Bug Camp, Erebia Creek, Yukon 1987
Helicopter arriving from Inuvik. Logan tents are the large white tents in the photo.
Helicopter arriving from Inuvik. Logan tents are the large white tents in the photo.
Entomologists, Acarologists and me, Erebia Creek Camp, Yukon. Note: most wearing bug jackets
Entomologists
We are at co-ordinates 67N, 138W, which turns out to be a valley in the shadow of the White Mountains in the Yukon Territories, but here in midsummer there are no shadows. I’m sitting in a tent with a group of mostly Canadian entomologists — a Logan tent. Named after Sir William Edmund Logan, a Canadian geologist in 1875, it was designed specifically Mount Logan’s notoriously awful weather. This one is made of white canvas, with intricate flaps and folds and white rope knotted ingeniously. Who sews these beauties? If the sewing instructions are as intricate as the erection ones, God help new seamstresses in that factory. The Logan has become a focus for our group, a last resort when it’s too cold, too buggy or too lonely in our individual homes. It’s like a church, or a medieval round tower in our tiny encampment.
Around the card table, seated on metal stacking chairs are seven Entomologists. They have the sweaty concentration of long-distance poker players. In front of each is a cigar box studded with pins of assorted sizes, miscellaneous jars, old photographic film containers, plexiglass boxes, and pastille tins. There are battered notebooks — buttock-shaped or chest-shaped depending on the pocket they nestle in throughout each day of the hunt. The sweet, pungent smell of Elmer’s glue is trapped inside the tent together with the insects, most of which are dead. A few live ones crawl aimlessly up the walls of their prisons, their escape stopped short by a crumpled wad of paper at the opening. The other live insects are the ever-present mosquitoes. These manage to penetrate our Logan fortress, a tent that can repel hundred mile an hour winds. We have the insect netting down which is ironic. It serves (ineffectually) to keep only one species out, and yet there are hundreds of species inside.
Mike’s box looks like an aircraft carrier, an aviation museum or an airplane junkyard. A neat row of butterflies fills the middle of the box, pinned in simulated flight. Like piles of lumber stacked vertically, each according to size, insect pins lie against one side of the box. The ‘catch of the day’ are piled in another corner. They look like black rubbish, these twenty or so dead insects. Eventually he will pull them out individually, spear each one expertly and slide it half way down the shaft of a pin. These insect kebabs are held against the light and each leg carefully arranged to best advantage. Heavy breathing is the only accompanying sound.
The ritual continues. A fly is passed from person to person, the pin stabbed in each person’s box to anchor it for better examination. What we of the outside call a fly, these Entomologists have many names for. The language is complex, and even to someone familiar with Latin, there’s little rhyme or reason. I marvel at their eyesight in this dim place as they discuss patterns of wing venation, never thinking of using a magnifying glass.
The rows of insects in each box lengthen, each skewer finally and firmly anchored for an eternal existence. These insects will never know a more glorious or gregarious time as now, being admired and discussed, hoarded like trophies, swapped like baseball cards, or given away as precious offerings.
I sit and watch. The lines grow, the fleet is filling out. to the left the Harrier jets, to the right the F-16s, and in the middle the helicopters. Too small to pin, more winged beauties with tiny waists are cinctured with glue. Some rest on platforms half way up a pin. Others are tethered to the pin directly. A quick blow of air from a reverential mouth. It dries the glue and at the same time fixes the insect forever in a semblance of take-off. One last frozen attempt.
We are at co-ordinates 67N, 138W, which turns out to be a valley in the shadow of the White Mountains in the Yukon Territories, but here in midsummer there are no shadows. I’m sitting in a tent with a group of mostly Canadian entomologists — a Logan tent. Named after Sir William Edmund Logan, a Canadian geologist in 1875, it was designed specifically Mount Logan’s notoriously awful weather. This one is made of white canvas, with intricate flaps and folds and white rope knotted ingeniously. Who sews these beauties? If the sewing instructions are as intricate as the erection ones, God help new seamstresses in that factory. The Logan has become a focus for our group, a last resort when it’s too cold, too buggy or too lonely in our individual homes. It’s like a church, or a medieval round tower in our tiny encampment.
