay at the Tails and Trails Dog Hotel. He might even be a more confident dog when we pick him up. We head back down the North Klondike Highway tomorrow at noon.
Monday, June 24. The next morning, I showered and shaved while Kathleen slept. I then rummaged through the cabinets looking for coffee. Couldn’t find any. But I’m a guy. I can’t find anything. Kathleen was awake now. She can always find stuff. She rummaged through the cabinets, but couldn’t find any coffee. That was strange, as Debbie spent time showing us the coffee maker, and it worked. Debbie said to call her if we had any questions, so we did. She came right over.
“So, Debbie. We can’t find the coffee.”
“I don’t leave coffee out. It goes stale. Do you want me to bring you some?”
“”No, that’s OK. We were going to have coffee with our cinnamon bun left over from Braeburn Lodge, but it’s gone hard as a rock. We can’t even cut it. We’ll just go out for breakfast.”
Debbie offered her opinion of the cinnamon buns from Braeburn Lodge. “They’re mostly just lard. Giant cinnamon buns seems like just a gimmick to me.”
She was probably right. I fall for the gimmick every time, though.
It was just as well that the cinnamon bun had metamorphosed into a granite doorstop. We now eagerly looked forward to going out to breakfast at the Jack London Grill in the Downtown Hotel. It would be like old times.
Allow me to head back in time. Dawson City had always been a favourite place for Kathleen and me to visit during summer. We wondered what it would be like to enjoy winter in Dawson City. We wondered what it would be like to see the Yukon River burst free from its ice in the spring. Could we possibly find a winter cabin to rent on the Yukon River near the historic gold rush town of Dawson?
During a conference call in January of 2006 with my fellow executive members of Paddle Canada (I was secretary), Trevor Braun, in Whitehorse, gave me the phone number of Tommy Taylor, who owned a cabin on the right bank of the Yukon River, 12 km (7.5 miles) down-river from Dawson City. I called the next day.
“How much to rent your cabin from approximately April first to break-up?” I asked.
“How ’bout we make a deal,” Tommy replied. “You look after my 29 sled dogs, and you can stay for free.”
Although not what we had in mind, the adventure appealed to us. First, though, we called our friend Alan, in Inuvik, to get his advice about the difficulties of tending to the needs of 29 sled dogs, as we were a bit reluctant.
“It’s a great opportunity, Mike,” he said. “It will be an adventure.”
We arrived in Dawson City on March 30, at -25 degrees Celsius (-13 F), and travelled by snowmobile 12 km (7.5 miles) the following morning to our cabin at the site of old Fort Reliance. This was good for Tommy, who ran the George Black ferry in Dawson. There was no road to Tommy’s cabin, but he travelled on the ice during winter to feed his dogs. In summer, he travelled by boat. During the period of break-up, however, the ice was not safe to travel. So he needed to have people at the cabin to feed his dogs.
We spent the next six weeks wearing our mukluks, walking on the river, enjoying the ever-lengthening days, and of course, feeding the dogs. Each day Kathleen and I butchered slabs of caribou and moose, sawed up frozen fish, and cut wood to boil four large pots of food over an open fire. Although we had never owned pets before, we thoroughly enjoyed the company of our huskies, each of whom had a distinct personality. The dogs also seemed to enjoy our company, particularly at feeding time. We hold very fond memories of seeing and hearing their contentment, when they howled in unison, with full bellies, from atop their doghouses.
Break-up on the Yukon River occurred in front of our cabin on May ninth. Truly spectacular to see an ice sheet more than one metre (three feet) thick and nearly one km (half-a-mile) wide grind and groan its way downriver, with open water following behind. Within an hour our world transformed from winter to summer, from icy silence to flowing life. Two gulls, riding residual blocks of ice, appeared proud, smug and content as they floated down the river.
Now I come to my point. Tommy insisted that we come to town once a week for R & R. Take a break from the dogs. Enjoy restaurant meals. Our cabin had no running water, so the invitation to have a shower seemed appealing. “But Tommy, who will feed the dogs?”
