Outpost Mountain, Yukon

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.