Saturday, July 29, 2017

Whitehorse again, but always more to explore

I am going to condensing time here, since most days have been spent  working on various projects. Yaaay! for publc libraries that have excellent wifi.

Fireweed along the Yukon River bluffs; it's getting downright seedy.
Besides working and writing, I've gone on walks, and explored the city of Whitehorse a bit more.  I got through a few days sleeping in the car (including one night in the Walmart parking lot, but then returned to the Takhini Hot Springs Hostel for the weekend.

Whitehorse: old and new

Whitehorse continues to surprise and delight. There is always something to see, or notice. Where else but the far north do you find a spanking new apartment building right next to a traditional log cabin? (For the record, you can find this in Fairbanks, too.)

Whitehorse: new and old, side-by-side
Last year I spent several hours in the McBride Museum. It's a fascinating place that is just chock-full of artifacts from all aspects of Yukon history: First Nations spearpoints and fishhooks, parkas and mukluks, baskets and jewelry; Klondike panning equipment and gold from all the creeks in the Yukon; typical turn-of-the century full-size exhibits of a general store, a miner's cabin, newspaper office, a saloon. I did visit again, and was surprise to see "Sam McGee's Cabin" (the original, not a mock-up) in the back lot. 

Giant koi in the Court building!
And I wish, in retrospect, that I'd taken picture of the brand new facility that the museum is building literally around the old one. It is supposed to open next summer, so they are really pushing it this summer to get it done. It was causing some traffic jams because the cranes were lifting big Ibeams in place, and they had to close the surrounding streets for safety. There is quite a contrast between the rickety wooden sprawling older building that had been added onto multiple times, and the spanking new one that is all high-rise steel.

Right across the street from the very modern Court Building is a cabin (now a restaurant) that looks like it has been there since the beginning of the Klondike Gold Rush and sports life-size statues of a moose battling a caribou on the roof. It was another surprise to find giant koi in the lobby of this court building, plus lots of tropical foliage. I guess GOLDfish are entirely appropriate for the Yukon, and who wouldn't want to luxuriate in diffenbacchias in the dead of the Yukon winter?

Restaurants like Tim Horton's, Starbucks, and the very popular Klondike Rib and Salmon, are side-by-side government buildings. Klondike Rib and Salmon is so popular that there is often a line running out onto the street. They are so popular, they've opened a delivery and "take out" satellite in a slightly less desireable part of town. I'm curious if there are any zoning requirements.

Late-blooming flax by the Yukon river
Summer moves so swiftly here. I'd been away a week, and already the fireweek "calendar" is moving up the stalk. They say when the fireweed starts to bloom that it's six weeks to winter. The sun is setting earlier and earlier. What seemed like limitless daylight is turning to real dark night, not just twilight.

I even have some hope that I might see some aurora, although realistically that probably wouldn't happen until September, and I'm supposed to be in Nova Scotia by then. At least that was the Plan.

The Plan, however, is undergoing some deep thought, and may be revised.

Beading project: background trials

Projects

I have been working on the beading project, and making good progress, but I reached the point where I couldn't decide about the background. Should it leave it plain leather or bead the background? If so, what color? White? Black? Silver? Gray?

I ended up trying a bunch of things and not being particularly happy with any of them. White is traditional, but the light flowers wouldn't show up well, and I really wanted the flowers to "pop."  Silver was pretty, but felt too glittery. Gray was in interesting compromise, but looked to pebbly (too much texture). Black looked was possible, but I couldn't get enough detail.

It was necessary (oh yes, absolutely necessary) to go back to the bead stores in town to see if there was anything else that would work. I ended up finding some small (size 11) black matte beads that I'm hoping will give more detail, and also give that pop that I'm searching for.

Yes, it has been an interesting project. The next one will be better.

Inside the Bear Baw Quilt Shop
I also visited the Bear Paw Quilt Shop in the hopes of getting a small project that I could work on in the car when the weather turns for the worse. I wanted a memento of this trip north, and beading has made me realize how much I miss working with needle and thread. I do like the beading, but it is proving to be a challenge to manage small beads in the car. There is just no good, flat place to keep them accessible. Also... if I work outside, I have to make sure it's not too windy!

The Bear Paw Quilt Shop (their tag line is "Compassionate care for the quilt-addicted") is down in the basement of a building on the main drag (Front Street) of downtown Whitehorse. It's not a large space, but it is PACKED with fine cotton fabrics, kits, notions, and finished art.

I confess that fabric prices made my jaw drop. Quilting here is an expensive hobby. Prices are on the average $20CA/yard (yes, that's TWENTY DOLLARS PER YARD).

Of course, to be sure, this is on a par with the prices in Fairbanks, which were $15-$19/yard, and which made me gasp last year.  I can see the advantage to doing small projects.

Canadian-themed quilt
One truly does need to be addicted or devoted to pay those prices, but I totally understand that there is nothing like seeing color combinations and feeling the fabrics to see how they come together. I've bought fabric online, and there have been some... surprises. And shipping here is expensive, just as it is in Fairbanks, so the justification of being able to know what you're getting is probably worth paying for.