“Dogs don’t gotta eat every day. Wolves don’t eat every day. You need to come to town and stay with Dawn and me.”
About one week later, we took Tommy’s snowmobile to town, and walked back to Fort Reliance. The next two trips to town we walked both ways. When we were in town, we always went to the Jack London Grill in the Downtown Hotel for breakfast. You see my point. Kathleen and I chucked the granite doorstop cinnamon bun, and headed down to the Jack London Grill for breakfast, and to reminisce about our life at Tommy’s cabin, and to remember when the ice went out of the Yukon River.
April 1, 2006. Our first day of looking after Tommy’s 29 sled dogs at Fort Reliance.
Tommy Taylor & Dawn Kisoun at their Fort Reliance cabin. Our last day, May 21, 2006.
After breakfast, we strolled over to the Klondike Experience office. You remember that we had reservations to take their Husky Bus back to Whitehorse, at noon today. I had talked previously to the owner, Jesse Cooke, about where we could leave our van when in Dawson City when we were on the river. Most recently, I had emailed Jesse a few days ago, from Toad River.
“Hello Jesse, we are in Toad River now, and will arrive in Whitehorse on Saturday. We will drive our van to Dawson City on Sunday, to stay in the Paris du Nord B & B overnight. As you know, we are booked to take your Husky Bus back to Whitehorse on Monday. Where we park our van depends on some repairs we would like while we are on the Yukon River. We need new windshield wipers. Also, the blower for the heat and air stopped working two days ago. Don’t know if it’s a fuse, or the actual blower motor itself. Finally, the locking/unlocking button on the rear door of the van has come away from the mechanism. I can lock and unlock only when I’m in the van by squeezing my hand into a little opening, and fumbling around with my fingers to lock and unlock. This is getting tiresome. Do you know who in Dawson might be able to do these repairs? I Am happy to park the van at your place, if you can get it to the appropriate place. Will pay for your time, of course! Thanks”
Jesse responded on June 23. “Hi Michael. Sounds like the van needs a little time in the shop eh? We use Advance North Mechanical. The owners are Chris and Katherine Delgarno, phone number 867-993-5785. They are not open on Sunday when you arrive but you would be able to call them first thing Monday morning and see what they can do for you. In that case you would leave the van at their lot while you are on the river. I won't see you when you arrive today as I am off today, but welcome to Dawson, and we'll connect tomorrow morning just before your bus ride. Thanks again.”
We walked up the steps of the office to find Jesse on the phone. We introduced ourselves, and he dialled Advance North Mechanical for me. I think it was Katherine who answered the phone.
“Hello. My name is Michael. My wife and I will be paddling the Yukon River from Whitehorse to Dawson, and would like to have some work done on our van while we are gone.”
“What do you need.”
“New windshield wipers.”
“We can do that.”
“A new blower motor.”
“We can do that.”
“An oil change would be nice.
“We can do that.”
“Also, the lock/unlock button on the rear door hasn’t worked for years. It seems to have come loose.”
“We can have a look at that.”
I hung up the phone, pretty pleased with myself for how things were working out.
“Thanks, Jesse.”
“Glad to have helped. Since you’re getting work done there, you probably won’t have to pay for storage. You better get going. Drive your van down there, and we will pick you up. We leave here at noon. Will be at their shop about five minutes after noon.”
So Kathleen and I walked back up to the Paris du Nord, packed up, and checked out. We drove down the North Klondike Highway to Advance North Mechanical, a few kilometres out of town. It was already eleven thirty, and the lines were long. I began to fidget and worry. And then, from inside the bookings office, a woman’s voice rang out. “Is Michael there.”
“Yes, here I am.”
“Well come up to the front of the line. We gotta get you processed now!”
We left our van for repair work, while we were on the river, at Advance North Mechanical in Dawson City.
At five minutes to noon, Kathleen and I stood outside waiting for the Husky Bus, which rolled in at three minutes after noon. We climbed in and headed south, toward Whitehorse. Kathleen fumbled beneath her feet. “I can’t find my camera case, Michael. I must have left it in the shop.”
