Tales of the beautiful everyday from the North
Heaven on earth
The struggles and rewards of a 5:10am departure
Even thinking about how much I love roadtrips, love to drive, and love any drive involving the north, I still thought to myself that I maybe would rather fly, given the choice.
I remain convinced the 2 hours between Whitehorse and Vancouver at some 35,000ft is among the most beautiful time I could spend anywhere in the world, especially as we traded the last of the northern lights for sunrise and the typically cosy service from Air North.
The endless mountains, the glaciers, the brightening twilight sky so soft and seemingly endless coffee and perfect little breakfast on board just could not have made for a better far too early morning. Although one more sleepless night at the end of an aurora season was nothing new under the sun.
So this quick week away was the best of both worlds - another treat of a flight down, and a three night, 2,800km drive back up a few days later - the most relaxed and leisurely schedule I’ve ever had as long as I’ve been in the north.
After a second day of 800+ kilometres, we settled into our wood cabin in the middle of nowhere with leftover Subway, which we quickly decided to postpone enjoying until after a late night trip to the Liard Hot Springs just 60km away. The drive further along the shores of Muncho Lake and through the Liard bison herd was breathtaking, as it always is.
Spending golden hour, sunset and twilight in these natural springs ranging from 34°-44°C was nothing short of heavenly. We had the place almost entirely to ourselves, and the loudest sound was the water trickling into the pools.
So of course we made another stop there on our morning out before continuing home. The few degrees below zero meant it was a cold, quick change into our swim suits, but then it was all heavenly and the most relaxed 700 kilometres home from there.
A meditative state
Sitting out on the counter from a late, late bake the night before were some 5-minutes-too-long-in-the-oven scones.
In the morning now, snow just fell and fell and fell from low, overcast cloud. It seemed like every time I looked out the windows, the clouds had gotten lower until none of the mountains were visible at all.
It really was just the cosiest homebody kind of day, where the 11am sunrise blurs into the late afternoon sunset, and my cosy window lights never lose their glow against the sky outside, and we were supposed to be going to the mountains.
We easily agreed to delay 24 hours, leaving plenty of time for a new batch of scones to be over-baked, however I didn’t. Sugar was still nowhere to be found, and these couldn’t be completely inedible, I was mostly pretty sure.
Aside from having to dodge a snowplow a few times, waiting a day was just the best decision. Hot coffee and heartfelt conversation filled the car as we travelled deeper into nature. Fast moving clouds, mountains of snow, and cold, but not frigid, winter air on my face brought back so much Norwegian nostalgia. Time passed far too quickly, and soon we were stumbling down a snowy hillside in the dark.
Sometime while I was sleeping in the late evening after our heavenly afternoon and getting warm drinks ready just before 11pm, the skies had mostly cleared.
Instinctively upon waking up, I look skeptically to the sky in search of cloud banks, double checking weather maps, looking for where the other shoe is going to drop from. I think that’s the years and years of chasing clear sky, obsessing over the weather night after night, for 9 months of the year. But that other shoe wouldn’t come tonight, we were in the clear all evening, but as ever, that’s just half our story.
“Good, but calm. And it would be nice if things were a little bit more unsettled.”
With the weather as close as we come to worry free in Whitehorse, it was onto the aurora conditions which were good, but calm. Full moons in the middle of winter always give some challenges, as beautiful as they are.
We waited as long as we could tonight in the company of the occasionally heard singing ice of the lake. Careful steps out onto the shore cracked the ice under my feet. It was equal parts alarming as calming. There is something so special about the ice. An early morning flight departure eventually brought us back into town. Despite squeezing every last minute out of our clear skies tonight, the aurora remained quiet. Gentle, but beautiful low across the horizon.
Making every second count
Seeing the first seconds of pink sunlight touch the peaks of the Kluane and St. Elias Mountains confirmed to me that setting out from Whitehorse deep, deep in blue hour was the exact right decision.
The days are among some of the shortest of the year now, and the beauty of Kluane extends further than perhaps any other time of the year. The forever low and golden sunlight emphasizes that. You know by now my obsession with light and ice.
Our entire day felt almost eerily quiet with very few passing vehicles. The forests felt predictably quiet - a few squirrels, a lone gray jay, and a grouse couple that, as ever, sent my heart into my throat with their chaotic helicopter takeoff hidden in a tree. Then, closing in on darkness, a herd of somewhere near 100 elk off both sides of the highway halted our plan of a late visit to a lake along the way back home in favour of taking our time loving on all our new furry friends.
