Dena Cho - Yukon Territory- Faro Part 2 February 2026

Below is a long story write-up of my second trip this Feburary 2026 in the Yukon Terrority of Canada, a short ski trip with Gale. I deceided to change things up and write in Gale's all-knowing point of view. Its quite a long read! I had fun writing it, hope you enjoy the read.

PS - I also recorded audio of the reading and put it to video footage of us on the trail, if you'd rather listen than read here it is:

https://youtu.be/jjdwLV5b0-U?si=_lAq03aE-m4ipv7h

Dena Cho Trail Story

It’s been snowing all through the night. While we drove, the headlights on the minivan bounced off each and every snowflake they illuminated. After a weekend of recoup at dog paradise in our friends yurt, we were preparing to take off on another trip. Except, Grace’s middle toe throbbed black and blue. An opportunistic puppy had discovered Grace’s icecream stored outside the front door in the snow. As soon as Grace heard a scrabbling outside, she came bounding off the couch, screeching barefoot through the door into the snow. Immediately she recoiled back indoors for her boots, her wet foot slid towards the wooden chest and crashed into with it with a crunch in her utter haste to rescue the creamy sweet decadence. It still throbbed. Yet, here we were prepping for another adventure just three days after returning from an arduous week long trip, without having eaten our ice-cream.

We had a weather window. If we wanted to get outside and explore more in the Yukon, this was our chance. There was a few days of temperatures that were not absolutely frigid. That is to say, each and every day had lows warmer than -30f. After that, the temperature was plummeting back to forty below or cooler. We were in Yukon, Canada and we were dead set on seeing the lands.

Grace assured me this trip we would be sleeping in cabins. We wouldn’t be sleeping in the tent these next few days. I wouldn’t get in the usual daily morning trouble of brushing the inner tent with my furr coat, unleashing the nights thick condensation onto Grace’s growling morning face. There were wood stoves in each cabin, we would dry out and warm up at night. Grace had brought along a hatchet and a small handsaw to collect wood. We were going to have a pleasant ski trip to follow our Canol Road trip last week.

Finally Grace pulled into a large open pullout, the snowflakes now fell gently now on the windshield as Grace crawled into bed. We slept across the bridge going into the town of Faro. In the morning, as Grace opened the van door, I jumped out into soft and plush snow. A fresh four inches lay across the lot. Grace started the cooker and boiled up some salmon for me for breakfast and she ate her powdered eggs. Then we loaded back up into the van and crossed over the bridge into Faro. The plow trucks were busy at work as Grace set out driving in circles around town figuring out where the trailhead was. Finally, after talking with some neighbors, we discovered the trailhead was down a hilly road. A road that was loosely maintained – meaning it was only occasionally plowed. We waited at this road for awhile for the plow truck to go down, and then learned that it probably would not for some time. She finally settled on parking on the road in front of a vacant house.

Morning had turned to afternoon while scouting for the trailhead. Finally, once we parked on the road, a flurry of activity burst forth as she pulled the pulk sled out of the minivan. The sleeping bag, pad, spare clothes, axe, stove, fuel all made their way to their proper place. Grace took out the foods and counted breakfasts, lunch snacks, and dinners for the both of us and put them in the rear of the sled. Each item has its place.

I was ready. I’d been coup’d up all morning long, regulated to the bed. Grace put my harness on and fastened the button beneath my rib cage. Down the road we would start for about 8 miles until we got to the trailhead. Grace picked up her hip harness for the pulk sled and I barked. I barked for I knew the time had finally come, for me to pull, and I was filled with joy and excitement, with expectation.

Without command, I started us on our way. Grace attached to me, and the pulk sled attached to her. The three of us set out on the snow covered road. The sun was shining and the day was fair yet cloudy still, enshrouded in white. Turning onto the road and following the tracks the truck had lain earlier we made good speed up and down the hills on the tire track.

Finally, we turned off the main road onto an old narrow mine road, then finally onto the Dena Cho trail. It was comforting to be hugged by the trees, on a proper trail just a few feet wide. A peace filled us, a wholeness one never feels on a wide road. We began with a hill.