Sarah, the driver asked, “What colour was it.?”
“It was red.”
“I saw you with something red in your hands when we picked you up.” The other passengers agreed.
“But I can’t find it. I must have dropped it.”
Sarah turned back toward town. Kathleen continued to fumble beneath her feet. “Here it is! It was scrunched between the seat and the side of the bus.”
Sarah turned around again, down the North Klondike Highway, south to Whitehorse, according to the following published schedule:
Arriving to Stewart - Around 2 pm
Arriving to Pelly - Around 3 pm
Arriving to Minto - Around 3:30 pm
Arriving to Carmacks - Around 4:15 pm
Arriving to Whitehorse - Around 7pm
Kathleen and I shared the middle seat. There were only four other passengers on the bus. A young woman, who was mostly quiet, sat in the front seat. Behind us was Karen, who used to live on 12-mile island on the Yukon River, growing vegetables to supply Dawson City. Next to her were two men, a father and son, who had paddled from Carmacks to Dawson City. I had to ask them. “How was Five Finger Rapids?”
“Not a problem. We just ran through the right channel. Waves weren’t really that big.”
The group chatted happily as we headed down the highway. Sarah was one helluva driver. I would never be able to keep up her pace. But then, she was a professional. Had driven the road many times.
Almost exactly two hours later, Sarah stopped in Stewart Crossing. I asked her, “Are we picking up more passengers here?” I would have been surprised. Stewart Crossing was very small (25 people in the 2011 census).
“No,” she replied. “But regulations require that we stop and rest every two hours. Feel free to get out and stretch your legs. Be be ready to go in no more than 15 minutes.”
Me enjoying a cup of coffee at Stewart Crossing.
We next stopped at Pelly Crossing for a short break and gas. We zipped right on by Minto Landing, but stopped at the Coal Mine Campground, just downriver from Carmacks, to pick up another passenger—a kayaker, from Whitehorse, who seemed rather intense. Said that he was paddling from Whitehorse to Dawson, but that his rudder had broken, causing him to abort the trip.
“Couldn’t you just deactivate the rudder?” I asked. “Do you really have to have a rudder?” He said something that indicated that a rudder was necessary. I don’t remember what. I’m not a kayaker, so wasn’t really paying that much attention.
“Too bad about your trip. Have you paddled from Whitehorse to Dawson before?“
“Thirteen times.”
I had to ask him. “Has Five Finger Rapids ever been difficult?”
“Never. Just stay right.”
The conversation turned to bears. The somewhat intense kayaker advised us to get plenty of driftwood, and to keep our campfire going all night. “I don’t do that,” I said. “I build small fires. Just enough to cook and wash the dishes. We never take food into the tent, and we have bear spray, bear bangers, and a rifle.”
“A rifle is no good,” he replied. “Too long, you need something shorter, like a shotgun, that you can swing around in the tent. I was attacked once in the tent, and I’m glad I had a shotgun.”
“Were you able to swing it around and shoot the bear?”
“No. I just shot a hole in the top of my tent, and the bear ran off.”
I didn’t respond. Heck, I thought. I could shoot a hole in my tent with my rifle. Wouldn’t have to swing it around at all.
Anyway, we all got dropped off at our respective destinations. Kathleen and I were the last. We knocked on the door of Graham’s house a little after seven. Our Yukon River trip begins tomorrow morning.
We thanked Graham, and headed over to Canotrouge’s house. We had emailed Canotrouge last night to tell him that we had found alternative arrangements, and that we would be stopping by this morning to give him a present from “dougd,” the administrator of the canoetripping.net website. I knocked on the door, and waited for a few minutes for it to open. Perhaps no one was home. Perhaps I came too early. But eventually Canotrouge opened his door. We said hello, and shook hands.
“Good to meet you, Canotrouge. Here’s a canoetripping.net t-shirt from dougd. Also, yellowcanoe extends her regards. Thanks again for your invitation to camp. Kathleen and I really appreciated it.”
