Bootypoo
(Lou, Yukon)
We made our first “commute to work” this week to get a business licence. We left early, 7am just like we used to in London. There was no traffic or train delays, but it was 35 below. Dawson was even colder at -40 and the cold crept into our facemasks and under hats, and blew into the back of our mitts as we got closer to town.
Dawn was spectacular. The sky slid from steel grey through pale rose to burning orange as the sun made her entrance. She glared so fiercely, I drove one-handed, blotting her out with a mitt whilst trying to peer through a small unfrozen patch at the bottom of my iced-up goggles.
We were heading due south to Dawson and straight into the new day. At this latitude, 64 degrees north, the sun sits on the horizon and burns against the snow so bright your eyes weary of it. You want nothing but to crawl away and hide in a box for a while.
We hit the City Offices as they opened at 9.30. The frost fell off us in shimmering crystals as we plodded up the stairs in our heavy snowmachining gear, feeling somewhat incongruous in the prim office building.
We are now a business. “Hello Cassiar Consulting. How can I help you?”
I’m just dying to say that in a cheerfully vacant, sing-song voice, but we can’t get a phone signal and it’s hard to translate the cadence into an email.
We plan to do some consulting work and so, here in the Yukon, we need a licence. The form asks what signage we will erect and how many parking spaces we have.
Parking is limitless for anyone willing to helicopter their vehicle in but I don’t think we’ll get enough passing trade to warrant a sign.
We struggled to come up with a name and settled on Cassiar (after our local creek) Consulting (which covers a multitude of activities). Cassiar is, apparently, a Kaska First Nation word for "old moccasin." So we’ve named our business after an elderly slipper, which is maybe not too auspicious.
The form didn’t call for role assignment and staff details. I guess me and Neil will be Directors, so Homer will have to fill in as Deputy Finance Director and Facilities Manager.
I don’t usually give our friends’ names or homestead locations in this blog. Not many people beyond my Mum and Aunty Jean read it, but still, people don't move to the wilderness because they want their lives displayed online.
Except us, and our lovely friend Sarah, another Brit, who lives in Dawson.
We had time for lunch with Sarah and were able to return the hospitality she’s shown us with a little moose meat. Sarah makes amazing videos of her travels in the Yukon, so check her out at sarah jane lenart.
It takes a lot of drive and commitment to build a successful business so two days after what was our first day at work, we promptly took a holiday. We don’t want to drive ourselves into the ground.
Our clever Alaskan friend has built a little cabin on wheels. He tows it up into the mountains, to the Top of the World Highway, in the autumn to use whilst he’s out trapping in the winter.
The highway is a gravel road that grinds 187 miles from Dawson to Tok, Alaska. It is closed in the winter and, when not blown in with snow drifts, makes a spectacular trail for dog mushers and snowmachiners.
The wind-blown, hard-packed snow makes good back country skiing terrain as you’re not constantly plunging down to your thighs in soft powder. The barren tundra removes another ski inconvenience- trees. Bloody things. Glad to be rid of them for a bit.
So we decided on a romantic mini break and ski holiday in the little cabin at the top of the world.
It was 35 below the morning we left. Our 340 snowmachine was not happy and refused to start until we gave it a blow job (blew into the tank to push fuel into the carburettors). We didn’t want to delay the trip as the Northern Lights have been glorious, curling above us in great purple-tinged greeny swirls.
Living on the river, our view of the night sky is pinched by the mountains around us. Up top, there is only sky. The horizon is below your feet somewhere and the Northern Lights seem to flow around you, so close you could reach out and grab a beam to take home with you.
That’s if they show. Which they didn’t.
As luck would have they decided on a night off but we didn’t care. Sunset was simply so glorious I will let the pictures speak for themselves. I don’t think I could have taken in any more beauty without doing myself a mischief.
Homer curled up in the snow under the glittering gaze of Orion and we lay down in our cosy trailer home.
Far better to rest our eyes in preparation for the gob-smacking spectacle that was a clear dawn brightening the Ogilvie Mountains in a misty amber glow.