Around the card table, seated on metal stacking chairs are seven Entomologists. They have the sweaty concentration of long-distance poker players. In front of each is a cigar box studded with pins of assorted sizes, miscellaneous jars, old photographic film containers, plexiglass boxes, and pastille tins. There are battered notebooks — buttock-shaped or chest-shaped depending on the pocket they nestle in throughout each day of the hunt. The sweet, pungent smell of Elmer’s glue is trapped inside the tent together with the insects, most of which are dead. A few live ones crawl aimlessly up the walls of their prisons, their escape stopped short by a crumpled wad of paper at the opening. The other live insects are the ever-present mosquitoes. These manage to penetrate our Logan fortress, a tent that can repel hundred mile an hour winds. We have the insect netting down which is ironic. It serves (ineffectually) to keep only one species out, and yet there are hundreds of species inside.
Mike’s box looks like an aircraft carrier, an aviation museum or an airplane junkyard. A neat row of butterflies fills the middle of the box, pinned in simulated flight. Like piles of lumber stacked vertically, each according to size, insect pins lie against one side of the box. The ‘catch of the day’ are piled in another corner. They look like black rubbish, these twenty or so dead insects. Eventually he will pull them out individually, spear each one expertly and slide it half way down the shaft of a pin. These insect kebabs are held against the light and each leg carefully arranged to best advantage. Heavy breathing is the only accompanying sound.
The ritual continues. A fly is passed from person to person, the pin stabbed in each person’s box to anchor it for better examination. What we of the outside call a fly, these Entomologists have many names for. The language is complex, and even to someone familiar with Latin, there’s little rhyme or reason. I marvel at their eyesight in this dim place as they discuss patterns of wing venation, never thinking of using a magnifying glass.
The rows of insects in each box lengthen, each skewer finally and firmly anchored for an eternal existence. These insects will never know a more glorious or gregarious time as now, being admired and discussed, hoarded like trophies, swapped like baseball cards, or given away as precious offerings.
I sit and watch. The lines grow, the fleet is filling out. to the left the Harrier jets, to the right the F-16s, and in the middle the helicopters. Too small to pin, more winged beauties with tiny waists are cinctured with glue. Some rest on platforms half way up a pin. Others are tethered to the pin directly. A quick blow of air from a reverential mouth. It dries the glue and at the same time fixes the insect forever in a semblance of take-off. One last frozen attempt.
Here are letters I wrote to a friend in Vermont (Anne) and my parents in Ireland.
Maybe Wednesday
Dear Anne,
I am sitting on a huge excavated gravel pit along the Dempster Highway, about Km 141. These entomologists measure everything in kilometers in case they return to this spot another year and wish to compare the fauna with previous trophies. They are a strange lot. I may have made an expensive mistake, one costing $1000 and 24 days but I’m not sure yet. Could I change my mind now, I would, but I’ll give it another week. So much of what dreams are made of is the difference between doing this for work or play (perhaps), or being young and free with endless time, as opposed to feeling that I have little time and too many other things to do. It’s also a matter of not being able to choose my own solitude, my own locations, my own time. Whatever fear is associated with the journeys I usually take< I would still choose that.
It’s mid-afternoon and everyone is off sampling or fishing, so I have the camper to myself. While I feel guilty with inertia, still, these quiet moments are few and I treasure them. It has been wet, damp, chilly and miserable weather, filled with hungry mosquitoes and life with 6 other people in 2 small campers (the sort that come attached to a truck). But it’s been interesting. It’s just that I’m not sure “interesting and different” is what I want right now.
One week later
Near White Mountain in the Richardson Range
67.57N, 136.34W
It’s around 9 AM, the sun is shining and we’re in a valley with a stream rushing by. Underfoot is heather and tussock tundra, around are 3 ft. high willows and occasional rocks. Looking around 360° are hills and mountains, some green, some white limestone with fans of shale below them. It’s about 70° and there’s a cloud of mosquitoes all around me. But I’m covered in Muskol and wearing a bug jacket, a net affair with a hood, quite cool (temperature, not looks!), that has been impregnated with deterrent. You can hear birds in the distance and the high peaks and valleys still have snow in them. Around me are 8 other tents (6 people, radio, food), and of course there’s a hum of “bug” conversation. But it’s ow easy to ignore and I can get some peace, solitude and privacy as I choose. All in all, the place is idyllic and I’m in my element. The only worry is grizzly bears, and as we’ve seen 2 already, that’s not to be taken lightly. We have 2 rifles with us, but I have no idea how to work one, so I’ll have to get a lesson!
By the way, before I forget it, I’ve not kept a journal so I’d love if you’d photocopy this letter and send it back (the photocopy) to me. I’m probably giving you the most accurate account of the place, and my responses to it!