“Are you here alone?”
“No, Kathleen’s in the van with Shadow. We gotta get going.”
“When will you be back in Whitehorse? Maybe we can get together.”
“We plan to be back on July 11. But if I remember correctly, you’re planning to be on the Wind River then.”
“Yeah, that’s right. Maybe some other time. Michael”
Kathleen and I filled up with gas, and headed out of town, to the Tails and Trails Dog Hotel. Shadow seemed to recognize that he had been here yesterday. He walked into the reception area without having to be dragged. We were greeted by Nina, the young woman who we had originally contacted regarding Shadow’s visit to the kennel. Olivia came over, sat down next to Shadow, and stroked his head. And then, something quite unbelievable happened. Shadow rolled over on his back so that Olivia could pet his tummy. He had never before rolled over for anybody other than Kathleen or me.
I went back to the van to get Shadow’s belongings. “Here’s his bed, Nina. And he gets two cups of this kibble, mixed with one-third of a can of dog food. Just add a little water. There’s plenty of food here. I measured it all out before we left Preeceville. We feed him just once per day, usually in the evening. But you can feed him whenever you want.”
“OK. We’ll feed him at the time he’s used to. I think it’s time for you to go, now. Let Olivia lead him to his room.”
Kathleen handed the leash to Olivia, and she started off down the hallway. Shadow hung back, not wanting to follow. Kathleen said, “Come on, Shadow. Let’s go.” Kathleen took only a few steps before Shadow started following Olivia to his room. He never even looked back. “Maybe he will like it here, Kathleen.” My voice cracked just a little. “Let’s go before I cry.”
Kathleen and I climbed back into the van, which seemed so very empty without Shadow. We headed up the North Klondike Highway in a warm, sunny day. We rode along mostly in silence, trying hard, unsuccessfully, not to worry about Shadow.
About two hours later we stopped at Braeburn Lodge for coffee and their somewhat famous giant cinnamon bun ($10.00 CAN; $7.50 U.S.). I’ve stopped here several times before. It’s what one does. I always say I will never do it again. The cinnamon buns have never been all that good, and way too big, even for two people. I’ll probably stop again, though. It’s just what one does when travelling the North Klondike Highway.
There was no WiFi at Braeburn Lodge, so we stopped again at the hotel/restaurant in Carmacks for more coffee and a plate of fries. But mainly we stopped for the WiFi. We had to know how Shadow was doing. Kathleen emailed Nina.
“Hi Nina. We are in Carmacks. Hope all is going well with Shadow. Is he settling in ok?”
Nina responded right away. “Yes, it seems like he is pretty relaxed and opened up to me as well, so he got his first dose of good cuddles. This afternoon he will meet some of the dogs in the outside pen and probably make some new friends! Have a good day!”
Great news. We were starting to feel a little better.
Out in the parking lot there was a young woman puffing on a cigarette. “I like your van,” she said. “I need a van like that. I’ll give you a thousand dollars.”
“I need my van. I can’t sell it.”
“Well, I need a van too. Just something cheap that I can haul supplies up here from Whitehorse. My car’s too small.”
“My van is old. Has a lot of mechanical problems. Why don’t you buy a newer van?”
“Nope. A thousand is as much as I want to pay.”
“Sorry. My van might not be worth as much as a thousand dollars. But I can’t sell it.”
Besides, I thought, other than the conked out blower motor, the van has been performing quite well on this trip. I had pretty much stopped worrying about it.
You might remember that the night before we left Preeceville, I lay awake worrying about three things: the van, Shadow and Five Finger Rapids. I’m not worried about the van so much, anymore. And I’m not worried about Shadow so much anymore. Only one worry remains: Five Finger Rapids. We should be able to get a better view of them at the Five Finger Rapids Recreation Site less than 30 km (20 miles) away.
