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...

(Lou, Yukon) We are exhausted. It was a long fight but we won in the end. Our battle of wits with a not very intelligent dog was fought over two hundred miles and 5 days. We departed last Thursday to visit friends with Homer packed in his much-hated travel box. The trail had disappeared under fresh snow in places so we un-boxed him and put him upfront to find the way with his nose. Good boy. Homer in lead Getting him back was easy. I’d call, offer a handful of kibble and he’d come running. Then we’d stuff him in his fourth class carriage. He fell for it every time. The trail crossed wind-blown ice, pocked by a warm southerly wind that had sent temperatures above freezing for a couple of days. In places it was so rough I thought my teeth were going to bounce out of my head. We let Homer run free, rather than risk blending him into a husky smoothie with all the slamming and bumping. Rock hard ice He did NOT want to go back into his box and ran up the bank into the w...