Confessions of a Yukon Greenhorn
Essay by Liz Hardwick, NOLS Instructor |
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I’m remembering what it was
like to be in the Yukon that first summer. I remember
how one day a caribou decided to follow us as we crossed
a wide valley bottom. It pranced on the spongy tundra
playfully coming closer, bounding away and coming back
again. From 20 meters its antlers looked enormous.
Later, on a ridge top, I found a set of caribou antlers
and hefted their weight onto my head. It felt like
at least 20 pounds, and I did my best at caribou prancing,
biting it on the tussocks (mounds of unstable ankle-grabbing
moss) winding up rolling on the ground laughing my
antlers off.
© Jim Chisholm |
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There were also sunny days, and in
August it’s already fall in the Yukon. The dwarf
birch and willow were turning an amazing shade of burgundy.
The whole landscape was red and gold. We munched on
cloudberries, delicate flavored raspberry-like things
a pale shade of orange.
© touryukon.com |
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We found huge ram’s horns curling
twice, almost completely covered in moss and filled
with decomposing rotten things. We smelled bear, heard
bear, and spent a lot of time hollering to the bears.
We saw fresh four-foot gashes in the ground where grizzlies
had dug out arctic ground squirrels from their burrows,
but we never actually saw a bear. I remember waking
up at two in the morning and seeing the night sky in
a perpetual state of sunset, the fireball of the sun
never actually dipping below the horizon.
© Chris Hatton |
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