Sister Kathy joined our Subarctic sojourn on July 24, 2013 and brought a new dimension to my developing obsession with the far north. I emailed the story of my reactions and developing obsession to my family subscribers regularly and on July 26 I emailed this.
Aunt and sister Kathy and Andy joined us two days ago. Some of you may not know that Kathy and I are the adventurous heart of the family that created the rest of you. But it’s true. Even the legendary Sister Mandy cringes at our wild abandon.
Obsession development July 18, 2013
God knows there is an awful lot of world I’ve never seen, so consider your source. But I cannot imagine that there is another place on the planet quite like Yukon Territory. I have figured out that the reason these people can survive the winter cold is because they, themselves, are so warm.
Yesterday, on Main Street in Whitehorse, Chris searched for a place to mail postcards. One person overheard us and in fifteen seconds the answer relayed through he and two other passers-by, each contributing a piece of the answer and none of them even stopped walking.
Today in a grocery store parking lot, a stranger stole a Loonie (Canadian 1 dollar coin) from me at the cart return, but he accomplished the theft with such incredible good will that I went back and tried to give him another.
And everyone here is a delicious smart ass. I’ve a target on my back for every passing stranger, waitress or salesclerk. It’s like living in a world populated by my kids and my brothers and sisters.
The truth is that Yukon people have no choice about being as they are. This place demands that you live up to it. First, it’s big, really, big. It’s good that Texans don’t come here a lot–they already have such an inferiority complex.
The mountains just roll, one after another, in every direction, framing one another so that you cannot peel your eyes away. I have been moved to goosebumps by music, occasionally by an especially eloquent piece of writing, but I never expected to feel those emotions from a view.
The day before yesterday we found ourselves at Miles Canyon, just southeast of Whitehorse. At Miles Canyon the Yukon has had just a few miles to get itself together, but it’s already a deep aqua. And it does not run wide. At Miles Canyon it runs deep, awesomely deep, and deceptively fast. The Yukon doesn’t waste itself on showy rapids. No spraying and spewing. The flow is deep, swirling below the surface. The thrust and slow boiling roll of it, powering its way down that deep, rock canyon is terrifying—and splendid.
Yesterday we went to Atlin, fifty miles from civilization to a road that turns left and runs (about 1/3 gravel) 45 miles through complete wilderness. We drove into a tiny town of aging buildings strung out along the shore of Atlin Lake and from Main Street or the lakeshore (same thing) gazed out past the bobbing boats and float planes at gigantic mountains that, in turn, framed a view of haze blued glaciers sitting astride the Alaska border.
This place will live in me always.