On a hill, Grace is heavy. The pulk she pulls is heavy. If I stop pulling, sometimes Grace slides backwards. If I slack, Grace doesn’t have the strength to pull the pulk behind her. I dig my hindpaws into the snow. To go up, we must oppose gravity, it’s always pulling us down. My quads are huge. I’m only 50 pounds, and the weight behind me is Grace plus her sled. They are around 200 lbs.

We climbed the first hill of the trail and stopped to take a breath. Looking behind us, we could see the faint lines of the Pelly River Valley, enshrouded as they were by low laying clouds. Eagerly turning back to the trail, we began again. If only we had known what was before us, we might have with less eagerness stepped forward.

Yet, that is the glory of a new trail. The unexpected turns, the trials we will have to face, and the opportunities to be conquerors of the unexpected turns. It was not warm, it was not cold. Perhaps around 5f, a comfortable temperature to travel. The snow on the ground was unbroken, lofty. Beneath the fresh 4” laid a strong, solid base. Yet the fresh snow opposed forward travel, it seemed to increase the weight of the sled twofold. Grace’s ski’s slipped going uphills, as the snow was loose and not compact. The ski wax beneath her feet clung to loose snow, which slipped as she strode opposing gravity.

The uphills soon met their opposite, the downhills. With confidence Grace would follow me swinging around a 90 degree corner and then again would shoot down a short hill. Again, another sharp corner at the bottom. I’d hear Grace squeak and feel her crouch. Again, another downhill with another right angle, this one shorter and steeper. Again, a squeak, a crouch. She made it around the corner. Then I felt a jolt, the pulk sled reared its head, unwilling to obediently turn in the deep snow, plowed on forward, sending Grace off balance and Grace went billowing into snow.

Laughing, Grace would reappear. ‘Gale! I had that one, I made that corner, I did, I rounded it.” I think she laughs to try and put me at ease, or in relief that it was nothing serious. Grace flopped like a fish onboard a boat in the snow attempting to upright herself. She had herself in a pickle. Snug nicely in a bottomless pit, pulk poles over the skis and the pulk harness buckle tensioned so tight it was impossible to unbuckle. After some squirming to maneuver her upper body, she was able to unclip her belt, move the pulk poles, and allow her feet and skis which had been pinned by the pulk to move again. With much grunting, she was upright. Brushing the snow off, she was ready to go again. The next hill we came to, Grace had me stop, “stoooow” she murmured. It was yet again another 90 degree turn. She wanted to inspect what was coming this time.

A corkscrew downhill, one side a wall, the other side a gully. “I’m glad we stopped to look at this one Gale.” Grace said. I took off down the hill leaving Grace behind, as she had unhooked me. Looking up, I saw her. She wasn’t even going to try and walk this one. There she was, sitting on her butt. One ski in each hand. This hill called for a slide. The pulk sled was, unsurprisingly, attempting to travel off into the gully. That apparition always is trouble.

Grace came down on her butt, from top to bottom. “That’ll do it” she said as she straightened out the sled and called me back to reconnect our lines. For awhile, we were in a beautifully flat valley filled with trees, white and laden with fresh snow. Calm and peace was the rhythm as I pulled her slowly, step by step, through the magical valley. We then climbed up again to the edge of a cliff and followed a trail high above the river valley floor with clear views, had it been a clear day, valley below.

Soon too, this ceased, and now the hills began anew, fiercer than before. Up and down, down and up. Up and up, down and down. Up then down. Down then up. No ground was flat. Weaving and turning, the trail meandered. Grace was soon walking many of the hills with her feet. She had been vanquished too many times, attempting to climb up too steep a hill with her skis on and being pulled back down. With the fresh snow depth, her inability to get a good grip, and vertical steepness of the hills, I could not pull her up. And she could not get enough grip, even with the kicker skins on her skis, to climb up the hills.