The following day we skied to Swede Dome, 4000m above sea level. For once, as it is no-one’s home, I can give an exact location. Click on this link if you’d like to see - where the hell were we?
It is the highest point for hundreds of miles and gave us an incredible 360 view of the surrounding saw-tooth mountains.
A video clip would be fabulous here, but we have no camera nor enough bandwidth to upload clips if we did. And taking my hand out of my mitts to take a photo was bloody painful.
What we needed was our friend Sarah with her iPhone and hands of steel.
Though she could not have captured this. In the far-off jagged ridges of Alaska the sinking cold air created an inversion. These inversions cause mirages. Early arctic explorers were shocked to find the high cliffs they saw in the distance reduced to a ridge of a few feet once they reached them.
Before our eyes, the triangular Alaskan ranges became perfect squares that stretched high into the sky. They then plateaued sideways and spread into thin air, like shimmering mythical kingdoms, suspended midway between nothing and nowhere.
We were awestruck. But hungry. We forgot to bring the chocolate. Awe inspiring natural beauty or chocolate? Time to head down for a snack and a cuppa.
Homer enjoyed his trip up top, though not his journey in the torture travel box. He chewed a juliette balcony to stuff his head through. We had nothing to patch it with so drove as fast as we could on the way back, to discourage him from jumping out.
In other news, our plans to build a log workshop are flying along at an incredible pace and we now have two whole logs! In fairness, the last one was a bastard to get down.
I tried to cut against the direction it wanted to go so it would fall down the bank. It refused. We ended up pulling it down with the snowmachine and just about every length of rope and strap we could find to ensure I didn’t pull it down onto myself and the machine in the process.
So, at one log a week we might barely be making a start in a year’s time. Tune in next week to see if we’ve managed another one!
Talking of logs, Homer’s been having fun eating and excreting dog booties. Mushers often cover their dogs’ feet with little nylon and Velcro booties to stop them being abraded by the snow.
Since the Yukon Quest, trails are now dotted with them and Homer has got the knack of swallowing them before we can stop him. I found a sticky double booty poo in the yard.
Dammit, why hadn’t I noticed it before? We struggled for days to find a name for the business and it was right in front of our noses all along. “Hello, Bootypoo Consulting. How can I help you?”
Too late to change the licence application now.
We made our first “commute to work” this week to get a business licence. We left early, 7am just like we used to in London. There was no traffic or train delays, but it was 35 below. Dawson was even colder at -40 and the cold crept into our facemasks and under hats, and blew into the back of our mitts as we got closer to town.
Dawn was spectacular. The sky slid from steel grey through pale rose to burning orange as the sun made her entrance. She glared so fiercely, I drove one-handed, blotting her out with a mitt whilst trying to peer through a small unfrozen patch at the bottom of my iced-up goggles.
We were heading due south to Dawson and straight into the new day. At this latitude, 64 degrees north, the sun sits on the horizon and burns against the snow so bright your eyes weary of it. You want nothing but to crawl away and hide in a box for a while.
 |
| Neil likes to do some Scottish country dancing as we get to town to warm his feet. Weirdo |
We are now a business. “Hello Cassiar Consulting. How can I help you?”
I’m just dying to say that in a cheerfully vacant, sing-song voice, but we can’t get a phone signal and it’s hard to translate the cadence into an email.
We plan to do some consulting work and so, here in the Yukon, we need a licence. The form asks what signage we will erect and how many parking spaces we have.
 |
Company Director by big pile of snow. That'll do for the Linkedin photo
|
We struggled to come up with a name and settled on Cassiar (after our local creek) Consulting (which covers a multitude of activities). Cassiar is, apparently, a Kaska First Nation word for "old moccasin." So we’ve named our business after an elderly slipper, which is maybe not too auspicious.
The form didn’t call for role assignment and staff details. I guess me and Neil will be Directors, so Homer will have to fill in as Deputy Finance Director and Facilities Manager.
 |
| Working on next year’s projected quarterly income |
Except us, and our lovely friend Sarah, another Brit, who lives in Dawson.
