Owls

I encountered this little fellow on the way to work today. He made me think of the baby owls in the woods around our camp during last year's fall hunt. Each night you could hear them in the trees, whistling in the dark.

With the weather warming rapidly, I am sure I will see more of them around town in the days ahead.

Delayed Homecoming

Getting back to Nahanni wasn't as easy as I'd hoped.

I had called ahead and arranged a ride, so the plan was to take the van from Hay River to Fort Simpson on Friday morning, spend the afternoon doing some much needed shopping, and then get picked up at 5pm. Didn't quite work out that way.

I got to Fort Simpson without any trouble, and proceeded to load up on groceries. I went all-out, knowing that this would likely be my last shopping spree before the summer. I was expecting to be picked up outside the supermarket, so I paid my bill and pushed my overloaded trolley outside. It was 430pm, so I waited. And waited. And waited.

I wasn't unduly concerned, because the reality of travel up here is that arrangements are never set in stone. There are always delays or other things that come up at the last moment. Even so, after two hours I was fairly certain nobody was coming. This left me in a rather unpleasant situation, as I had no place to stay and was laden with a trolley full of food. I decided to wait until 8pm in the vain hope that my ride might appear before biting the bullet and figuring out what to do next.

I was not as frustrated as you might think. As I stood there, feet slowly freezing, an old Dene man came up to me. He had passed me about an hour earlier, and now he gave me a knowing look and asked, "Still here?" I nodded, to which he gave a glorious gap-toothed smile, threw his hands up in the air and exclaimed, "Oh well!"

He had a point. It was a glorious night, with clear skies stained by the sunset, I had nowhere I really had to be and nothing I really had to do. Just roll with it.

I grinned back.

8pm came and went, so that was that. Resigning myself to an evening of telephone tag and rescheduling, I pushed my trolley over to the Nahanni Inn. Only in the North can you get away charging $150/night for a dingy room that reeks of cigarette smoke! On the plus side, though, they let me store my food in their kitchen. There was nothing left to do but settle in and figure out what happened. It turned out to be a nasty case of miscommunication, as I expected, but after a series of phone calls I was able to go to bed fairly confident that I would be picked up at 1pm the next day.

I slept in and checked out at 11, thinking that I could kill the time in the hotel cafe. I had an excellent late breakfast and then zoned out, wishing I had my ipod handy. It was a cold and blustery day, and I watched the snow fly off the neighbouring roofs in great sheets while the kitchen staff laughed and joked around with the customers.

1pm rolled around, but my ride didn't appear. Again, I was not unduly concerned, especially with the nasty conditions outside. But as the minutes ticked by, I began to chuckle to myself. Another night in Fort Simpson, what fun! Finally the girl at reception came over to me and said that my ride had called - apparently she had forgotten about picking me up, but was leaving Nahanni now and would be there by 5pm.

Progress! Of sorts.

I ordered another meal, and chatted with the cafe staff. The cook was a delightful woman, irrepressibly Newfie with a booming laugh as big as her smile. I never did find out her name, everyone just called her Momma. As the hours ticked by, people came and went - truckers fresh off the ice road from Tulita, DEA workers, one of the journalists from the Dehcho Drum - and we talked and shared stories in an atmosphere that grew more homely by the minute. Getting stranded in Fort Simpson wasn't my idea of a holiday, but things could certainly have been worse.

The evening appeared, and eventually so did my ride. Finally I was on my way home. We made it back to Nahanni around 10pm, and I was so exhausted I didn't bother unpacking my groceries and just collapsed in bed.

I suppose this journey was a trial-by-fire, in a way. You never know how "Northern" you are until you're faced with something like this - and in my case I didn't go on a rampage, or charter a $500 taxi ride to Nahanni out of frustration. I guess that means I did alright.

Enterprise

On my last day in Hay River we decided to go see Alexandra Falls, about 30 minutes out of town near the community of Enterprise. I had never seen a large frozen waterfall before, and the spectacle of buckled ice barely holding back the power of the river was very impressive.

We briefly followed a trail along the gorge, but stomachs were rumbling so we hopped back into the truck and drove into Enterprise. No visit to the Falls is complete without stopping in at Winnie's, a run-down truckstop that nevertheless boasts some of the best homecooking in the Territories. A massive burger was followed by an equally massive slab of apple pie, and I think we left the diner a good 10lbs heavier.

Hay River

Returning to Hay River was a little strange. It really did feel like only yesterday that I had stepped bleary-eyed off the Greyhound and began my life in the North. It was good though, it underlined how far I've come and how much I have experienced since then.

