Back in the bush
(Lou, Yukon)
Our journey home was packed with more firsts than anyone should reasonably be expected to cope with in one day. First time towing the boat over a rocky beach, first time ever launching a boat, first turn of the key on the engine, first time driving a boat up the Yukon alone. First time landing the bloody thing, testing our guns, seeing our property covered in matted brush and willow instead of snow and best of all, first time for us to arrive back at the place we left in the spring with all our things and a ready-made wood pile!
With no place of our own previously, we’ve had to move each year so this is the first autumn we had the joy of coming “home.”
Trailer troubles
Things went remarkably well, our only fuck up being reversing the trailer into the river at 90 degrees, forgetting about the Yukon River’s tremendous 7mph current which instantly swept the boat off taking the trailer lights with it.
We made it to our place without mishap, spotting gravel bars and sand banks as best we could and both decked out in yellow sou’westers and life jackets- there’d be no missing us if we fell in. You’d could probably see us from space.
Floaters
I’m not sure whether I was more worried about finding floaters at our property on arrival or a resident bear. (Floaters are tourists who float down the river in canoes from Dawson not huge unsinkable turds, just to make that clear.) You can shoot a bear but meeting human intruders would call for some diplomatic negotiations and with both of us feeling rather exhausted and fraught, I think we preferred the former.
Bickering on the beach
We nervously tested our guns on the beach before heading up into the tangle of brush that was formerly our yard. What if they mysteriously explode and blow our faces and hands off!! Mine, a Husqvarna 30-06, looks like something from World War One. I hit my piece of driftwood, Neil missed his which prompted a brief competitive struggle between us-
“I wasn’t aiming at that bit.”
“Yes you were. And I’ve only got a rifle, you’ve got a shotgun!”
“There’s something wrong with it.”
9Lou with gun at gear pile I’m a better shot than you anyway)
Some bears are attracted to the sound of gunshot as they have learnt it may mean hunters with a kill, so with that thought in mind, we stopped bickering and proceeded up the bank.
The bank is high, about 30’ and very, very steep. So steep in fact someone has tied some climbing rope so you can pull yourself up. Our mass of supplies to haul in, about 4 boat-loads as it turned out, included 66 gallons of gas, 5 sheets of 8’x4’ plywood, 8 x 32 pound sacks of dog kibble, 3 bales of 50’ length fencing wire and 10 x 18 gallon plastic totes of food and hardware, as well as suitcases and various other weird objects. Clever people would spend a few hours creating a pulley and basket system but we aren’t those people and so the next few days were looking like back-breaking work.
Seat muncher
Happily we found no squatters of any species. There were a few well-trodden animal trails, some bear scat and a strong musty scent down by our waterhole but the only evidence of ursine intruders was that something had scattered the heavy roofing tin we laid over the snowmachine and had a bloody good munch on the seat.
Bears like snowmachine seats. Unable to remove it, we had ours covered as well as we could and heavily seasoned with mothballs (rumoured to be a deterrent) but the spongy texture and the smell of gas, which they love, just proved too tempting.
Any dismay about the seat was soon dispelled by the fact that a couple of plugs on the primer and one pull on the cord had her started up, humming away and filling the porch with the fumes. Never has carbon monoxide smelt so good! That little machine is our lifeline. Had she not started, there would have been weeks of confused mechanicing, puzzling through internet forums and manuals, bashing with the wrong tools and general wailing and gnashing of teeth.
The same principal applies to the internet, the generator and our chainsaws. All of these things started first time, which feels like some kind of miracle and if I were religious, I’d be down on my knees in the fireweed singing my thanks.
Highly technical doings
Setting up the internet is highly technical and involves standing the dish on a pallet by the bank, straightening it with a plumb line made of a socket and piece of string and then going “left a bit, right a bit, no too far go back, the other way- NO the first way” whilst we try to locate the satellite. The dish makes a beepy radar-like sound that gets faster and louder as it finds the satellite then slows down if you go off it, eventually falling into a disappointed moan. It helps with accuracy but makes the process more fraught as you have that sinking feeling you’re letting the equipment down every time you lose the signal.
