Brrr

Well, at least I'm a little warmer than this fellow...

Chimney Point

I spent the weekend out at Chimney Point, the spur of land where the South Nahanni merges with the Liard River. I was not the first to make camp there; archaeologists have found evidence of older campsites dating back centuries.

Saturday was bleak and cloudy, so after snowshoeing out to the point I spent the rest of the afternoon relaxing in my tent and catching up on some reading.

The night was chilly but far more comfortable than my last trip into the bush. The weather began to clear around midnight, revealing razor sharp stars and whisps of aurora. I slept well and woke to find dawn breaking clear and hard, giving way to brilliant blue skies with not a cloud in sight.


As the daylight strengthened I took advantage of the hardpacked snow to explore around the point and soak up the view.



Shortly after lunch the wind picked up, tossing thousands of ice crystals into the air and forming glittering rainbows that would coalesce and disperse in the same instant. All too soon it was time to go home, so I packed up camp and followed a fresh skidoo trail back to Nahanni.

Bluefish Creek

With the weeks sliding by I am trying to get out into the bush as often as I can. This weekend I decided to snowshoe up Bluefish Creek to try and gain access to the valley I found last May. I knew it was something of a longshot, as the distance is considerable and I really only had a day and a half of travel time, but any excuse to get into the bush is good enough for me.

On Friday I hitched up my sled and left in the early afternoon, heading a few kilometers up the river to where Bluefish Creek merges with the Nahanni. It was slow going. I had to break trail through deep powder, and to make matters worse I would often run into overflow. Overflow is one of the less pleasant consequences of living on the banks of a major river - the Nahanni never freezes entirely, but as the surface ice thickens the weight begins to squeeze water flowing underneath up and over the sides. This is often then covered by snow, so what you are left with is a half-frozen slush that is invisible until you stumble into it. For someone traveling on foot, this can be very bad. Whenever I hit a patch I had to stop and scrape the ice that quickly solidified on the base of my snowshoes and the runners of my sled, costing me precious daylight. All too soon the sun began to set and I hadn't even made it to the creek.

I eventually spotted its mouth, and then the next task was to find a good crossing point - while I am growing more familiar with ice conditions I still prefer to use established routes if I can.

Luckily there was a skidoo trail nearby, so I was able to use that before cutting back up along the riverbank to get to the creek. Before long I was following its winding path through the trees, although I was dismayed to find that conditions were even worse than during my aborted hike in December. The powder was deep, and even though I was carrying a relatively light load in my sled it was still very difficult.

As night approached I began to look for a place to make camp. The forest uniformly pushed to the edge of the banks but eventually I rounded a bend and found a fairly clear patch of ground. I pitched my tent and settled in.

As night closed in the temperature dropped steadily. It had been hovering around -30 all day, but now it was growing colder by the minute. A chinook was forcast for later in the weekend, but as things stood it was soon approaching -40. The next order of business was to get a fire going - and that was where the trouble started. I soon found that the place where I had set up camp must have been partially submerged by the creek during warmer months, because everything within easy reach was waterlogged and now frozen solid. As soon as I started a blaze they thawed and began to drip, drowning the fire before it could properly get going. To make matters worse, getting to useable trees required wading through drifts that came to my waist or higher. Had it been life-or-death I would have persisted, but as things were...I took a break and fired up my camp stove and make a meal. Or rather, I tried: plastic is noticeably brittle once it drops below -30, and to my dismay the air valve on my fuel canister snapped off.

I was now in an unpleasant situation: no fire, and no quick way to make a hot meal. Worse, the ache in my fingers had been replaced with a stinging numbness and I knew I was in danger of frostbite. I retreated to my tent to warm up, and considered my options.

Operating in deep winter requires a constant evaluation of effort vs gain. When you are working in severe cold you have to ration your energy, and minimize your exposure to the elements. In this case the lack of food was a concern - I had plenty of trailmix and granola bars, but your core temperature suffers when you can't stoke it with hot food. Starting a fire, though, would require felling a tree in very deep snow and risking frostbite. Was the meal worth it? If I were out in the bush for several days, the answer would be yes. When you are far from home, you can't afford to miss a hot meal. As things stood, however, I could just return to Nahanni in the morning. On balance, an uncomfortable night was a better option than the work and risks associated with starting a single fire.