As you can gather, my humour has improved remarkably. But I sank even lower than the first page of this letter. The weather was so shitty and I felt completely trapped. There’s not much en route between Whitehorse and Inuvik, certainly no McDonalds. But we saw grizzly (about ¼ mile away) and I caught fish! We stopped by one river and between 4 of us got 8 grayling. Cleaned, boned, filleted and sautéed, slightly breaded and seasoned, and eaten outdoors, there’s nothing better. Then on the last day before Inuvik, we caught 4 pike (I got the smallest but at last it was my own reel and I even chose the correct lure – I have a rod from Ralph and also from Dan, the wee Vet student). I actually enjoy fishing. It’s so mechanical, and you can let your mind wander to Madison, Ireland, Pakistan and back effortlessly. At the grayling place, a golden eagle flew over, and I’ve seen lots of other, less impressive wildlife. All the tundra flowers are in bloom too and it’s like walking over a colorful, very soft spongy carpet.
With all of that we came to Inuvik last Sunday evening. The night before we had crossed the Arctic circle around midnight. There was still a hot globe of a sun due north in the sky and to its left, in the west, the sky had all the shades of sunset, that twilight hue. To the east, it looked like dawn, and all three skies coexisted across 180° of mountains of the Ogilve Range. It was breathtaking, and of course I was taking photographs with a 400 ASA film set at 100! No matter. I’ve decided to write everyone on the trip when it’s over and ask them to send me copies of their 10 best slides. Crafty, eh?
Inuvik is a hole. It’s an ugly town of about 2000 people, quite literally at the end of the road, the “road” being the Dempster Highway, a gravel road for 680 Km from Dawson to Inuvik on the McKenzie River Delta. Dawson at least has a good reason for being here. it’s the Klondike, and its interesting, touristy, though underdeveloped and a little shabby. It has a unique gaming house, diamond Tooth Gerties, where we drank and played Blackjack until the wee (bright) hours of the morning, and watched can-can girls!
The Dempster is a gravel road, so it’s dusty, and as you come down to sea level it gets amazingly hot. It was definitely in the 90s in Inuvik, but still there were mosquitoes. There we had showers at the research station and ate out at a restaurant – char and caribou, both really excellent, especially the caribou. (I saw one yesterday for the first time, an arrogant, beautiful creature with an easy stride, loping over the tundra, slightly curious at me.)
On Monday morning at 10:30 AM the helicopter came. Polar Shelf is a division of the Dept. Mines, Energy and Natural Resources, and it looks after the logistics of expeditions and exploration up here. It contracts a helicopter company and it also awards grants of helicopter time. So Val applied for and got a grant for65 hours of chopper time. It takes 10 to get our camp established and the gear and people moved, and so we have 45 to play with (~$450 per hour is the going rate). So it’s luxury. I’ve never been in a helicopter before. Still, it’s not too different from a plane when you’re going along. It’s just take-offs and landings and spiraling up through mountains, and coming close to them, and over the tops of them to plummet down into steep valleys. It’s wonderful! I could do it forever. We spent all of Monday shuttling. Val, Syd and Monty went first with gear. Next Steve went out with gear, then Jim with gear, then Mike, and finally Roy and myself. Waiting around Inuvik was excessively dull but at least I had 3 campers to use, a lab, showers, and a good laundromat. There’s even an ice-cream place!
We got here around 8, flying for 45 minutes over the delta then into the mountains, circling over a waterfall made by snow melt, to round a valley and see this tiny cluster of tents and a radio antenna some 20 ft. tall (we call Polar Shelf twice per day). They had beer cooling in the stream and pike cooking and ready, so we feasted. The pilot stayed too, an interesting young fellow from Toronto who invested $25,000 in lessons and now makes around $30,000 per year, but only works 6 months up here and then goes on unemployment for winter, to ski, scuba, and travel in Mexico and South America. It sounds like an idyllic job and I’m envious. Yesterday he shuttled us to various valleys and mountaintops, and then sat around in a deckchair, reading, waiting to move us to the next spot. He took Val back to Inuvik last night as she had to work in the lab, and they will be back sometime in the morning with more supplies and hopefully some alcohol. We’re dry, and it’s Canada Day, so good reason to celebrate.
So what do I do all day? Well, I get up around 8 and eat cereal, coffee, toast, juice, whatever. I don’t seem to wash because it’s too hard to avoid the mosquitos. As it’s only day 2, it’s hard to generalize. But when the chopper arrives he’ll leave us to a hilltop or a valley about 5 miles from here and I’ll hike back, or else hike up some of the hills here. My aim is to hike about 4-6 hours per day, sleep about 10, eat/cook about 2 and read/write all the rest.
