White nights in INUVIK

One of the reasons I wanted to do this trip was to really experience the land of the midnight sun in all its glory. In Russia, they call these long days when the sun never sets "white nights." It's the closest concise description that I've heard.

The sky is blue (or gray) and as the sun gets lower and lower in the sky, the light diffuses and sort of lightens the sky, becoming paler and paler blue, with perhaps a golden tint. It stays that way with the sun getting lower and lower on the horizon until about 2am, and then, as the sun rises the sky slowly colors again.

It's a beautiful thing, and I still have trouble wrapping my head around it.

Unfortunately, with the sun shining all the time, the car also heats up, and with the mosquitoes swarming all night (they don't sleep either) I didn't want to open the windows, so it was uncomfortably warm. I am re-thinking sleeping in the car on warm nights. With mosquitoes.

Ft McPherson: National Aboriginal People's Day
At the campground, I chatted with the duty officer and asked him about tires. He said that things probably wouldn't be open due to the holiday, but that somebody at "the place across from the airport" would probably be able to help out.

I went by, but the place, with a faded "TIRES" sign didn't look promising, so I pushed on into town. The "Gas Bar" was closed due to the holiday (open at noon), as was the general store (open at 1pm). I sat to wait, and passed the time checking email and other communications, as it was the first time I'd had service since Dawson City. (There might have been service at Eagle Plains, but I was too rattled to check then.

Lots of people were walking around. Kids riding bikes. Several guys seemed quite entranced with my license plate, and asked where I came from. This is always a dicey answer, as the license plates are from South Dakota, but I've driven from California.
   "Ah," they said sagely. "Long way."
   "Yes," I agreed.
   "Good trip?" they asked.
   "Yes, except for a second flat tire," I explained. "Is there a place that will do repair? I know it's a holiday, and I'm willing to wait."
   "Ah," heads nodding sagely, but looking concerned. "There is a tire place bit back."
   "The place across from the airport?" I asked.
   "Yes, they'll help you out and get you fixed up."

One of the Mack trucks in the repair place

So I went back to the place across from the airport.

The first roadway I went in turned out to be the departmental headquarters for fire and rescue. The helpful soul standing in front of the pre-fab building slapped the badge on his shoulder, shook his head, and pointed further down the road. This has probably happened before.

The next roadway was rutted and crowded with trucks in various stages of repair. Some might call it a junkyard.

Out here, you never throw anything away: there is no place to throw it, anyway, and a part might just come in handy. So there are a lot of derelict machines, just waiting for a second life, like organ donors!

I parked N0MAD and walked around in search of someone. Finally found a man in the back of a prefab building. I told him my problem, said I knew it was a holiday, that I didn't want to interrupt anyone's enjoyment, and was in no rush and would be happy to wait.
 

Internally shredded tire.

 "Oh, no, no, no, we take care of you," he said, dialing a number on his cell.
   "Stanley?" he said. "You come in and fix a flat?" Evidently the answer was "Yes" because the man jumped in his truck to go retrieve Stanley. I started working on the car and getting the defunct tire down. Stan, a wiry little fellow, arrived and took a look at the tire. He shook his head. It was probably too out of round, he said. He rolled it into the repair bay to "Stan's Baby" (the tire machine), and removed the tire from the rim.
   "Oh!" he exclaimed, "You have a nest in here!"
   "What??" I cried. I couldn't believe it. "I didn't drive with it like that; I just camped at the campground last night!"

Sure enough, the inside of the tire was shredded. There was no way that the tire could be fixed. It was time for a new one. Fortunately, they had a new one that was the right size.

Stanley got the new tire on the old rim, then we switched out the spare for the new tire in fairly short order. I almost consider myself an expert now on changing flat tires.

I surely did luck out of an unlucky situation.

I was back on the road.

"Stan's Baby" with the new tire

The road between Ft. McPherson and Inuvik is actually a good road, for a gravel road. Most of it is flat, because by this time the road goes on the McKenzie River delta.

The McKenzie River

The McKenzie River is the longest river in Canada, and the 13th longest in the world. Think of how flat the Mississippi delta is, and that's what the McKenzie is like, but with spruce trees instead of cypress. 50% of the area is water: ponds, lakes, bogs, and abandoned riverbeds. That means a LOT of mosquitoes!

McKenzie River ferry

______ avens, NWT territorial flower

There is another ferry across the McKenzie — it's a 3-point ferry connecting the Dempster north and south, and the village of T______, so it takes a little longer. Plus, the river is very wide. It was interesting to watch the maneuvers the ferry had to take to sort of crab across the river to line up with the road. Like the Peel River ferry, this runs 16 hours a day during the summer. It's a key piece of the transportation system for the communities in the far north.

By this time, I had relaxed somewhat, and wasn't sure where I was going to stay, so investigated a few of the campgrounds on the way into Inuvik.

I walked to an overlook at Gw'chin Territorial Park, and enjoyed the wildflowers. Scoped out a few places where there were some lakes with easy access to the water, in the hopes of possibly getting the boat out on the way back.

Beaded and embroidered mukluks

Inuvik, at last
I was having so much fun that I almost forgot about getting to Inuvik for the Aboriginal People's Day festivities, but when I finally rolled into town, they were just starting the Jigging Contest, a highlight of the day.

There were contests for different age groups: 0-5 years, 6-11 years, 12-16 years, "adults" and "elders" (50+ years).

The day was obviously a real holiday. some people were dressed in native finery: beaded mukluks and colorful kuspuks. The dancers wore special shoes for jigging, often trimmed with fur.

Traditional kuspuk

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 And... I haven't gotten to finish because I've been talking with residents of Inuvik all night. One, Ronald, asked me about my kayak. He's originally from Montreal, but has lived here for the past four years, launching weather balloons. A fireman, search and rescue guy and whitewater kayak enthusiast.
Then there has been Vince (or Binz), a native of Inuvik whose grandmother married one of the original Scots settlers here, a Jim Firth. Fascinating to talk with him. I think he might have been a bit drunk, but he was a very nice gentle man. 8 sisters and three brothers, one died last year in a drowning accident -- fell off a boat. The family is still mourning his loss.
His grandmother left her family home (Analavik) and Scots husband because he was abusive and came to Inuvik on a boat.
He does beading and makes fur mittens; his favorite time of year is August for the berry picking and fishing. "All this area" he waves his arms, "is blue with blueberries. Fat, fat blueberries."