I did find a perfect small project of a "stained glass" fireweed applique that can be used as a pillow or wallhanging or a piece of something larger. I also succumbed and purchased one panel of a Canada-themed print (see at left), with squares denoting different Canadian towns. I've been (or am planning on going) to most of them on this particular panel, and it's the kind of thing that can be used for lots of different things (pillows, aprons, vertical or horizontal wall hanging, even — gasp — a quilt.

Everyone really is celebrating Canada 150. One of the quilt shop ladies asked if I knit, because, she said, "The knit shop is now carrying new yarn from each province and territory. They are all out of the Nunavut one, but the Yukon blue is just lovely."

I did manage to resist that, and am not even looking for more qiviut.

I also got more needles, because, ahem, the beading project has been eating them up (breaking), plus I need some that have smaller diameter eyes to accommodate the smaller beads (size 11) beads I got.

It's something of a vicious cycle.

I have made friends with "David" at the library. Interesting fellow, very amused (or horrified) by the political situation in the States. He keeps up on all the latest articles, and then comes and has to tell me about it, so I have my own private news service. He has a house in St John (armpit of Canada, he calls it), and has moved to Whitehorse temporarily. He's looking to sell that house and move permanently.

Whitehorse is a small enough town that I starts running into people that I recognize.

I would love to write more here, but the wifi is agonizingly slow, and I used up my entire allotment of data yesterday. So I'm going to see if this will post, and make a couple more short entries. There might not be any photos at this rate... I'll have to edit them in when I can. Even re-sizing them is not working well!


Tuesday, July 25, 2017

Sheer heaven, then back to Whitehorse

Waking up in the morning at Lapie Lakes was probably the natural highlight of this trip so far (Adaka being the cultural highlight).

Early morning at Lapie Lake(s): there is more than one...

Lapie Lakes

This is the country that makes my heart sing. This high alpine environment that's lonely and quiet and green and rolling with lakes and high mountains all around. I could have stayed here a week, exploring.

The morning dawned quiet and still, with sky turning from peach to golden to cerulean and fish jumping in the lake. The only thing that marred the experience was a few mosquitoes. Well, more than a few. They actually were pretty annoying, but easily forgotten afterwards.

Regretfully, I started the drive, cursing that I hadn't stayed in Faro to make my phone call, which would have enabled me to take my time going back. But what did I know?

Everywhere you looked there was something beautiful.
Perfectly still Lapie Lake in the morning
The road actually continued to wind upwards. I kept looking for a pass, and finally did get to the point where water started flowing in the same direction of travel. We crossed "Rose Creek/Rose River" about five times, it growing bigger each time.

Losing altitude also meant losing the high alpine environment, and more trees. I've already determined that I will be coming back here, so, while I regretted leaving, it also meant that I was making progress toward my appointment.


Quiet Lake

I had hoped to make Quiet Lake the night before. As it was, it took a couple of hours to get there, so it was a good thing I'd stopped when I did.

Quiet Lake is huge. It reminded me a lot of Lake Tahoe (big and blue), but without ANY PEOPLE. There are two campgrounds here, but I didn't stop to investigate.

I didn't see a soul. Or even any vehicles except those at the maintenance station.

At this point, the road actually improved, so I was able to make better time.

Not that I wanted to...

I would dearly have loved to have gotten the kayak out onto the water here. Or sat and done some drawings, listened to the big bumblebees buzzing in the fireweed and watched the dragonflies flitting above the water. Or practiced skipping rocks, or reading.

Not to be.

The Nusitlin River flows from here down to a premier wildlife refuge that I'd like to visit along Teslin Lake. Something else to do!

Quiet Lake: incredibly blue and perfectly still
I will end this post, as not much went on after this that's all that interesting.

I made my phone appointment on time (just barely). I stopped by the Toyota dealer in Whitehorse and made the appointment to get N0MAD her 35,000-mile service. Unfortunately they seemed to have suddenly gotten busy and couldn't take me for a WEEK. If I'd known that, I would have made the appointment before I left, but, oh well. Another week in Whitehorse is not a disaster, although I am conscious that the summer is passing.

I need to work on Helen's book and catch up on my writing. There is NEVER "nothing to do."

And that is life on the road...


Monday, July 24, 2017

Faro and beyond: the South Canol Road

"Best kept secret in the Yukon" said the billboard!

Faro had been a destination; an excuse to go somewhere that I hadn't been before. I guess I wanted to believe the hype, although I wasn't sure exactly what to expect, which is sometimes the best way to come into a place.

Faro, on the bluffs above the Pelly River, was named after a card game, like Keno City that I had visited earlier in this trip. As with many boom-and-bust towns, it enjoyed a heyday beginning in the mid-1960s when mining the lead/zinc ore was profitable, and at one time the mine there was the largest open-pit mine in the world. Profitability fluctuates with the price of metals, however, and the mine is no longer operating. People don't seem to talk about it much, but apparently there is quite a cleanup that is now going on. "Reclamation" is what it's politely called. It's an enormously expensive proposition, and apparently the Canadian government is on the hook for it.

The town's population has fluctuated with the profitability of the mine. In 1981, there were 2,000 residents. Just four years later, in 1985, there were only 97. Now there are about 400 people, and they are actively courting tourists to come to enjoy the scenery, wildlife and art in this remote area.