The group is motley. I have had a few quiet times with Val and that’s really nice. She’s the motivating force behind the trip and the source of all enthusiasm. But they are an odd bunch. We stay here until the 11th. and then fly back to Inuvik. There everyone takes their leave to go in different directions, and Val, Roy and myself drive a camper back down the Dempster to Whitehorse – we have 4 days to do it which is loads (including time to fish).
The last paragraph was interrupted by the helicopter arriving and taking us up the next valley to a hilltop. I spent the day wandering down from it, along a stream, by a waterfall half covered in snow, collecting butterflies. Occasionally I’d stop just to gaze – on 6 caribou grazing nearby, or out on nothing at times. I disturbed Arctic ground squirrels who chattered noisily at my passing, ptarmigan, equally upset, and birds, none of which I recognize. Came back to camp by 4, and just lay down on the heather, indifferent to mosquitoes, and slept for 2 ours before dinner. dinner was chili, beer and cheesecake and kiwi fruit – not bad, eh? Then reading and bed. It stays warm ‘til the sun leaves the valley, around 8:30 M. then the temperature drops to 50-ish, but at 1 AM it plummets to freezing almost, waking me and fording me to put on extra clothes. My sleeping bag is too light for this.
This morning I was woken, per usual, by the sounds of everyone having breakfast, and mosquitoes bashing ineffectually against the walls of the tent. Slow release carbon dioxide through the Goretex no doubt drives them wild with desire! The news of the night (besides me freezing my buns off) was that Mike saw a mother bear and 2 cubs not 20 years from camp late last night. So this morning I got lessons in how to load, fire and unload the 2 rifles we have along. I couldn’t be persuaded to fire one, though. Guns absolutely terrify me, and I’m not sure why. I’ve got lots of bravado for most things, but not them.
Today we have no helicopter so I’m going to walk up the valley with Val.
Next day.
I’m going back on the helicopter today to do some shopping. I’ll be able to post this today in Inuvik so let me just finish off.
Dear Mum and Dad,
I’m sitting in some pass high in the Yukon on our second last day. The pilot flew us here, to Summit Lake first, where I fished and caught 2 pike. But I lost 2 lures into the bargain and the bugs were unbelievable. So I got “rescued” and brought to the hilltop where Monty, Jim and Mike were “hilltopping”, catching insects that siton the tops of hills waiting for some unsuspecting female to fly by and court/mate with her. The view to our east is through several passes to the McKenzie River Delta, and apparently this was one of the ways that gold diggers came up to ld Crow. It was no easy task either, following some of these rivers, as they meander and weave all over. But surprisingly, there’s fish in many of them. They look like streams too small to anything to swim along. But even in
(no idea what I was going to say there. The pilot was taking off and I had to quit immediately. This is being continued 2-3 days later, by the side of the Dempster Highway while Roy fishes.)
Now that I’ve read over the last section more carefully, I remember what it was I wanted to tell describe – char in the river our camp was beside. All the days we were walking along it (it was called fish Creek but we didn’t realize why), it seemed too low to have anything init. I must admit, it was wide enough and with sufficient debris and trees washed down that youknew in spring it was a raging torrent. But about two days from the end of th camp, Steve was washing in a pool, deeper than most areas, and a fish dartd between is legs. He was shocked! But he had the presence of mind to grab it (New Zealand poaching style as he lived there for two years) behind the gils and pull it out. He then got his butterfly net and headed back to fish Creek to catch more. We had them as appetizers before pike, and they were like mountain trout, sautéed in butter. They were marvelous.
The pike fishing at summit Lake where I began was hilarious. It was our last day having the helicopter to go sampling, and of course the level of organization was non-existent. The only reason I went was to fish, but I had heard the mosquitos were horrendous. So I flew over on the second trip with Mike. Monty and Roy and Jim were already there. they had deployed themselves in the places they wanted. I got out of the helicopter and spent 20 minutes walking through mosquito-clouded tussock tundra to the “fish” location, only to have Monty turn up a few minutes later in the helicopter! He felt that I should have a rifle with me, and so had the pilot start up again. I needed a lesson in how to load and fir a 44 magnum rifle on the spot, and wondered why I had had to trudge over the tundra in the first place! At least I had them promise to pick me up in 1 and ½ hours before I got sucked dry. The problem, or potential problem is bears, particularly when you are sitting on a pile of fish guts. I had been pretty indifferent, but after hearing some of the pilot’s stories (he flies for fish, game and wildlife people who study grizzly and polar bears), and seeing bear scat all around, I was glad of the gun.
