A Summer 2015 Yukon Prospector Web-Extra
I have arrived.
Where, I’m not quite sure. I could tell you what it looks like (beautiful). I could describe the people, the sounds, the crisp air and warm sun; I could give you my longitude and latitude or point to a location on a map. But I don’t think any of that could adequately describe just where I am right now -- because I really don’t know.
Whitehorse is a town like a lot of towns. It has all the familiar markings I’ve come to know as a Canadian: big chain superstores, incorporated restaurants, fast food chains… Monoliths seen in every Canadian city of a certain size.
But that isn’t the way it feels. And that’s part of the problem. Maybe I’m just romanticizing a bit, but there’s something about the area that seems more than its initial banality. A ruddy sort of wildness only partially masked by all those familiar commercial ventures. I’ll know more about this when I can get down there for a pint with a few of the locals. Either way, it’s exciting.
Carcross, where I’m staying, is far more obvious in its essence. It looks like a New Brunswick fishing town out of the 1920’s. Or, more accurately, a Yukon village from 1896. The buildings are small, and primarily board or corrugated tin. It sits between two clean-green lakes. About 400-metres down the road is the “world’s smallest desert”. Not really a desert, it’s too humid apparently, but a series of sand dunes across one square mile. In the span of 10 minutes you can go from fishing trout to sand-boarding.
As far as first impressions go, the Yukon is up there with music and sugar. So much to see, so much to do. My goal over the next few months will be to crack that mysterious feeling I have, to embrace the natural. I’m not going to go all Walden Pond on you guys though; for me it’s all about the people. From the few I’ve met so far, I doubt I’ll run out of stories any time soon.
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