“There are strange things done in the midnight sun…”
from The Cremation of Sam McGee by Robert Service
I have just returned from the Yukon.
I am in our apartment. It’s a sunny day. The breeze is fine. But with it comes the sounds of never-ending construction…the soundscape that is Vancouver. There is sawing, banging, whizzing, grinding, thrumming, and now, a siren in the distance and from over there, comes the beep-beep-beep of a reversing truck while overhead, yet another plane drones.
After a week in the vastness of the Yukon, it all feels very loud.
Very very loud.
Only a few days ago I was sitting on the rocky shore of Kathleen Lake where the silence was so thick it felt like I could scoop it up in my hands. I thought of my friend with the same name and held her within the infinite quiet that filled my heart…
It was only yesterday morning that I walked up through the heavy dew to stand in front of Robert Service’s cabin in Dawson City…
And less than a week ago that I flew over the grandeur of the glaciers in Kluane National Park, an area that covers the equivalent of three Switzerlands…
It all happened and it already feels too far away and too long ago. Time feels strangely folded into itself.
I am more and more convinced that air travel creates a strange disconnect from one place to the next. When we only walked from place to place, or even when we went by horseback, there was time to slowly adapt and remain connected to the landscape. Change came upon us slowly.
Whereas air travel pops us, almost instantly, from one geography and culture into the next, with no time to adapt or assimilate.
Is it any wonder that, less than three hours after we taxied off the damp Whitehorse runway, I am a little stunned to find myself popped up into Vancouver’s loud sunshine?
It’s probably no surprise that I’m already planning my next trip to the Yukon.
But next time?
I think we’ll drive.
We are planning on making a road trip to the Yukon as well, now i am even more inspired.
Hey Barb. Maybe we could make a convoy! I was so smitten by the amount of endless wilderness. I’ve never seen anything like it. You’re going to love it.
Colleen, I was very interested in reading your blog and looking at the photos, especially the one of Robert Service’s cabin. Did you visit it?
This is the sort of houses that you would suit me to the ground, lost in the middle of the forests, how happy I would be !
You live in a fantastic country that I long to visit. I must go soon.
Hi Catherine. I walked up to Robert Service’s cabin on the morning we left. It was around 8 am so it wasn’t open for visitors but it’s really quite small.
There are many other cabins in Dawson that look just like it that are home to some of the 2000 residents of the city.
I really hope you come to Canada and head to the Yukon. It was a first for me and I hope it was the first of many more visits.
Yes, it’s “trivial” now to hop on a plane and be somewhere completely different. For me, the disconnect always occurs when I return to these parts. This place is no longer my home. I don’t think it’ll ever be, nor do I really wish it. This is not sad; on the contrary, the realization is itself a hopeful one, that the search isn’t over, but one I think will never be truly done.
By the way, Megan who visited Inuvik in March also has expressed the great desire to drive on those northern roads, too. 🙂
I like your observations about ‘home’, Henry. Do you know what it is your searching for? I am always on the lookout for that ‘perfect’ place too. It’s kind of strange. I’d love to be one of those people who is completely sure that they will never move from where they live. It’s a conviction I’ve never really been able to grab.
And yes, the idea of driving far far north with a trailer in tow is very appealing. You can really breathe up there.