It’s been 9 days and 761 river kilometers since we left Johnson’s Crossing and we have a lot of stories to tell. We paddled like mad, caught some fish, learned to float nap, panned for gold, and slipped into a Kermit the Frog induced psychosis.
Around 12:00 on July 23rd, we slid our canoes into the outflow of Teslin Lake under the Johnson’s Crossing Bridge and began our journey down the river. We passed an Outward Bound group on a retreat and a family with young children, then were on our own. We paddled 49km, made dinner, and fished for Arctic Grayling at the mouth of a small clear water tributary. None of us had ever caught a grayling before so we had a lot of fun catching over 30 fish! Each cast someone seemed to be reeling in a fish!
The following day, we enjoyed some fried grayling and hash-browns for breakfast and continued down river for 82 kilometers. We passed some smoldering spot fires in a charred patch of trees and experienced our first roasting-hot afternoon. In day 3, we were forced off the water to wait out a lightning storm in the morning, but still managed to cover 98km by the time we made camp on a gravel bar in the middle of the river. We also saw a black bear swimming across the river and found a cow moose cooling-off in the river (respect the cow moose!).
By this point it was beginning to dawn on us that we might be in over our heads. We realized after re-measuring each river bend that we’d need to cover close to 100km every day if we wanted to reach Finn’s car at Yukon Flats in time. We weren’t quite ready for a conversation about trip goals yet, but we were all starting to stress about distance.
In the morning of day 4, we woke early and passed several groups who were taking down camp along the shoreline. We also noticed some brightly coloured equipment floating in an eddy and swooped in to pick it up. Around noon, we arrived at the confluence of the Teslin and Yukon Rivers and began to move with incredible speed downstream (over 10km/h even when not paddling). We met a group who told us they had seen an entire canoe worth of equipment float by their camp in the morning so we kept scouring the shoreline for more equipment. Out of an abundance of caution, we also sent a message to the RCMP in Carmacks warning them that there may be a group in distress. Later in the day we collected a blue duffel bag full of gear.
By 18:30, we arrived at a beautiful tributary campsite where Finn caught a pair of feisty Nortern Pike and we celebrated reaching the Yukon River with a fancy cocktail party. And another 91km to boot!
On the morning of day 5, we woke late and crawled our way through sprinkling rain towards Carmacks. When we arrived, we went ashore for lunch, dropped off the gear we collected at the RCMP station, and bought a bit of fresh food. Once restocked, we headed out under an ever increasing downpour. Racing down the river in rising floodwaters, we covered an additional 28 kilometers before being forced off the river in torrential rain and an electrical storm threatening to break overhead. After setting up camp and a quick meal, we settled in to our camp.
We were also finally ready to have a serious conversation about our goal of padddling all the way to Yukon Flats. We decided collectively that it would be infeasible so we changed our destination to ‘TBD’ in Dawson City.
The next morning broke with a cool blanket of mist hanging over the river, and clear skies. This was to be essential, as the time had come to run our most technically challenging obstacle of the trip - the Five Finger Rapids, a class-III feature on the river consisting of a large wave train pouring between two large basalt pillars. With visibility improving, we set our line, with Nathan and Megan taking the lead, and Rina and Finn photographing from the rear. After a successful run of the rapids, we passed another ten kilometers over to our second, and last, rapid set on the river - rink rapids. This was easily circumvented with a hard right line following the contour of the river, and we made our way down the river.
Just past the town of Minto, we were gifted with a rare sight, a herd of ~35 Dall sheep! Finn and Megan immediately whipped out their télé lenses and started snapping shots while Rina and Nathan scooped through out ‘knockers.
Capitalizing off the boost of speed and adrenaline provided by the rapids, we continued on throughout the day, pushing an admirable, yet still-short-of-one-hundred 97 kilometers, straight to the historic village of Fort Selkirk. After an evening spent learning about the history of the settlement and the Selkirk Nation, we went to bed and set our sights on the next day.
Fort Selkirk however, had left us one final parting gift - Rina had managed to give herself a mild concussion on an exposed beam in the settlement, and as a result the day turned into more of a gentle float - a welcome reprieve than the distance crushing days we had completed previously. Drifting downriver, we were immediately met with wildfire smoke, and as the next riverbank came into view, took in the sights of a fire smoldering from the top of the hills right down to the bank. And then the next hill. And the next. It truly was an expansive fire. Following this, we continued our way to the historic gold strike location of Selwyn Creek - 50 kilometers onwards from Fort Selkirk. After tuning in to some spectacular dry flyfishing for grayling, the evening quickly turned into a tableau more resembling a beachfront in Baja - smoking fire, laughs, Ceviché, and poke bowls that seemed oddly out of place, yet right at home in the heart of the Klondike Gold fields. The evening wasn't done yet, as Finn and Rina hiked up the creek to pan for gold - and return with gold they did, in the form of a shiny new engagement ring! Following the congratulations, we were quick to bed, eagerly awaiting our next day.
The next morning dawned overcast and crisp, with a fall-like chill in the air, despite the month only being July. After departing, we continued our way through ever-braiding river channels, and made significant ground in between viewing stops to watch moose and black bear swimming between gravel bars. At the end of the day, we had put up a respectable 80-something kilometers, and between dinner and an excellent dessert of worms 'n' dirt, we were quickly sound asleep in our tents.
The never ending day.
The next morning, the sun rose and so did we. Today was the day we were to reach the confluence with the White river, a marker where the transition to a faster, glacially-influenced river was as visible as milk poured into a dark tea. Beyond the confluence, the river picked up speed, and we were flying along - until confronted with a wall of wind 30 kilometers in. Erring on the side of caution, we opted to pull off the river, and rest the hottest hours of the day away as the wind howled. After a day of much needed naps, reading, and tent sleep-overs in Finn and Rina's enormous Hilleberg tent. By 8 p.m, the wind had abated, and we launched off on the river. With a half-baked idea to run the river though the subarctic night, we made excellent time.
By midnight, the Kermit the Frog impressions had taken over; by 2:00, sea shanties were unstops, by 3:00, the light was returning, and by 4:45 am, we were paddling into the bright lights of Dawson City. 8 hours, and 98 kilometers later, we had arrived to a town fully asleep, and no coffee to be found until seven. So, we did the only natural thing a dirtbag would do: we napped on a boardwalk in the middle of the jogging path until the caffeine joint opened.
In Dawson, we encountered yet another hurdle. We spent much of the morning trying desperately to sort out how we could get ourselves, our gear, and our canoes to Finn’s car. We called float plane operators, boat captains, car rentals, and bus services and we’re getting nowhere until a tip from the hotel receptionist led us to a mysterious man on the telephone who connected us with a plane shuttle service that runs weekday flights from Circle to Fairbanks. Once we had rented a 4x4 truck to get us from Fairbanks to Finn’s car, we were once again ready to return to the river.
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