Frankly, the town is a very, very strange mix. On the one hand, there is obviously a lot of town pride. They even have a community golf course! The emerald green, well-groomed links at the center of town look strangely out of place in this remote place.

The "gas station" in Faro is a big tank. It actually took me awhile to find it since I was looking for something more commercial. I never did find the grocery store!
Faro boasts a lovely log Visitor Center, complete with exhibits about the surrounding area and its history. Wildlife viewing is supposed to be excellent. Apparently there are supposed to be quite a number of sheep here, complete with a sheep viewing platform, but unfortunately it was not the right time of the year to see them.

Adjacent to the Visitor Center is an art gallery. Again, it is a very strange mix of art, with some lackluster photography; quite a number fine art prints and a few original paintings; crocheted scarves, mitts, and hats; one pair of beaded moccasins; some beaded "snowflake" jewelry; handmade soap and candles; and some carvings.

I was quite taken by some of the watercolors by Horst Berlow, an artist originally from Germany, who now calls the Yukon (Faro and Tagish) home. I would give a link, but it's surprisingly difficult to find his work online:
Yukon News article about Horst Berlow
Fishing Stream (original art)

The downside of Faro is that with the boom and bust, there are quite a number of derelict buildings, which were the housing built for the miners and their families during the boom times. Now, they are empty and, since there is no reason to keep them maintained, they are steadily deteriorating. There are new homes in the neighborhood, but apparently no one wants to live in these derelict, and frankly quite ugly, buildings. Again, it is an odd mix, since the old and the new are right next to each other.

Faro did have cell service, and there were a number of people clustered outside of the Visitor Center using the free wifi. Everybody went home promptly at 6pm.

Johnson Lake

Johnson Lake

There was a government campground outside of town, and no one else was there. It was completely empty the night I stayed there, which gives you some idea of how off the beaten track this place is. The campground is on the hill above the very pretty, but otherwise unremarkable Johnson Lake.

At the lake there was a float plane, and buoyed by the success of the previous day's drawing, I determined to just sit by the lake and draw the plane. I've never drawn a plane before! So here's the sequence of my effort, from sketch to not-quite-finished.





Unfortunately, it still needs more COLOR. I seem to have an inability to commit to color (but this was part of the reason for doing this bright red plane). I could also blame it on two things: the light changed over the course of the day, and secondly, the owner of the plane showed up with his daughter and two grandchildren in tow!

He was a robust man with a graying handlebar mustache, probably in his late 60s, who was a retired geologist (I assume he had worked for the mine), who, like most geologists, evidently enjoyed his beer. When we got to talking, it turned out he had gone to school at the University of South Dakota School of Mines in Rapid City! I knew it, as I had visited the campus and their excellent geology and paleontology museum there a couple of years ago.

Turns out the plane had developed a leaky pontoon, and he was here to see about fixing it. The "helpers" included three wild dogs, which raced around and scared off all the ducks (mallards, red-breasted grebes and some seagulls) in the neighborhood. These water birds know how to survive and kept a low profile while the dogs were around.

The four people fussed over the plane for quite some time. They ran a generator to power a vacuum to get the water and debris out of the pontoons, and used a soap solution to try to find the leaks.  The two children, a boy and a girl aged between 8 and 12, alternately helped and complained. As the daughter (mom of the two kids) said, "I always wanted to be a pilot, but I never knew how much work it was to take care of a plane!"

The plane from another angle

Unfortunately, with all the work they were doing, the plane did move. You might not be able to tell from the drawing, but it wasn't actually on the water; with the leak, it had been drawn up onto the shore.

So that's another reason I didn't really "finish" -- the angle of the plane changed as well as the light, and I'm not good enough of an artist to fill in the blanks and make the lighting and all the angles consistent.

But it was a fun project, at the gentleman seemed to get a kick out of the fact that I was drawing his plane! I was just happy that it was recognizably a float plane!

The ducks came back after they left.

Ducks on Johnson Lake (I'm still not sure what these are)
I left soon after.

Faro was just a bit of a letdown. It felt lonely and just... odd. There was supposed to be a waterfall and some good hiking, but I was starting to feel a little under the gun, since I had a phone meeting with my financial advisor the following day, and I had many miles on the South Canol road to get back to reliable civilization. I probably could have stayed in Faro, but... it just didn't feel right.

As I was leaving, the Nature Officer's official white truck, striped with green, trundled by, towing a small trailer with "DANGER: STAY BACK" printed on the side. Turns out is was a bear trap. It actually was the second time I'd seen this particular conveyance. Possibly another reason I didn't really want to be hiking in the area.

If I come back here, it may be interesting to see what I think of it the second time through.
Lapie Canyon near Ross River


Lapie Canyon

Moving on was a wise decision. What treats there were in store!

There is an awesome campground at Lapie Canyon. The Lapie River  has cut an impressive canyon here, and this campground is where whitewater kayakers come to play. I would have happily stayed here. There was only one other person here (weekday night). Unfortunately, the sun was low in the sky, and so the photos are a bit too dark. I did have a nice meander along the river, though, appreciating the bright pink of the fireweed, and a field of anemones showing their puffy seed heads. It's like walking on a carpet of fluff.