On some of the steeper hills she even let me loose as she climbed them herself. She wasn’t able to keep up with me. She’d unhitch me and step up at her own pace. I’d oversee her progress. Left step, right step, pause. Breath to two. Left step, right step, pause. Breath to two. Her heartrate was that of a sprinter, her speed that of a rock rolling upstream. Over and over, through all the hills our muscles expanded, pushed. Our hearts pumped voraciously, hungry for oxygen unable to consume what we desired.

Slow and powerful was our progress. For power was required for each uphill. As soon as we got over one, we dropped down and began our climb again. Grace was slowing down. This first cabin was not even far, just 16 miles or so from the car. Yet, even though we had top-notch muscles for climbing, just coming off Canol Rd, infamous for its rolling terrain, our muscles ached for the intensity of the climbing was more than our muscles could handle. It was snowing again, white delicate flakes landing over our bodies.

Finally, thoughts started to come of dropping off before the cabin. Of setting up camp right here on the trail, cozy in the sleeping bag. We were tired. Yet, putting a picture of the cabin with a wood stove in our head, then contrasting that with getting out of the sleeping bag in the morning, gave us willpower to continue powering on.

A few more hills. Another break for water and trail mix. A few more hills, a break to pee. A few more hills, a break to breathe. With every step, we were getting closer. Though the distance is not far, her muscular strength was wearing out.

Finally, I saw it. Grace had already imagined it for the last two hours. The cabin, our imagination turned reality. “The Cabin!” Grace shouted aloud, pep in her voice. With renewed energy, we turned off the main trail onto the side trail leading to the cabin.

Small and sound the wooden beams appeared on the first cabin. I had not thought that 16 miles could wear us out so fully. Grace looked at the time – almost 6 hours to get here. It doesn’t sound like long. We’ve spent many a 12 hour day with much less effort. Grace’s quads were giving out. This workout was like going to the the gym and bench pressing max weight, then squatting max weight, over and over for 6 hours straight rather than jogging down the road talking to a friend for 12 hours. My quads were ready for rest too. Grace lifted the small metal latch on the plywood door and stepped inside the cabin. It was already after 8pm and her headlamp was shining, brightening the darkness. Here the wood stove was a sound metal barrel, a simple table in the middle of the room, a bunk, and two more benches fit for sleeping on. With practiced efficiency, she emptied the sled contents into the cabin and grabbed the handsaw, ready to go gather wood. We would be warm tonight.

Yet, as she readied her empty sled, she noticed me sniffing about at the back of the cabin, and with her skis on she went scouting out back. There, laying covered in snow against the back of the cabin, was a decent amount of wood, cut and split, ready to be used. Grace rejoiced! We could start a fire with this wood. We would start a fire immediately. And we did start a crackling fire.

The chores were not finished though. The cooker was started so Grace could immediately start melting snow into water for my meal. I always get fed first, although sometime it takes a long time at that! I have to wait for the cooker to get connected, primed, and for snow to be turned to water. Then my frozen meal meat, beef tonight, is hacked in pieces, placed into a pot, and hot water poured into it on the burner. It sits there for way too long, becoming unthawed. Then Grace adds the kibble and mixes it all together, adds some more snow and waits until its cool enough for me to eat. Then, I’m finally called over and told “eat.” I’m always voracious in the evening.

After that, the wood stove was burning hot, and the rest of the water could be melted on that stove. Grace continued to make trips outside for snow to melt, inflated her bed, prepared her meal of ramen noodles with sausage, and took off her boots and set them above the fire to dry. Finally, the water pot was full of water, wood kindling was made for the morning fire, both our bellys were full, and the lights were shut off. We went to sleep.

Sleep is wonderful. Morning came with its sunrise. Grace rose with a ruckus, with groaning as her muscles were activated. The fire was started again and the wood stove came alive. I ate some salmon and kibble. Grace ate her powered eggs and drank coffee. Then again she drank another coffee. “Just 7km to the next cabin, Gale, surely we can manage that!” Outside a couple fresh inches of snow had fallen again, our ski tracks from the day before had all but disappeared. Just faint traces that we had come this way, even though we had left a decent imprint blazing trail the day before.

