Yukon bush life

Caribou on the river in front of our house You get used to the wilderness. It begins to feel familiar, even a bit suburban and then wolves attack a caribou at the edge of your yard and you remember just how wild it is. We took the snowmachine for a swim in the Yukon that same day, so have been thoroughly shaken out of our complacency. Ice pressure ridge up river from us I nipped out for a pee in the evening and heard a commotion. When the temperature drops to 30 below, sounds distort. They bounce off the frozen surfaces and become brittle and hollow. It was pitch black. Neil came out and we both heard a volley of crashes and cracks very, very close. We are ever so brave and so ran inside in a panic, grabbed the guns and went up to our raised back porch, where we would be safe from the intruder. Been cold recently Something was thrashing the willows right at the edge of the yard. It was grunting and snorting. The creature was big, very big- so most li...

(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. Neil likes to do some Scottish country dancing as we get to town to warm his feet. Weirdo We hit the...

(Lou, Yukon) Our dog has a Hansel and Gretel complex. Homer thinks one day we will take him into the twisted, tangled woods and sneak away, leaving him to the wolves and witches, like the evil parents of the fairy tale. Frosted forest He stays very close when we are out working, getting firewood or cutting trail, so we can’t escape. He tried sitting in the trail at first. We couldn’t get away but he couldn’t get a nap without getting thumped on the head with a log every 30 seconds. He soon sussed that we always bring our equipment home with us so he stands beside that. When he’s harnessed to the dogsled he snoozes with one eyebrow raised and twitching, in case we cut the tug line and tip toe away with the sled. If we have the snowmachine, he sits right in front of it. Mightn’t we slip it into gear, push it silently across the snow and abandon him whilst he sleeps? Taking no chances One day we stopped the machine a few miles away on th...