Yukon bush life

Our creek I am currently rushing back to Britain, as there has been some snow and a bit of cold weather. I’m coming to share the survival and bush expertise I’ve learnt from living in one of the coldest places on the planet. Here’s a quick one for free- wear more clothes, you stupid bastards. Warm not cool Doesn’t matter if you don’t look cool. Down jackets, woolly hats, big mitts and here’s the one no Brit ever thinks of- insulated trousers! Ski pants, they’ll do. In fairness, who needs a cupboard full of expensive, bulky clothing they only wear for a week every 5 years? Well, despite my extensive travels in the arctic, I have never been as cold as standing on London Bridge Station waiting for the delayed train to Woolwich Arsenal. I’d say it’s worth buying some big, daft, padded trousers. Snowshoeing up the creek We’ve had a dump of snow too. Our yard is piled with the stuff. It’s a terrible trip hazard and a danger on the trails as this keeps happenin...

(Lou, Yukon) Driving a snowmachine, it’s hard to know what’s happening to the rider following you. Two-stroke engines whine at ear-splitting pitch and your head’s muffled in fur, ear defenders, goggles, hood. You wrench your neck round, keeping your thumb on the throttle, and snatch a glimpse of their headlight to be sure they’re still there. Often you only see the back of your hood. So it’s a sign of how bad things got that I could hear Neil screaming Fuck! Fuck! Fuck! from 20 yards behind me. Yesterday goes down as one of our worst journeys. Another one. For the past week we’d been riding an emotional rollercoaster on our broken-down snowmachine. We must have involved everyone in a 100 mile radius in the saga. Homer helping with diagnostics from between Neil's legs Both our Alaskan friend and a pal in town had the spare part we needed. They got those parts to the Rangers who were headed to us, breaking trail for the Yukon Quest dogsled race. Preparing for the...