Canol Road - Part One - Yukon, Canada
- Mar 15
- 13 min read
There are hardships past over, not reckoned. There are glories soaked and absorbed, transformed and forgotten. A struggle of a moment glazed over, a momentary blimp in the timeline.
There is a life and a will for living. We are creatures of movement and breathing. Yet when our time comes, the land too will do as it has done before, take us back into her fold. She will watch and hold silent her stories, the tales beneath the arctic sun.
85 miles out, 170 miles out and back. 5 nights, 6 days.
Forecast: Starting day at 17f/ 13f trending cooler to 0f/-18f a couple days later, then getting warmer -2/-14f the last day.
Start and End: Johnson's Crossing, a couple hours drive from Whitehorse, Canada
The Canol Road in Yukon Canada was made for Grace and Gale by the toil of some 20,000 men with the plan that it’d pump oil for world war two airplanes during world war two. The pipeline never oiled out, and the land is left with a rough road.
Being on a road took the “adventure” down a few notches – as we don’t have to worry about finding the trail. Its easy to spot the wide clearing through the trees. These mountains is a meeting place for high and low pressure fronts, the snow here was unfathomably deep, the deepest I’ve seen anywhere this season. Standing on the trail, my knee’s were about in line with the stop sign on the trail. That’s snow you can swim in!
I timed my trip with the completion of an ultra race, an event of runners and skiers who traveled the trail and the event groomers with grueling efforts on snow machine maintained a trail for participants. Last year, there was a 300 mile sled dog race on the road, which put it on my radar. Thus, the beginning of my race began with a hard packed trail, one you could walk on without sinking.
Gray and low hung the clouds over the land. After our two day roadtrip from Alaska, I slept at the trailhead in my minivan-camper. It was so warm and cozy when we woke up, 15f. The night before we had a -30f night in Tok before crossing the border. It’s more difficult to sleep with a cold nose.
With the toil that goes into prepping the minivan with all the gear and food for the trip, I find great satisfaction in pulling the goods out of the minivan and loading it into the pulk sled, reckoning the days of food and fuel that we’ll consume. With all of the trips I’ve done, packing the sled has become routine and items have their place. In lieu of a list, I look from top to bottom of the sled and check the presence of the items. I packed for 6 nights and 7 days. A good haul.
Slightly snowing we began. The fresh snow laying on the trail about an inch thick allowed us to glide uphill with relative ease. We knew there were hills on the road. Big hills. Unending hills, and so began our trip, going uphill for some 5 miles. A simple day filled with climbing and rolling hills. Upon reaching the top a wide open area allowed us to see the creases and folds of the land. Day turned to night and soon we were searching for a place to set up camp and went to bed.
A strange light serenaded us in the middle of the night. A bouncing light was reflecting off the walls of the tent. Silence and wavering light, what could it be but a dog team? Multiple streaks of trail had run down this portion of the road, and I had set up tent on the outer edge of the trail. The dogs, curious to my setup, also were bent on checking out my tent. I hopped out of the tent and called the leaders over to the other packed trail on the road, which they then switched lanes and the two dog teams passed on by with the mushers giving their greeting.
The next day similar to the first, another day of traveling. Being on a road, there was bridges over creeks and rivers. We didn’t have many of the trail challenges native to other trails. No overflow or glare ice, no vertical bluffs or tight turns, no fear of a trail blockage by a tree around an unseen corner. While I may say we moved with ease, for the distance traveled we did move with ease. There was no stressors, just simply unending long hills which required steady power output to climb. Up and down throughout the day we moved, breathing in the clear air. In the afternoon, the mushers who passed me the first day passed me on their way back, along with their snowmachine support team. This is the last humans I saw for the remainder of the trip. I also went and checked out a friends arctic oven that she uses for training her dog team on campouts, a tent with a wood stove in it. I skiied by it, and thought maybe on the way back I can stay here if needed, but for now its such mild temperatures, I much prefer my tent!
The glory days of spring are upon us! I thought of all the places I will go on my skis, and how I will no longer desire to sleep in my cabin or a building. The warmth of the tent will sustain us. We’ll choose camping spots with the best views. We’ll get home and travel the entirety of the Iditarod trail, then we’ll go ski the Kobuk 440, and then we’ll ski around Alaska! The whole north was ours to travel as the warmth of the spring soaked our bones, for we felt the invigorating force of the sun and we felt the power of our muscles and strength of our heart which allowed us to navigate up up and up over the moon.
The third day, I decided to travel short, to leave morning camp late after sunup and set up evening camp as the sun set over the ridge. Intimidated by the consistent up and down climbing, awakening sore muscles, and the unalterable fact that I had to turn around and face those hills again, sent apprehension and unwillingness to push further out. A small blister on my heel formed the first day, and while I treated it and it was not getting worse, I know full well how a tiny little blister can be utterly crippling. Caution here will prove a safety net for your food and fuel supply.