There were millions of mosquitoes. You wear this mesh jacket impregnated with repellent, and then a net hat so they won’t get all over your head. Finally, you tuck trousers (baggy, thick and sprayed) into socks, and spray the socks if they are thin enough for a mosquito/black fly/horsefly to penetrate. But it was great catching the fish, even if I did lose half my gear. The chopper picked me up in time too. Dave, the pilot had to get out of the machine and unload the rifle for me because I had no idea and its pretty dangerous to carry a loaded gun in a helicopter. We flew to the hilltop that I described and sat there just chatting with Jim and the pilot, looking out at this incredible view – the closest road maybe 100 miles away (and only one road at that). Then we flew back to camp and sat around chatting and telling stories about bears until it was time for the pilot to go back and collect the others. We feasted that night. We’ve been eating like lords.
So now we’re trying to catch grayling for supper, in the rain. Val and I have retired to the camper after failing to catch anything. The others got 4 so we’ll share them and have canned chicken in a green pepper and dill sauce with mashed potatoes and tinned carrots.
Our last night at camp was Mike’s 22nd. Birthday so we had cheesecake with candles on it for supper. We even had beer cooled in the stream. The next day the pilot made 4 trips in and out to Inuvik as we moved back in to town. Dinner that night was curried pike – also excellent, and as we had the campers outside the lab in Inuvik, we could shower too.
Coming back to Inuvik was grim. It’s an ugly town, although clean by all accounts. It’s so depressed and depressing. It reminds me of what I think a Siberian small town would look like: buildings painted oddly contrasting colors to relieve the monotonous and dreary facades. There’s dust everywhere and half the buildings look like they are either being constructed or under demolition, but it’s difficult to make out which. We sent to the bar, the eight of us, on Friday night and danced with any of the fellows who got up. Monty surprised me by being a superb dancer. But by 11 I had decided that my ears couldn’t take any more of the live band so I went to bed. It didn’t help much – we were less than a block from the bar so it was till noisy.
Next day I did errands while Val and Roy worked, and we all left driving south on Saturday afternoon. I think Jim and Steve are gone for good, but the other two campers are travelling to Dawson in tandem. Then its just Roy, Val and myself in one camper to Whitehorse.
Those days in the mountains ere lovely: lethargic, healthy, easy, beautiful. They wre also hot, seeaty, dirty, buggy, aggravating. But I read, wrote, slept, ate and laughed a lot. I had time with Val, with some of the others, and by myself too.
I had one cherished afternoon to myself. All the others had been flown off by the pilot to other sampling sites and there was no-one within ear shot, gun shot, even radio shot. Even apprehensive of bears, the place was wonderful alone. I hardly did anything except sit and muse.
Tomorrow we drive to Dawson and have a last night at Diamond tooth Gerties, the gambling place. It’s been fun, interesting, incredibly relaxing. It’s been very different from what I imagined at times – better and worse. But I’m ultimately glad that I came. I’m looking forward to going home, but in a calm, semi-curious way. I feel a little detached.
I like this calm life but I’m sure I’ll get into the chaotic one pretty quickly. This is ales exotic trip to come back from though – few stories. The memories are of sunshine, bugs, trickling streams and hiking in the mountains, and of rain and cold driving there and back.
Love Mary
Maybe Wednesday
Dear Anne,
I am sitting on a huge excavated gravel pit along the Dempster Highway, about Km 141. These entomologists measure everything in kilometers in case they return to this spot another year and wish to compare the fauna with previous trophies. They are a strange lot. I may have made an expensive mistake, one costing $1000 and 24 days but I’m not sure yet. Could I change my mind now, I would, but I’ll give it another week. So much of what dreams are made of is the difference between doing this for work or play (perhaps), or being young and free with endless time, as opposed to feeling that I have little time and too many other things to do. It’s also a matter of not being able to choose my own solitude, my own locations, my own time. Whatever fear is associated with the journeys I usually take< I would still choose that.
It’s mid-afternoon and everyone is off sampling or fishing, so I have the camper to myself. While I feel guilty with inertia, still, these quiet moments are few and I treasure them. It has been wet, damp, chilly and miserable weather, filled with hungry mosquitoes and life with 6 other people in 2 small campers (the sort that come attached to a truck). But it’s been interesting. It’s just that I’m not sure “interesting and different” is what I want right now.