I needed to push on, though, as I was committed to getting through this for my 1:30pm phone call.
Summer is passing: anemones gone to seed along the Lapie River


Ross River: building bridges

I confess that the only reason I took the 10k detour to Ross River was to check off one of the sites in the Yukon Gold Passport.

In Ross River is the longest single-span suspension bridge in Canada, which crosses the river, and initially was used for the pipeline (see below).

Unfortunately, the World War II-era bridge is no longer safe, and was closed to traffic in 2013. Just this year, funding has been approved to renovate the bridge to accommodate pedestrian traffic.

I didn't understand this at the time I went, so it was a little freaky to see this big bridge swaying and creaking in the breeze, with large yellow "DANGER: DO NOT CLIMB" signs surrounding the south tower.

For all that, there actually was an extension ladder in place, connecting the safety of the ground with the creaky bridge 20 or more feet above.

I surmise that people are still using it, despite the danger of imminent collapse.

The only other way to cross the river at this point is to take a ferry. It runs short hours during the day, in summer, and the sign on it proudly says "Dawson Ferry."  There is not much traffic here, and I guess no reason to repaint it to show its current status.

An aside: Dennis Shorty, one of Yukon's best-known artists (sculpture and carving) resides in Ross River.
The ferry, with the suspension bridge in the background. And unbelievably blue sky!

South Canol Road

The Canol Road (North and South) were built at great expense during World War II to service a now-defunct oil pipeline. If this sounds like a cautionary tale, perhaps it is. The pipeline operated less than a year (1944-1945). After that, it went into disuse, but because there were some mining interests along the route, so it is now maintained as a "summer road" by the territory. I was just a bit apprehensive about taking it, especially after my recent experience on the Dempster. I did ask about it at the visitor center, and the woman there sort of shrugged, saying, "I never tell people how it is, because everyone has a different idea of how good or bad it is. Some people say it's just fine, others say it's terrible." That wasn't a very helpful description.

The bottom line is: it's a dirt road.

It's steep in sections. Very potholed in many places. I was very glad I had 4WD, but nowhere did I think, "I can't make it."

But oh, my it is gorgeous scenery. The best on this trip so far.

I didn't get as many pictures as I would have liked due to time constraints, and because the light was fading.

Hoodoos along the South Canol Road
My real regrets were (1) that I was in something of a rush, and (2) the light was fading fast. This is a place to come back to.

It's remote, and there are so many places where I could easily have stayed.

The road winds up along the Lapie River. There are alternately canyons and broader river valleys. I didn't see that much wildlife, other than a porcupine. As you climb higher and higher, the rugged peaks rise above. There are tantalizing views up side canyons.

It's wild and desolate and HUGE.

Fading daylight on the South Canol Road
My head was swiveling back and forth, and trying to avoid potholes while driving and drinking in my fill of the scenery was a challenge.

There are not a lot of places to pull over, and it is definitely a one-lane road. Fortunately, no one was coming the other direction. One couple, driving a truck and hauling a trailer, did pass me. They were the only people I saw all evening.

At a certain point, the road reached alpine meadows, and this area reminded me SO much of Tuolumne Meadows. Open rolling meadows with tiny wildflower, dotted with small tarns. The terrain is very hummocky and deeply swaled, I guess from continued freezing and refreezing. It's green, and ringed with even higher mountains in every direction.

The sun had set; it was getting dark, and I figured I would get up early in the morning. I figured I had another 6 hours to drive (based on my experience so far), so it really was going to be a race. But I just wanted to stay here and drink it all in before heading back.

There was a float plane and house nearby, but the couple who had passed me and stopped here to fish had pushed on. So I had the lake pretty much to myself.

Sheer heaven.

10pm. Sunset over Lapie Lakes


Sunday, July 23, 2017

Drury Creek at Little Salmon Lake

View of Frenchman Lake. It's a HUGE lake; this is just the south end.

Frenchman Lake

In the morning I wasn't sure what the weather was going to do, whether it was going to clear or rain some more.

Not trusting the weather, I didn't want to set off on a long paddle, and the lake didn't look that interesting anyway. A bunch of fisherman roared off in a power boat early, contributing to my feeling of not wanting to get out on the water. Plus, going out on the boat would have meant staying in camp afterwards to dry everything out (wasn't sure if that would even be possible), and the small campground didn't really have room for a vehicle that was not in a campsite.

I knew I didn't want to stay here another night, so I had a bit of breakfast and then set off on a little hike around the lake. As always, you never know what you are going to find.

Lichens and mosses
The way meandered above the shoreline, leading to a secluded campsite where a motorcyclist had set up camp, complete with clothesline for drying out (catching that theme, are you?).

In places it was really boggy. There were a few mosquitoes, but it wasn't bad, maybe an MI 3.5.

There are always treasures.

Sometimes it's the little things that are the most interesting.

Here in the north the ground is covered by an amazing diversity of life. In just one square foot, there can be three different mosses, a variety of lichens and worts, and wildflowers and small bushes.

Just in the photo at left, which may be all of two inches wide, see how many different living things you can find (you should find at least five, including the red fruiting bodies of a lichen!)

I was also on the hunt for spruce roots. I realize this isn't the best time to get root, but I figured I would look. One source I'd read said that creek overhangs were good places to look, since the roots are already exposed, and it means less digging!