An out-and-back while the easiest logistically to manage, forces me to return on the same trail I set out upon. This might seem favorable: you know what you’re getting into – no. I am no longer living in bliss dealing with new and fresh challenges, yet dealing with that which I climbed over once again.
My fourth day I rose, the winds flapping my tent. Where had the nice weather gone? This was my fun-day. My day to ski out without a pulk sled, just with my day-backpack and Gale, to speed through the lands! Yet, it was not so cold. The clouds again hung low, our tent covered with a skim of snow flapped gently in the wind. Well, we took an easy day yesterday – to ensure we had energy for our day trip, so might as well make the best of it! Views of mountains or simply white fog, it is what it is.
The trees which enclosed us for the vast majority of the road now hugged us less close, allowing us to see further over our shoulders. We were now traveling in a more narrow mountain valley, the peaks on our left and right. Rose river and open water traveled along beside us in the low sections. We continued the incessant rise and fall of the land, the blue sky opened up, and too the wind.
When we turned around, the wind was blowing gently but surely, cool yet not piercing. Our ski tracks filled in flush to the trail, our glide was gone. Returned was the coarse windblown snow. Although I hauled no pulk sled, our speed seemed like we were. The clouds above raced at awesome speeds, zipping through the sky as if on an important mission. I'd try to break in the sun, or capture a picture of light, for it to be immediately shadowed in cloud, changed moment by moment. Step by step we returned back to our tent, which sat awaiting our return. I went to bed, listening to the wind and the occasional plop of snow from a tree dropping its heavy load of snow. Morning came, cooler than before.
My easy half-day plan earlier had been made so that I could return back to my friends arctic oven tent in mind, which I later measured as a 29 mile ski. My “normal” ski is about 30 miles, condition dependent. This is what I did, and boy! I am glad.
This was the “coldest” night predicted on the forecast I had looked at the day I left, with a low of 0f. Yet, I knew already that the night before was probably at -15f. When I arrived at the arctic oven, the sun had just set over the ridge which still gave me 1-2 hours of waning daylight. There was five pieces of firewood. Enough for a warm evening fire, but not enough for the morning. I had a hatchet I used to hack Gale’s frozen meat into pieces which I put on a pot and unthaw in warm water. Using this hatchet, I walked over, while on my skis, to a headless tree about my height and chopped it down. I then bucked it up into 4 pieces, giving me a morning fire. While the hatchet isn’t the right tool for the job – this took perhaps 15 minutes each time to buck up a single piece – it did what was necessary. And also kept me quite warm while hacking away at the tree. A morning fire is quite luxurious and worth the effort! This also allowed me to leave two good sized pieces of wood and ample kindling, in case another freezing soul unbeknownst to me came by.
Later in the evening, I heard the snapping and cracking of trees and branches. I ran out for snow to melt. I ran out to pee. I ran out for snow to melt. The temperature was plummeting. The air was cold, and I had a warm place to be. That was all there was to it. What are some of the greatest joys in ones life? Opening Christmas presents as a kid, getting proposed to, whatever they are – this will fit in as one of mine. Immense joy and appreciation of this arctic oven so aptly placed, unlooked for and so generously provided.
Yet, for the first time ever I woke up around 5 am with cold feet. Even when camping out before in -36 my feet would stay warm with Gale in my -40f sleeping bag. It really must be cold, but that didn’t matter, for I had morning wood! After rolling around for a half hour, I decided I might as well start the day early as it was and make a nice fire, drink my coffee, feed the Gale, and get moving. Despite starting the routine at 6 am, I didn’t make it moving on the trail until 1045 am! It was cold outside. And so, when I went out – I think well I’ll have another cup of coffee. I’ll have a fig bar. I’ll eat a piece of chocolate with this coffee. I’ll massage Gale. I’ll catnap for 15 minutes. And the time moved forward until the sun had warmed the land amply for a fully operational GnG. And it was cold, yet the sun shone through. We had to cover our nose for the downhills we could feel the windshield biting our nose off, and we knew it was frostburn if we left it exposed. The tears poured from our eyes.
Without a thermometer, I didn’t think about the temperature outside. It doesn’t need to be known, what needs to be known is – is my fingers warm, are my toes warm, is Gale warm, are we fed and hydrated, are we sweating into our clothing with so many layers? Cold is cold, thats all there is too it. No need for drama. Thank goodness the wind was calm.
Later after arriving back to civilization – I heard people in town at the gas station talking that day, how cold it got! -40 here, -46 there. That’s colder than I had anticipated, yet not colder than I carry for. Yet, on that very night I glided to my friends arctic oven tent, the providence that provides!
