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How I Learned to Stop Worrying and Love the Yukon1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | Itinerary | Home
This is Whitehorse: an island on land, surrounded by forest, mountains and, for much of the year, darkness and snow. More than 2,000 kilometres from Vancouver or Calgary, this city of 22,000 – about three-quarters of the Yukon’s population – is, in many ways, the end of the civilized world. This, I learn, is why people come to Whitehorse, and it’s also why they stay. The end of civilization is, I realize, a dramatic characterization. It reflects a place where anything that man has built is dwarfed by nature. Downtown is about four square kilometres, home to most of the city’s shops, restaurants and people, but it’s almost incidental to Whitehorse. The river that runs alongside it, the trailheads that spit out into it and the mountains that overlook it are what define the city, which spans more than 400 square kilometres. Whitehorse is not buildings and cars and people; it is lakes and trees, sunshine and darkness. Whitehorse is Bugaloo, a heavily forested, single-track mountain-biking trail on Grey Mountain. Along with Corey, my friend and photographer for the trip, and a group of 11 new friends, I careen down the trail on a rented bike. David Pharand, the manager of a local board shop we’d met the day before, had organized the outing, promising us a challenging ride but “nothing too gnarly.” While Bugaloo might be a little gnarly for me, it’s clearly not for the mix of twentysomethings who’d happily gathered at 4 p.m. on a Friday for the impromptu ride. After an hour of roots and rocks and fallen branches, we rest at a clearing. Phil, a goofy character with a goatee, tells me that after a summer vacation here three years ago, he endured a four-day bus ride back to his hometown of Montreal, collected his belongings and hopped right back on the bus. He’s been riding this mountain since he arrived, but, he says, nodding toward the landscape, this is the best part. My eyes follow his nod toward layers of mountains and trees and lakes, and I remember exactly where I am. Life in Whitehorse is punctuated by moments like this. In town, no building is higher than four storeys. The building code is meant to maximize sunlight in winter’s darkest days, but the effect is that you can see the context of Whitehorse from anywhere in town. The bright lights of the city itself are just a small part of the landscape. I realize the miracle of Whitehorse: It’s the city that isn’t. |