Our Yukon River itinerary calls for us to stay at the Coal Mine Campground on our seventh night of the trip, about halfway to Dawson City. The campground is only a few minutes by highway below Carmacks, and we stopped to have a look. Plenty of campsites adjacent to the river, a concession stand, showers, laundry, flush toilets and a large dock for easy landing and launching. Wilderness camping at its best.
A few minutes later, we stopped at the Five Finger Rapids Recreation Site, where we enjoyed reading about the history of this most famous rapid on the river. Four rock outcrops have formed five channels or “fingers,” with the right finger being the preferred route. We hiked down to the lower platform, directly above the right finger, for a better view. The videos we have seen show standing waves on the left side of the entry to the right channel, with standing waves deflecting off the right side further down. Canoeists normally just run straight down the centre, avoiding the highest waves on both the left and right sides. Even from the lower platform, we couldn’t see the waves on river right. There seems to be plenty of room, though. Now I wasn’t worried too much about Five Finger Rapids anymore. We should be able to run them easily.
Me, at the Five Finger Rapids Recreation Site.
Five Finger Rapids
View upriver from Five Finger Rapids
Right "finger" from lower platform.
So back on the North Klondike Highway, headed to Dawson City. We Parked in front of our previously-booked Paris du Nord AirBnB at 6:15 p.m. Our host, Debbie, along with her French poodle, Marcel, showed us to our room. After Debbie’s description regarding our room’s amenities and procedures, I asked her if she had ever been to Paris.
“No, I haven’t,” she said.
“I’m just wondering then, why you call your B and B Paris du Nord.”
“It’s because during the gold rush, Dawson City was often referred to as the Paris of the North.” (Note: I had forgotten that little tidbit. For those of you who might not know, at its peak, 30,000-40,000 people lived in Dawson, which, in 1898, was the largest city west of Winnipeg and north of Seattle.)
After bringing in our luggage, what do you think we did first? Yep, that’s right. Kathleen emailed Nina at the Tails and Trails Dog Hotel. In response to Nina’s email a few hours ago in Carmacks, Kathleen wrote, “That sounds great (about Shadow) Nina. We are in Dawson and will be able to relax (somewhat!) knowing this. Give him a cuddle for us when you see him.”
Kathleen then showered, and we walked down the hill to the Drunken Goat Taverna for supper.
Debbie, our host at the Paris du Nord AirBnB, recommended the Drunken Goat Taverna for supper. Image from the Dawson City web page.
Kathleen and I began our meal with a half-litre carafe of white wine, and then shared an excellent appetizer platter for two: dolmades, spanakopita, cheese stuffed pastries, pita bread, rice, tzatziki and Greek salad. It was almost too much to eat. In fact, we finished the wine while we still had food on the platter. Had to order a second half-litre to finish off our meal. A somewhat expensive night out at $104.10 CAN ($78.00 US), but it was likely our last opportunity to splurge for several weeks. It seemed like a long walk back up the hill to the Paris du Nord.
Kathleen checked her emails, and read the much anticipated response from Nina at the Tails and Trails Dog Hotel.
“Hi Kathleen. You can relax even more! We introduced him to some dogs today and he did great, just like all the other dogs, not scared or anything. He came up to me, sat down and received his cuddles and walked back into his room as if he knows the procedure already! He will have a good time at the hotel! And you have an amazing trip!!”
That was very reassuring. My original three large worries had pretty much disappeared. The van made it to Dawson City with no problems other than a broken blower motor. Pretty darn good. Five Finger Rapids appeared easy and straightforward from the viewing platform. And, most importantly, Shadow will likely enjoy his stay at the Tails and Trails Dog Hotel. He might even be a more confident dog when we pick him up. We head back down the North Klondike Highway tomorrow at noon.
Monday, June 24. The next morning, I showered and shaved while Kathleen slept. I then rummaged through the cabinets looking for coffee. Couldn’t find any. But I’m a guy. I can’t find anything. Kathleen was awake now. She can always find stuff. She rummaged through the cabinets, but couldn’t find any coffee. That was strange, as Debbie spent time showing us the coffee maker, and it worked. Debbie said to call her if we had any questions, so we did. She came right over.