One week later
Near White Mountain in the Richardson Range
67.57N, 136.34W
It’s around 9 AM, the sun is shining and we’re in a valley with a stream rushing by. Underfoot is heather and tussock tundra, around are 3 ft. high willows and occasional rocks. Looking around 360° are hills and mountains, some green, some white limestone with fans of shale below them. It’s about 70° and there’s a cloud of mosquitoes all around me. But I’m covered in Muskol and wearing a bug jacket, a net affair with a hood, quite cool (temperature, not looks!), that has been impregnated with deterrent. You can hear birds in the distance and the high peaks and valleys still have snow in them. Around me are 8 other tents (6 people, radio, food), and of course there’s a hum of “bug” conversation. But it’s ow easy to ignore and I can get some peace, solitude and privacy as I choose. All in all, the place is idyllic and I’m in my element. The only worry is grizzly bears, and as we’ve seen 2 already, that’s not to be taken lightly. We have 2 rifles with us, but I have no idea how to work one, so I’ll have to get a lesson!
By the way, before I forget it, I’ve not kept a journal so I’d love if you’d photocopy this letter and send it back (the photocopy) to me. I’m probably giving you the most accurate account of the place, and my responses to it!
As you can gather, my humour has improved remarkably. But I sank even lower than the first page of this letter. The weather was so shitty and I felt completely trapped. There’s not much en route between Whitehorse and Inuvik, certainly no McDonalds. But we saw grizzly (about ¼ mile away) and I caught fish! We stopped by one river and between 4 of us got 8 grayling. Cleaned, boned, filleted and sautéed, slightly breaded and seasoned, and eaten outdoors, there’s nothing better. Then on the last day before Inuvik, we caught 4 pike (I got the smallest but at last it was my own reel and I even chose the correct lure – I have a rod from Ralph and also from Dan, the wee Vet student). I actually enjoy fishing. It’s so mechanical, and you can let your mind wander to Madison, Ireland, Pakistan and back effortlessly. At the grayling place, a golden eagle flew over, and I’ve seen lots of other, less impressive wildlife. All the tundra flowers are in bloom too and it’s like walking over a colorful, very soft spongy carpet.
With all of that we came to Inuvik last Sunday evening. The night before we had crossed the Arctic circle around midnight. There was still a hot globe of a sun due north in the sky and to its left, in the west, the sky had all the shades of sunset, that twilight hue. To the east, it looked like dawn, and all three skies coexisted across 180° of mountains of the Ogilve Range. It was breathtaking, and of course I was taking photographs with a 400 ASA film set at 100! No matter. I’ve decided to write everyone on the trip when it’s over and ask them to send me copies of their 10 best slides. Crafty, eh?
Inuvik is a hole. It’s an ugly town of about 2000 people, quite literally at the end of the road, the “road” being the Dempster Highway, a gravel road for 680 Km from Dawson to Inuvik on the McKenzie River Delta. Dawson at least has a good reason for being here. it’s the Klondike, and its interesting, touristy, though underdeveloped and a little shabby. It has a unique gaming house, diamond Tooth Gerties, where we drank and played Blackjack until the wee (bright) hours of the morning, and watched can-can girls!
The Dempster is a gravel road, so it’s dusty, and as you come down to sea level it gets amazingly hot. It was definitely in the 90s in Inuvik, but still there were mosquitoes. There we had showers at the research station and ate out at a restaurant – char and caribou, both really excellent, especially the caribou. (I saw one yesterday for the first time, an arrogant, beautiful creature with an easy stride, loping over the tundra, slightly curious at me.)
On Monday morning at 10:30 AM the helicopter came. Polar Shelf is a division of the Dept. Mines, Energy and Natural Resources, and it looks after the logistics of expeditions and exploration up here. It contracts a helicopter company and it also awards grants of helicopter time. So Val applied for and got a grant for65 hours of chopper time. It takes 10 to get our camp established and the gear and people moved, and so we have 45 to play with (~$450 per hour is the going rate). So it’s luxury. I’ve never been in a helicopter before. Still, it’s not too different from a plane when you’re going along. It’s just take-offs and landings and spiraling up through mountains, and coming close to them, and over the tops of them to plummet down into steep valleys. It’s wonderful! I could do it forever. We spent all of Monday shuttling. Val, Syd and Monty went first with gear. Next Steve went out with gear, then Jim with gear, then Mike, and finally Roy and myself. Waiting around Inuvik was excessively dull but at least I had 3 campers to use, a lab, showers, and a good laundromat. There’s even an ice-cream place!