Puffballs
I figured that road/trail cuts would also be good places to look, and I was right! I ended up collecting some roots. I've put them in a plastic bag and will see if I can use them when I find some birch trees!

I was also entranced by the puffballs along the trail. They almost looked alien. I've looked these up and they are supposed to be edible, so maybe I'll gather some next time...

Back at the campsite, I amused myself by collecting trash from under the table.

Now MOST campsites in Canada are remarkably clean. There can be some cigarette butts and an occasional bottlecap or hair elastic, but there don't seem to be the bits of plastic, fishing line, paper, gum wrappers, aluminium foil, and other packing material that's so familiar in the US.

What I found here was a bit of a surprise: brass shot casings. There must have been 40 casings under the table. I'm not sure if I'll really do anything with them, but at least the campsite is cleaner.

Cloudberry
Also at the campsite, I had spotted a cloudberry the night before, and I'd hoped to have this tasty tidbit for breakfast. I'd become familiar with these last summer: they are sweet with a taste somewhat reminiscent of apricots. Quite delectable.

Unfortunately, somebody beat me to it, because when morning came, it had been nibbled away.

There were a few others in the woods in back of the site, but none of them were ripe enough to eat. I think part of the attractiveness of these is that they feel rare — each small plant only puts out one berry!

After eating my berry-less breakfast, it was time to push on.

I decided to continue up to the next campsite — Nunatak — just to see what it was like, since this is a scouting mission, anyway!

Nunatak has two parts to it, an upper section that was completely empty... of people. There was, however, a big black bear roving the site.

Bear at Nunatak
While this photo isn't the best, I'm including it because it shows the challenges of trying to do wildlife photography. So often, the photos we see in galleries, books, or online, are the best of the best. They are clear, spectacular, have perfect lighting, and are in focus. It's not easy to get those pictures. By the time I saw the bear, stopped the car, and grabbed the camera, he was alerted to my presence and ran off.

He stopped, and looked back at me, but by the time I got the lens cap off, he had run through the thick trees and brush. Running bears look ungainly and fat, with their fur rippling as they lope off.

I was hoping for that one shot when he was looking directly at me. He did, and I have that shot in my mind: his black nose and brown snout just below his two round classic teddy-bear ears, and his big, furry body in the forest of aspens.

But I did not get that shot.
It's okay, because it's pretty indelible in my mind.

Osprey in nest
The lower area of Nunatak is on the water of Frenchman Lake (yes, it's a big lake), and was really crowded. A nice lady asked if I was looking for a spot, and she mentioned that there was one still available, it was just hard to find. I thanked her, said I was just scouting and wasn't going to stay, and told her that there was a bear in the upper campground. She thanked me and put her dog on a leash.

Back on the Robert Campbell Hwy, it was nice to be back on pavement. The road to Nunatak was a good dirt road, but it was quite washboarded and potholey.

So, it was nice to be able to look around when driving, and not look for the next pothole!

And then I saw the big nest on top of an electric pole. Thank goodness these highways are not crowded, because I could pull over to the side, and get the binoculars out to see if anybody was at home!

And... YES! There was an osprey in the nest! I think this is one of the adults, as the babies don't quite have that distinct marking, and as Cornell Labs says, the juveniles have darker orange eyes. It was quite a treat to see this, and to get such good pictures after the failure with the bear this morning.

So today, I'd seen a bear and an osprey. Not bad!

Little Salmon Lake

I stopped at another campground (Little Salmon Lake), but it was a zoo with huge (and I do mean HUGE) motorhomes and people — it was Saturday, after all — and it was also very, very windy. There was an available site right on the water, but it was really exposed, so I pushed on after getting out and walking around a bit.

I finally stopped at Drury Creek with yet another perfect campsite. The breeze was not quite as brisk as it had been further up on Little Salmon Lake; there was a great view, lovely beach, and the entire campsite HAD NO PEOPLE THERE.

Campsite at Drury Creek, on the shores of Little Salmon Lake
Red-breasted merganser (female)
I set up the tarp, partly for to get some practice setting it up in wind and alone, and partly because I didn't know if it was going to rain or not. Turned out that it was a good thing, because I ended up here for two nights and the tarp provided not only rain cover, but also sun shade and a windbreak. All good things!

There is always life around lakes and water, if you are just quiet and watchful enough to wait for it.

That night I saw a red-breasted merganser down by the water. Mergansers are such distinctive birds — even the females — that it's a relief to see one because they are so easy to identify. There are only three kinds of mergansers and they all look different from each other.

And when on a walk after dinner, I noticed a willow branch floating off shore. It seemed peculiar, and then it started to move all by itself, away from the shoreline. It took me a moment to realize that it was a BEAVER that had chewed the willow branch and was making off with it!

Beaver eating willow
I stood and watched it for quite a while. I could get within about 20 feet of it before it became uncomfortable and started to move away. It wasn't that disturbed, though, as it came back to the same spot and munched on the willow. They sure can eat a lot!

Turns out there actually were three of them. "Busy as a beaver" is the old adage, and they certainly were.

It was evident that they had been working this stretch of beach for awhile. Now that I knew what to look for, I could see stripped willow branches, and odd lines in the gravel where they had dragged branches down the beach.