“So, Debbie. We can’t find the coffee.”
“I don’t leave coffee out. It goes stale. Do you want me to bring you some?”
“”No, that’s OK. We were going to have coffee with our cinnamon bun left over from Braeburn Lodge, but it’s gone hard as a rock. We can’t even cut it. We’ll just go out for breakfast.”
Debbie offered her opinion of the cinnamon buns from Braeburn Lodge. “They’re mostly just lard. Giant cinnamon buns seems like just a gimmick to me.”
She was probably right. I fall for the gimmick every time, though.
It was just as well that the cinnamon bun had metamorphosed into a granite doorstop. We now eagerly looked forward to going out to breakfast at the Jack London Grill in the Downtown Hotel. It would be like old times.
Allow me to head back in time. Dawson City had always been a favourite place for Kathleen and me to visit during summer. We wondered what it would be like to enjoy winter in Dawson City. We wondered what it would be like to see the Yukon River burst free from its ice in the spring. Could we possibly find a winter cabin to rent on the Yukon River near the historic gold rush town of Dawson?
During a conference call in January of 2006 with my fellow executive members of Paddle Canada (I was secretary), Trevor Braun, in Whitehorse, gave me the phone number of Tommy Taylor, who owned a cabin on the right bank of the Yukon River, 12 km (7.5 miles) down-river from Dawson City. I called the next day.
“How much to rent your cabin from approximately April first to break-up?” I asked.
“How ’bout we make a deal,” Tommy replied. “You look after my 29 sled dogs, and you can stay for free.”
Although not what we had in mind, the adventure appealed to us. First, though, we called our friend Alan, in Inuvik, to get his advice about the difficulties of tending to the needs of 29 sled dogs, as we were a bit reluctant.
“It’s a great opportunity, Mike,” he said. “It will be an adventure.”
We arrived in Dawson City on March 30, at -25 degrees Celsius (-13 F), and travelled by snowmobile 12 km (7.5 miles) the following morning to our cabin at the site of old Fort Reliance. This was good for Tommy, who ran the George Black ferry in Dawson. There was no road to Tommy’s cabin, but he travelled on the ice during winter to feed his dogs. In summer, he travelled by boat. During the period of break-up, however, the ice was not safe to travel. So he needed to have people at the cabin to feed his dogs.
We spent the next six weeks wearing our mukluks, walking on the river, enjoying the ever-lengthening days, and of course, feeding the dogs. Each day Kathleen and I butchered slabs of caribou and moose, sawed up frozen fish, and cut wood to boil four large pots of food over an open fire. Although we had never owned pets before, we thoroughly enjoyed the company of our huskies, each of whom had a distinct personality. The dogs also seemed to enjoy our company, particularly at feeding time. We hold very fond memories of seeing and hearing their contentment, when they howled in unison, with full bellies, from atop their doghouses.
Break-up on the Yukon River occurred in front of our cabin on May ninth. Truly spectacular to see an ice sheet more than one metre (three feet) thick and nearly one km (half-a-mile) wide grind and groan its way downriver, with open water following behind. Within an hour our world transformed from winter to summer, from icy silence to flowing life. Two gulls, riding residual blocks of ice, appeared proud, smug and content as they floated down the river.
Now I come to my point. Tommy insisted that we come to town once a week for R & R. Take a break from the dogs. Enjoy restaurant meals. Our cabin had no running water, so the invitation to have a shower seemed appealing. “But Tommy, who will feed the dogs?”
“Dogs don’t gotta eat every day. Wolves don’t eat every day. You need to come to town and stay with Dawn and me.”
About one week later, we took Tommy’s snowmobile to town, and walked back to Fort Reliance. The next two trips to town we walked both ways. When we were in town, we always went to the Jack London Grill in the Downtown Hotel for breakfast. You see my point. Kathleen and I chucked the granite doorstop cinnamon bun, and headed down to the Jack London Grill for breakfast, and to reminisce about our life at Tommy’s cabin, and to remember when the ice went out of the Yukon River.