We had time for lunch with Sarah and were able to return the hospitality she’s shown us with a little moose meat. Sarah makes amazing videos of her travels in the Yukon, so check her out at sarah jane lenart.
It takes a lot of drive and commitment to build a successful business so two days after what was our first day at work, we promptly took a holiday. We don’t want to drive ourselves into the ground.
Our clever Alaskan friend has built a little cabin on wheels. He tows it up into the mountains, to the Top of the World Highway, in the autumn to use whilst he’s out trapping in the winter.
 |
| The highway had just been groomed for the Trek to the Top snowmachine race |
The wind-blown, hard-packed snow makes good back country skiing terrain as you’re not constantly plunging down to your thighs in soft powder. The barren tundra removes another ski inconvenience- trees. Bloody things. Glad to be rid of them for a bit.
 |
| A few snow-blown trees, small enough to ski through |
It was 35 below the morning we left. Our 340 snowmachine was not happy and refused to start until we gave it a blow job (blew into the tank to push fuel into the carburettors). We didn’t want to delay the trip as the Northern Lights have been glorious, curling above us in great purple-tinged greeny swirls.
 |
Journey to The Top of the World. It said stop so I stopped
|
That’s if they show. Which they didn’t.
As luck would have they decided on a night off but we didn’t care. Sunset was simply so glorious I will let the pictures speak for themselves. I don’t think I could have taken in any more beauty without doing myself a mischief.
Homer curled up in the snow under the glittering gaze of Orion and we lay down in our cosy trailer home.
Far better to rest our eyes in preparation for the gob-smacking spectacle that was a clear dawn brightening the Ogilvie Mountains in a misty amber glow.
The following day we skied to Swede Dome, 4000m above sea level. For once, as it is no-one’s home, I can give an exact location. Click on this link if you’d like to see - where the hell were we?
It is the highest point for hundreds of miles and gave us an incredible 360 view of the surrounding saw-tooth mountains.
A video clip would be fabulous here, but we have no camera nor enough bandwidth to upload clips if we did. And taking my hand out of my mitts to take a photo was bloody painful.
What we needed was our friend Sarah with her iPhone and hands of steel.
Though she could not have captured this. In the far-off jagged ridges of Alaska the sinking cold air created an inversion. These inversions cause mirages. Early arctic explorers were shocked to find the high cliffs they saw in the distance reduced to a ridge of a few feet once they reached them.
Before our eyes, the triangular Alaskan ranges became perfect squares that stretched high into the sky. They then plateaued sideways and spread into thin air, like shimmering mythical kingdoms, suspended midway between nothing and nowhere.
We were awestruck. But hungry. We forgot to bring the chocolate. Awe inspiring natural beauty or chocolate? Time to head down for a snack and a cuppa.
 |
| A short break to keep our deputy FD on board with the corporate strategy of travelling in the box |
In other news, our plans to build a log workshop are flying along at an incredible pace and we now have two whole logs! In fairness, the last one was a bastard to get down.
 |
| Off to get another bloody log |
So, at one log a week we might barely be making a start in a year’s time. Tune in next week to see if we’ve managed another one!
Talking of logs, Homer’s been having fun eating and excreting dog booties. Mushers often cover their dogs’ feet with little nylon and Velcro booties to stop them being abraded by the snow.
Since the Yukon Quest, trails are now dotted with them and Homer has got the knack of swallowing them before we can stop him. I found a sticky double booty poo in the yard.
Dammit, why hadn’t I noticed it before? We struggled for days to find a name for the business and it was right in front of our noses all along. “Hello, Bootypoo Consulting. How can I help you?”
Too late to change the licence application now.
 |
| Pointing to Bootypoo business premises, miles away down there in the valley |
Now you're back in the corporate world what are you going to be consulting on? Just in case I may need to consult you. Or with you.
ReplyDeleteNeil's background is marketing and comms and I've been applying my acting skills to communications training for some time, so we'll have to see what it is the fine businesses of Dawson City require. I guess we'll end up having to flex our skills somewhat. No objection to working remotely, though, if you need some help, Eileen.
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