Squirreled away
We found little squirrel cupboards all over the property. This time of year they are storing up supplies of spruce cones in every available hollow, but the ditzy little critters most often forget where they put them. How silly they are! Why don’t they make lists? Yes, well - where did we stash the knives, the adjustable spanner, the socket set, the key for the padlock we put on the back door? Which tree did we hang all the empty jerry cans in, out the reach of bears? One of those out there in our 8 acres of woodlands, I’ll bet. We have found most things now, except the knives and if we get hungry over the winter, I know where the squirrels have their stash (and I’ll draw a map before I forget).
Retard dog
We spent the following days shuttling back downriver to load supplies out of the truck into the boat, drive them upriver and then haul them up that very steep bank. Thankfully we had one heavy item that was able to make its own way up the bank. Not our laundry- Homer!
Homer is a very kind gift from some dear friends downriver who have a yard of 20 or so sled dogs. He is a working dog (and we hope he will continue to be as I’m not pulling that bloody dogsled) but he isn’t quite up to the mileage they need to run traplines with their dog teams. He tends to conk out after 10 miles. That will work fine for us as I will conk out long before 10 miles of snowshoeing behind a sled. They advised keeping him chained at first as they weren’t sure if he would come to us, or if he knew his name. Being 3 years old, I wasn’t sure if he was some kind of retard.
We decided not bring him on the first trip- just too many bloody firsts in one go to pack in a dog that has no idea who we are and will run (or swim) off given the opportunity.
A home for Homer
We collected him on our second trip and got him into a truck, on to the boat and chained up without losing him. Happily he does know his name and will come to us, and he is delighted with everything! Delighted with us, his new home, the spot we chained him up, the spot we moved him to, his food, a skull he found, the piece of wood we gave him, the fact he didn’t have a house. The only thing he seems to be a bit cool about is the hastily constructed house we made him when a sudden thunderstorm blew up. And who can blame him?
He lay in the lashing rain with his head in the back of his “house” looking pathetic. We made him a new one today out of brand new bits of plywood hauled all the way from Whitehorse and lots of shiny new nails.
He doesn’t like that either. I’m going off him.
Our journey home was packed with more firsts than anyone should reasonably be expected to cope with in one day. First time towing the boat over a rocky beach, first time ever launching a boat, first turn of the key on the engine, first time driving a boat up the Yukon alone. First time landing the bloody thing, testing our guns, seeing our property covered in matted brush and willow instead of snow and best of all, first time for us to arrive back at the place we left in the spring with all our things and a ready-made wood pile!
Trailer troubles
Things went remarkably well, our only fuck up being reversing the trailer into the river at 90 degrees, forgetting about the Yukon River’s tremendous 7mph current which instantly swept the boat off taking the trailer lights with it.
We made it to our place without mishap, spotting gravel bars and sand banks as best we could and both decked out in yellow sou’westers and life jackets- there’d be no missing us if we fell in. You’d could probably see us from space.
Floaters
I’m not sure whether I was more worried about finding floaters at our property on arrival or a resident bear. (Floaters are tourists who float down the river in canoes from Dawson not huge unsinkable turds, just to make that clear.) You can shoot a bear but meeting human intruders would call for some diplomatic negotiations and with both of us feeling rather exhausted and fraught, I think we preferred the former.
Bickering on the beach
We nervously tested our guns on the beach before heading up into the tangle of brush that was formerly our yard. What if they mysteriously explode and blow our faces and hands off!! Mine, a Husqvarna 30-06, looks like something from World War One. I hit my piece of driftwood, Neil missed his which prompted a brief competitive struggle between us-
“I wasn’t aiming at that bit.”
“Yes you were. And I’ve only got a rifle, you’ve got a shotgun!”
“There’s something wrong with it.”
