Army nuns on special ops

(Yukon)

Snow! It still makes me gasp. Those first few flakes of the season drifting in the beam of my headlamp.

Snow in the boat

Never mind we were planning to go to town the next day, never mind we have no chains or winter tires for the truck, never mind it’s 7am, pitch black and Neil is fast asleep, “Neil! Guess what?”

He couldn’t.

“Snow!”

Neil can stand before the most wondrous sights nature has to offer and say “Oh that’s nice, shall we have a biscuit?” but even Neil said, dreamily, “Oh… snow!”

Snow in the washing

 Will we still feel that flutter of excitement after 10 years here, I wonder? The year I don’t wake up and gasp at the first snow is the year we up sticks and shift to Thailand. We’ll be done with the Yukon.

This time last fall I remember temps going down to -20c. The river was bumping with ice chunks and we had the boat safely out. We’ve been blessed with a few weeks of extra boat travel this fall.

We’ve made a late trip to town and are still out searching and calling for a moose. Season closes 31^st October. Desperation is never attractive and by now they can probably hear it in our calls.

We aren't the only ones after that moose. Wolf pack on the beach

We’ve cut trails into our wood-getting area across river with chainsaws and loppers.

Chainsawing out a path up the bank

With the brush died back, the biting flies gone and no deep snow to stumble around in, it is the perfect time to do it.

Misery on the river

But bloody hell it’s cold on the river this time of year, Christ it’s miserable.

We’re wearing all our winter clothing, including our parkas and my fabulous US army wimple.

I can’t imagine which regiment of the US army deploys nuns but they are known for their fierceness and endurance so it makes perfect sense, and I am truly a sight to behold in the boat with my rifle at the ready. Praise the Lord there is no-one to see me anymore.

Army wimple and rifle at the ready

If we fell out of the boat, we’d bob along like ducks with all that down clothing, until it filled with water. Then we’d be down fast and down forever, so we try to be very careful.

The good news is, we won’t need to go to town again imminently with our idiot husky. Yes, he’s back!

Homer’s wound is healing nicely and he is doing his best to injure himself again by bounding around like a lunatic. So we won’t have to risk life and limb to get him back to the vet.

Trying to spit out his antibiotics when we're not looking

A good friend who happens to know about dogs’ health came by last week on her way downriver. She was kind enough to take a look at Homer’s leg and assure us that it was healing well, despite our fears.

Testing Homer's new thermometer before it goes up his ass. Neil can do it next time

She knows about people’s health too but managed to get out the door before we had her look at Neil’s verruca and my prickly heat rash, dammit. I’ll be slower making coffee next time.

With good news on Homer, we decided to make a final run to town last week before we have ice in the river or deep snow in the mountains. We needed to get fruit and veg, fill up empty jerry cans and deal with the 3 bulging sacks of laundry that I could not contemplate hand washing. Oh and most importantly, more booze.

Despite being off the hook with Homer, we had our most terrifying boat journey ever due to our own laziness. Amongst other things (like a half ton weight of wet laundry) we collected a welded handcart that a kind friend made for us to help get supplies up the bank.

It’s pretty heavy and has wheels, but still we decided to balance it precariously and unsecured at the bow of the boat cos, like, everything seemed pretty calm, eh?

Well guess what? It wasn’t calm round the corner. A storm blew up, waves were hammering against the hull, bouncing us almost out of our seats and the prow was skittering from side to side in the gale. The cart almost went overboard taking me with it. I don’t have any photos as I was trying desperately to cling onto it with rain lashing into my face and no gloves as I’d lost them in the confusion, but it was a lesson learned.

Truck put up in its winter parking place. Stabiliser added to the fuel, battery disconnected and fingers crossed. 

This morning it was -5c but still no ice in the river. Although winter feels a long way off, we know it will call any day now. I noticed a fragile wafer of ice at the water’s edge for the first time yesterday and we had, probably, our last visitor- our pal Norm and Homer’s girlfriend, Chewie.

Homer thinks she’s his girlfriend anyway. Chewie thinks he’s a stalker.

"Gerroff my stick, asshole, I'm playing with Neil"

We spent the evening drinking far too much wine with Norm whilst Homer tried to lay as close as he could to the little chocolate labrador. Now and then we’d hear “Grrrr” and Homer shuffling away.

Chewie in her boat, eager to be gone

Norm wasn’t expecting to be able to travel on the river at this time, either. He told us the ice bridge at Dawson City used to be built and certified in December. Last year it didn’t get solid enough to be certified. We have migrated here during a period of climate change, so when and how the river will freeze is anyone’s guess.

The next morning Homer decided to elope with Chewie. The plan didn’t come off and not just because Chewie hates him. Norm didn’t want a galumphing liability of husky to look after for the winter. So Homer stayed with us and watched Norm and Chewie motor downriver beneath the snowy bluffs until they rounded the corner.

He watched their wake fade into the swirling green pools and windblown riffles. The hum of the engine died away and we all went back indoors to prepare for another pointless moose hunt.

“That’ll be our last visitor then, until... “ I said.

“Yup.”

Until when? We’ve no way of knowing.

Homer forgot the love of his life the minute he saw a squirrel at the top of the bank so it’s all jam to him.

This slither of ice at the water's edge is the start of the ice shelf