A friendly welcome

Wednesday, August 8, 2007

CARMACKS, YUKON — Through the door of our trailer I can see the mighty Yukon River flowing swiftly by. Carmacks is a small community about two-thirds of the way between Dawson City and Whitehorse, and it bears the name of one of the territory’s best known Gold Rush characters, George Carmack. It’s not clear how the "s" got added to his name, but there it is.
Our route today has followed the Yukon River most of the way. Sometimes it was unseen behind hills or bush, and at other times we looked down upon it from a great height, gliding through a wide valley circled with mountains. It’s a wide, full river, and the speed of the flow seems to confirm its majestic power.
When we went outside this morning, we could see our breath! It was only six degrees, and we had to run the furnace for a good 15 minutes to take the chill away. I had to get up in the night to put on another layer, even though we have a cozy down duvet. It’s only early August, but there are already signs that the summer has reached its peak and is on the downward swing. It only got to 17 degrees today.
The beautiful fireweed blossoms that painted roadsides with splashes of pinky purple throughout Alaska and the Yukon have bloomed all the way to the tops of most stems, leaving behind slim maroon-coloured pods that are now opening at the base of the plants to release gossamer-white threads. Soon these will take to the air, sailing on the breath of the wind, carrying seeds that will land and germinate next spring. Still, the pods provide a paler, darker splash of colour by the road.
Even when we were returning from Inuvik on the Dempster Highway, we noticed that some trees had begun to turn yellow — trees we were sure were green on the way up. We stopped today for a spell where some construction was going on, and the flag person told us that her boss had reported seeing a flock of geese headed south this morning! "Too soon!" she wailed.
Maybe the black bear we saw this morning, trotting across the highway and disappearing into the bush on the other side, was stepping up the pace of his berry picking to be sure he was fat enough for his long winter’s nap.
The many beautiful gardens in the Yukon and across Alaska may have a season that is short in days, but it’s incredibly long in hours. Flowers and vegetables grow like mad when the sun never sets, and near Fairbanks we saw cabbages in one garden as big as basketballs! It must be so rewarding for anyone with a green thumb, even though they can only exercise it for a few weeks.
This was our third trip along the Klondike Highway from Dawson to Whitehorse, and our timing was perfect for a third stop for lunch at the Moose Creek Lodge, a lovely log cabin with a bright red roof and delicious food. Two couples run the place — which includes cabins where people can spend the night — and the two women produce homemade soup, bread, wonderful squares and pastries and Val’s favourite, bison burgers. Our server recognized us right away and even remembered Val’s "usual" order! She greeted us like old friends and provided another delicious lunch.
At the cash, there’s a cooler where they advertise farm fresh eggs, so I asked if I could buy some. There were only three eggs in the cooler, so Maya, the chief cook, offered to go out back and see if the hen had laid any more. Off she went, and, after several minutes, she came back a bit flustered and out of breath — and empty handed! She said the hen wouldn’t get off the nest, and the whole time she was trying to get the eggs, she was being harassed by a dozen turkeys they also have on the premises! So, three eggs was all I could take away, but I’m sure they will be as tasty as the others we bought there before.
Aside from eggs and some homemade baking (which we were assured had no calories whatsoever), we brought away some more reading material. The lodge has a good selection of books for sale, all with themes of the Yukon or the north. This time we picked up a compendium of Jack London’s stories, including The Call of the Wild, and White Fang. He lived in Dawson, as did poet Robert Service, and Pierre Berton. Their books are on sale everywhere up here. I’m currently reading Tisha, the true story of a 19-year-old American girl who taught in a tiny school in Chicken, Alaska, and I also have I Married the Klondike, by Pierre’s mother Laura Berton, to read next. It’s always more interesting to read books like that in the proper setting! Val is into the thick of Alaska by James Michener, and finished Berton’s Klondike a couple of days ago. Peaceful evenings without television are good for that, we’ve found.