9Lou with gun at gear pile I’m a better shot than you anyway)
Some bears are attracted to the sound of gunshot as they have learnt it may mean hunters with a kill, so with that thought in mind, we stopped bickering and proceeded up the bank.
The bank is high, about 30’ and very, very steep. So steep in fact someone has tied some climbing rope so you can pull yourself up. Our mass of supplies to haul in, about 4 boat-loads as it turned out, included 66 gallons of gas, 5 sheets of 8’x4’ plywood, 8 x 32 pound sacks of dog kibble, 3 bales of 50’ length fencing wire and 10 x 18 gallon plastic totes of food and hardware, as well as suitcases and various other weird objects. Clever people would spend a few hours creating a pulley and basket system but we aren’t those people and so the next few days were looking like back-breaking work.
 |
| Stupid, lazy folk at work |
Happily we found no squatters of any species. There were a few well-trodden animal trails, some bear scat and a strong musty scent down by our waterhole but the only evidence of ursine intruders was that something had scattered the heavy roofing tin we laid over the snowmachine and had a bloody good munch on the seat.
Bears like snowmachine seats. Unable to remove it, we had ours covered as well as we could and heavily seasoned with mothballs (rumoured to be a deterrent) but the spongy texture and the smell of gas, which they love, just proved too tempting.
Any dismay about the seat was soon dispelled by the fact that a couple of plugs on the primer and one pull on the cord had her started up, humming away and filling the porch with the fumes. Never has carbon monoxide smelt so good! That little machine is our lifeline. Had she not started, there would have been weeks of confused mechanicing, puzzling through internet forums and manuals, bashing with the wrong tools and general wailing and gnashing of teeth.
The same principal applies to the internet, the generator and our chainsaws. All of these things started first time, which feels like some kind of miracle and if I were religious, I’d be down on my knees in the fireweed singing my thanks.
Highly technical doings
Setting up the internet is highly technical and involves standing the dish on a pallet by the bank, straightening it with a plumb line made of a socket and piece of string and then going “left a bit, right a bit, no too far go back, the other way- NO the first way” whilst we try to locate the satellite. The dish makes a beepy radar-like sound that gets faster and louder as it finds the satellite then slows down if you go off it, eventually falling into a disappointed moan. It helps with accuracy but makes the process more fraught as you have that sinking feeling you’re letting the equipment down every time you lose the signal.
 |
| Having fun laying co-axial cable under the porch. |
We found little squirrel cupboards all over the property. This time of year they are storing up supplies of spruce cones in every available hollow, but the ditzy little critters most often forget where they put them. How silly they are! Why don’t they make lists? Yes, well - where did we stash the knives, the adjustable spanner, the socket set, the key for the padlock we put on the back door? Which tree did we hang all the empty jerry cans in, out the reach of bears? One of those out there in our 8 acres of woodlands, I’ll bet. We have found most things now, except the knives and if we get hungry over the winter, I know where the squirrels have their stash (and I’ll draw a map before I forget).
 |
| Located eventually |
We spent the following days shuttling back downriver to load supplies out of the truck into the boat, drive them upriver and then haul them up that very steep bank. Thankfully we had one heavy item that was able to make its own way up the bank. Not our laundry- Homer!
 |
| Who are you? What's my name? Why are we going backwards? |
We decided not bring him on the first trip- just too many bloody firsts in one go to pack in a dog that has no idea who we are and will run (or swim) off given the opportunity.
A home for Homer
We collected him on our second trip and got him into a truck, on to the boat and chained up without losing him. Happily he does know his name and will come to us, and he is delighted with everything! Delighted with us, his new home, the spot we chained him up, the spot we moved him to, his food, a skull he found, the piece of wood we gave him, the fact he didn’t have a house. The only thing he seems to be a bit cool about is the hastily constructed house we made him when a sudden thunderstorm blew up. And who can blame him?
 |
| What the fuck is this you made me? |
 |
| This one's no better. |
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