From the Airplane En Route to Mt. Logan Airstrip, Yukon

This was an adventure never to be forgotten.  The stark, vast, white landscape seemed so uninhabitable, even though a friendly black lab joyously welcomed us with wagging tail and lolling tongue.

Upon our arrival, Tania and I traversed a hike of mildly mountainous terrain close by the camp, when I once again embarrassed my so-called wilderness expertise!  (i.e., remember the incident in Alberta when I almost chickened out of the challenge to scale the ominous Mt. Kananaskis?)

Here at the Mt. Logan site, I suddenly required a short sit/lie due to significant dizziness caused by high altitude and lack of oxygen (only ME, and not the more youthful Tania!).  We were such alpine novices.  Once I was able to regroup, we got  back to the Camp where there was a delicious lunch awaiting us in the main Quonset hut - hot homemade soup, warm homemade bread - even a tiny vase containing a single live pink flower at the table’s centrepiece.

A live flower.  How?  Where?  Average summer temperatures at this altitude hover at -27C.  Winter temperatures are in the range of -45C.

What an adventure!  Few people ever get this opportunity.  To be able to engage with researchers, live among the grizzlies and caribou herds, be so generously welcomed by this learned institution, and to explore the very exciting Yukon Territory while we gather our artistic resources for our return to studio work and city life….an unequalled privilege! 

This was our iconic view from the Arctic Institute site.

On the advice of the staff, we hired a helicopter one day to take us to the top for a painting excursion. Four girls, no compass, no real sense of direction, but we were assured that it was easy to make our way down at day’s end.  The heli staff advised as follows:

“Just turn left at the fifth pond you’ll see where the ‘copter drops you.  Then head down that creek bed.  Oh, and here’s a two way radio in case you need to reach us.”

Well.  We hiked and hiked, keeping count of ponds and grizzly scat as we went.  It was late in the afternoon, it was hot, we were tired and hungry by then. We hadn’t had the foresight to save much water for the descent.

Things got worse.  We were lost.  Bickering ensued as to whether we’d passed four or FIVE ponds. The decision was made to follow the next creek bed on the left.

At first, we forced gaiety with song, making lots of noise to make the bear population aware of our presence. However, it wasn’t long before we were entangled in three hundred year old willow scrub and bigger and bigger rocks along the creek bed that we had to maneuver. We fought this ever-decreasing “trail” for hours.

Finally, and even with my so-called wilderness expertise, I stumbled and fell hard amid the boulders, knocking myself nearly unconscious. To a girl, every one of the three artists decided they would not leave me, they would stay with me overnight.

As I lay amid the rocks and tried to get my bearings, I was sure I heard the rotor blades of a helicopter. The girls doubted me and thought I was hallucinating.  I begged them to stop their chatter and concentrate on listening for the sound.  Sure enough, the sound got louder, so I suggested to the girls that they lay their colourful jackets out flat on the ground and hopefully the pilot will see us. The plane passed over us several times to our discouragement and finally the sound of the helecopter became faint. We were thinking by that time that we were stranded on the mountain for the night but, lo and behold, the pilot and his co-pilot came crashing through the thick brush as saviours. 

With the help of all concerned, we got down the mountainside to the site of the helecopter's landing. The pilot advised us of how dangerous this landing had been and that it should never have been chosen as a landing spot.

We explained to the pilot how difficult our decent had been and that the two-way radio had not worked at all. We arrived back at the Arctic Institute at about 10:15pm with darkness threatening soon.