Yet, on this final day, which I had intended not to be my final day – for I had planned to camp out after about 30 miles and finish the last 15 the next day. I began with good spirits, yet I felt I was moving slow. The landmarks of my head, they were transformed with the wind and snow that had fallen. I remembered certain creeks being only short distances apart. Yet, when I traveled back, the distance between creeks were long and slow, they were far apart. My mind was not computing the distances traveled. Time was ticking slowly, where as an outbound travel time whizzed by. This converted into fear and anxiety – I only had food for one night and one day – now I was traveling so slow, what was wrong? Why weren’t we moving with any speed? No way to move faster – we must regulate our temperature and not sweat. Of all thoughts, that was most critical. Moisture regulation in this extreme environments. Do not stress so much nor push so hard where sweat forms.
We no longer fashioned stories of the trees looking at us traveling by, making stories of the traveling duo. We didn’t look for treebeard to walk across the trail. We looked forward with focus and intention, for the fun had fled. Mistakes or miscalculations now lead to a loss of toes or fingers, high stakes and high focus. No one was out on this trail, not at these temperatures. It was Grace and Gale who put us out here, and Grace and Gale who would take us home.
Those silly thoughts of spring, all we wanted now was a cup of hot tea and a warm cabin above us. Winter had settled down. Yet, with these anxious thoughts and creeping time, reassurance was there. We have what we need to settle down another night. We have all the gear to stay plenty warm and a good tent. We have fuel for a fire, as long as we can function our fingers to get it all together. Do not let your fears rob you of your enjoyment. Let it be and travel onwards.
I looked and looked, waiting for my first camp. I thought we would arrive to it by 3 or 4 pm. Yet, by 5 pm we still had not gotten to it. I was utterly confounded. I knew we were traveling slow, but not that slow. While I didn’t track the miles at the time , it was 19 miles. We were traveling at about a steady 3 mph. 18 miles in 6 hours, with some breaks, that makes 7 hours. Around 6 pm, Gale pulled off to the side on a hill. She told me this was our camp, yet I did not recognize it. I urged her on-by, there was no sign of our camp. Yet, I believe now this was it, and our earlier camp presence was eradicated by the winds and snow. So, onward I pressed, telling Gale that we will atleast get to our first day camp then rest.
We went up and down hills, I ate and drank, snacked food, added a coat, and would unendlessly stop at bottoms of hills and rewax my skis to get us up. On repeat we traveled up and down. Up became up. Down became down. Thoughts came and went, they also don’t stick long. Just the thought of moving, of taking another step. There’s no use in complaining to the self, or agonizing. Just do the steps required to move forward. Towards the first camp, I kept saying to myself, unwilling to recognize the earlier signs. Yet, as I climbed up and down some shorter and steeper hills, and the land became more open, I had a premonition. This was terrain I had seen on my first day. It was open. It was not good for camping, yet it was first day terrain. It had to be. Onwards for another hour and I saw some trail markers, markers I had seen on the first day. Now, I knew my memory was falliable. I was not always right. Gale was right, and had told me. Now, we are not only slightly past our first camping spot, we are significantly past our first camping spot.
You may wonder, why didn’t you just pull out the map earlier and check how far you had to go to your earlier camping spot? Hah! Why would I rely on technology when I have such a great memory for where I've been. I believed I would undoubtedly recognize my camping spot. What would my map tell me, except that I must go further? Thus, the map would be an unnecessary action. I relied instead on my keen and infallible intuition, stubborn as I am.
So now, I stopped again, with full realization that I had traveled far. I felt the anxiety and stress of the day ripple off my thoughts and my spine decompressed, lightened. I was not creeping along at 0.5 mph. No longer stressed – I had long passed that first night we had camped, some 10 miles back. I was not as slow as a snail wallowing in a mire. I would not perish on this trail, frozen and desolate.
I ate some food and gave Gale some more fish. She ate it and closed her eyes, waiting for me expectantly to walk to the pulk sled and pull out her sanctuary, our tent and her sleeping bag. Yet, instead I ate from my bag of nuts, and I asked Gale what we should do. We can set up camp and be in bed in 2 hours, or we can ski for another 3 to 4 hours and be back at the car. This way, we can avoid having to wake up and extricate ourselves from the cold sleeping bag while ice falls down our back.
So I zipped back up the sled, buckled up my waist belt, hooked Gale up to the line, she opened her eyes and lunged forward, heaving me with great strength. With quiet awe that brings tears to my eyes, she heard the plan and trusted my decision. Onward we marched with slow yet steady progress.
Our inner turmoil created in myself from the perception that we were traveling slow, and I’d never get to the trailhead even after camping out a night and of travel full day. Yet, when I realized my mistake of thought, stress was gone and only toil left, that I knew how to conquer.
We got to the car at midnight – 13 hours for 44 miles = about 3.8 mph average. The last five miles was graciously downhill, remember that five mile uphill we started with? We remembered that. At the car, I started the cooker, melted some snow, and got Gale her meal. I drank a pan of melted snow, ate some crackers, we both went to sleep tucked away in our sleeping bags. Glorious sleep and rest for the weary.
Dangerous scary? Quite possibly, with the wrong choices.
And what a great challenge to come out of, a challenge of survival.
And I want to go back – and I will.
Comments