April 1, 2006. Our first day of looking after Tommy’s 29 sled dogs at Fort Reliance.
Tommy Taylor & Dawn Kisoun at their Fort Reliance cabin. Our last day, May 21, 2006.
After breakfast, we strolled over to the Klondike Experience office. You remember that we had reservations to take their Husky Bus back to Whitehorse, at noon today. I had talked previously to the owner, Jesse Cooke, about where we could leave our van when in Dawson City when we were on the river. Most recently, I had emailed Jesse a few days ago, from Toad River.
“Hello Jesse, we are in Toad River now, and will arrive in Whitehorse on Saturday. We will drive our van to Dawson City on Sunday, to stay in the Paris du Nord B & B overnight. As you know, we are booked to take your Husky Bus back to Whitehorse on Monday. Where we park our van depends on some repairs we would like while we are on the Yukon River. We need new windshield wipers. Also, the blower for the heat and air stopped working two days ago. Don’t know if it’s a fuse, or the actual blower motor itself. Finally, the locking/unlocking button on the rear door of the van has come away from the mechanism. I can lock and unlock only when I’m in the van by squeezing my hand into a little opening, and fumbling around with my fingers to lock and unlock. This is getting tiresome. Do you know who in Dawson might be able to do these repairs? I Am happy to park the van at your place, if you can get it to the appropriate place. Will pay for your time, of course! Thanks”
Jesse responded on June 23. “Hi Michael. Sounds like the van needs a little time in the shop eh? We use Advance North Mechanical. The owners are Chris and Katherine Delgarno, phone number 867-993-5785. They are not open on Sunday when you arrive but you would be able to call them first thing Monday morning and see what they can do for you. In that case you would leave the van at their lot while you are on the river. I won't see you when you arrive today as I am off today, but welcome to Dawson, and we'll connect tomorrow morning just before your bus ride. Thanks again.”
We walked up the steps of the office to find Jesse on the phone. We introduced ourselves, and he dialled Advance North Mechanical for me. I think it was Katherine who answered the phone.
“Hello. My name is Michael. My wife and I will be paddling the Yukon River from Whitehorse to Dawson, and would like to have some work done on our van while we are gone.”
“What do you need.”
“New windshield wipers.”
“We can do that.”
“A new blower motor.”
“We can do that.”
“An oil change would be nice.
“We can do that.”
“Also, the lock/unlock button on the rear door hasn’t worked for years. It seems to have come loose.”
“We can have a look at that.”
I hung up the phone, pretty pleased with myself for how things were working out.
“Thanks, Jesse.”
“Glad to have helped. Since you’re getting work done there, you probably won’t have to pay for storage. You better get going. Drive your van down there, and we will pick you up. We leave here at noon. Will be at their shop about five minutes after noon.”
So Kathleen and I walked back up to the Paris du Nord, packed up, and checked out. We drove down the North Klondike Highway to Advance North Mechanical, a few kilometres out of town. It was already eleven thirty, and the lines were long. I began to fidget and worry. And then, from inside the bookings office, a woman’s voice rang out. “Is Michael there.”
“Yes, here I am.”
“Well come up to the front of the line. We gotta get you processed now!”
We left our van for repair work, while we were on the river, at Advance North Mechanical in Dawson City.
At five minutes to noon, Kathleen and I stood outside waiting for the Husky Bus, which rolled in at three minutes after noon. We climbed in and headed south, toward Whitehorse. Kathleen fumbled beneath her feet. “I can’t find my camera case, Michael. I must have left it in the shop.”
Sarah, the driver asked, “What colour was it.?”
“It was red.”
“I saw you with something red in your hands when we picked you up.” The other passengers agreed.
“But I can’t find it. I must have dropped it.”
Sarah turned back toward town. Kathleen continued to fumble beneath her feet. “Here it is! It was scrunched between the seat and the side of the bus.”