Tallulah picked me up at the airport and took me back to her place, a small house she shares with two others. I was treated to a wonderful steak dinner, and spent the night just hanging out and chatting. It felt good to be reconnecting with a friend, especially after the growing isolation of recent weeks.

Her school was still in session during my stay, so I spent the mornings sleeping late and relaxing. On wednesday afternoon we drove down to Great Slave Lake and walked the dogs along the shore. It was cold and windy, and the ice stretched flat and unbroken as far as the eye could see. Hugging the coast were beautiful homes and cabins, many with hulking Bombardier snow machines parked out front.

On the way back we passed the outskirts of K'atlodeech, the only Indian Reserve in the Northwest Territories. Also nearby was the port, with various ships beached for the winter and awaiting the spring break up. Once the ice is gone, most will travel up and down the Mackenzie River, while others will service the other communities around Great Slave.

Buffalo Airways

For my flight from Yellowknife to Hay River, I booked a seat on one of Buffalo Airway's legendary DC3s. Long a mainstay of the Northern aviation scene, Buffalo is known and loved for its fleet of vintage aircraft. I had gotten a taste earlier in the year when one of their birds was chartered to lift in supplies to repair our gym, so I couldn't wait to hop aboard.

When I arrived at their terminal, it was just as haphazard and informal as you'd expect. The girl who checked my bag was also the pilot, and all the staff joked and fooled around. It was a great atmosphere, and they were kind enough to let me go into the main hanger and check it out. I didn't linger though, they were filming another episode of Ice Pilots and I didn't want to inadvertantly ruin any of their shots.

Soon it was time to go, so we headed out onto the tarmac and climbed aboard the plane. It was bright and roomy inside, although if you wanted to sit towards the front you had to pull yourself up a surprisingly steep incline.

Once everyone was settled the engines roared to life like a demented lawnmower and we taxied to the runway. We throttled up and were airborne in moments, the noise fading to a deep and steady drone as the ground dropped away. As we left the Yellowknife area the horizon opened into an endless of expanse of lakes and muskeg, and as always I was stunned by the uniform immensity of the central NWT.

It wasn't long before the land gave way to endless ice as we passed over Great Slave Lake. Here and there massive pressure ridges would break the surface, stretching for rumpled kilometers across the ice.

One of the pilots came back and invited me up to the cockpit, so I sat up with them for a while as we approached Hay River. All too soon it was time to start our descent, so I returned to my seat and sat back for a gentle touchdown.

Yellowknife

My return to Yellowknife was brief but enjoyable. Pablo and Leslie were kind enough to put me up in their apartment in Old Town, and it was great hearing their perspective on life in the North. Pablo is also a professional photographer/videographer, and I'll try to have his group visit Nahanni to run a photography workshop for the children.

Old Town itself is one of my favourite districts in Yellowknife. The original heart of the city, it remains disconnected from the main utility system and requires trucks to bring in water and take out sewage.

My main reason for visiting Yellowknife was to meet with the Arctic Energy Alliance and some alternative energy specialists from the NWT government to discuss my plans for installing solar arrays on several buildings in town. I visited their office on Monday morning, and spent a few hours going over the options available. The talks went even better than I expected, and it appears that if I am willing to put the work in I will have a budget of $50,000 to work with. Very exciting news, so now the next step is to move into implementation. I am going to have to track down suppliers and technicians, as well as organize the logistics.

With my meeting out of the way, I was free to spend the rest of my time in the city wandering around. As in December it was a little surreal to be in a place with traffic lights and crowds, but thankfully there was none of the unease that accompanied my previous visit. It was strange though to be walking down a road and recognize a surprising amount of people - I guess it goes to show that even though Yellowknife is very much "the big city" by Northern standards, at 20,000 people it is still a very small place!

I did some essential shopping, and then wandered down to the lake to check out the famous Yellowknife houseboats. Brightly painted and ranging from tiny shacks to luxurious floating palaces, during the winter the houseboats are locked in the ice and form something of a mini-suburb, complete with road access.

While out on the ice, I also stumbled on the Snow King's Castle. The centrepiece of Yellowknife's annual Winter Festival, the castle started as an obscure hobby project by a few friends in the Woodyard district but has grown into a major undertaking that hosts concerts, art shows, and other cultural events.



As my time in the city wound down, I killed the last few hours before my flight by wandering around some of the local shops and galleries. I poked my head into Lit'l Bear's Art Gallery and ended up chatting with Jim, one of its resident artists. Originally from Cape Dorset, Nunavut's art and cultural mecca, Jim is simply the latest in a long line of carvers stretching back several generations. He showed me around his workshop and told me about some of his current projects, ranging from small soapstone pieces to massive carvings made from whale bone.

