I arrived here at 10am this morning after an overnight in Whitehorse — made it seem like a much longer trip because of a layover. I have not yet seen Whitehorse in daylight, so my only impression, so far, is that it is very cold. I have always been told that Vancouverites are extremely laid back, but I’ve discovered that there is such a thing as Yukon time, and it is the northern equivalent of Mexican time. What I mean to say, is the flights were all late, as were the shuttles to and from the airport, but it didn’t matter because nobody really cared but me, and even that didn’t last for very long.
I flew into Dawson City in the early morning on a small propeller airplane that climbed to 10,000 feet and stayed there, allowing for breath-taking views of the terrain below and the mountains (including Mt. Logan) in the distance. It never warmed up inside that airplane, but I didn’t care because I was falling in love with the land below.
As soon as I deplaned, I ditched the cowboy boots for sorrels (sp)? and the eye-glasses for sun-glasses. It is indescribably bright here, and therefore, seems far less cold than it really is. Most of the passengers stayed on the plane, heading even farther north to the land of the Gwitch’in people, in Old Crow, which lies 128 kilometers north of the Arctic Circle. They live, as they have lived for many years — their lives tied inexorably to the Porcupine caribou herd.