Yukon bush life

How do you explain the rules of capitalism to a dog? That’s the question we were pondering the day the river stopped. We’ve been watching it for weeks. With the recent cold spell, the passing ice pans turned to chunks, and by Saturday there were sheets as big as tennis courts drifting past. In the afternoon, the ice shelf began to rise as water oozed beneath it. We guessed the river had jammed somewhere below us and the water was backing up. We took a quick ski down to take a look but Neil bust a ski through into the seeping green slush and so we scooted back, faster and faster, the ice popping and buckling beneath us. By dark, we could hear a continuous rumble as the moving ice sheets ground against the edges. We ran out in parkas, pyjamas and headlamps to peer at the slow, rumbling mass of jagged ice. At 30 below our breathing formed a fog of ice crystals in the beams, so we held our breath and listened. I wish I’d recorded the sound. Imagine a freight tra...

People often ask me, are there lots of mad people in the bush? I don’t know if there are more than anywhere else , but I know this- if you are mentally unwell, living alone in a tiny cabin and seeing no-one for months on end will send you a whole lot fucking madder. Snowy day on the beach We’ve just lost a very dear friend. As far we know they haven’t died, but they left a very odd note in our PO box last month, and have refused all contact by email since. Though they are one of our closest friends, I’ve never written about this person. They are intensely private. When I say private, what I really mean is, delusionally paranoid. This person can be great company and has been very kind to us, both with advice and possessions. But we knew every interaction we had was mulled over and picked apart in the depths of an unwell mind. We knew that one day we would say or do something that would weave us into the web of conspiracy that our friend saw all a...