Isolation. Our toughest boat journey so far
Temperatures are down to -12C at night and below zero during the day. The creek is freezing over and ice is beginning to form at the river bank.
With our boat now out of the river, we are cut off from the world maybe until next year. We can’t travel again until the Yukon is frozen and we’ve managed to get a trail either 60 miles south to Dawson or 30 miles north to the old mining road. Until then we are in splendid isolation.
Moose receipts and laundry- all the glamour of our last trip to town
And so we made our final boat journeys last week. We did our last supply run to Dawson for this year and, for once, got to town on a weekday that wasn’t a public holiday so all the shops were open! A cause for celebration though we had no time to.
Days are getting shorter and with at least 4 hours of driving once we got out of the boat it was a race against time to get everything done. We were on the river at first light around 8am- it was bastard cold still, at 12 below. We hunkered down in our parkas and winter mitts wondering just how likely it is that a little life vest could counteract the weight of a full winter parka should one of us go in. As the creeks freeze up, the river level is dropping rapidly and perilous rocks and sand bars seemed to be appearing all around us.
We wanted to be back at the boat landing by 6pm, latest, so we raced into town at a full 30mph, as fast as the rocky dirt road allowed, and hit the hardware stores, the launderette and the Conservation Office.
We shot a moose last week and so had to report the kill. This was our first moose and I was delighted to find that I got a receipt for it. Canada is so wonderfully ordered I’m surprised I didn’t get a warranty too.
It was a rather stressful trip, no time for getting your hair done and relaxing with a flat white. Laundry was top of the list of tasks, having 3 plastic totes full of blood stained and silty clothes which we could not be assed to hand wash.
A kind friend gave us an old Garmin GPS to help us stay on our route on the river. We haven’t worked out how to use the bloody thing but I’m happy to know it is very robust. I ran it through a hot wash and it still works. Though we still can’t work out how.
Pajamas. Bananas
I’d had my heart set on getting some bananas from the General Store but by 3pm we were running out of time and I’d got a migraine. I lost the ability to say “bananas” and kept saying “pajamas” so it’s just as well I didn’t have time to embarrass myself trying to buy some.
Once back at the boat landing, we had to park up Terry, our truck, for the winter and remove the battery. We’d chosen a spot on an old mining road, a few miles from the boat landing, where we know the snowplough will pass by sometime in spring, hopefully without knocking Terry over.
Our kind friends had left us their truck so we didn’t have to walk 5 miles carrying the battery and our supplies down to the boat. We ran some fuel stabiliser through the system, topped up the tank with jerry cans (to prevent water condensing in the tank) and headed back.
Bear or banana?
Our last boat journey was to be a short trip across the river to collect some logs we’d cut for rebuilding our cache.
It was a very short trip.
We all piled into the boat. The river is clearing of silt now and reflects the sunlight in silver-bottle green ripples. The water gleamed on every side and we drove as if on a sunbeam. Homer, leapt off as we hit the opposite shore, but instead of racing up to the brush he stood bristling on the beach.
“Ruff” he said. We’ve never heard him bark before. A lot of sled dogs don’t seem to.
“Ruff.” He ran behind us and stared at the brush. “Grrrr.”
I said, “Neil, don’t tie the boat up.”
Only minutes before I had been bickering with my husband about bringing a can of bear spray.
“We don’t need that! The bears are all looking for dens up in the hills now,” I declared confidently based on no facts whatsoever.
I grabbed the bear spray, pulled the pin and pointed it at the willows.
Most likely it was a moose. Or even a raven. Homer is quite nervous about a lot of things, including birds and even food he hasn’t had before. So he may even have just scented a banana in the distance.
We weren’t taking any chances for a couple of logs.
“Errrr- RUFF!” said Homer, decisively.
Fuck the cache. We got back in the boat and went home.
The toughest journey
And so then began the perplexing and worrisome task of getting our precious boat with brand new Yamaha F40 outboard motor up a very steep bank and onto our property. We can’t leave it in the river. It will freeze and then be crushed like a beer can and swept off to Alaska when the ice tumbles and grinds its way out in spring.