With no hurry we started on the trail shortly after noon. There is a total of 4 cabins along the 68 km trail. We didn’t make a plan, just set out to see the lands and stay at whichever cabins. Again we had to plow a trail for the pulk sled to follow us. Just traveling the 7.6 km /4 ½ miles took us two and a half hours! On arrival, Grace dropped the pulk sled and picked up her backpack. She was not done yet! What was this maniac doing?

We were going onwards, scouting up the trail beyond the second cabin with just her backpack. Departing the second cabin, we had to scout out where the outgoing trail was. When we found it, it was covered with atleast 12” of fresh snow! It was deep. The local trapper from Faro sets a trail to this second cabin, then turns around. It lookked like nobody had been past in awhile. Good thing we left the pulk sled at the second cabin. I made a trail for Grace, who I also pulled along on her skis.

It was another white day. On this long deep trail the boughs of the spruce and birch bent often barring the way. We were deep in the woods with tall trees towering above us. I’d duck under spruce and Grace would come to a halt, shake the tree, and release it from its burden of snow. Sometimes she could duck under, and the snow would come falling down on her. Or on us. We both became white and soaked. The heat of our bodies melting the snow upon our bodies. It wasn’t that warm out, its just our bodies were radiating heat, we were stoked furnaces, with the physical effort of breaking trail. After another two hours, we turned around and got back to camp in half the time. Having a trail broken out makes a big difference.

In the evening Grace leaned over the creek and collected water from the flowing creek. Its delightful to not drink water with spruce needles and tree pieces. This second cabin was situated in a grove of tall evergreen trees that reached high into the sky. It was nestled down by a creek and we could hear the flowing water interrupting the usual silence of deep winter.

Night came, we drank and ate, and went to sleep. Outside, I kept hearing noises. Thump bump. Thump. Thump rump. Grace looked out the windows and went back to bed. Grace got back up and looked out the door for any visitors. Thump thump. It wasn’t until the morning I finally put it together, the wind had been blowing high above and the towering trees all around us were shedding their white blankets, dropping snow all around the cabin.

The next morning, Grace decided we might as well go back on our ski trail that we had put in without a pulk and push a little further see whats around the next bend, perhaps check out the third cabin. We soared on our ski trail up up and pushed out further, soon were were in a swamp with spindly spruce and Grace decided to turn around and head back.

So I turned around happily, eager not to be blazing a deep trail anymore. Down we soared back to cabin two, stopped to have a snack and fill our water bottles one last time from the creek. Then Grace started to load the sled, and it seemed she decided to head back to cabin one. It shouldn’t take us long, since we just put in the trail, it was only a short 4.5 mile trip back to cabin one.

The first thing we did was climb a short hill. Yet, that hill we had came in upon was filled afresh with snow. As we rose higher, the trail was filled with even more snow. The wind that was thumping overnight had also been blowing snow onto this trail, a ridge trail which was more exposed. Grace promised this would be a quick trip back to cabin one.

Yet, the sled seemed heavier than before on our way out. It seemed to claw at the ground and resist movement. The hills had grown overnight, vertical and steep. There was no sign that we had traveled this way just the day before. My paw-prints were gone. Just 7.6 km…

How fast does water boil when you’re staring at it? Very slowly. Time slowed down for us here too. It took us 3 hours, not more than an extra hour from when we had come this way. Yet, our expectation for a quick and easy 4 ½ mile run was upset. We can run 4 ½ mile in a half hour on a straight flat glidey trail. How could it be that this took us upwards of 3 hours?

With this thought, thoughts of the return ski back to Faro became to haunt her. The effort that went into skiing 4 ½ miles required every muscle to beat at full power. Grace’s heart was beating at 180 beats per minute to get us up the hills. And I could see Grace was brewing a crazy thought…

When we got to the cabin, Grace dropped her pulk sled and threw the contents inside. She picked up her backpack, and said “Gale, its 7:30 in the evening. If we want to ski out of here tomorrow without dying, without our heart bursting out of our chest, we need to set a trail.”