We got here around 8, flying for 45 minutes over the delta then into the mountains, circling over a waterfall made by snow melt, to round a valley and see this tiny cluster of tents and a radio antenna some 20 ft. tall (we call Polar Shelf twice per day). They had beer cooling in the stream and pike cooking and ready, so we feasted. The pilot stayed too, an interesting young fellow from Toronto who invested $25,000 in lessons and now makes around $30,000 per year, but only works 6 months up here and then goes on unemployment for winter, to ski, scuba, and travel in Mexico and South America. It sounds like an idyllic job and I’m envious. Yesterday he shuttled us to various valleys and mountaintops, and then sat around in a deckchair, reading, waiting to move us to the next spot. He took Val back to Inuvik last night as she had to work in the lab, and they will be back sometime in the morning with more supplies and hopefully some alcohol. We’re dry, and it’s Canada Day, so good reason to celebrate.
So what do I do all day? Well, I get up around 8 and eat cereal, coffee, toast, juice, whatever. I don’t seem to wash because it’s too hard to avoid the mosquitos. As it’s only day 2, it’s hard to generalize. But when the chopper arrives he’ll leave us to a hilltop or a valley about 5 miles from here and I’ll hike back, or else hike up some of the hills here. My aim is to hike about 4-6 hours per day, sleep about 10, eat/cook about 2 and read/write all the rest.
The group is motley. I have had a few quiet times with Val and that’s really nice. She’s the motivating force behind the trip and the source of all enthusiasm. But they are an odd bunch. We stay here until the 11th. and then fly back to Inuvik. There everyone takes their leave to go in different directions, and Val, Roy and myself drive a camper back down the Dempster to Whitehorse – we have 4 days to do it which is loads (including time to fish).
The last paragraph was interrupted by the helicopter arriving and taking us up the next valley to a hilltop. I spent the day wandering down from it, along a stream, by a waterfall half covered in snow, collecting butterflies. Occasionally I’d stop just to gaze – on 6 caribou grazing nearby, or out on nothing at times. I disturbed Arctic ground squirrels who chattered noisily at my passing, ptarmigan, equally upset, and birds, none of which I recognize. Came back to camp by 4, and just lay down on the heather, indifferent to mosquitoes, and slept for 2 ours before dinner. dinner was chili, beer and cheesecake and kiwi fruit – not bad, eh? Then reading and bed. It stays warm ‘til the sun leaves the valley, around 8:30 M. then the temperature drops to 50-ish, but at 1 AM it plummets to freezing almost, waking me and fording me to put on extra clothes. My sleeping bag is too light for this.
This morning I was woken, per usual, by the sounds of everyone having breakfast, and mosquitoes bashing ineffectually against the walls of the tent. Slow release carbon dioxide through the Goretex no doubt drives them wild with desire! The news of the night (besides me freezing my buns off) was that Mike saw a mother bear and 2 cubs not 20 years from camp late last night. So this morning I got lessons in how to load, fire and unload the 2 rifles we have along. I couldn’t be persuaded to fire one, though. Guns absolutely terrify me, and I’m not sure why. I’ve got lots of bravado for most things, but not them.
Today we have no helicopter so I’m going to walk up the valley with Val.
Next day.
I’m going back on the helicopter today to do some shopping. I’ll be able to post this today in Inuvik so let me just finish off.
Dear Mum and Dad,
I’m sitting in some pass high in the Yukon on our second last day. The pilot flew us here, to Summit Lake first, where I fished and caught 2 pike. But I lost 2 lures into the bargain and the bugs were unbelievable. So I got “rescued” and brought to the hilltop where Monty, Jim and Mike were “hilltopping”, catching insects that siton the tops of hills waiting for some unsuspecting female to fly by and court/mate with her. The view to our east is through several passes to the McKenzie River Delta, and apparently this was one of the ways that gold diggers came up to ld Crow. It was no easy task either, following some of these rivers, as they meander and weave all over. But surprisingly, there’s fish in many of them. They look like streams too small to anything to swim along. But even in
(no idea what I was going to say there. The pilot was taking off and I had to quit immediately. This is being continued 2-3 days later, by the side of the Dempster Highway while Roy fishes.)
Now that I’ve read over the last section more carefully, I remember what it was I wanted to tell describe – char in the river our camp was beside. All the days we were walking along it (it was called fish Creek but we didn’t realize why), it seemed too low to have anything init. I must admit, it was wide enough and with sufficient debris and trees washed down that youknew in spring it was a raging torrent. But about two days from the end of th camp, Steve was washing in a pool, deeper than most areas, and a fish dartd between is legs. He was shocked! But he had the presence of mind to grab it (New Zealand poaching style as he lived there for two years) behind the gils and pull it out. He then got his butterfly net and headed back to fish Creek to catch more. We had them as appetizers before pike, and they were like mountain trout, sautéed in butter. They were marvelous.