Breakfast by the lake
It was a real lesson in SEEING. I had looked at this evidence as I'd walked down the beach, but I didn't truly see it and comprehend what it meant.

The next day was lovely. It was calm in the morning, but I was nervous about rising wind, so did not go out to paddle. I had a long, leisurely breakfast of cinnamon-raisin french toast with all the fixin's, and made enough to have some left over for another day. Custardy leftovers with maple syrup or blueberry jam can really be tasty!

I started a drawing (the first of this trip!!) and it went so well, that I decided to spend the afternoon, which meant that I had to stay another night. Boo-hoo!


It still needs more color, but I like the texture of the trees on the hills. The color of the lake (and sky and clouds) kept changing, so I sort of abandoned it, giving just a hint of color. I continue to be amazed at the way light changes over the course of the day, and how features are revealed as the light changes. This drawing took about four hours (from 11am – 3pm) to get to the point where I felt I wanted to stop and do something else.

It was so wonderful to totally relax and concentrate on things that I haven't had the time to do for a very long time.

Sheer heaven.

Here's the reference photo, which is the view from my campsite:

Little Salmon Lake
Beading project coming along
One of the curious things about this site on the lake was that it was right where Drury Creek emptied into the lake. The creek has quite a current, so where it spills into the lake, the wind-driven waves hit the creek current and make quite a mess of complicated waves. It would have been fun to paddle into, but there was just too much wind, and I was happy drawing.

And then continuing on the beading project. I am learning so much...

The beavers frolicked in the water, and one of them even brought a branch up the creek!

For two nights there just two campsite occupied, mine and the other by a couple from Whitehorse and their dog "Don," who looked like a fluffy little fox.

It was just another day in the Paradise that is the Yukon!

Friday, July 21, 2017

Frenchman Lake

It's hard to leave Paradise, but if you don't you'll never find the next wonderful place.

Burlap put in between logs for chinking.
My goal on this excursion was the little town of Faro, where there was supposed to be excellent wildlife viewing. And besides, I hadn't explored that part of the Yukon. If I never left, I'd never get there. Besides, rain was in the forecast, so it was a good time to hit the road and drive.

After the Klondike Goldrush, the main route to Dawson from Whitehorse was along the Yukon River by boat. However, this froze up during the winter, so a land route — what we'd now call an "ice road" — was developed. Roadhouses were set up to help people endure the 330-mile trip, then took about six days by horse-drawn "coach." The Montague Roadhouse, now a historic monument, is one of the few that is left.

It's hard to imagine in the warm weather of the summer that people would be traveling in the cold and dark of snowy winter. They braved temperatures down to -40°F; if it were colder than that, they did not travel, but of course there was no guarantee that if they left when it was -38°F that the temperature wouldn't drop while they were enroute!

What's left of the Montague Roadhouse.
Memories of the roadhouses were pleasant ones. Apparently there was always a fine spread of local foods: caribou, sheep, fish, bear, plus homemade berry pies. I'm sure the warmth and camaraderie of the roadhouse — and ample liquor — also may have had something to do with the happy memories.
— Check out "The Overland Trail" for some more info and pictures

HUGE canoe!
It began to drizzle as I neared Carmacks where I picked up some ice at the local convenience/ gas station. An aside: the price of ice varies widely and somewhat inexplicably. At the local Independent store in Whitehorse, it's $2.67CA for a 10-lb block or sack of cubes (same price). At Carmacks, I got a 5-lb bag for $3.50CA, and I've paid as much $4.50 for ice in the US. Having good refrigeration would be the one thing that would drive me to a bigger rig with more power.

While waiting for a break in the rain, I checked for email and phone messages. One needs to take advantage of every location with cell service, especially when one is going off into the bush.

Northern goldenrod (Solidago multiradiata)
While there, a HUGE canoe came up to the gas station. I didn't get the story on it, but it could easily have held 10 people. This is not a sight one sees in California! Here, kayaks and canoes are on probably 10% of the vehicles!
Between the wet weather and the comedown from the high of the earlier days, I did not seek out the cultural center here (for a passport stamp), or do the walking tour of the town, or look into doing any of the hikes and excursions up to the coal mine. I will be back here, and I always like to leave something to do.

Just after Carmacks, my route crossed the Yukon River and turned off of the Klondike Hwy 1, and onto the Robert Campbell Hwy (Hwy 4).

This route was beautiful, and I'm now wishing I'd taken more photos, but there were few places to pull over to take pictures.

Eagle Rock: site of the 1906 SS Columbian disaster.
The sides of the mountains coming down to the river were covered with green and yellow furze, with the undulating folds so regular that they seemed like they made my machine, not nature. You can see a little of this at the lower left in the photo above, which actually has an interesting story about it. It was the site worst disaster in Yukon steamer history. It involved a shipload of blasting powder and cattle, a flock of ducks, and a gun. It did not end well, but could have been worse.
— You can read all about it here, courtesy of the McBride Museum

The landscape is gorgeous here. It's not "in your face" beautiful, but it's the utter expanse of untrammeled beauty that I love. It feels like it goes on forever, and the effect of mankind on the land is very small. With most land travel being restricted to just a few roads (travel by boat, air and ice doesn't leave much trace), and the land being covered by ice and snow for half the year, I hope that it can be kept fairly pristine.