Grace loaded her backpack into the otherwise empty sled and hooked herself up. “Just a short ways, an hour or two.” And we were off again. Grace seemed to fly without the pulk sled. She was light of foot. She bursted with energy and I met that vigor, we soared down the trail. Up the hills we flew and around each and every downhill we soared, bending down the trail like water down a river. There was no tree that got in our way. The hills cowered as we met them. With glee and glamour Grace followed my lead. She seemed to be laughing, giggling as she rushed down the hills and roaring as she climbed back up. She was acting quite strange.

Finally, we came to a steep downhill. Grace looked at her watch, she said its time to head back, but I’m having so much fun. Lets just keep going alittle bit further. Grace slid down while I waited at the bottom, and over countless hills we soared until we got to the flat valley.

Grace asked me “well, should we turn around now? No, if we lay a trail through here, it will help us on our exit tomorrow.” Eventually, we got back to the initial hilly section. If we turn back now, we’ll not have a trail here either. So on and on we went, until we went over every major hill. We went on and on until we got back to where the trail just about connected with the mine road. It was good and dark now. Well past headlight hour. Delighted to have made such a trail, we turned around to go back to the cabin. It was now past 9 pm, as we turned to return. We’d make even quicker time now we had a brand new trail.

We went down and around the hills, and in the flat valley I heard a thump. Grace craned her neck back to see what it was, probably just snow falling off a tree again. We continued on. Yet, as suddenly as Grace’s energy had burst forth, with that same suddenness Grace crashed. Not into a tree, not into the snow, not onto the the trail. No, she just crashed in the middle of the trail standing up. Her legs wouldn’t move anymore.

She no longer could climb the hills. She had worked up a sweat in her vigor, in her insanity and desire to set a trail, knowing she had a cabin to dry out in. Yet now, her body was cooling down and she was starting to feel the cool dampness on her against her hot skin. With her eyes rolling back into her skull, she said “Gale, I must stop. I will eat and drink something.” She ate a handful of nuts and drank some warm lemonade from her thermos.

We began again, Grace stepping forward, slowly. On the steeper hills she had resigned to taking off her skis, unable to generate the force to power up them even with a near-empty pulk sled. If I’m allowed to say this out loud, she was weak. A weakness from over-exertion. She had used up everything inside her, enchanted by her idea of setting a trail, and now she stood, void.

I was now the responsible one for bringing us home. I didn’t want to sleep in the snow. I knew the cabin was still two miles out, two miles without a single flat step. There was nothing in our sled but our backpack, our sleeping bag and food was all in the cabin. We weren’t going to sleep here in the snow. If Grace slept in the snow here, it would be her final resting ground, covered in sweat as she is. A pleasant place to lay and sleep no doubt, forever watched by the towering trees and animals of the woods. Yet, I wanted to lie and sleep by the fire. I wanted a good big supper. I wanted to keep on running.

As Grace looked vacantly from left to right, stopping to breathe, I barked my command. Move. Move, and do not stop. She looked at me, her eyes narrowing and head straightening out from being tilted to the side. As if coming out of a daze, she took a step forward. I barked and pulled her and she followed slowly. Her heart rate rising and falling with the hills, I tugged her onwards.

While the miles were short, the steps were many, as we climbed up the emperor state building, down the Eiffel tower, and over mount Everest. I kept on my tug, adamant on getting back with a bit more speed than Grace was moving. She followed, slowly, with body cool now and the clammy feeling between her and her clothes. With a mile to go, Grace stopped.

She pulled out her GPS. She looked at what I already knew – one mile left. She murmured: “How can it be that we traveled so far from the cabin, and that we haven’t yet gotten back to it.” One mile to stay alive through the night, that is all we must do.”

“Of course you silly girl” I barked. What mood has shrouded your judgment? Lets keep moving back to the cabin, where the kindling is already made ready inside the wood stove. Where all you must do is strike a match and warmth enshroud you. Grace said “I am warm, warm.”