These are the best days, the ones of magical light, majestic views, and of making every second count.
“George from Toronto”
The sharing of secrets
Sylvia first emailed me a month ago. She and her partner William were coming to Whitehorse, and wanted to get engaged under the aurora. She was forward it wasn’t a secret or going to be a surprise, but they hoped for some beautiful photos. It felt beautiful and spoke right to my heart.
“…and I think after all of our research, you would be the best fit for our special night.”
Just a few days away from our aurora chase, I got a call from William. They were nervous about the continually changing weather forecasts and fickle nature of the aurora. He asked if I would be up for joining them on a helicopter instead - flight-seeing over the Yukon with a stop on a mountain where he could propose. And this was going to be a surprise to Sylvia. The problem, of course, was that Sylvia was in touch with me several times before and had been doing all her research. What if she recognized the way I spoke, or recognized my face.
After one final last minute change to avoid a snowstorm the day before, I arrived early at Capital Helicopters on a clear, calm -23° Sunday morning and after quietly checking in, I assumed my alias of George from Toronto; a tourist visiting for the week who was just happy to be able to get up on a last minute heli tour in good weather.
In a moment of pause just before I left my place, I realized I couldn’t wear my mukluks, insulated Canada Goose snow pants, or balaclava to protect my little frost bitten face. I needed to be slightly unprepared and definitely underdressed. Skinny jeans, clean hiking boots, and an unfortunately now trendy Fjällräven parka has to scream city boy from back east.
When Sylvia and William arrived at the office, I stood sheepishly staring at a massive wall map of the Yukon, deliberately disinterested in small talk or making new friends. I looked up, smiled shyly without really making eye contact, and buried my face back into my zipped up parka studying names of mountains and rivers on the wall 30cm from my nose.
Now on our way out to the ramp after our safety briefing, I introduced myself as George, from Toronto, who arrived on Thursday, was staying until Tuesday, and had never seen mountains like this in real life before.
It was perfect. I was absolutely glowing inside, and enjoying my well calculated social awkwardness far too much.
Sweeping through saddles of mountains, climbing up mountainsides, circling steaming waterfalls in rivers, this was I think the most beautiful I have ever experienced our planet. I was just beside myself. The aviation geek, the nature lover, the winter addict, the photographer, and the hopeless romantic who just loves love… My chest just couldn’t take it.
“No matter how prepared you think you are for this, I promise you, you aren’t.”
After our amazing pilot landed us in -28° at Rose Lake, teary eyes overtook us all and Sylvia, of course, said yes. And finally reaching in for hugs, I could share I wasn’t actually George, I was Sean from Whitehorse, who you’d been emailing with for weeks. The laughter and warmth that ensued was almost too much. We immediately had like a thousand stories to share and there just wasn’t enough time, or warmth.
“Stop I don't want to tear up before the plane.”
In a few goodbye texts on Monday morning just before they boarded their flight back south, there were some watery eyes on each side of the phone. Just a couple of guys having a genuinely soft moment.
Sometimes in life you just meet the perfect people, in the perfect place, at the perfect time, and this was every, every little bit of that.
From about 8,000ft here, above the left edge of the lake, very faintly in the distance, you’ll see Mount Logan - the tallest mountain in Canada at 5,959m.
A love that almost hurts
The beauty sigh, heart racing, chest-so-full-it’s-going-to-explode kind of day
It was the early morning on a full day off after another very late aurora chase. I was exhausted again, or still, but I just had to go. I couldn’t stop myself. So with coffee and snacks, I was soon driving through snowfalls, sunshine, rain and gusty winds.
The forecast was a complete mess, of course, but it all just translated as ‘perfect’ to me.
Shoulder stops all the way to, and inside of Kluane, were more frequent than ever before. These were of course the most beautiful moments of my life so far, and I don’t know if I had ever known such a love and amazement in this world.
On the shore of Kluane Lake, clouds ate entire mountains, and minutes later instead of struggling to hold my hood up over my head against the wind, I could feel the warmth of the sun on my back.
I watched as over and over again, waves came crashing for the shore. The colours, and the patterns of colours all over the lake were unlike any way I had seen this place before. Even the glacial brown-grey of the water was stunningly beautiful. This was a quintessential raw northernness that fills me with the most amazing feeling of home.