On the negative side, ATVs are having an impact. Often by the side of an established road there will be an ATV track. I can understand it, but it doesn't make me happy. And I realize by driving here that I am part of the problem. I'm ignoring that for now.

I turned off on a dirt road to explore a chain of lakes, where there is a series of campgrounds. The first one was full (it was Friday night), so I went a bit further to Frenchman Lake, where I grabbed the last campsite.

It was not as idyllic as the previous ones had been: the campground felt more crowded (it was), and the two best sites by the water had been taken. The remaining sites, including the one that I took, were pushed back into the forest, and I never like the feeling of being closed in or surrounded by trees. However, I was glad to get it.

Cooked a quick meal and hit the hay; the sunset lit up the sky for a few minutes later in the evening!

11pm sunset over Frenchman Lake

TRIP MAP: Map link: https://goo.gl/maps/zrhWauCLGAM2

Two days at Twin Lakes

Morning at Fox Lake

It's hard to describe the feeling of being so close to the rhythm of nature. It's still very light in the morning: the sun sets about 11pm, and it's still light at midnight. The sky begins to lighten at 3am, and (depending on how close you are to the mountains), the sun can be full up at 6am. 

Early in the morning, breezes are light, and it's silent except for the twittering and sudden fluttering of some songbirds, the mewing of gulls, the eerie cries of loons, and rare quacking of ducks. Sometimes there will be splashing as some waterfowl get spooked by something and hurriedly take to wing. Squirrels dash about, chattering in the trees and hungry after the short night's rest.

When the wind picks up, the waves start their rhythmic lap... lap... lap against the shore. There were a couple of motor boats that put in here at Fox Lake (there is a boat launch here), but the lake is so big that they weren't at all annoying.  There were a few people at the camp, some walking their dogs; one boy was pulling wheelies on his bike, but it was a pretty tranquil spot.

I took advantage of the peace and quiet with a leisurely cooked breakfast, and a ramble along the shoreline, then packed up and set off for Twin Lakes.
Two common loons swimming on Fox Lake

Twin Lakes

When I was last through Twin Lakes on the hell-bent run up to Inuvik, the campground was really crowded with canoes and pickup trucks and motor homes. I really, really wanted to get a site down by the water, not one of the sites up above the lake in the trees.

Since campsites are supposed to be cleared by noon, I figured that if I arrived at the campground just AFTER noon, I might have a fair chance of getting a good site.

My luck held, and I got the best site (at least to my mind) in the campground. Right at the edge of the water, with my own beach for the kayak (again!!) and, oh boy, what a view.

Campsite at Twin Lakes
The thing that attracted me about Twin Lakes was the incredible color of the water. Its jewel tones of turquoise, sapphire, peridot, emerald and topaz are breathtaking. To my mind, they rival anything that the Bahamas or tropics can offer. Plus: comfortable temperatures.

Fortunately, it wasn't too windy and the first thing I did was get the boat off the car and go for a lovely long paddle around the lake.


Twin Lakes has lots of little inlets, bays and islands that are fun to paddle around. There are shallow areas where you actually can paddle through grass! Being able to explore in the kayak is wonderful, because the shallow draft means you can get into places that are extremely shallow.

The water is incredibly clear. It's like looking down at a secret underwater world. Or flying silently over a land buried by water.

There's the world above, and the world below.
Blue dragonfly
There are fish, but they are really hard to see. They are incredibly well camouflaged against the water and plants. I swear I did get a picture, but am having trouble finding any fish in the photos!

There were dragonflies flitting everywhere. I have never seen so many dragonflies as I have this summer. They seem to be in jewel tones, too — emerald and ruby and lapis lazuli.

They remind me of the book we read to the kids about the "big brown bear," and the "bright blue dragonfly."

Unfortunately, I only had the phone camera (in a waterproof case), so didn't get great photos, but as I remember from last year, dragonfly photos are notoriously hard to get. Seems I remember that in order to get great photos, they refrigerated captured dragonflies, then brought them out and posed them in order to get photos.

Water smartweed
So I don't feel too badly about getting a fuzzy picture.

So many things to see! Seagulls perching in trees, beaver dams, ravens flying overhead.

Up until this point, I've been land-bound, so it was a treat to get some new familiarity with more aquatic plants.

The pink-flowering water smartweed (Polygonum amphibium) was a new one on me. It wasn't in any of my books of common wildflowers, so took some poking about to find what this distinctive flower actually was. Now since seeing it here, I've noticed it growing in other places, too.

The afternoon wafted on; Serenity (after the spaceship in "Firefly") mostly behaved herself, but she has some definite opinions about direction of travel. Her favorite heading actually seems to be INTO the wind or with the wind just over the port or starboard quarter. She tracks fitfully and sporadically with a following wind, or with the wind across the beam.

Still, all smiles
Not really remembering this, I made the mistake of paddling upwind first, thinking that if the wind came up later in the afternoon that I would not want to paddle against it when I was coming back, and tired.

Unfortunately, that sort of backfired, as Serenity (the most mis-named boat on the planet) happily sped upwind. Moving crosswind across the lake was fine, as I was meandering around looking at things, not in a hurry, and also was pretty close to the shoreline.

Coming back, however, was something of a challenge. After exploring the islands and beaver dams on the far side of the lake, I figured that I should come back before I got too tired.