Hauling our boat across the beach and then up a very steep bank is by far the most difficult journey we’ve made with it. Neil and I are rubbish at calculating distance. We’d happily estimated the length of our bank as 20’ and so bought a 20’ length of chain to hook into a chain hoist that a very dear friend has lent us. It’s not. It’s closer to 60’ which means we had to rig up all manner of ropes, come-along winches and bits of string to do the job.
Chain hoists are fucking brilliant and everyone should have one. It’s like a double pulley that you tie off to something then use to haul your load. One chain ratchets the weight while the other works as a spinning pulley. You yank on it in manly sailor-like fashion to turn the ratchet, or at least I did.
Our only problem was not having a long enough pull. We’d wanted one that pulled 20 or 30’ but as that wasn’t to be found in Dawson, we had to work with one we had- with a 10’ pull. So that’s 60’ of near vertical bank and 50’ of beach, with everything having to be rehooked and tied every 5’ or so as by the time we’d pulled out the slack in the rope the boat barely moved an inch. Oh what fun we’ve had for the past two days!
Winterisation
With the boat on rollers on the beach we did our engine “winterisation.” I had never heard of this word until I moved to Alaska, but it’s a wonderful phrase that covers all manner of things that need to be done in the autumn.
We changed lower unit oil, engine oil and filter, ran fuel stabiliser through the system and greased the relevant points. We bought fogging oil to prevent any rust but couldn’t use it as we hadn’t thought to buy a spark plug wrench. You don’t have to get up very early in the morning to catch us out.
The whole process is described in the vaguest detail in the Yamaha manual. In amongst pages of warnings about not getting pissed out of your mind and falling out of the boat or grabbing hold of a spinning propeller, is the occasional note on how to look after the engine.
The pull up the bank went remarkably well. Once we hit on the idea of using our flimsy come-along winches to take out the slack, things picked up a pace. Two days on and our boat is sitting happily out of the way of the freezing river waiting for a bit of snow so we can retie the hoist and skid it up on to our property.
It should then be safe. At least from spring ice. Though not from a forest fire, thieves or wandering bears (they like the smell of gasoline and one chewed up our snowmachine this summer) but there are only so many things one can worry about so that will have to do.
“There!” I said “we are in splendid isolation!”
I’d barely finished the sentence when a bloke came by in a boat, spoiling the image somewhat. We have a new neighbour some 40 miles away and, having not managed to get a moose, he was making a last run to town to get supplies.
I’ll wait til he’s come back before I say it again.
Read more about how we winterized our boat.
With our boat now out of the river, we are cut off from the world maybe until next year. We can’t travel again until the Yukon is frozen and we’ve managed to get a trail either 60 miles south to Dawson or 30 miles north to the old mining road. Until then we are in splendid isolation.
Moose receipts and laundry- all the glamour of our last trip to town
And so we made our final boat journeys last week. We did our last supply run to Dawson for this year and, for once, got to town on a weekday that wasn’t a public holiday so all the shops were open! A cause for celebration though we had no time to.
Days are getting shorter and with at least 4 hours of driving once we got out of the boat it was a race against time to get everything done. We were on the river at first light around 8am- it was bastard cold still, at 12 below. We hunkered down in our parkas and winter mitts wondering just how likely it is that a little life vest could counteract the weight of a full winter parka should one of us go in. As the creeks freeze up, the river level is dropping rapidly and perilous rocks and sand bars seemed to be appearing all around us.
 |
| Bastard cold |
 |
| Ferry across the Yukon at Dawson City |
It was a rather stressful trip, no time for getting your hair done and relaxing with a flat white. Laundry was top of the list of tasks, having 3 plastic totes full of blood stained and silty clothes which we could not be assed to hand wash.
A kind friend gave us an old Garmin GPS to help us stay on our route on the river. We haven’t worked out how to use the bloody thing but I’m happy to know it is very robust. I ran it through a hot wash and it still works. Though we still can’t work out how.