The pike fishing at summit Lake where I began was hilarious. It was our last day having the helicopter to go sampling, and of course the level of organization was non-existent. The only reason I went was to fish, but I had heard the mosquitos were horrendous. So I flew over on the second trip with Mike. Monty and Roy and Jim were already there. they had deployed themselves in the places they wanted. I got out of the helicopter and spent 20 minutes walking through mosquito-clouded tussock tundra to the “fish” location, only to have Monty turn up a few minutes later in the helicopter! He felt that I should have a rifle with me, and so had the pilot start up again. I needed a lesson in how to load and fir a 44 magnum rifle on the spot, and wondered why I had had to trudge over the tundra in the first place! At least I had them promise to pick me up in 1 and ½ hours before I got sucked dry. The problem, or potential problem is bears, particularly when you are sitting on a pile of fish guts. I had been pretty indifferent, but after hearing some of the pilot’s stories (he flies for fish, game and wildlife people who study grizzly and polar bears), and seeing bear scat all around, I was glad of the gun.
There were millions of mosquitoes. You wear this mesh jacket impregnated with repellent, and then a net hat so they won’t get all over your head. Finally, you tuck trousers (baggy, thick and sprayed) into socks, and spray the socks if they are thin enough for a mosquito/black fly/horsefly to penetrate. But it was great catching the fish, even if I did lose half my gear. The chopper picked me up in time too. Dave, the pilot had to get out of the machine and unload the rifle for me because I had no idea and its pretty dangerous to carry a loaded gun in a helicopter. We flew to the hilltop that I described and sat there just chatting with Jim and the pilot, looking out at this incredible view – the closest road maybe 100 miles away (and only one road at that). Then we flew back to camp and sat around chatting and telling stories about bears until it was time for the pilot to go back and collect the others. We feasted that night. We’ve been eating like lords.
So now we’re trying to catch grayling for supper, in the rain. Val and I have retired to the camper after failing to catch anything. The others got 4 so we’ll share them and have canned chicken in a green pepper and dill sauce with mashed potatoes and tinned carrots.
Our last night at camp was Mike’s 22nd. Birthday so we had cheesecake with candles on it for supper. We even had beer cooled in the stream. The next day the pilot made 4 trips in and out to Inuvik as we moved back in to town. Dinner that night was curried pike – also excellent, and as we had the campers outside the lab in Inuvik, we could shower too.
Coming back to Inuvik was grim. It’s an ugly town, although clean by all accounts. It’s so depressed and depressing. It reminds me of what I think a Siberian small town would look like: buildings painted oddly contrasting colors to relieve the monotonous and dreary facades. There’s dust everywhere and half the buildings look like they are either being constructed or under demolition, but it’s difficult to make out which. We sent to the bar, the eight of us, on Friday night and danced with any of the fellows who got up. Monty surprised me by being a superb dancer. But by 11 I had decided that my ears couldn’t take any more of the live band so I went to bed. It didn’t help much – we were less than a block from the bar so it was till noisy.
Next day I did errands while Val and Roy worked, and we all left driving south on Saturday afternoon. I think Jim and Steve are gone for good, but the other two campers are travelling to Dawson in tandem. Then its just Roy, Val and myself in one camper to Whitehorse.
Those days in the mountains ere lovely: lethargic, healthy, easy, beautiful. They wre also hot, seeaty, dirty, buggy, aggravating. But I read, wrote, slept, ate and laughed a lot. I had time with Val, with some of the others, and by myself too.
I had one cherished afternoon to myself. All the others had been flown off by the pilot to other sampling sites and there was no-one within ear shot, gun shot, even radio shot. Even apprehensive of bears, the place was wonderful alone. I hardly did anything except sit and muse.
Tomorrow we drive to Dawson and have a last night at Diamond tooth Gerties, the gambling place. It’s been fun, interesting, incredibly relaxing. It’s been very different from what I imagined at times – better and worse. But I’m ultimately glad that I came. I’m looking forward to going home, but in a calm, semi-curious way. I feel a little detached.
I like this calm life but I’m sure I’ll get into the chaotic one pretty quickly. This is ales exotic trip to come back from though – few stories. The memories are of sunshine, bugs, trickling streams and hiking in the mountains, and of rain and cold driving there and back.
Love Mary