Drying out, as the sun sinks
It's a pretty fair sized lake. No one else was boating on it, and I actually was glad that there was no one to observe my at-times frantic paddling technique. At times ones has to stroke steadily, constantly — and, well, forcefully — on one side of the boat, just in order to try to maintain a straight line. And, when that becomes not enough to keep from going in circles like a demented waterbug, one has to correct by using the paddle as a rudder. It's a little bit frustrating, and one of the reasons that I don't trust myself on this boat in moving water. I just don't know how she will react, and I don't want to get in a situation I can't handle. At least I know my limits on flat water!

Fran (kayaking buddy) knows about this.

However, Serenity enables me to get out on the water, and that's all that I ask. I'm grateful to be able to do this.

So there were two days of "paddle, bead, walk, read, eat, repeat," which was sheer heaven.

I totally appreciated the warm sun, cooling breezes, the lack of mosquitoes, and (mostly) empty campground.

There were about eight campsites at the water's edge, and only about half of them were taken any one night.

The people coming through were all sorts:
  • Middle-aged hotshot guy with a red truck and a fat tire bike. Stayed one night, then left. Seemed as proud of his body as he was with his truck, as he was dressed in very little. Hey, he was camped near the bathroom; I had to go past him, and it was hard not to notice!
  • A pair of Yukon seniors with a big trailer. They stayed two nights, but moved to the hotshot's camp after he left. They mostly sat and looked at the lake, but occasionally tottered around; the wife made periodic trips to the firewood pile with a folding red wagon and walked the golden retriever dog. Yukon seniors don't have to pay for camping. At all.
  • A couple from New York (or at least their car had NY license plates) in a motorhome with a "toad" with two bikes. Stayed one night only. Pleasant, but uncommunicative. 
  • Two families with babies and toddlers. The dads came with the truck and gigantic Arctic Fox trailer first; the wives came afterwards in another truck. Surprisingly, no dogs.
  • Fly-by-night "ghost" came in late and left early.
  • The party gang arrived with an enormous floating fishing barge (something like this). Big enough for the entire family of 10! This party boat motored out slowly near sundown, floating across the lake like a serene hippopotamus, sporting fishing poles at every corner and a canopy overhead. I don't know if they caught anything, but that's possibly not the point. 
When not hiking or paddling, I was working on my beading and reading, which meant that I was pretty quiet. And when you are very, very quiet, and are in one place for some time, you become part of the place. The birds and animals become adjusted to your presence. 

The fly who loved me.
A family of magpies kept me entertained throughout my stay here, squawking and chasing each other and pecking things. They are such handsome rascals, it's impossible not to love them.

A squirrel seemed to think that I was a growth on the picnic table, and ran across my boot at one point! It became so familiar that I started chasing it from going under N0MAD, as I did not want a repeat of the experience I had in Washington state (rodents eating the wires).

There were more loons in the evening and morning. And a herring gull kept just offshore on the beach, eyeing me with the same expectation that Good Things come to those that wait.

Beading project coming along
If there was ANYthing "wrong" with this campsite, it was the fact that there were occasional nasty biting horseflies, and the breeze did kick up in the afternoon, making cooking dinner just a little interesting, but not insurmountable. Besides, there was a windbreak that one could get behind, so that made it more comfortable. I've come to love my new chair, as it means I can move with the sun (or wind), and not have to deal with getting the heavy icebox out of the car, which was what I did before if I needed a bench to sit on.

I went for a final paddle the morning that I left. The weather was so calm that it seemed to make sense to get out early and hope that things would dry out before I actually left.

Harassed eagle.
On the way back, I was treated to seeing an eagle at the top of a snag on one of the islands. I probably would never have noticed it if the ravens weren't causing a ruckus. They were harassing the eagle, cawing and swooping and diving at it where it was perched. Whenever a raven flew at it, the eagle hunched down, opened its beak, and cried a peevish complaint.

I wondered for a time why it was taking that abuse, if it was injured somehow, or maybe just young. But finally, it had enough of the nonsense and majestically launched itself off the tree and flew off.

I didn't have my binoculars and couldn't see well enough to tell what it was (juvenile bald eagle, or maybe a golden eagle). The photos I took with the phone camera didn't help on this score. It probably doesn't matter, as it was the memory of seeing this part of life in the wild that was what I'll take with me, not the identification of the bird!

When I got back, the only people left at the campsite were the party-barge people, so I didn't feel like I really had to leave at exactly noon. It's getting easier to pack and unpack stuff, even the kayak bag that's buried in N0MAD's bowels. And it's especially easy to get at things when Serenity is off the top of the car.

I will hope to come back here, although I realize that one can never repeat a good experience, and sometimes the expectations that build up from having a superb adventure can never again be met.

If I am learning anything on this trip, it's to become so much more "zen." While I'm all for research in order to plan ahead, there is a difference between planning and building up impossible expectations. When opportunities come up, it's okay to take an extra day to enjoy the experience, and adjust one's schedule afterwards. I've paid my dues in life, and it's truly time to enjoy it.

So my advice to myself:
   Live in the moment. Enjoy what is NOW.
         Don't dwell on the past. Don't anticipate the future.

Living in the moment.