I barked again. She’s losing it! Lets get moving. Grace looked back to me and nodded her head, “yes, master Gale.” You lead and I will follow. And then, we set forward again. I pulled with all my might. I tugged her up those hills with my massive quads. I dug my hindfeet deep into the snow and heaved her around the bends. She followed, letting routine and habit carry her forward. We did not stop now. Grace’s eyes had ceased staring for the cabin which never appeared. She had already bore her eyes out looking for it too early. Now, she looked at my tail, and my legs, which pulled her forward.

And then, suddenly, there the cabin was. Patiently waiting for us right where it had been when we left it. It hadn’t moved or jumped off the cliff. It hadn’t ran away. It stood there, awaiting our return. I brought Grace right to the front door, where Grace had now a smile on her face, relief.

She dropped the pulk sled, went back and pulled out the backpack. Yet, as she went to unzip the pulk bag, she noticed something she hadn’t noticed before. A lump. A big white lump. A pile of snow. A thump of snow. Back in that valley when she heard and felt a thump, a delivery had been made. A spruce tree had delivered a large parcel of snow to the pulk sled. Grace had been pulling 15 lbs of snow in the sled. Good riddance! No wonder those hills seemed so indomitable. Yet, the real culprit was still Grace’s muscular weakness, put upon her by herself, from her fae sprint.

No use worrying about that lump of snow now. We’re back at the cabin, and life is dandy again, the danger is past. Its past midnight. Its time for bed, but still tasks to do. Grace threw some gasoline from the cookstove on the kindling and lit a match for a quick firestart. She readied my meal, and prepared rice and beef for herself.

She inflated her mattress, pulled out her sleeping bag, changed from wet socks in ski boots to dry socks in mukluks. She put her gloves out to dry. We both were tired and went straight to bed. Yet, Grace kept rolling about. She was now too hot, she’d step outside. Then, curl up in her bag. Then, after rolling around she’d be on top her bag. She didn’t stop moving about, unable to rest. Me? I slept and was only disturbed by the Grace whose incessant motion I ignored. Finally, all was quiet.

Morning came and Grace popped up. Sore to move, yet she waddled about doing the morning things – kindling the fire, adding snow to the pot, putting my meaty meal on the stove to thaw. I watched her from my bed. I was sleeping in as is my right.

The power of a nightly refresh is astounding. Hydrated and fed, we were both feeling good. It now seemed yesterday was of no consequence, another adventure and wild idea. As Grace was drinking her third cup of coffee, looking at her ski boots, we heard a rumbling.

Machines. Grace jumped up and threw her boots on. Outside were three machines, and three men. “Hello” said a man. “Hi!” Grace replied. This is the first human sighting since we took off, there has been no travel on this trail since we started. Yet, I had seen signs of a trapper and his trap right off the trail, so I was not surprised to see someone.

“You okay?” He asked. “We didn’t see any tracks heading in, but found tracks in the middle.”

Grace replied “Yeah, I was concerned my heart would give out had I to pull my pulk sled through unbroken snow on the way back. So last night I went out and set myself a trail.”

 “Wow, you’re tough.” “Is your dog okay? He asked “I have some traps right along the trail. I was really concerned until I got here and saw your dog running around.” Grace replied: “Yes, Gale saw the traps, she ignored them. I whistled her by. I could smell the bait too.”

“Want me to take them down?” He asked “Theres a foot snare beneath the head snare”

“No.” Grace replied. “Gale was not interested in them. We passed them by without a problem earlier. Leave them up.”

“Okay, we’re headed out to cabin two then we’ll round back. Want me to haul your pulk back?”

“No” Grace astoundingly replied. “I’ll get a start and will wave you down if I have any issues on my way back. I’m getting packed up then I’ll leave here soon.”

With that, they left. Grace hurried now, wanting to get on the trail and see how well she could haul her pulk again. I think she held onto an inkling of thought that perhaps she might throw our gear into the empty trailer they were hauling.