All too soon it was time to go. Next up: Hay River and reconnecting with distant friends.

Map and Compass

Sadly, our trip to Trout Lake had to be canceled at the last minute. The recent warm temperatures have made conditions deteriorate on winter road to that community, and it is unlikely the school van could tackle it without getting stuck.

Luckily, we were able to salvage something from the week. Greg Reardon, a specialist in outdoors education and wilderness survival, came to Nahanni instead and instructed the children in some basic map and compass skills, how to operate camp stoves and other things.

He and I put together a little orienteering course, and it was great to see the kids get so excited about it. I am trying to source some more compasses for the school, because I would love to be able to follow up with more orienteering during our weekly activity periods.

As the week wrapped up, we moved on to more advanced navigation techniques like marching on a bearing through close country. Everyone did very well, and I think even though it was somewhat ad hoc I think the week was a real success.

Fur Trapping

Our week at the lake went by happily. The first day was spent getting established - setting up the tents, gathering spruce boughs, chopping firewood, and unpacking our gear. There was a spectacular frozen waterfall on the far side of the lake, and some of the children scarambled up the hill to gather ice to melt for drinking water.

The weather was unusually warm and sunny, which was a pleasant change from the deep freeze of the past few months but had a horrible effect on the snow. Many times I would be walking along only to suddenly sink to my knee, or even to my waist. It made getting around very difficult, and limited our ability to go hiking.

The lake itself was gorgeous, with the constant wind scouring wide patches of glare ice. Near the shore you could gaze down through several feet of ice at the stones of the lakebed, but further out the lakebed fell away and there was only black. It was an eerie sensation to peer through the splintered ice into the depths, especially after nightfall.

As for the trapping, George showed the children how to make snares for lynx and how to set a muskrat trap out on the lake. Unfortunately we didn't catch anything, but it was still good to gain an insight into a way of life that has largely vanished.

Towards the end of the week I went for a walk out on the lake and was lucky enough to catch a wonderful aurora display. I stayed out there for an hour or so, watching long filaments of green unfurl across the sky in haunting silence. It is amazing to think that such sights are fairly commonplace for me now.

Later that night the wind picked up, howling in the trees and uprooting our tents. Sleep was out of the question, but there was little we could do aside from hunker down in our sleeping bags and try to wait it out. Luck was against us though, and even after sunrise it was still raging.

Our week in the bush wound down, and all too soon we had to clear our camp and head home. We don't have much time for a breather, though - next up is our trip to Trout Lake.

Bluefish Trail

On Monday morning we headed to Bluefish Lake for a week of fur trapping. The lake is about 25km from town as the raven flies, but to get there it was necessary to follow a circuitous skidoo trail along rivers and through the forest. The trail culminates at First Gap, a brief break in the chain of mountains that originates with Tthenaago and continues North deep into the Arctic. The lake is nestled at the base of this chasm, deep and dark.

The children were very excited about the trip, and by 11am we had assembled a squadron of skidoos, packed up all our gear, and headed out. The trail left town and stretched out on the Liard River following the same route I took when I hiked to the cliffs a few weeks ago.

It was a glorious morning, bright and sunny, and it was exhilirating to sweep along the ice at speed. It certainly beat toiling with my snowshoes! Instead of turning up the rockslide, however, the trail carried on to Swan Point. We followed the path of a frozen creek, sliding over glare ice before emerging at the cabin Raymond and Laura had built near the point. We dismounted for a brief break before moving away from the Liard and into the forest.

The trail became more difficult as we moved deeper into the woods, and it became a challenge to steer the skidoo with only inches of clearance on either side. I was driving a larger machine than what I was used to, packing twice the horsepower but lacking the maneuverability of its smaller cousin. In the end, though, I only tipped twice - I'll consider that a success! It wasn't all bad, either - occasionally the trail would widen and move into open groves of birch, and it was magical gliding between their silver trunks amidst the slanting shadows of early afternoon.

As we approached the lake, the trail began to climb. We left the birch and poplar and moved into stands of muskeg, with stubby spruce permitting views of the approaching mountains. Occasionally there would be glimpses of the verdant expanse of the Liard Plain stretching into infinity, and as always I was stunned by the immensity of a forest that extends all the way east across the territory to Nunavut and the barren lands.

After about two hours of hard riding, we finally reached Bluefish Lake. Roughly 2km long and 1km wide, winter has locked it under four feet of ice so it would be safe to explore. The Band maintains a cabin at its midpoint, and it was there that we would set up our camp. It's been a busy week, so there are more updates on the way. Stay tuned.