I settled in and tried to sleep. I was cold but as long as I didn't move it wasn't too bad. Later on the clouds began to clear, and the snow shone under the glorious silver light of a full moon. I slept for about 6 hours, and woke to find Tthenaago edged with crimson light.

To warm up and strech out my aching legs I explored up the creek for about an hour or so. I found that I had grown much more comfortable with the profound silence and stillness, and in any case the regular latticework of moose tracks reminded me that I wasn't alone out there.

Sure enough, as the morning progressed the chinook did begin to blow and the temperatures climbed noticably. I was able to shed my parka as I headed back to camp, and set about packing for the hike home.

The journey was mercifully easier than it had been the day before - the trail I had broken had frozen overnight, providing much firmer footing and a smooth surface for my sled. The clouds closed in again, and after a few hours I was at the river crossing.

I made it home in the afternoon, fingers aching and face entombed in ice but otherwise none the worse for wear. I was annoyed by the setbacks, particularly the fragility of my stove valve, but otherwise pleased with my hike.

UFO Clouds

The deep-freeze continues, touching -45C today. High winds are battering the upper reaches of Tthenaago, blasting the snow from the trees and forming UFO-like clouds above its peak.

-52C

Temperatures have been plummetting across the Dehcho, and this morning Nahanni Butte was hit with a windchill of -52C. The sky does strange things when temperatures drop that low - weird clouds form and dissolve, and even the colours begin to change.

Sacred Headwaters

Today I am going to divert from my regular post topics to discuss an issue that is of great importance to me. In my home province of British Columbia there is a region known as the Sacred Headwaters, a stunning subalpine basin that births three major salmon-bearing rivers and contains one of the largest intact predator-prey systems in North America.

Photo Credit: Ben Huntington

Royal Dutch Shell is seeking to exploit the area and drill more than 1,000 coalbed methane gas wells. Strong opposition from the local population, including the Talhtan First Nation whose traditional territory includes the Sacred Headwaters, has resulted in a 2-year moratorium on development. This moratorium expires in 2012, however, so if this wilderness is to be preserved we must make our voices heard.

Please take a moment to send the letter below to Royal Dutch Shell and BC's Minister of Energy, Mines and Petroleum Resources asking to abandon plans to develop this incredible area.

http://org2.democracyinaction.org/o/5875/p/dia/action/public/?action_KEY=1444

Additional information, photography and resources are available at:

http://www.sacredheadwaters.com/
http://www.sacredheadwatersjourney.com/

Driving Home

I departed Yellowknife on Sunday morning. As we flew to Fort Simpson the view was mostly obscured by cloud, but every so often gaps would appear and I could catch stunning glimpses of frozen lakes sparkling on the plain below.

Once in Fort Simpson I spent a frustrating two hours trying to secure a ride back to Nahanni. Incredibly, it costs more to charter a taxi ($550) for the 3-hour drive than it does to charter a plane ($500) for a 45min flight. Luckily I was eventually able to hitch a lift with a friend from the Parks Canada office, saving both my money and my sanity.

The drive home passed without incident, with the Liard Highway being in surprisingly good shape. We were gifted with a beautiful sunset, and we pulled into Nahanni Butte just as evening had started to stain the mountains deep purples and blues.

Yellowknife Dump

No visit to Yellowknife is complete without a trip to the dump. Much of the larger bulk garbage is compacted and then shipped south for disposal and recycling, but there is also a designated salvage lot filled with old furniture, electronics, and other potentially useful things. The lot is smaller than it used to be, but if you are patient you can probably find whatever it is you're looking for. A popular hobby in town is to outfit your home with bits of dump furniture, and if you're especially creative you can even make new objects with artifacts salvaged from the lot.

Houseboats

One of the many things Yellowknife is famous for is its houseboat community. A dozen or so sit offshore from Old Town, ranging from small shacks to palatial barges and forming something of a floating suburb. During the winter the lake freezes over and it is possible to drive or skidoo out to them, but in the warmer months a commute to work requires jumping in your canoe.

Ice Caves

Today I walked across Back Bay to have a look at the ice caves. Minerals leaching from the rock has stained the ice a milky white, and the effect is stunning.

Happy New Year

It's 2011 at last!

To all my readers, friends and family: hope, love, and best wishes for the year ahead.