Pajamas. Bananas
I’d had my heart set on getting some bananas from the General Store but by 3pm we were running out of time and I’d got a migraine. I lost the ability to say “bananas” and kept saying “pajamas” so it’s just as well I didn’t have time to embarrass myself trying to buy some.
 |
| “Termination dust” on the hills marks the end of autumn |
Our kind friends had left us their truck so we didn’t have to walk 5 miles carrying the battery and our supplies down to the boat. We ran some fuel stabiliser through the system, topped up the tank with jerry cans (to prevent water condensing in the tank) and headed back.
 |
| River like glass |
Our last boat journey was to be a short trip across the river to collect some logs we’d cut for rebuilding our cache.
It was a very short trip.
We all piled into the boat. The river is clearing of silt now and reflects the sunlight in silver-bottle green ripples. The water gleamed on every side and we drove as if on a sunbeam. Homer, leapt off as we hit the opposite shore, but instead of racing up to the brush he stood bristling on the beach.
“Ruff” he said. We’ve never heard him bark before. A lot of sled dogs don’t seem to.
“Ruff.” He ran behind us and stared at the brush. “Grrrr.”
I said, “Neil, don’t tie the boat up.”
Only minutes before I had been bickering with my husband about bringing a can of bear spray.
“We don’t need that! The bears are all looking for dens up in the hills now,” I declared confidently based on no facts whatsoever.
I grabbed the bear spray, pulled the pin and pointed it at the willows.
Most likely it was a moose. Or even a raven. Homer is quite nervous about a lot of things, including birds and even food he hasn’t had before. So he may even have just scented a banana in the distance.
We weren’t taking any chances for a couple of logs.
“Errrr- RUFF!” said Homer, decisively.
Fuck the cache. We got back in the boat and went home.
The toughest journey
 |
| Neil pretending to be macho (actually we used a hoist but let him have his fun) |
Hauling our boat across the beach and then up a very steep bank is by far the most difficult journey we’ve made with it. Neil and I are rubbish at calculating distance. We’d happily estimated the length of our bank as 20’ and so bought a 20’ length of chain to hook into a chain hoist that a very dear friend has lent us. It’s not. It’s closer to 60’ which means we had to rig up all manner of ropes, come-along winches and bits of string to do the job.
 |
| Brilliant |
Our only problem was not having a long enough pull. We’d wanted one that pulled 20 or 30’ but as that wasn’t to be found in Dawson, we had to work with one we had- with a 10’ pull. So that’s 60’ of near vertical bank and 50’ of beach, with everything having to be rehooked and tied every 5’ or so as by the time we’d pulled out the slack in the rope the boat barely moved an inch. Oh what fun we’ve had for the past two days!
Winterisation
With the boat on rollers on the beach we did our engine “winterisation.” I had never heard of this word until I moved to Alaska, but it’s a wonderful phrase that covers all manner of things that need to be done in the autumn.
 |
| Flushing the cooling system by running the engine in silt-free creek water |
The whole process is described in the vaguest detail in the Yamaha manual. In amongst pages of warnings about not getting pissed out of your mind and falling out of the boat or grabbing hold of a spinning propeller, is the occasional note on how to look after the engine.
The pull up the bank went remarkably well. Once we hit on the idea of using our flimsy come-along winches to take out the slack, things picked up a pace. Two days on and our boat is sitting happily out of the way of the freezing river waiting for a bit of snow so we can retie the hoist and skid it up on to our property.
It should then be safe. At least from spring ice. Though not from a forest fire, thieves or wandering bears (they like the smell of gasoline and one chewed up our snowmachine this summer) but there are only so many things one can worry about so that will have to do.
“There!” I said “we are in splendid isolation!”
I’d barely finished the sentence when a bloke came by in a boat, spoiling the image somewhat. We have a new neighbour some 40 miles away and, having not managed to get a moose, he was making a last run to town to get supplies.
I’ll wait til he’s come back before I say it again.
Read more about how we winterized our boat.
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