Yet, once we hit the trail, we powered up those hills. Again, the night had refreshed both our muscles and with full bellies and the sun high in the sky, the obstacles didn’t seem so ominous as they had in the darkness of the night. We’ve learned not to complain to ourselves of hills. We look at them and let them exist. Grumbling does not diminish their size. Although, Grace does indeed grumble about having to take her skis off when she has to walk. Yet, on this morning she didn’t have to walk. The packed snow from the machines allowed her to get a grip with her skis. This, combined with my raw strength, and max effort from her pectoral muscles pushing against the surface with her ski poles, we were able to get up the hills.

The convenience of a packed trail cannot be underestimated. Even I was amazed at how much easier the trail was to travel on. It was our easiest day of travel pulling the pulk. Admittedly, the prior days had all been very very strenuous. So, it wasn’t “easy” but more like “manageable.” This day, Grace did not have the thought of sleeping in the snow. In fact, those very thoughts were alien, that she had even thought those thoughts seemed odd.

Travel on the packed trail was so pleasant. My paws get better grip. The skis can cling to the snow better. The pulk has less resistance. The snow that had fallen fell at cool temperatures, so the individual flakes do not adhere to each other. It was a dry snow, not glidalcious, yet the snow hadn’t been pulverized completely by the wind in the trees. The snow maintained some surface which we could glide over, albeit slowly.

The snow machiners came up behind us as we were heading over the last the first of the major hilly sections. We finished climbing the hill we were on and then Grace “hawed” me off to the left side as we got ourselves off the trail on a downhill, allowing them to pass. We waved and they disappeared into the distance, the rumbling fading back to silence.

I climbed up again to an exposed ridge where the wind had hit hard, and the trail too was hard. It was pretty up there over the river valley, still masked in clouds. Then we were dropping back down and entered the flat valley – where the thump of snow had joined our sled the night before. We moved right along.

After we got back to the next hilly section, Grace was unable to climb those hills anymore. The snow was more loose. It turns out, that the snowmachine going downhill had packed down the trail. Yet, when the snowmachines went back up, the snow was churned up behind them. It felt looser beneath our feet. Grace was slipping. She had to take her skis off and walk these hills.

I wonder how well our trail from the night before setup. We went to great discomfort and loss of sleep to put in that trail, yet we never saw it. The snow machines being so heavy, they certainly packed it down good for us. After the last of the big hills were over, Grace stopped.

She found some fish and dumped them from a bag. I ate them. Grace had some more nuts and water. While we had only just completed half the mileage to get back, the next section would go faster being on the roads with a much firmer base of snowpack.

On reaching the main road, we were very glad that we had not driven the minivan this way. There had been no vehicle traffic, no plows, and the road was covered with fresh snow beneath windblown snow. The minivan would have been quite certainly stuck. We traveled up and down the hills of the road, then the road became full of water. Water had come over the road pushed up from the swamps from the new snowload. We got up on the side of the hill and skirted it easily. The minivan would have been verrrrry stuck.

We got back to town. The city bells rang. The crowd went wild. As Grace and Gale quietly ski’d back into the populated place, all was silent. Unnoticed, we went to our car. It was plugged in! The neighbor I talked to before I left had put an extension cord out to my vehicle. How kind. When we got back to the car, it was 0 degrees. The entirety of the trip was lows of -20f and highs of 5f. Typically around 0f during the day. We never saw the sun. We still had one entire’s day food store left in the pulk sled when we got back. Grace had thought about staying an extra day, but the forecast she had looked at the before we departed said it was going to get real cold…

We’re glad we got back. As night fell, the stars came out, and the temperature plummeted. The vehicles thermometer showed --. It had bottomed out. That night, it was some -40 to -50 below. Brr, that is cold. But we were not. We were warm, tucked in a cold minivan. We brought back an immense respect for the pioneers who traveled the land in the cold temperatures, who always had to set their own trails, and didn’t have cabins to stay in through the night. They were tough, tougher than I can imagine.