Sarah turned around again, down the North Klondike Highway, south to Whitehorse, according to the following published schedule:
Arriving to Stewart - Around 2 pm
Arriving to Pelly - Around 3 pm
Arriving to Minto - Around 3:30 pm
Arriving to Carmacks - Around 4:15 pm
Arriving to Whitehorse - Around 7pm
Kathleen and I shared the middle seat. There were only four other passengers on the bus. A young woman, who was mostly quiet, sat in the front seat. Behind us was Karen, who used to live on 12-mile island on the Yukon River, growing vegetables to supply Dawson City. Next to her were two men, a father and son, who had paddled from Carmacks to Dawson City. I had to ask them. “How was Five Finger Rapids?”
“Not a problem. We just ran through the right channel. Waves weren’t really that big.”
The group chatted happily as we headed down the highway. Sarah was one helluva driver. I would never be able to keep up her pace. But then, she was a professional. Had driven the road many times.
Almost exactly two hours later, Sarah stopped in Stewart Crossing. I asked her, “Are we picking up more passengers here?” I would have been surprised. Stewart Crossing was very small (25 people in the 2011 census).
“No,” she replied. “But regulations require that we stop and rest every two hours. Feel free to get out and stretch your legs. Be be ready to go in no more than 15 minutes.”
Me enjoying a cup of coffee at Stewart Crossing.
We next stopped at Pelly Crossing for a short break and gas. We zipped right on by Minto Landing, but stopped at the Coal Mine Campground, just downriver from Carmacks, to pick up another passenger—a kayaker, from Whitehorse, who seemed rather intense. Said that he was paddling from Whitehorse to Dawson, but that his rudder had broken, causing him to abort the trip.
“Couldn’t you just deactivate the rudder?” I asked. “Do you really have to have a rudder?” He said something that indicated that a rudder was necessary. I don’t remember what. I’m not a kayaker, so wasn’t really paying that much attention.
“Too bad about your trip. Have you paddled from Whitehorse to Dawson before?“
“Thirteen times.”
I had to ask him. “Has Five Finger Rapids ever been difficult?”
“Never. Just stay right.”
The conversation turned to bears. The somewhat intense kayaker advised us to get plenty of driftwood, and to keep our campfire going all night. “I don’t do that,” I said. “I build small fires. Just enough to cook and wash the dishes. We never take food into the tent, and we have bear spray, bear bangers, and a rifle.”
“A rifle is no good,” he replied. “Too long, you need something shorter, like a shotgun, that you can swing around in the tent. I was attacked once in the tent, and I’m glad I had a shotgun.”
“Were you able to swing it around and shoot the bear?”
“No. I just shot a hole in the top of my tent, and the bear ran off.”
I didn’t respond. Heck, I thought. I could shoot a hole in my tent with my rifle. Wouldn’t have to swing it around at all.
Anyway, we all got dropped off at our respective destinations. Kathleen and I were the last. We knocked on the door of Graham’s house a little after seven. Our Yukon River trip begins tomorrow morning.
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Another chapter is an excellent way to start the morning! Thank You.
Next time you drive through Edmonton, let me know in advance. I'll show you where the gas stations are and maybe treat you to a lunch that is not Tim Hortons!
In return for the delight you've brought with your trip reports.
And I get the canine anxiety bit: we foster retired racing Greyhounds and we've had a number in the house that have severe separation anxieties. Always makes me wonder about the treatment they got somewhere down the line. Usually we are able to turn them around somewhat after about a month or two of attention and affection, but not always.
Looking forward to the river portion.
Bruce
Next time you drive through Edmonton, let me know in advance. I'll show you where the gas stations are and maybe treat you to a lunch that is not Tim Hortons!
In return for the delight you've brought with your trip reports. And I get the canine anxiety bit: we foster retired racing Greyhounds and we've had a number in the house that have severe separation anxieties. Always makes me wonder about the treatment they got somewhere down the line. Usually we are able to turn them around somewhat after about a month or two of attention and affection, but not always.
Looking forward to the river portion.
Bruce
