Letting things go

Midnight ferry across the Yukon River 

I'm a little scattered, having gotten the 40-page insurance "estimate" Monday morning. It's a lot to digest, full of acronyms and measurements, man-hours and dollar signs. Spent all day in the visitor center, on calls and making an inventory of my stuff, which needs to get out of the house. This is the most worrisome thing right now — just a few months ago I was so happy that I'd finally gotten everything in one place, and now it's being scattered to the winds again. 

I know it's just stuff, but these are the last carefully chosen items from the Great Purge. I don't have that much left — those of you who know me know that all of my earthly possessions fit into two 8'x10' storage units: one "temporary" (which got moved into the Richardson house and now has to be sorted, cleaned, packed and moved again) and the other "long term," which is still in storage. It shouldn't be hard to let those things go if need be (mostly due to water damage), but it is. So I'm conflicted and that leads to unease and fretting. When this happens, the best thing is to just go for a walk, which I hope I can do later today. Again, so much to do!

Dawson City trio on Front Street

Letting things go

So... I'm in Dawson City right now, and the whole theme of letting things go seems particularly pertinent here. Dawson City was founded on gold, built on gold, and gold mining is still an industry here. There are signs in windows, "This business supports placer mining" and bumper stickers on dust-drenched pickups "Support Klondike placer mining." Indeed, there is probably still gold dust in the dirt and gravel of the streets (only the main highway is paved). Some are still convinced there is a "Mother Lode" waiting to be found in the surrounding hills.

Reading Klondike at the Fox Lake "government" campground

I've almost finished reading Klondike by Pierre Bertot, and I highly recommend it. It's rich with well-researched facts and entertaining stories. The reader is regaled with funny, sad, and sometimes unbelievable events, and the larger-than-life characters come to life through quoted news articles and oral history.

The Klondike stampede was a flash in the pan, a period of utter madness for gold. Ordinary people, not just itinerant prospectors, left their lives behind for the goldfields. Some tried to be prepared and bought "outfits" (and indeed, the Royal Canadian Mounted Police required stampeders coming in to have enough chow to see them through the winter), but the toughness of the journey made travelers leave carefully (or imprudently) chosen items behind. Saddles for horses that died on the journey, useless and ill-conceived inventions, pianos, boots, books, fripperies, household furnishings, and more, were cast aside, much like the items abandoned by settlers coming west on the great westward migrations.

So... we let go of things when we are ready. We save things that may or may not have any material value, but are important to us. There's a balance, a point of decision, and when that comes — it may happen quickly or not — we divest ourselves of those things that have no value anymore. 

Fox Lake in the perfect stillness of the morning

It's just getting to that point that can be difficult. 

But I've gotten ahead of myself. Since last writing, I've traveled hundreds of miles north. The night now truly does not get dark. The sun sets after midnight and rises before 3am.

It's the legendary land of the midnight sun.

Fox Lake

I decided to take things just a little bit easier and split the journey between Whitehorse and Dawson City.

There are wonderful "government campgrounds" scattered in Yukon Territory. For just $12 (Canadian) you get a nice spot with a picnic table, flat spot for a tent, outhouses and free firewood. Often there will also be trails to walk, a covered kitchen area, and a playground for kids, too. Such a deal! And they are generally in really pretty areas.

If I weren't having to keep moving, I'd happily stay at almost any of these for a few days!

Fox Lake, a long skinny lake along Highway 2, has such a campground. The night I got there was filled with lightning, thunder, and heavy rain  (indeed, it was one of the reasons for getting off the road), but the morning after was serene and still. The only sounds were hardy campers chopping wood, a few children calling in the forest, echoing the demanding calls of the ravens and pert chipping of red squirrels on a perpetual hunt for spruce cones.

One of the Twin Lakes

It was so still, the water was a mirror for the surrounding hills and sky, with only a lone loon creating ripples in the water. The photos I took there convey a real sense of peace and serenity. I may have to make one into a poster back home!

Twin Lakes

It seemed to be a day for lakes. No sooner had I left Fox Lake, when the road passed Little Fox Lakes, and then the first of Twin Lakes, which brought me to a fast stop because of the remarkable color of the water. Some of the lakes on this trip have been eye-popping blue, or emerald, but if it wasn't for the spruce and birch trees on the hills surrounding the lake instead of palm trees, I imagined I had been transported to the Caribbean or South Seas. It was that brilliant.

Second of the Twin Lakes

The other of the Twin Lakes had a campground on it, and I'd put this on a list to come back to. Dotted with islands and with lots of little inlets and bays to explore, this would be a perfect place to kayak or canoe.

Definitely coming back here, oh yes!

Looking upstream: the famous "Five Finger Rapids" on the Yukon River

As the afternoon wore on, the sky was a bit hazy. I conjectured that the lightning from all the thunderstorms yesterday caused some fires, and the light breezes were blowing the smoke southwest (I heard there was a fire near Fairbanks). There didn't seem to be much cause for alarm, but it does make for poor visibility and photos.

The Klondike Highway parallels the Yukon River route for the most part, although it occasionally wanders away from it now and then.

Upon rejoining the river, there was a nice viewpoint of the famous "Five Finger Rapids," which constituted one of the major hazards along the river route between Whitehorse and Dawson City. The rocks forming these daunting barriers are a conglomerate, formed from ancient river deposits off an ocean trench. Because they are so much harder than the other rocks, they form big, noticeable outcrops.

Difficult to imagine, but the safest route around these "fingers" is on the far left (narrow) passage in the photo. Steamers managed to get through, first through careful piloting, and later with a tow wire that provided some measure of safety. Dynamiting some of the troublesome bits also helped!

Despite peering with binoculars for osprey and eagles and falcons, I only saw gulls on the rocks below.

Along the Yukon: limit of Berengia and glaciation. Land to the left (south and upstream) were glaciated.

Berengia

I have been learning a little more about Berengia and the limits of glaciation. Despite being a geology student, I either didn't learn or didn't remember about Berengia, which is the northern land between Asia, Alaska and Canada that was ice-free during the periodic Ice Ages. So not only was there a land bridge between the continents, but it was not covered by ice sheets, something I honestly had not realized! I always envisioned sturdy Eskimos in furs tramping across snowy lands to the new world.

For those who do not realize, it takes both cold and precipitation to create the buildup of snow that gives rise to glaciers and ice sheets. The Berengia area may have been cold, but it lacked precipitation, so did not have the big valley glaciers or broad ice sheets that formed further to the east and south. The land was dry, cold grassland, similar to what is found in places in China today. The Mongols would have been right at home here, and in fact they did cross periodically when conditions were right.

Spruce forest at Moose Creek

Moose Creek

I spent the night in the tent section of the Moose Creek government campsite, away from annoying RV generators. There weren't a lot of people there, for good reason. While pleasant enough, the sites were mosquito-ridden and dark and surrounded by trees, either spruce or birch, which made me feel somewhat claustrophobic. The few sites that were more open were already occupied by a pair of guys who sheepishly said, "Yeah, we sort of spread out, but you're welcome to join us (at the site between their two tents)." I told them, "Thanks, that's okay," and went elsewhere.

I'll continue this story in the next post!

Birch at Moose Creek